Chapter 2

“HOW MANY OF YOU HAVE heard of The Program?” the austere woman at the front of the room asks.

“The Program is real?” someone whispers—an echo of my own thoughts. The Program is an urban legend, a myth of bogeyman proportions that we tell each other around campfires and at sleepovers. No one actually knows anyone who’s been through The Program. No one even really knows what it is. Or that it’s actually anything more than a ghost story. All down the line, tentative hands go up. I keep mine at my side, partly because I don’t have any worthwhile knowledge of The Program, but also because my arms ache from being tied behind my back for eleven million hours. I shift onto the balls of my feet and back again, trying to stretch my calves so I can stay upright.

“Good. And how many of you actually know what The Program is?”

This time, only three people raise their hands. A cheerleader type near the door, a boy a few spots down from me, and the guy in his underwear holding down the other end of the line. Part of me wants to avert my gaze because of his state of undress, but my eyes linger on him the longest because of the attitude he’s displaying. He’s well over six feet and runner lean. His dark hair is cropped short, military style, and the expression on his too-handsome face is neutral, unsurprised. He knew this was coming. Even if they did manage to nab him in his drawers.

Wish someone had given me a heads up.

“Good. You three already have the advantage. The rest of you will have some catching up to do.” She looks us each over again, but this time with a scowl, like she’s disappointed in what she sees. “I’m Wraith. I will be your instructor. One of four. Ruger, Sever, and Matrix.” She waves a hand toward two men and then a woman who have moved from behind us—now that everyone is unbound—to stand at her sides. They each wear matching monochrome-black ensembles and expressions that clearly say, “Don’t mess with me.”

Message received.

“Who are you guys? CIA, FBI?” the boy next to the mostly naked guy calls out.

Wraith turns only her head in a move that’s more horror-movie villain than secret agent. “Who we are is classified. Information will only be given to you on a need-to-know basis, and all you need to know right now is that we own you. No one knows where you are or what has happened to you.” And it’s possible they will never find you. She doesn’t have to say it. Her threat is implied, but it’s loud and clear.

The boy drops his challenging gaze to the floor, and his shoulders slump.

“The Program,” Wraith continues in a booming voice, “is a top-secret training program designed to recruit the best and brightest for the purposes of intelligence and counter-terrorism. You sorry bunch are this year’s recruits. You will spend the next six weeks living together, training together, and failing together. Look around you.”

Six weeks? My mother doesn’t even know I’m gone. What about school? My friends? A shower? Right now, I’d settle for just being able to sit down.

This isn’t your everyday run-of-the-mill abduction. This is government sanctioned. It feels like a betrayal. I don’t lean out of line to look at the others, but several of my fellow recruits do, including the mousy girl to my left. She leans so far out of line, she tips and starts to fall with a tiny squeak. Before I can move, the guy on the other side of her reaches down and steadies her with a hand on her shoulder. She looks up at him gratefully, but he’s not even looking at her. He stares straight into the mirror, straight at me. I shrug off the intensity of his gaze and focus instead on absorbing the information Wraith is throwing at us.

“Six weeks from now, only six of you will remain. If you want to be one of those six, you will need to train harder, learn faster, be better than the rest. Each of you were chosen because you have a special skill, and you have been assigned code names accordingly.”

Great, my code name is going to be Sarcasm.

As Wraith speaks, she stands firm in the center of the room, her cohorts flanking her, arms behind their backs and legs shoulder width apart in what I assume is a military “at ease” position. The robotic nature of their stance and movements is unnerving. Even her voice is emotionless as she continues to address us. “To be successful in The Program, you will need to not only hone your own skill, but also learn the skills of those around you. You will need to be the best at not just what you do, but also what everyone else does.”

Here’s hoping my special skill is learning other people’s super-secret special skills. But do I really want to win the day in a government training program designed to… well, I don’t really know what The Program is designed to train us for. Intelligence and counter terrorism Wraith had said, but what does that even mean? I’m not about to ask. I learned my lesson vicariously through the mouthy guy next to Underpants. Wraith has the air of someone who would sooner put a bullet between my eyes than answer a stupid question. And I have no doubt all four of these instructors are packing.

