“Nope,” Becky said. “Not in the files. But I’ve been here for a while and I think I know everybody. What’s your question?”

I almost wanted to tell her everything. Looking at her standing there—her smile, her hair, her skin—she was real. And I knew a little about her past. I knew that she’d had her heart broken.

But everything I could say about Becky I could have said about Jane. I’d talked to Jane far more than I’d talked to Becky. Jane had emotions and sadness. I’d kissed her, for crying out loud. If that wasn’t enough to tip me off that she wasn’t real, I don’t know what would have.

“Do you know Rosa?” I finally asked.

Becky looked surprised and a little deflated.

“Yeah,” she said. “I guess.”

“It’s for something Mason and I are doing,” I lied. “You know how I was making that chart of when everyone came to the school?”

“Oh yeah,” she said, lightening a little. “Can’t you just ask her that?”

“She told me. But you know how she is—so quiet. Now I’m trying to figure out more—where she’s from.”

I had meant for this to be easy and quick. I’d hoped that Becky could have just looked in her files and rattled off some quick information and I could be done. But now I felt like I had to soothe Becky’s feelings, for some reason.

She sat up on the edge of the desk and crossed her legs. “I think that she’s from somewhere in the South. I want to say Georgia, but I’m not sure. What’s this project for, anyway?”

“Just curious,” I said. “Boredom, mostly. And I figure that someone ought to be keeping some kind of record of this place, just in case we ever get out of here.”

Becky nodded. “I write in a journal. Every night.”

“Really?” I sat back on the couch.

“Yep. I did before, too. I wish I still had those.”

I was watching her face. She seemed to be deep in thought.

“Where are you from?”

It seemed to shake her back. She sat up a little straighter and looked at me again. “Not far from here. Arizona. Flagstaff.”

“Really? How far away is that?”

“Five or six hours.”

“And you don’t have any friends there? Someone you could contact?”

She laughed softly and shook her head. “I lived with my grandma, on an old ranch. Homeschooled. She died when I was fifteen.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She looked down at her skirt and smoothed it with her hands. “I like that you’re collecting this stuff. When you’re done I’d like to see it. Maybe we’ll have some real records here for once.”

I nodded and smiled. “Sure.” There was so much more I wanted to say. I wanted to trust her. I wished I could.

By the way, Jane was an android.

I stood up to leave but didn’t step toward the door.

Becky watched me expectantly—or was she trying to say something to me? I couldn’t tell. Her eyes looked intense, but distant.

“I’d better go,” I finally said.

She looked into my eyes. “Okay.”

I turned and had almost touched the doorknob when she spoke.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “About Jane. All of us in the Society aren’t like Laura and Dylan.”

A flare of anger sparked, but I tried to keep it down.

Without turning around, I nodded.

“Don’t . . . ,” she began, but stopped. I waited, my hand tightly gripping the doorknob and squeezing it until my knuckles were white. She was still one of them. Anna had become a V. Others had joined Havoc. But Becky was still in the Society.

She stammered out her words. “I’m only trying to . . . I just . . . I just want everyone to be safe.”

“Okay.” I opened the door and left.

For the next few days I tried to find a way to talk to Rosa, but nothing presented itself. We’d stopped eating lunch on the bleachers—it was too cold—and lots of the girls retreated to the dorms to eat, rather than be in the cafeteria.

I was lonely.

Every day was getting worse. I’d spent my entire life without anyone I could talk to—that was normal. I was almost always in a foster home with six or seven other kids—all of whom were as screwed up as I was—and I never stayed longer than a few months. By the time I was twelve or thirteen I’d stopped unpacking my bag altogether. I was never part of a team, never in a study group or a clique. I was always the new guy.

But at Maxfield I’d had friends. I’d had people who talked to me. Jane was a weird case—she’d never actually been my girlfriend, and I’d only known her for a few weeks, but we were definitely friends. We talked all the time. And now she was gone.

She was never real. I don’t know why I had so much trouble remembering that.

My other friends seemed to be drying up, too. The same distrust that was ruining things with Mason had wrecked my friendships with the rest of the V’s. I was just there, in the background.

I missed people. I missed Jane. I missed Mason and Lily. I missed being able to sit in a group and think they were my friends. Now, every time I was in a class or the dorms or the cafeteria I was looking around at the faces. Was that leg movement mechanical? Do people really blink like that? Is she breathing?

I’d spent my whole life alone, but I’d never felt as alone as I did now.

I finally had my chance to seek out Rosa. As we filed out of the classroom, the TV screen in the hallway was running announcements—contracts were going to be renewed that night, so everyone would have the afternoon to finish job responsibilities. When the V’s met, I was once again assigned to garbage duty, but I kept listening when Curtis doled out the assignments. Rosa was sent up to the third floor to fix a broken radiator.

I kept to my routine, starting with the dorms on the fourth floor, with plans to work my way down to the classroom where she was. I wanted it to look normal, not like I was stalking her. As I picked up each garbage bag, I planned what I’d say to her when I got down there.

Unfortunately, Isaiah was in the dorms, too, and as I passed his door he came out to talk.

“Benson,” he said. “Question.”

“What?” I didn’t look back at him but continued with my job, opening each door and taking the trash.

“I heard that you and Mason went to the wall.”

“We did indeed,” I said, dumping a basket into my large can.

“That’s against the rules.”

I glanced at him for a moment and then looked back at my work. “It is not against the rules, actually. I would think that you of all people would know what the rules are.”

“True,” he said. “Going to the wall is not against the rules. Attempting to escape is against the rules, however. And, as you know, the V’s lost the last paintball match and have increased punishments.”

I feigned innocence. “Did I attempt to escape?”

“I think you are, even this very minute. Planning is part of the attempt.”

I pushed the can down the hall to another door. “Then you’d better lock up half the school.” The painful part was that it wasn’t true. Isaiah knew as well as I did that hardly anyone was seriously trying to get out.