"Cassidy, would you like to try the problem on the board? You don't need to if you don't want to." The teacher smiled sweetly, as I sighed, standing.

Truthfully, I didn't want to do the problem, and truthfully, I didn't want to be here. I could ask politely not to do it, but people judge. No matter how happy people are, they judge.

I picked up the chalk, trying to steady my hands. Shaky hands points to being nervous, being nervous indicates being sad, and being sad gets you sent away. The glow from my fingers illuminated the chalk dust. No that anyone else could see the pale blue - they were all Happy.

I wrote on the chalk board, feeling eyes on me. I was going to screw it up.  I always screw up because I'm an idiot. I was going to be wrong, and everyone would laugh. I would want to cry - but crying is a sign of being a Sorrow, and showing signs gets you to a 'therapist' as they call them.

"The answer should be the square root of forty four divided by m cubed." I mumbled, setting the chalk down and chiding myself to keep the chin up.

"I'm sorry that's wrong," frowned my teacher, Mrs. Conners. "No worries, you're still learning. If you don't mind, I'd like to speak with you after class."

I headed back to my seat, trying to stay happy, hearing murmering of encouragement from other students.

I sat, staring out the window. A man was standing several meters away, watching. A man doused in Rage red sparks. He could see my blue, he could see my blue and I could see his red. Would he turn me in? No, of course not. He was like me. Right?

I met his eyes. He was short and unshaven. He had a crew cut from what I could see. A black jacket matched his hair and eyes. The Rage outside gave me the creeps.

"Cassidy? Eyes up here please. I hate to be rude, but this is important." Mrs. Conners said, gently tapping the board.

"Sorry." I smilied apologetically, my heart rate bouncing. "Got a little distracted."

"It's alright dear." She smilied.

I loved Mrs. Conners. She was nicer than everyone I knew She had a nice husband too. And of course her old son - Well we don't talk about him much. I don't even remember his name.

"Homework is due Thursday." Mrs. Dinners chirped. "Class dismissed."
I gathered my Things before leaving them behind and walking to Mrs. Conners desk.

After the children filed out, laughing a joking, Mrs. Conners turned to me.

"Cass, I'm worried about you." Mrs. Conners said.

"W-why would you be worried," I said, slightly shocked.

"Cassidy, may I ask you something personal?" She frowned.

"I think so." I nodded. What was she going to ask? This was bad. Every nerve, every cell, and every atom in my body told me to bikt right there. I didn't.

"Can you see the red around the man out there?" She pointed without looking out the window to the Rage.

I gaped. How did she know? Only people who had emotions outweighing their Happiness could see other people's emotergy. If Mrs. Conners could see his color then that made her...

"No, I can't see it." She said as if she were reading my mind. "But you can, can't you?" She asked hopefully, in a shrill, desperate voice.

"Yes." I replied quietly. "I can see it."

"Good, good. We best be off." Mrs. Conners nodded, turning back to her desk and grabbing various papers.

"With all due respect Mrs. Conners, I'm not sure where-" I glanced outside nervously, making sure the Rage was still there. He wasn't.

"No matter, you won't for a while." Mrs. Conners smiled sadly, turning once more to face me.

"W-what do you mean?" A sense of being overwhelmed covered me.

I heard sneakers squeak on the tile. Dread punched me in the stomach and I grimaced.

"She means," drew a voice, "you'll be unconscious most the time." I could hear the eyeroll in the Rage's voice.

My feet flew from under me and my head meet the floor.

"Turn left up here," whispered a coarse voice.

I tried opening my eyes. It was still dark and I could feel cloth itching at my face. I was in a potato sack. Bindings kept me from moving my arms and legs, but I could swivel my neck slightly.

"I know where to drive Slate. I've been here twenty times."

"Sorry Mrs. C." The man muttered. I could hear his bitter tone even over the crunching gravel path. The car hit a bump and the binding pulled painfully against me.

"You think Cass is awake? Do you think she's okay?" Mrs. Conners voice asked. Unlike the Rage's, hers was worried. Worried for me. Why?

"I'm awake," I said before Slate could respond. I felt the confidence shine, even if I was in a bad situation. Just another odd perk.

