Page 3

AMITY

I try not to get distracted as he looms over me, his hand engulfing my wrist as he holds up my SafeGuard to scan. He smells like pine soap and something faintly familiar, chlorine or some other chemical they use in the pool at school.

“What are you doing here?” I demand. “And what did you do to his SafeGuard?” I speak through clenched lips and teeth. I see it, a nervous flick of the guard’s eyes to Zeph before his face smooths over.

“Nothing to worry about,” he murmurs in a low rumble while he holds the scanner over my wrist, but his brow furrows.

His hand is warm and dry, the fingers long with no jewelry or hint of markings on his smooth skin.

Our arms contrast: my tan skin dusted with freckles is pale beside his strong, brown forearm.

“That’s my friend,” I whisper. “What did you do to him?”

He stares at me for a beat. “Calm down, Pepper. ”

I jerk in response. It is him! The other kids at the MAV meetings used to call me Pepper, because of my freckles.

“Your mom is Mikayla Adamson,” I hiss. “What are you doing here? How are you a guard?”

I think this kid is eighteen, just like me. He doesn’t answer but finishes the scan, still holding on to my wrist like he’s reluctant to let go. I leave my arm there, sitting in his warm grasp.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says to me in a low voice.

“Liar,” I snap, pulling my wrist away.

There’s a huff from Zeph in front of me and Mikayla’s son gives a shake, as if clearing his head, and takes a step back. He doesn’t call to the graduates waiting behind me, just turns slowly to watch us as we leave.

Is he watching Zeph? Or is he watching me?

We join a group heading down the hall to the wide staircase.

I don’t want to look back, but I can’t help taking a peek.

The guard is scanning another girl’s SafeGuard now, her wrist limp in his hand, but his eyes are not on her.

This time there’s no doubt—his gaze is bound to me.

I keep searching my memory, trying to remember more about him.

He was a quiet kid who kept to himself, but there was a time I knew his name. It was something short.

With my heart refusing to slow down, I turn and will myself to face forward as my thoughts rush in all directions. I glance over at Zeph and his wrist, but his SafeGuard looks identical to mine.

Here I am, walking with Zeph. If he does something stupid, will I get in trouble, too? Could this hurt my chances of becoming a Security Officer ?

My stomach, already on edge at the prospect of taking the Oath and Zeph’s foolish plans, dips again as I imagine myself being blamed, imagine my mother getting in trouble with the Peaceful Society.

I try to swallow and my mouth is dry as sand. What am I going to do?

At the top of the stairs the flow of people splits apart, as everyone files into wide doors on either side of the hallway. Both sides are courtrooms. I see rows of wooden benches and marble on the walls and ceiling. I pull to the right, ready to enter, but Zeph tries to slip off to the other room.

“Oh, no you don’t,” I hiss, following him as closely as I can across the hall to the courtroom on the left.

“Amity, can you just go?” he says, motioning with his eyes across the hall.

“Zeph, I swear,” I say under my breath, my temper rising. We’ve stopped and there’s a pile-up behind us while we argue.

“Keep it moving,” a guard’s high, bored voice calls and the decision is made. We’re entering together and filing with the rest of the line into a row between long wooden benches.

In the front of the room there’s a fenced-off area with a group of desks. In one corner is a flag of the Peaceful Society, a stylized dove holding a twig from the olive tree. On the other side is a flag of the United Nations.

I sit with Zeph next to me, and he’s way too still for my comfort. We’ve been friends long enough for me to know that he’s always in motion, foot tapping, looking around, leg jiggling. If he has something in his hands he’s either taking it apart or putting it back together .

Right now he’s sitting entirely still and it’s scaring me. I let my hand creep over to his wrist, trying to feel his SafeGuard, but he jerks away.

“Not now, Amity,” he murmurs. I glance around. Everywhere there are teenagers talking, laughing, some of them rowdy on the other side of the room.

“Come on,” I say quietly.

“No.” His voice is low, final. “It’s done.”

“What do you mean it’s done? And who was that, I…” I hesitate, not sure whether to admit I recognized the guard.

“Stop it.” Zeph’s voice is tight.

I turn away. My heart, beating against my chest, has not slowed down. I wonder if I’m having a panic attack.

A bunch of adults file through a door in the front. The Guardian for Baltimore and her assistant set up at the desk in the middle. A couple of CSOs sit off to the right, and a group of guards from the lobby file in and cluster in the back. He’s there, the guard who scanned me.

It’s impossible not to notice him. The little kid who would wander off into the woods behind the community center where our MAV group met is very grown up and very handsome. He could be modeling for advertisements or starring in government videos, even in his simple white shirt and uniform pants.

