The Boarding School Experiment by Emily Evans Page B

the card around, trying to make solid contact. The light changed to green and a metallic click released the lock. We slipped inside. The room had an unused air. Plastic sheets covered the carpet, crinkling under our feet. I could see no visible purpose to the room: no equipment, no desks. We checked for staff and eased back out. Ahead of us, closed door after closed door lined the hallway, each one barred by a sensor panel.
    I desperately wanted to peek in and find out what they hid, but who knew when we’d be caught. If this was our best chance to see Geneva, we had to make it count. We slipped down the hall, hugging the wall to stay off the runner. Anytime we crossed it, no matter how softly I stepped, the plastic gathered and crunched. I flinched with each sound, and tried to make my strides longer, to match Thane’s.
    We reached the intersection and froze at the blur of movement. Thane pointed. A mirror hung in the ceiling, showing both sections of the corridor. No one was coming. The flash I’d seen was our reflection. I rose from the crouch I hadn’t realized I’d sunken into and followed Thane around the corner. The carpet here was uncovered. We were getting closer. A door stood ajar five feet ahead, revealing a room with a large conference table surrounded by empty chairs. Hugging the wall, we moved further down. To our right was more carpet and to the left, tile.
    “Tile,” I said, barely above my breath. Thane lowered so his ear was closer to my mouth. “They wouldn’t carpet a clinic. Too messy. And there was tile under our feet when we came in from the hike.”
    He nodded. The further we walked, the heavier the medicinal odor grew. A heart rate monitor beeped. The mechanical rhythm was slower than my own thumping heart.
    I swallowed and looked into the room. Coordinator Steele lay in a bed with her eyes closed, hooked up to all kinds of machinery. The top of her head was wrapped in a bandage. She appeared not ashen or jaundiced but actually green-tinged. On top of that, her skin had the oily sheen of an acne commercial.
    “I told her not to eat those berries,” Thane said, his voice quiet. “You never eat white berries in Alaska.” His voice didn’t hold pity as he turned away.
    One door over, we heard more beeps. Dad’s room had sounded the same after the accident. My muscles relaxed. The sound meant life. I stared at the entryway, and stiffened again, suddenly not wanting to go in. I didn’t want to see the other side, my friend in pain.
    Thane had no such hesitation.
    Geneva lay still, covered in bandages, but her dark eyes were open and they locked onto us with recognition.
    “Hey,” I said softly and moved to her side. “We’re not supposed to be in here, but I wanted to check on you, find out if you needed anything.”
    “And that you were still alive,” Thane said.
    I refrained from kicking him.
    Geneva swallowed and her voice came out in a hoarse rasp. “No, it’s okay. Got me pumped full of pain meds, so mostly sleeping.” She looked at the door. “Everyone else okay?”’
    “Yeah. They aren’t allowing visitors. So we had to sneak.”
    Geneva nodded, and raised her bandage-covered hand an inch before letting it fall to the white sheet. “This is real, but I’ll heal.”
    Relief washed over me, and I grinned. Outside the room, wheels squeaked on the tile floor. “Okay, feel better, we gotta run.”
    “Okay,” Geneva’s eyelids flickered lower. All in all, she seemed better than the coordinator.
    I peered out and up, checking the hallway for mirrors, but there weren’t any. I couldn’t spot the source of the noise. I darted into the hall, heading for the unoccupied carpeted area. Thane sprinted too, pacing me, not pausing, racing to beat the sound of wheels on tile.
    We reached the utility room, and I slid inside and took a breath, palm to thumping heart. The vent seemed higher. Getting up would be harder.
    Thane didn’t give me time to think. He grabbed some boxes and