“For the next six weeks, you will be divided into two teams. After that, it’s anybody’s game. You will compete, both as teams and individually, for the privilege to remain in The Program. Instructors Sever and Matrix will be your team captains. Teams have already been assigned.” She emphasizes her announcement by holding up two tablets and handing one to Sever and the other to Matrix. “You’ll be given your code names and shown to your rooms. Anyone caught revealing their real name will be penalized. Your code name is your new identity. Who you were before no longer exists. Rest up, because you will be expected to be back in this room at 0600 to begin training.” When she finishes speaking, she turns on her heel and marches from the room. Clearly, there will be no Q&A session.

“There are more of us than there are of them. We could probably take ‘em.” The boy next to me is hatching a plan, and the idea is contagious, taking root in my brain with little tendrils of hope. Until I survey our group. Half of us are barefoot, and almost as many are in pajamas of some sort. What are a bunch of barely dressed teens going to do to four armed, and likely lethally trained government operatives?

“No thanks.” My money’s on Wraith and company.

Sever steps into the spot Wraith just vacated and clears his throat. He is softer looking than Wraith, and possibly shorter, too. Though his muscles are bigger. Massive really. He could probably snap my neck with one hand tied behind his back. “When I point to you, I want you to take two steps forward and wait for further instruction. Clear?” His voice doesn’t carry as well as Wraith’s, but his ability to imply a threat does.

I send up a silent prayer that I’m not assigned to his team.

He starts with Underpants. “Maverick,” Sever calls him. I like Underpants better. Maverick steps out of line two paces, crosses his arms over his chest, and waits. Sever moves on down the row, selecting people the exact same way.

“Ammo.”

A girl two spots down steps out.

“Sim.”

The girl right next to Ammo.

“Houdini.”

A lanky boy with a narrow face that kind of reminds me of a weasel.

“Shadow. Figment.” Two boys side by side. With each new name he calls, with each person closer to me he gets, my pulse races that much faster.

“Havoc and Hazzard,” Sever says the names together and points to a boy and a girl who are most likely twins. The family resemblance is obvious even from my bad angle and only a reflection to view. Matching coppery hair, patrician noses, and unreadable expressions. They step out in unison. He’s two people away from me now. I take a shaky breath and hold it.

Then he points at me. “Infinity.” Shoot. Clearly, I’m on a lucky streak tonight.

And what kind of a code name is Infinity? With that as my clue, I’m not even going to be able to figure out what my own super awesome skill is, let alone anyone else’s. I step out carefully, trying my best to hide the fact that my legs are shaking. I mimic Maverick’s cavalier pose with my arms crossed over my chest and what I hope is a completely disinterested look on my face.

Sever doesn’t seem to notice my nerves and continues through the line.

“Bug.”

I picture someone small and pest-like, but a giant of a boy steps out of line. His fist is easily the size of my face. He could probably squish me like a bug.

“Prodigy.”

Prodigy is definitely too young to be here. He can’t be a day over fourteen, which right now, feels a million years younger than my seventeen. He’s small and wiry, with wire-rimmed glasses and a mop of shaggy brown hair. He looks just as terrified as I am.

“Vita. Legacy.” Two girls step out of line, the last one being the cheerleader who already had the dish about The Program. Two of the three people who knew about this little shindig beforehand are on my team. Maybe I can get them to share some of that insider info.

“All right, recruits. Follow me. Let’s go see your new home for the next six weeks.” Sever makes the announcement like it’s supposed to be the most exciting thing to happen to us today. Because being abducted, forced to participate in a top-secret government training program, and given the stupidest code name in the history of code names isn’t exciting enough. I bite my lip against the urge to scoff and fall into step behind Bug on his way to the door. Time to get the tour of my new home.

Sever leads us out of the room and into the long front hall of a two-story house. A flight of stairs stretches from the other end of the hall, near the front door, to a landing above our heads. “You are Team Sever. Don’t bother trying to think of a better team name. That one’s permanent until the teams are disbanded in week four. This is the main house. It’s where you will work and train.” He pauses to open the front door and ushers us out onto a surprisingly cozy front porch. The house we’re exiting is flanked by matching houses on either side.

The paint is fresh and crisp, the lawns are perfectly manicured. Three identical American flags even fly from the post to the right of the stairs leading up to each front porch. It’s the quintessential, all-American neighborhood. Except that it’s not. These three houses are the only ones on the street. The only ones anywhere in sight, in fact. Whoever runs this program has gone through all the trouble of creating a miniature neighborhood, comprised of three brand-spanking-new houses and nothing more. Nowhere to run to for help.

