Boys.

I'm sorry, love, but your brain patterns evolve the best around men— boys.

The woman's words echo through her mind as she walks into the busy cafeteria, a doctor beside her.

"Just get some food, then sit down and make some friends," he assures, even though his tone is far from honestly sweet.

She gives him a glare, as if that will help. Maybe it'll at least let him know she hates him and every other employee from now on.

"Go on," he hints.

Siren had thought she was done feeling scared. She hates the feeling of being scared. Before Amery, she had never really felt it. Not deeply, at least.

Now she's nearly trembling on her feet as she walks through the cafeteria. The food is all the way at the end, against the wall. On a large, rectangular table. Trays with pre-prepared food. Simple but tasty, she hopes.

Dozens of eyes follow her while she takes one of the trays. Maybe if she cuts her hair, she'll look more like a boy? Her hair currently grows past her hips because she didn't allow anyone to cut it for a long, long time.

She likes her hair— no, loves. It's still almost as white as snow, however the roots have began to turn more blonde. It's a bit fuzzy and messy most of the time, but she doesn't mind.

"Hi, dear. Welcome," says the woman behind the table, acting so polite and neat.

Siren neglects her and turns away to find a nice spot to eat. At Jorge, she was usually forced to eat at a table with him and Brenda. Sometimes, she managed to eat elsewhere or not at all. But really only sometimes.

Her eyes catch the open door. She can sneak away. Just sit away from the boys' sight.

So that's what she does. She does her best to look confident as she paces towards the doors: chin high, steps even, face blank.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" The same man stops her from walking out, just when she thought she had it.

"I'm going to eat in the hallway."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes. Let me through."

"This isn't how it works, young lady. You don't have any say in what you do or get. You won't eat in the hallway. You can eat in the corner of the cafeteria, on top of the table, or whatever, but you stay inside the cafeteria."

★

She is allowed to wander around a bit after the meal. It was dinner anyway. They say her classes will begin tomorrow.

Scares her as well. She's not good at writing or reading. She's good at drawing, but that's it. Everything went backwards the previous year. 

"Hey, there."

Siren jumps at the sudden, high-pitched voice, then slowly twirls around.

"You're new," the boy points out. He's not even trying to hide his curiosity as he looks her up and down. His brown hair hits his forehead with every moment and he has to wipe it to the side now and then, revealing a pair of honey eyes. "My name is Thomas."

She doesn't enjoy the way he's looking at her. The way he steps a little too close.

"Are you going to introduce yourself?" He asks patiently.

"Siren," she murmurs.

"Siren," he repeats. "Like a mermaid?"

"They're not the same."

"So like... a second-hand mermaid?"

Her cheeks catch a blush. From all the comments people have thrown at her name before, this one makes her the most embarrassed. "Shut up. I love my name and you don't get to—"

"I didn't say I didn't love it," he defends quickly. "I do love it."

"But you don't know me."

"Doesn't mean I don't get to love your name." Again, he steps a little closer. Almost as if he isn't supposed to be here. As if no one is allowed to hear him speak.

"Thanks, I guess."

"Hey, where are you from?" He changes the subject. "You have an accent."

"Australia."

"Wow! What's it like? I don't really remember being anywhere else, other than here."

"I don't know. I was three when Dad found me."

"Where's your Mom, then?"

"Dead."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that." He looks down with a sad look in his eyes. "My dad threatened my mom and I with a knife. He had the Flare. Got violent. I was crying when they took me here. Five years old."

She hums, interested in knowing the stories but uninterested in carrying more pain. "Did they make you take another name?"

Thomas visibly tenses. "Uh— yeah."

"What was your name before?"

"I'm not allowed to say that," he's speaking fast now. So fast that she barely hears him.

"Why not?"

"They'll do it again— let's move on—"

"Do what again?" She straightens her back, curious.

"No, nothing," he murmurs.

Hesitantly, she forces a smile. "I promise I won't tell anyone else. They won't know that you're telling me your old name. I swear on my life."

He slowly looks up again. "He injected a stimulator. I tried to stick with my real name, but he'd give me pain."

"Torture?"

"Basically," he says, tone low. "I didn't want to be named Thomas. But it was all for nothing in the end. The resistance didn't work."

"What was your name before?"

After he looks around to check if no one's eaves dropping, he leans closer. "Stephen," he whispers. "What was yours?"

"My name has always been Siren. Dad always calls me hermana, though. I don't know what Mom and Daddy called me."

He frowns. "You have two daddies?"

"Dad's not my real dad. His name is Jorge. I always called him by his first name, but now... I don't know, I realized he is my father. He was the one who found me stranded in Australia."

Thomas nods, intrigued. "Okay. How long have you been here?"

"Not long. Maybe a week. And you've been here since you were five?"

He nods again. "How old are you?"

"Ten. And you?"

"Eleven. When's your birthday."

It's as if he stabbed her right there, with the sharpest knife ever. "Birthday?"

"Yeah..." Thomas states slowly. Unsurely. "Everyone has a birthday. They never really celebrate here, but I still cherish it."

"I hate birthdays," she bites out.

Surprised by the—indeed—pure hatred in her voice, Thomas brushes his fingers across her arm. "Why—"

"Hey, arm off. No touch." She pushes him off. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Sorry. Okay, so... I'm not allowed to be in the cafeteria with the others, but my friends are. Want me to introduce—"

"Why aren't you allowed to be there?"

"Teresa and I are never allowed to be anywhere. We go to our room, classes, project, room. I meet up with my friends in a cleaning room."

"That's luxe."

He cracks a smile. "Why are you wandering around here?"

"Why not? I don't like crowds. And boys. Honestly, I don't even know if I like you."

"I'll make you like me. Eventually, you'll grow to love me!"

She scoffs. "Yeah, sure. Also, are you a crackhead? You look a little... dazzled."

"There's a girl that does make me feel a bit dazzled, yeah."

She scoffs another time, rolling her eyes. "Okay." But she can't deny the flip her stomach makes, flattered by one of the few compliments she has ever gotten. One of the few nice things a male has done to her.

"Yeah," he laughs. "Well, Siren, I'll go now, before the doctors kill me. See you!"

"Bye, Thomas," she mutters.