My feet ache as I pound the pavement, trying to go fast but not look suspicious.

I left the underground station a little over an hour ago, having made my decision to get Marcy.

If everything goes perfectly, I should be able to make the round-trip before the orderly's shift is over at five. That gives me just over two more hours.

Hopefully Marcy won't take much convincing.

A tram glides down the center of the boulevard and comes to a stop at the corner. If I picked up my pace, I could hop on and be at the dorms in less than ten minutes.

But I don't dare.

If I use my ID, it will let the authorities know where I am.

The orderly said if I left the station, it would be a death sentence.

But to kill me, the authorities will have to catch me. And I won't let them.

I've walked these streets my whole life. I can do this. I have to do this. Because there is no way that I'm leaving the city without Marcy. At least not without telling her where I am going.

How could I just disappear on her? We've spent every night the past six years sleeping in the same room. She knows all my secrets, and I know all of hers. How she needs three pillows to sleep comfortably, and how she always sneaks candy before bed. I know that she always tries to smile with her lips shut because she hates her crooked teeth, but she's actually the most beautiful when she's laughing hard.

And I know that she thinks she can do everything better than anyone else, and she's usually right.

I just hope I can convince her to come with me. To escape the only place we have ever known for the promise of something better.

I've had plenty of time to think about what I will say to her, how to explain what happened, and how to ask her to come with me. But I can't think of any words that don't sound insane. What's happened feels too outrageous.

Every time I try to imagine how the conversation might go, it seems more and more hopeless. Hey Marcy, you know how all our parents and teachers have taught us that the constitution promises everyone a Choosing Day? Well, it's a lie, and some strangers told me about a place we can run away to.

That doesn't even convince me, and I witnessed everything firsthand.

Lost in my own thoughts, I almost run into an open door ahead of me. I stop short as a large man leaves a take-away restaurant holding a brown bag with grease stains spreading on the bottom. I let him cross my path, and he grunts a thanks. The scent of fried food stabs at my stomach and I realize that, in addition to my feet being sore, I'm also starving.

My last meal was breakfast, and I was so nervous and excited to go to the Choosing Day Center that I barely ate two bites.

Good thing we have a stash of snacks in our dorm room.

Distracted by my growling stomach, I almost step in a pile of dog shit, but I sidestep at the last second. My shoulder bumps into someone, and I turn my head and mutter an apology.

I make eye contact with the person I ran into–a middle-aged woman wearing a floral shirt and khaki blazer–but rather than just nodding and continuing on her way; she squints at me suspiciously.

My heart seizes. Is she an undercover officer? Has she recognized me? Or worse, are they advertising my disappearance on the news?

I pull my hood over my head and hurry along, willing myself to fade into the flow of pedestrian traffic. I have about a mile left on this main road before I turn right and navigate through the campus that surrounds our dorms. As long as I don't see anyone who knows that today is my 20th birthday, things will be fine.

A clock hangs outside of a financial institution. It's six minutes past three. I'm running out of time. I pick up my pace.

As I get closer to campus, the urban density fades away. The sidewalk widens. Buildings are set further back. Trees line the road.

The afternoon fog rolls in off the nearby ocean, offering a blanket of protection.

In a few blocks, I turn off the street and walk through the open quad, ignoring the couples sitting on benches, flirting over hot cups of coffee, and close in on my building.

But as I get closer, I realize I haven't thought about how I am going to get in. I can't use my ID card. And while I've jimmied open the door before, that would be too suspicious to do this in daylight with so many people out and about.

I pause in the shadow of a large cypris and look around. There is a campus security guard stationed not too far away with a walkie talkie in his hand. His eyes keep skimming the path that leads to my dorm building as if he's searching for something. Someone. I also notice a patrol car parked down the road. Its headlights are off, but the silhouette of an officer is in the driver's seat.

A tingle goes down my spine.

My heart pounds in my chest, echoing the anxious thoughts swirling in my head. Of course they've staked out my dorm. How could I be so stupid? I clench my fists, trying to steady my nerves.

Closing my eyes, I try to will Marcy to walk outside. To send her some telepathic message to come hang out in the quad. But it's pointless. She's probably getting her homework done early so she's free tonight for our plans to celebrate.

The minutes slip by, and as the early evening chill sets in I kick myself for not telling the orderly my plans. For not asking him for advice. Maybe he would've offered a solution if I had told him about Marcy. The plastic card is in my pants pocket, but that offers little comfort.

I'm about to give up–I'll barely make it back to the station at this point–when there's a sudden scuff on the ground beside me.

"Hey, what's up, Charlie?" a familiar voice calls.

Startled, I look up, relieved to see Renee, a friendly face from down the hall. My heart still races, but her presence offers a glimmer of hope. She is standing with a backpack slung over one shoulder and her hands in her sweatshirt's front pocket.

I quickly scan the area, making sure the security guard isn't watching us. My voice comes out shaky, but I try to keep it casual, "Oh, nothing much."

"Why are you hiding under a tree?" She laughs, causing her blonde ponytail to swing, unaware of my distress. "Did Marcy kick you out so she could study or something?"

One corner of my lip twitches, and I force a small chuckle. "Nah. Just getting some fresh air."

"It's a nice evening for it." She nods. "Well, guess I'll see you around."

"Actually, wait up," I say, an idea forming. "I should probably head in."

With my hood up, I follow Renee to the dorm building, doing my best to avoid the security guard's gaze. She takes out her ID and taps it against the card reader, opens the door, and holds it for me to follow.

As we step inside, a wave of relief washes over me, like I've dodged a bullet. For now. But the tension lingers, as if at any moment, everything could come crashing down.

"Isn't your Choosing Day coming up soon?" Renee asks as she presses the call button for the elevator, her excitement palpable. It's already on the ground floor and the doors open.

My breath catches again, but I try to hide it.

She steps into the elevator and turns to look at me, waiting for a response.

I exhale slowly, trying to shrug off the paranoia as I follow her into the elevator, careful to keep my face away from the security camera.

"Yeah, day after tomorrow," I lie, reaching forward to press our floor number.

"You're so lucky!" She bumps my arm with her elbow. "I have to wait four more months!"

In less than a minute, the elevator reaches our floor and the doors slide open.

"It will be here before you know it," I say, trying to sound encouraging, my mind preoccupied with what I will say to Marcy. "See you around, Renee."

"See ya," she replies, walking in the opposite direction. I know I might never see her again.

Soon, I'm standing in front of my door. As I rest my hand on the knob, I hesitate, but I can't explain why.

Then, slowly, with trembling fingers, I turn the knob, push the door open, and come face to face with chaos.

The room has been ransacked. Clothes lie scattered on the floor, and a pile of books has been knocked over. Our desk drawers have been pulled out and searched through. The once orderly space is now a mess of disarray.

But, most troubling of all, I don't see Marcy.

Her ID card is lying face-up on the corner of the desk. She'd never willing leave the room without it.

My breath catches as I realize that I might be too late.

Have they taken her?