I'm running so fast I feel like my feet are barely touching the white tiles of the floor. I'm running so fast the lights above me flash by like headlights of the automobiles in the old movies my parents kept. Movies as old as these were outlawed. The government explained it was because they reminisced us about old times best forgotten. These old movies had been passed down through my family for a few generations. My parents believed that the times before the Revolution must not be forsaken.

I sense something new. I am not alone. I am being followed. No. I am being chased. By a crowd of white uniform-clad Orphan Welfare officers, guns strapped to their belts. I run faster, but I can feel my feet being slowed down. Almost as if I am attempting to walk through tar. The officers are gaining on me. Every time I try to go faster my efforts are in vain, as they only make me go slower. I feel the space enclosing between us. I give every last ounce of energy I have. My feet ache. My lungs feel as though they are engulfed in flames. I feel hands with tight grips enclose on my arms.

A loud bell wakes me from my extremely troubled slumber. Either that or the moaning of the air conditioning system. I sit bolt upright in bed. My entire body is drenched in sweat. What an awful dream. I check the vintage-looking digital alarm clock on the table beside my bed. It reads 6:30 pm. It must be the dinner bell. I decide to change out of the cream-coloured t-shirt, denim jacket, track pants, and worn-out running shoes I had worn for the last month. Every month I would either jump in a lake (with my clothes on) or steal new clothes.

I open the top drawer of the dresser pushed against the wall beside the door. It is labeled "training & leisure wear". Inside it are eight different tank tops, nicely folded and stacked, two olive green, two black, two light gray, and two lighter gray. For each colour, one of them is regular length, one of them is slightly cropped, looking like it might reach just above my belly button.

On the other side of the drawer, there are eight different pairs of pants (I have no idea what's with the obsession). Four are cargo pants, two are black, two are camo patterned. One of each colour are skinny with the cuffs rolled up and fastened to mid-shin level. The other four are flexible skinny jeans. With the same colours and styles as the cargo pants.

I grab a cropped olive tank top and a pair of full-length camo skinny jeans. I put on fresh undergarments (compliments of the bottom drawer), and pull the (extremely tight, good thing I'm small) shirt and pants on. I lace up a pair of black combat boots and pull my hair into a ponytail. I start to head to the door. I still smell awful, but people will just have to understand. Or deal with it. Either one.

I pull open the door and discover myself face-to-face with Dakota. We are completely silent. I can hear both of our hearts beating fast. He leans in. Is he about to kiss me?

His face comes so close to mine and then he says, "You really got settled in, didn't you?"

Damn.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I cross my arms defensively.

"Your bed's not made," He wears a shocked expression. "Anyway, I thought I would come get you and take you to the dining hall. It's a lot of turns."

"Thank you," I say.

And we start walking down the hall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dining hall looks different when it's full of people. And it's much louder, too. I have never liked crowds. They remind me of my parents' execution. I stand in the doorway, my feet glued to the floor, unable to move as the flashback starts. I squeeze my eyes shut.

People are screaming. My Mom whispers in my ear, telling me it's okay. My dad cries for the first time. So does my brother. Apollo pulls me back, as I have tried to run after Mom and Dad. I thrash so violently that Apollo has to hold me on the ground. The "crime" they had committed was too awful for a private deadly injection. They had been sentenced to public hanging. Slow, ugly, and humiliating. This will not be my parents' legacy. They deserve better. I let out a final scream just as the executioner pulls the lever on the gallows platform.

Dakota places a hand on my back reassuringly. Oh, right. He's still here. I'm back outside the dining hall of the Underground. He gives me a little nudge and walks with me through the middle - yes the very middle - of the hall. And one of my worst fears comes true. All conversation stops, and all eyes are on me. I can't breathe. Dakota looks at me, not with sympathy or annoyance, but with genuine fear.

I can't stand this. Everyone looks at me like I'm not human. It's not fair. I didn't choose to have the gift. I'm angry now. I shouldn't have to go through this.

"Oh just so you all know," I yell so my voice is audible to everyone in the hall. "I'm the one who can throw a truck without lifting a finger. Just in case anyone hasn't heard, but I doubt anyone hasn't."