"Well that answers that," He snorted. I could see red tint the sack as my eyes began to adjust.

"Where are we going? And why are we going there?" I asked, sure my question would hang.

"Down." Slate murmered, slamming his foot onto the breaks. The car lurched forwards and my head bumped hard plastic.

I could feel the downwards sensation as the car descended. Creaking and groaning gears seemed to thunder in my head.

I heard two doors open and slam. Heavier breathing and harsh hands told me it was Slate who pulled me out of the car. The sack was pulled from my head, messing up my him hair.

"Nice to meet ya. I'm Slate." He muttered.

"Cassidy." I replied sticking out a hand.

After being in the dark and stepping into the light, my eyes had to adjust again. Slate was tallist, but had a young face. Maybe seventeen. He had dark skin and merciless eyes that made me flinch. His chin and nose seemed to point in crooked shapes. State's gaze could cut through the slthickest metal.

"Well if you're done staring at me, let's go. We don't have all day." He hissed, marching away.

I followed him with Mrs. Conners on my tail. We exited the cramped room where the car was parked - an old Ford pickup.

It seemed we were in a shambly looking war room. A large oak desk sat in the middle, with an asortment of chair surrounding it. Another door was imbeded in the other wall. Maps and charts had been nailed into sheet rock.

"You might want to sit." Slate said, sitting himself at the head of the table.

I hesitated, remembering how it could be rude to sit while grown ups stand. Mrs. Conners recognized my reluctance and sat next to Slate. I conplied, taking a seat in a rickety office chair.

"You're a Sorrow." Slate stated, eyes boring into me.

I nodded, taken aback by how straight forwards he was.

"And you can see that I'm a Rage." He said, glancing at Mrs. Conners. "And that she is not."

"Yeah. I mean yes." My wobbly voice choked out. I hated myself for how shy I was. Why did I have to be such an idiot?

"Did you know my son?" Mrs. Conners asked suddenly. I saw a look of disproval on Slates face, followed by one of pity. He didn't speak. "My boy, Owen? Did you know him? He was a Rage and they took him - they took him from me." She rambled, tears falling.

"Mrs. Conners, please-" Slate tried to say.

"My boy, did you know him? I couldn't let them take you. You his it well Cassidy, but they always find out. Always." She started sobbing.

"Gwen, please. We need to explain this to her."

Mrs. Conners nodded, twirling her fingers in the table and looking into this distance.

"Now, as I was saying." Slate cleared his throat. "You have a genetic disorder. In some cases it can be an enviormental disorder, but for you, it's genetic. Out government, they label people like you insane."

"Insane? I'm just not as happy as other, that's all." I ftowned, offended by his choice of wording.

"Not to them. Your Sorrow out weighs your Hapiness. That should mean you would go to a therapist, as you don't have any Violence in you. People who have Violence go to the Insane House." His voice was full of hatred when he muttered the name.

"The Insane House? Where people disappear to? Where Owen... Disappeared to?" I asked, glancing at Mrs. C, who was still lost in her own world.

"Yes. They treat the people there like animals. Forcing them to do physcotic evaluations, physical evaluations. They live in cells, standing up Cass. Standing up." He grit his teeth, but continued. "And it's wrong. People don't come back from there, ever."

I took a moment to think. Of what Slate had said was true, if the people were really treated like that...

The only reason I ever avoided being caught was because I didn't want to leave my family. The stakes seemed to be much higher. And Slate was right - humans were not made to be treated like that just because they have negative emotions.

"What do you want me to do about it?" I asked after a while, fogetting about my stutter and lack of confidence.

"Not much for now. Train. Learn. But eventually, you need to sneak into the Insane House. We're going to revolt." He breathed, red flares dimming as his excitment grew.

Who loves Slate? I live Slate ain't he cool, he's so cool. I'm kidding. He's a weirdo. But hey, I'm weird and I'm still super duper cool.

Depending on your definition of cool. Does that mean staying up all night to learn new skills and impressing everyone, or naturally being relaxed and "chill"? I'd don't know. I ask too many questions. Guitar is a sport.