His face is carefully blank and he’s staring at the wall, not at us, but I think he knows we’re here, and he’s keeping tabs on us. There’s something in his posture, how he shifts a bit when my gaze returns to him. I’m not sure how he’s doing it, but he’s watching us.

The Guardian calls the room to order .

“This is the day you join the movement to eradicate violence and live in a peaceful, safe, and unified Society.”

I’m listening to her, but I’m watching Mikayla’s son. There’s not a flicker of reaction on his face as she speaks. She talks about taking the Oath, what will happen if we apply for Clearance or HighClear, and what will happen if we refuse the Oath.

“A commitment to the Common Oath grants you the Privileges of Citizenship in the Peaceful Society,” she says. Then she quotes the Universal Accord we all learned in school.

“ Rights shall not be guaranteed, but earned as Privileges through Certification and a Commitment to the Common Oath .”

We’ve all been through Citizen training in school, training for years in nonviolent speech and action, de-escalation, emotional regulation, and conflict resolution. All that’s left for us to become full Citizens is to take the Oath.

The process starts and people are called up one by one. The assistant confers quietly with each new person who enters the little gate and approaches her desk. Then they move to stand before the Guardian, raising their right hand to take the Oath.

Some get directed to the desk on the right, and the Officers take the information of the girls I assume are going up for Clearance. Groups of young women and men file back out the doors we came in, required to make one more stop to get their new SafeGuard on the way out.

Then one boy has a longer conversation with the assistant. He shakes his head, and they talk more. Sweat slides down the side of his forehead. There’s a slight tremor in his hands.

The woman turns and nods to the guards behind her. One of them steps forward and walks with the boy to a door on the left, and they leave without taking the Oath.

Zeph tightens next to me and my eyes flick not to him but back to the guard, the boy I knew from before, standing in uniform.

He’s turned toward us now where we’re sitting.

His eyes return my gaze coolly, flicking between Zeph and me.

I’m sure worry is written all over my face but he doesn’t respond, only glances away, his face blank.

After another span of Oath Takers, another boy refuses the Oath and leaves to the left with a guard.

They get to our school, working their way through the kids in my class until the assistant calls Zeph’s name. I squeeze his hand once, then he pulls it away, walking with slow carefulness to the front of the room. Zeph dips his head down, having the longer conversation that I’ve dreaded.

Like the others, the assistant calls for a guard over her shoulder. My ears ring as the guard I recognize steps forward. He makes eye contact with me, this time with warning in his eyes. He walks casually to Zeph’s side and they turn together, heading to the left.

A cry, a warning, forms in my throat but I swallow it down. I’m being called up right now, right after Zeph, to take my Oath.

I have to wrench my gaze away from the door swinging shut at the side of the courtroom as I push through the gate.

There’s an easy smile on the assistant’s face, and the Security Officers nod to me in recognition of Calista Bloome’s daughter. I quickly confirm I’m going to take the Oath and want to be considered for HighClear training.

With my right hand raised next to my shoulder, I read aloud the words of the Oath.

I am a citizen of the Peaceful Society

I reject violence in all forms

My freedom is a Privilege

My legacy is peace

My voice shakes on the last line as the words sink into me. Everything I fear flashes before my eyes: Zeph committing violence, getting put on probation, drugged and monitored. Or worse, Zeph and the guard committing an attack, people getting hurt or even killed.

The only person here who knows what just happened is me.

I stand, frozen, while the Guardian cocks her head, waiting patiently.

My legacy is peace , I just swore in the Oath. But right now my legacy is not peace. It’s deception, keeping this all a secret when people’s safety and lives could be put at risk by my silence. My grandmother didn’t die for me to cover up for a bunch of rebels, no matter how old our friendship.

“Amity?” she asks curiously, while I stand there, stuck.

“Zeph,” I say, my voice cracking, low. “And the guard. Rebels.”

Her attention sharpens and she leans forward slightly.

“He switched,” I stumble over the words, “he switched his SafeGuard. ”

Now she motions to the seated Officers. They instantly register her concern and stand, their chairs scraping the floor in unison.

The CSOs listen intently as she speaks to them in a low voice. I catch a few words before they move smoothly toward the door on the left, speaking into their SafeGuards, pulling batons off their backs.

There’s no shouting, no noise, only soft commands as the white-clad Officers check the corridor, then move out into the hall.

I’m still standing in front of the Guardian, shocked and worried, my heart refusing to slow down. Then she stands and addresses the room.

“There will be a ten-minute break and then we will resume.”

It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. No one responds to the announcement.

“Amity Bloome,” she says, turning. “You’d better come with me.”