This Might Hurt(67)
“Are you a therapist in training, then?” I’ve never seen her so driven, so invested.
Kit shrugs. “I help out where I’m needed. This is not me heading down the path to becoming a licensed psychologist, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“What path are you heading down?” I try to phrase the question with curiosity.
“The path to my Maximized Self. It’s not a career ladder, Nat. Here I don’t need to worry about what I want to be. I don’t have to pick one thing. Your sister is a real renaissance woman.” For the first time she smiles at me.
My sister is a real idiot, I think.
“Are they paying you?”
“They pay me in free classes and housing and food,” Kit says as if she’s won the lottery.
My sister sees no issue with working a full-time job without payment. She doesn’t have reservations about cutting herself off from the real world. She has no intention of leaving Wisewood, possibly ever.
I’m losing her.
Kit pulls herself to standing. “I still have a few things to do for Teacher.”
I glance at the wall clock. “She works you hard.”
“She doesn’t make me do anything. Only I can work the path.”
I quell a violent urge to tear her away from this place, remind myself to keep the peace.
She peers at me. “If there’s nothing else, I better get going.”
I consider telling her right here and now, letting the secret pour out of me. But now that I’m actually staring her in the face, my resolve slips. I can’t turn our first conversation in half a year into one that will destroy her. I’ll tell her in the morning instead, then head back to Rockland.
“I’m so glad you’re okay. Look, I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow. I’ve gotta go back to work.”
“Actually, you’ll have to stay a few days.”
I watch her, questioning.
“A bad storm is coming through, so we’re grounding the Hourglass. It’d be unsafe for you to make the crossing.”
“Oh,” I say, uneasy at the prospect of staying here more than one night. This reunion has been formal and awkward, not at all what I pictured.
“Once the storm passes, Gordon can take you home.” She heads for the door, then turns back. “Why’d you tell him I e-mailed you?”
My mouth dries. “He said he couldn’t put family members in touch with guests. I figured if I said you reached out first, he might help me.”
“So there was no e-mail?”
I hesitate, loath to lie to my sister again, then shake my head anyway.
Kit nods, thinking. “You know, he’s more compassionate than you’d guess, Gordon.” She opens the door. “You should’ve told him the truth.”
28
Kit
TEN WEEKS EARLIER
OCTOBER 2019
I WOKE TO pounding at my door. Groggy, I opened my eyes and flipped the alarm clock toward me. The neon numbers announced it was 3:15 a.m. The person at the door knocked again.
“Kit. Open up.”
I pulled myself out of bed and shuffled to the door, swinging it open. On the other side stood Raeanne, dressed in baggy jeans and a flannel shirt. Her expression was urgent, life-or-death. Anxiety overpowered my drowsiness.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re going to be initiated,” she said, barely able to contain her excitement. When I looked confused, she added, “Into the IC—the Inner Circle.”
“Right now?” My heart pounded. In the middle of the night?
“Everyone’s waiting for you.” She rushed into my room. “Hurry and get dressed.”
“Who’s everyone?” I rubbed my eyes. “What do you mean, initiated?”
She sighed. “Will you get dressed already?”
I went to the bathroom to change into jeans and a sweater. When I came back out, Raeanne was riffling through my desk drawer. She slammed it closed.
“Sorry,” she said guiltily, moving toward the door. “Teacher asked me to search for something.”
“What is it?”
She waved me off. “Never mind. We’ll be late.” She handed me my key card and yanked open the door to a brisk autumn night.
“Have I done something wrong?” I pulled my sweater sleeves so they covered my hands.
“Shhh. You’ll wake gen pop.” Since joining Wisewood’s staff, I had learned that Teacher and my coworkers referred to the guests as “gen pop” behind their backs, short for “general population.” The phrase sounded harmless enough but there was a certain superiority behind it—gen pop were the less committed among us.
Raeanne turned on her heel and took off in a jog. I dashed after her. Wisewood was bathed in midnight blue, peopleless. I glanced at the sky, millions of stars cold and distant.
“Raeanne, what were you looking for?”
She wove among the guesthouses, not slowing. “Teacher has us do routine checks on each other to make sure we’re all following the rules. I’m sure you’ll be searching my stuff in no time.”
Was that supposed to make me feel better? Did it?
I trailed her past the vegetable garden to the hedge on the west side of the island. We stopped at one of the STAFF ONLY doors, and my breath hitched. This was it—I was finally going beyond the wall.