I stood to look. My school uniforms—seven sets of white shirts, red sweaters, and black pants—were all neatly hung. Below them on the floor were shoes and socks, and a bag of school supplies—pads, pencils, and a very small notebook computer, about the size of a paperback.

“Did someone bring them in during the night?”

“No,” Mason said, pulling a shirt down from his side. “This is how we get the stuff we buy with points. I’m not sure how it works. At night we lock the closet, and in the morning the new stuff is in there. It’s some kind of elevator.”

I walked to the closet and inspected the edges, trying to figure out how it moved. “I was awake all night, I think. I didn’t hear it.”

Mason shrugged. “You can hear it in other rooms. Ours just isn’t as squeaky as some.”

I took a shirt from the hanger. I wanted a shower, but didn’t really want to deal with a communal bathroom right now.

Mason talked as he dressed. “Some kid, like, a year ago, tried to stay in the closet all night. They must have seen him on the cameras because the closet never moved until he got out. He’d try all kinds of things—waiting until the room was totally dark and sneaking in, or having someone stand in front of the camera while he hid.”

I took off my T-shirt and pulled on the uniform. It was heavily starched and stiff.

“They watch us pretty close, huh?”

“Yes, they do,” he said. “That’s why we do dumb stuff like wear these uniforms. Leaving the dorm without your uniform is against the rules. Not going to class is against the rules. Not shaving is against the rules. Everything is.”

I had to get Mason to help me with the tie—I’d never tied one before. He said that was pretty normal for the new guys.

Mason seemed pretty even-tempered. He was a V but didn’t have the same drive I did to get out. I had to wonder if he’d joined the Variants simply because he wasn’t passionate enough to be Society or Havoc.

We skipped going down to breakfast on Mason’s recommendation. He said it might be better if we waited until class to leave the dorms, just to be sure Oakland was already gone. That was fine with me.

Instead, Mason had a box of snack food that he’d bought with points, and he quickly downed a couple of granola bars. He offered me one, but I refused. He’d probably had to go to a lot of trouble to earn the points for the bars, and I didn’t want to owe anything to anyone.

At eight o’clock, as guys were trickling back from the cafeteria, there was a loud chime from the hallway.

“You’re going to love this,” Mason said with a smile as we walked toward the door.

A few of the guys had gathered around a flat-panel TV screen that was mounted on the wall. A man sat behind a desk. He was older—maybe late fifties, I guessed—but his face was lean and muscular. His eyes were cold and dark, and he looked directly into the camera. It felt like he was staring right at me.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Curtis. “Meet Iceman.”

The man flinched slightly, his eyes flicking from the camera for an instant before looking back at me.

“Students,” he said, his voice sharp and dry. “Another disobedient new arrival day. There were several instances of fighting in the boys’ dormitory, and you can be assured that punishments will be assigned during class this morning. But more disturbing is the continued actions of Curtis Shaw and Caroline Flynn. While their actions do not constitute a legitimate escape attempt, and they will therefore not receive detention, their repeated disregard for the rules will not be tolerated.”

I glanced at Curtis. He still grinned, but the humor was gone from his eyes.

“In class today, you will receive punishments that will . . .” Iceman paused and almost smiled. “. . . encourage you to be more obedient in the future.”

He stared into the camera for a moment more, and then the screen flickered to blue and the day’s schedule appeared.

At five minutes to nine we left the dorm and headed for class. As we walked downstairs I was amazed at how few people we passed. Most of the rooms were empty, and the halls could have fit a lot more students than I saw.

“This place is huge,” I said to Mason. “How many kids are here?”

“Not that many. It’s mostly empty.”

“A hundred? Two hundred?”

“No, not even that many. I think, including you, we’re at something like seventy-four.”

I nodded, but was surprised. I would have expected a lot more in a school this size. Maybe it was easier to control us if the group was small. Or maybe more were on the way.

The classroom was a little tight for the twenty-five of us in there, but it still looked nicer than any schoolroom I’d ever been in. The floors were wood, polished to a glassy shine. The walls were dark-stained wood, and at the front of the room a wide flat-screen TV was mounted instead of a chalkboard.

Mason took a seat next to the wall, and I sat beside him. It was obvious that the gangs stuck with their own even in class. The Society, recognizable by their immaculate uniforms, hair, and faces, took the front two rows of desks. Havoc was at the back, their uniforms augmented with flashy jewelry and drawn-on tattoos. There weren’t any other V’s in the room yet, but from what I’d seen we didn’t try to dress like one another, the way the other gangs did. I guess that made sense for Variants.

“Are you and I really supposed to be in the same class?” I asked. Mason had to have been at least two years younger than I was.

He laughed, tapping absently on his desk as the other students were wandering in. “There’s no freshman, sophomore, junior stuff here. You just go to class. Oh, and the best part—no grades.”

“But there are tests, right? Becky said that.”

“Sure,” Mason said, raising his hand and waving someone over. “But we never see the scores. We never get a report card.”

“Then why does anyone even bother?”

“Points,” he said. “Points and punishments. That’s what makes the school go round. Speaking of . . . ,” Mason said, nodding toward the door.

I looked up to see three girls enter. Becky was in the lead, laughing at something. She scanned the room and when our eyes met she gave me a small wave and smile.

She and her friends sat in the front row, close to the door. I was about to ask Mason about her, but a half dozen more people poured through the door and Mason tapped me on the shoulder and pointed.

“V’s,” he said.

Two girls took the desks in front of me and Mason. They immediately turned and began to talk.

“Did you really get in a fight with Oakland?” the girl in front of me asked. She had big green eyes and red hair that was almost as bright as her sweater.

I nodded and pointed at my lip, which was still a little swollen. “I’ll try not to do it again.”

“Why?” she said with a laugh. “I hope you do. I hope I’m there to see it next time. I’m Jane. And that’s Lily.”

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Benson.”

Jane’s eyes narrowed, but the grin never faded from her face. “That’s a weird name. Who are you named after?”

I shrugged. “No idea.”

“Well, Benson, I’m glad you picked the V’s. We’re not very big, and we need everyone we can get.”