All jaws in the dining hall drop, nearly hitting the cement floor. Except for one. A certain boy is smiling a cocky smile. I look into his eyes. I have always been able to read people through their eyes. Behind this certain boy's eyes is recklessness and a thirst for danger. But also loneliness and fear. Not the fear of spiders, enclosed spaces, or the dark. It's the fear of losing something, but I can't detect what. I don't think he even knows what. I know this boy.

It's Gabriel.

I avert my eyes and look around the room.

"Well," I say, opening my arms. "What the hell are all of you looking at? As you were."

Dakota places his hand on my back again and leads me to the table where Gabriel sits as the chatter starts up again. Dakota situates me three seats down and on the other side of the table from Gabriel. He is talking to the person directly across from him.

"I'll go get you some food," Dakota says, getting up from the table and walking to the opening where the metal separator once had been. It now hosts many metal food tubs and stacks of bowls, plates, and cutlery.

"So, Cassiopeia," A voice calls out. I look in the direction it came from, only to see that it was Gabriel.

"I go by Cass," I have to nearly yell due to the noise and his distance from me.

"So, Cass," He says, that cocky smirk spread across his face. "It must be awesome."

"What must be awesome?"

"Oh, you know," His eyes wear an amused look. "No parents."

I close my hand into a fist and squeeze my eyes shut to prevent tears.

"No one telling you what to do, no responsibilities, no excruciatingly irritating nagging."

Dakota comes back to the table with a plate of mashed potatoes and creamy gravy, little peas, and two slices of ham.

"Here you go," Dakota says, sitting down. "You haven't tasted good mashed potatoes until you've tasted-"

He stops speaking and looks from Gabriel, to me, and back. He must see the murderous look I'm giving Gabriel, because he scoots a little bit farther away from me and says, "I'm interrupting something, aren't I?"

"Yep, little bit," I say through gritted teeth, my gaze not leaving Gabriel.

Dakota looks down at his feet.

I take a deep breath. "Gabriel-"

"I go by Gabe," He says, the smile on his face growing even bigger. The guy across from him starts laughing.

"Gabe," I say, clenching my teeth together even tighter. I breathe in, calming myself down, and let it out. "I can see why you feel the need to taunt people."

Gabe readjusts his posture, looking interested. "And why is that?"

"Well, it could be one or more of three reasons," I say, imitating his cocky voice and smile. "Reason number one: you're just a jerk, and you can't help it. Reason number two: you try to cover up your insecurities by making other people feel as bad, or worse than, you. Because you're just a scared little girl who can't face her own problems. And you need people to think you're all tough and cool. But you're not. You're always terrified. Of everything."

Gabe's smirk has faded. There is a hint of anger in his eyes, and a hint of sadness, but there is mostly fear. That brings a smile to my face.

"Reason three," I say, ready to move in for the kill. "You're going through puberty. And your hormones are going a little bit crazy. That's probably also the reason for your hilarious voice cracks, too."

Rage flashes across his eyes.

Everyone near us struggles to hold in laughter.

"Yep, I think it's all three of them," I say. "There are probably books you can read for more information. If you can read all of the big boy words. I used to have trouble with big words too. And then...I turned eight."

Everyone howls with laughter. Except for Gabe. He looks like he's seriously considering the wondrous benefits of strangling me.

I smile and take a bite of the mashed potatoes. They are so fluffy and delicious, they melt on my tongue. "I'm still tired. I think I'm gonna go to bed. Goodnight everyone. Gabe, there are plenty of people to help you wipe your face once you're done. They'll take good care of you."

I start to walk away when I hear Gabe's voice behind me. "Wait up a sec, Cass."

I ignore him and keep walking.

Gabe doesn't give up. "Hey, I'm talking to you."

He catches up to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. I shrug his hand off, but he only puts it back on my shoulder. I whirl around and swing my fist right into his left cheekbone. He cries out and backs away from me.

"Remember that?" I taunt. "Don't ever touch me again, do you understand?"

He nods.

"Good," Angrily, I exit the dining hall.