Sever marches down the steps to a walkway leading out to the street and heads to the house on the left. “Team Sever, you will be sleeping in Cottage A.” Team Sever; Cottage A. Such original names. But it’s still better than Infinity. What could my special skill possibly be? The length of time I can hold a grudge? My limitless supply of snark? My penchant for circular reasoning? Or, maybe my name is a reference to how I used to sing that never-ending song from that old show with the lamb puppet when I was little. These people really did their homework.

No one speaks as we follow Sever to Cottage A and wait while he punches a code into the electronic keypad where the doorknob should be. The door swings open, and he steps aside so we can file in.

Inside, Cottage A is an exact replica of the main house. Dark wood flooring, pristine white paneling halfway up the walls, neutral paint on the upper half. A crystal chandelier hangs from the impossibly high ceiling, and a set of white-banistered stairs climbs to a landing overlooking the foyer. Off to either side are a dining room and a living room, respectively. The décor in those rooms is the same: dark wood, white paneling, neutral paint.

I’m no expert, but aren’t kidnappers supposed to take you places that aren’t a major upgrade from where they took you from? This place makes my house look like a run-down shack.

“Common areas are down here: living room, dining room, kitchen, and at the back,” he points to the room behind the stairs that is the gym in the main house, “is a game room. Upstairs are the sleeping quarters.”

A game room? Are these people for real?

“You mean, the bedrooms?” a boy—I think Sever called him Shadow—asks with a snicker.

Sever levels him with a glare so murderous, I’m surprised the boy doesn’t spontaneously combust on the spot. He bites his lip and loses the smirk immediately, but it isn’t until he drops his gaze in submission that Sever continues on as if Shadow never spoke in the first place.

“This way, recruits.” He leads us up the stairs. At the top, the landing stretches into a hallway on either side. He takes us down the one to the left and stops in front of the first doors. “Boys are on this side. Girls on that one. There are four bedrooms on each side, already assigned. So, don’t try to pick your room. Maverick and Prodigy, you’re in room one. Houdini and Figment, you’re in two…”

And here I stop listening while he spouts the guys’ room assignments. This whole thing is insane and only getting worse. Am I being tested, Lord? I mean, besides the obvious training-program-designed-to-test-you-thing. Is me being chosen for this a test, like of my faith? I send my thoughts heavenward, but feel a little flutter of doubt. What if I fail this test of faith? I haven’t even been here one day and I’m already on the verge of ‘Are you there, God?’

Then it’s our turn. The guys all file into their respective rooms, two by two like good little ants. And Sever takes the rest of us over to the girls’ side. “Infinity and Sim, you’re bunking in room five.” He points toward the door closest to the stairs, and I step inside. A tall, purple-haired girl in a skull-print pajama set follows me in, and the rest of the group moves farther down the hall. Sever’s voice is still audible as he shows the other girls their rooms, but I tune him out to survey my new bedroom. Two single beds are pushed up against opposite walls with a desk between them. A tall dresser stands at the end of each bed. A doorless opening on one side of the room leads to a small walk-in closet, and through an open doorway next to it, I spot a bathroom.

I look longingly into the bathroom and think about a shower. As much as I’m freaked out by this whole situation, I’m wearing hours—and an entire kidnapping’s worth—of dirt and abrasions. My new roomie, Sim, has already taken over one of the beds and is staring intently out the window behind the desk, unbothered by the dirt smudged across her toes and rimming the soles of her feet.

“Do you think it opens?” she whispers.

Dear God, I hope so.

I listen for Sever’s location before I answer. His voice is fainter now, likely placing him at the end of the hall. So, I whisper, “Try it. I’ll keep a lookout.” I move to the door as Sim leaps for the window. I lean against the doorframe and look out, trying to effect a casual air. I don’t want to let on what I’m actually doing. He’s busy droning on in answer to some question one of the last two remaining girls asked.

Sim fidgets with the window for a long minute, then two. Finally, she gives up and sits back down on her bed with a curse. “That would have been too easy. Of course we’re trapped.”

Understatement of the century. I move back into the room as Sever finishes his monologue and heads for the stairs. As he passes my room, he calls out, loud enough for the whole house to hear, “The exits will remain locked until 0600. You will be expected to be at the front door when it unlocks and ready to head to the training room. Sleep tight, recruits.”

The way he says sleep tight sounds like a challenge, or maybe a promise. I pray that it’s not a threat. I listen as Sever clomps down the stairs with heavy boot steps, and then a keypad beeps as he punches in the code. A moment later, the front door opens, then slams shut. And we’re effectively alone… thirteen unwilling recruits in a program that isn’t supposed to exist.