But Bethany wasn’t Carly. And she wouldn’t die like Carly had, deported to an infected homeland she didn’t remember.
She extended her hand. After a moment, Noam took it.
“Noam,” he said. Her grip was surprisingly firm. “Was I supposed to be up early this morning?”
“Free pass, since it’s your first day and all. All you missed was basic—lucky, really.”
She perched on the edge of the chair just across from him, and after a taut moment, the other two took her cue, joining Noam and Bethany at the table.
“This is Taye,” she said, tilting her head toward the tall black boy with a toothpick sticking out of his mouth like a skinny cigarette, “and Ames,” the other white girl, who had flipped out her phone as soon as she sat down and was now furiously tapping out a text. “Ames is a bitch,” Bethany said after a beat; Ames gave them all the finger without lifting her gaze from her phone. Her finger, like most of the rest of her Noam could see, was tattooed.
“It’s nice to meet you, Noam,” Taye said, and he reached past Ames to shake Noam’s hand. “Have you been to aptitude testing yet? I hear you came from outside.”
He saidoutsidelike it meant something, like the world beyond the Level IV program was some foreign place he’d never been. Maybe he hadn’t. Most people who survived the virus were a lot younger than Noam. If Taye came from one of the other programs, promoted into Level IV rather than being assigned to it directly, he might not remember anything else.
“Not yet,” Noam said. “Dr. Howard didn’t mention anything about tests.” Should he be worried? Was this the kind of thing he ought to study for? Or was it just assumed he’dknowall about aptitude testing, the kind of thing he would’ve learned if he’d ever taken a civics class?
“Don’t worry about it,” Bethany said. “It’s not a big deal. You’ll do fine. I mean, if you got sent straight to Level IV, you’ve got to be pretty talented, right?” She glanced at Taye and Ames, as if for confirmation; the latter had finally put down her phone.
“I don’t know about that,” Noam said. “I haven’t even done any magic yet.” Judging by the looks on their faces, that was the wrong thing to say. “Lehrer just showed up in my hospital room and told me I was coming here. Something about my antibody titers.”
“Wait,Minister Lehrersent you?” Taye shot a meaningful look at Ames. “Do you think Dara knows?”
“Don’t think he cares,” Ames said. Still, she fixed Noam with a narrowed gaze. Noam got the abrupt impression he was being observed and summarily analyzed, as if Ames were jury, judge, and executioner of the Level IV social scene. “Where you from, Noam?”
“Here,” Noam said. He gestured vaguely toward the window. “On the west side. Ninth Street.”
“Ooohh, right.” Taye tugged the toothpick free. “That’s super Atlantian territory now, right? I heard it’s pretty overcrowded, with all the refugees.”
“Yeah. I guess it’s”—what the hell was he even saying?—“super Atlantian.”
All of them watched with bated breath, like he was supposed to keep going. Under the table, Noam hooked both ankles round the legs of his chair.
Stay calm. Stay calm.He wouldn’t be able to help Atlantians if he got thrown in jail his first day in Level IV.
“It’s a little crowded,” he added.
That seemed to be what they were waiting for, because Taye nodded knowingly and said, “It was only a matter of time before there was an outbreak.”
Noam’s whole body was on edge, waiting for someone to say it. Someonewasgoing to say it, any second now. Carolinians just couldn’t help themselves—
“Border control is shit,” Ames agreed. She hadn’t stopped watching Noam. “You flood a small neighborhood with a bunch of rednecks who’re probably infected already, and it’s gonna be a shitshow.”
And there it was.
Noam felt a thin layer of frost crystallize under his skin before he even opened his mouth. “How long is the virus incubation period, d’you reckon?” he asked as lightly as he could manage—as if he didn’t know. As if every Atlantian hadn’t learned all too well from the constant fear that seethed in the slums and the refugee camps, the silent and savage knowledge they could be next.
“Twenty-four hours,” Bethany said.
“Ish,” added Taye, but Bethany’s expression had gone oddly still, her hands in loose fists atop the table. She, at least, had cottoned on.
Noam smiled, sickly sweet.
“Wow,” Noam said. “It took my dad way longer than that to get sick after he came here from Atlantia.”
It was worth it just to see the looks on their faces, staring at him like he was the unholy incarnation of Typhoid Mary. Taye’s toothpick hung forgotten in his hand.
Noam propped his elbows on the table, smile widening. Spite tasted like bile in his mouth. “No worries. I survived, so pretty sure I’m not contagious anymore.”
