Chapter 17
Veritas
I put my helmet in the shed and go to wait on the back steps of the schoolhouse. I can’t wait to see Thomas again. We only had time to exchange one letter each over the break, and we couldn’t exactly talk about the movement. I’m surprised how often I’ve found myself thinking about him lately. Typically I maintain a sort of safe emotional distance from my boyfriends to keep from giving them my heart so that I don’t get hurt when it ends—and it always ends. But with Thomas. . . .
I hear a rustling in the leaves near the path in the woods where Thomas should be coming any minute. I smile as I look up, but it’s just a squirrel running along the ground.
I glance at the sleeve on my suit and am surprised to see that I’ve been here ten minutes already. It’s not like Thomas to be late. Ten minutes turns into half an hour, and now I’m worried. A thought flashes through my mind that he might be standing me up, that he might not feel the same way about me anymore. But I remember his letter, his kisses, and the look in his eyes the last time we were together. No. I can’t believe I even thought such a thing. It has to be something else.
After grabbing my helmet from the shed, I head back to campus to get to the bottom of it. I have a twinge in the pit of my stomach and try to convince myself that there’s some innocent explanation, but I can’t think of a good one, and the closer I get to his dorm, the worse I feel.
I position myself across the quad from his building and watch the main entrance like a hawk, waiting to see if Thomas’ roommate, Marcus, comes in or out. Somehow I know I won’t see Thomas. After half an hour, I get tired of waiting and decide a more direct form of recon is needed. I tape over my camera, push myself off of the bench I’ve been sitting on, and walk determinedly into Spivey Hall, making my way up the stairs and past Thomas’ room, hoping to get a glimpse of Marcus so I can find out if he knows what’s going on.
I cruise past their dorm room, but all I get to see is a closed door. I can’t risk knocking on it. Even with my helmet camera off, there are still the hall cameras to think about. Instead, I trudge back down to the common area near the stairs, plunk myself down on a couch that faces their hall, grab some stupid fashion magazine off the coffee table and pretend to look at it while I wait for Marcus to show himself.
I’m embarrassed to admit that I’m way too interested in an article called, Ten Signs Your Man is Cheating on You, so much so that I almost miss seeing Marcus because of it. He’s just come from the direction of their room, so he must have been inside the whole time.
I wait five seconds and then follow him down the stairs and out the front doors. When we’re a good distance from any cameras or buildings, I half-jog to catch up to him.
“Hey, aren’t you Marcus?” I ask.
“Hey. Yeah, I am.”
“I’m a friend of Tam’s. We were supposed to meet today to study history, and he didn’t show. I was just wondering if he was sick or something.”
I keep my body positioned so that Marcus’ camera doesn’t pick up my nametag as we walk.
“To be honest, I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since I’ve been back. I was wondering the same thing myself.”
My heart drops to my stomach.
“Oh, okay. I guess I’ll wait for him to return my call then. If you see him, will you tell him that his study partner is looking for him?”
“Yeah, sure thing.”
Now I’m really worried. Maybe Thomas is just sick. Maybe. But I’m not going to wait around to find out. I make my scheduled dead-drop to communicate with Pam, detailing what I know so far about the situation with Thomas, and ask her what can be done to check up on him to see if he’s okay. I scour the internet for any information on anyone here at school or in the town where he lives being picked up for anything to do with the reveal parties or the freedom movement. I come up with nothing.
Two days go by, and I still haven’t heard from Thomas. I’m a mess. I pick up the response from Pam at the next scheduled dead-drop and practically jog to a safe spot where I extract the small roll of paper from the tube and flatten it out to read what she has to say.
I’m sorry to let you know that the subject has been picked up by the police. We have learned that a special court hearing has been scheduled for Monday at 4 p.m. so that the police can request to proceed with phase two interrogation. We have begun to disseminate information to our friends in the community to try and generate public awareness and, hopefully, demonstrations to prevent further interrogations. However, it has been decided by the council that none of us should be directly involved in these efforts as it may jeopardize the cause. Do not attempt to contact the subject directly. I’m sorry. Our prayers are with him.
A drop of water lands on the inside of my viewscreen as I start to cry. I have flashbacks to my mom and what she went through in phase two interrogation and what we lost because of it. Anger begins to well up inside of me, and I crumple up the paper in my fist. I raise my helmet just enough to wipe away the tears from my eyes with the back of my sleeve.
I’m not going to sit by and wait for them to torture him. I’m going to do something. As I’m walking back to my dorm to pack, a plan forms in my mind of exactly what I’m going to do. If Pam is right, we don’t have much time.
