Elite

Pins and needles plagued Sylvie on and off for the rest of the day. Just when she felt herself growing comfortable in her skin, something would trigger the memory of Anne’s words and started the cycle all over again. Her nerves were practically frayed at the end by the time her stint at the clinic was over.

Eager to escape Anne’s knowing eyes, Sylvie slipped away without offering the girl a goodbye and made a beeline for the dorm. She had her sights set on hiding away from the rest of the evening in the nonjudgmental solitude of her bunk, but fate appeared to have different plans.

“Where are you rushing off to?” Sylvie paused mid-step at the sound of Jules’s voice and turned to find the girl striding toward her, both of her arms filled to the brim with brown paper packages. Before Sylvie could answer her question, Jules thrust half her armload into Sylvie’s empty hands. “I’m glad I ran into you,” she said, releasing a labored sigh. “There’s no way I would have made it to the yard without dropping everything all over the floor.”

Jules brushed past her and headed back in the direction from which Sylvie had just came, giving her no choice but to follow. With a forlorn look down the hall toward her empty bunk, Sylvie reluctantly abandoned all hope of solitude for the night.

When they reached the courtyard, Sylvie saw that it was suddenly crawling with activity. But not the kind she was used to seeing. In the place of backbreaking labor, she found only easy smiles and the warm sound of laughter. The same faces Sylvie had seen twisted in anguish a few days before were now alight with an air of joy and even a bit of mischief.

“What’s going on?” Sylvie asked as she set the packages down on a nearby table. Jules had already gone to work opening the tied up parcels to reveal an array of tasty treats.

“Didn’t Anne tell you about the Feast tonight?” Jules asked, only half way paying attention. She was fully immersed in arranging them on a hodge-podge of serving dishes. Most were cracked and discolored, but Jules beamed with pride once her creations covered the shabby surfaces.

“She mentioned it,” Sylvie said, blushing hotly at the mention of the girl’s name. “I wish someone had told me before. I don’t have any tokens for anyone.” Sylvie touched the broken flowers still tucked into the waist of her pants. The petals had turned brown and hung limply from their withering stems. She wished, then, for one of the dozens of books she had piled up on her shelves at home so she could press the tiny buds between one of their pages.

Sylvie had been given flowers many times over—from Davis and even her father—but never before had she been compelled to hang on to them after their beauty had begun to fade. She did not know if it was the little gift giver herself or the memory of her mother Ellena conjured that had softened her, but she was all too aware of the change. It was like a switch inside her had been flipped, starting to melt the ice that had so long encased her heart. It made her feel vulnerable and free all at the same time.

Sylvie smiled at the irony—in both her feelings and the way the change had started to come about. Who would have thought being kidnapped by the Rebels would be the thing to make her see them as more than just villains? Or that the kidnapper himself would play such an incremental part? Sylvie’s smile widened in spite of herself at the thought of Jack’s ruddy complexion and sandy hair, the voice inside that told her to stay away from him growing as quiet as a whisper.

“What are you smiling about?” Jules asked. She had paused in the decorating her tokens to place a fist on her hip in question, waiting for Sylvie’s reply.

“Oh nothing,” Sylvie said, blurting out her answer. But before the denial past her lips, Sylvie already knew the crimson stain of her cheeks gave her away.

Sylvie was not sure what response she had expected from Jules, but the titter of laughter was not at the top of the list. “Yeah, right,” Jules said, still giggling. “That’s the first time I have ever seen you smile like that! What is it?”

Sylvie pulled her lip in between her teeth and bit down as if to stop herself from saying anything at all. But as she looked into Jules’s eyes, she found not so much as a trace of suspicion in the deep green. Peering back at her was only unveiled curiosity and an enthusiasm that told Sylvie an answer was not optional.

“Well,” Sylvie said, dissecting out the partial truth she was willing to share. “It is just that this place is not what I thought it would be.” And then as a second thought, she added, “The people are not what I thought they would be.”

Jules considered her, her face pensive and thoughtful as if she was reading everything Sylvie had not said from some secret script. Sylvie felt her palms grow moist and her pulse quicken under Jules’s scrutiny and she feared that she had given herself away somehow.

“Ellena gave me a token,” Sylvie heard herself say. She reached down and withdrew the tangled flowers from her waist and held them out for Jules to see. She paired the gesture with the same practiced smile she had been using her entire life to hide what she was really thinking. She kept it there, frozen on her face until Jules finally took the bait.

“Oh how sweet!” she said, tenderly taking the little prize from Sylvie’s hands. She rubbed one of the soft petals gingerly between her fingers. “She must really like you. Usually only Doc gets her favors.” With one last adoring look at the tattered flowers, Jules placed them back into Sylvie’s waiting hands.

“How well do you know him?” Sylvie asked. “The Doc, I mean?” She saw Jules’s mention of the mysterious man as the perfect segue to a safer conversation and one that was more beneficial to herself. For days, she had been dying to ask about the story behind the little family, but the opportunity never seemed to present itself.

At least until now.

“Everyone pretty much knows everyone around here,” Jules said with a lighthearted shrug of her shoulders. She turned to put the last finishing touches on her plates seeming to abandon both her own questions as well as the details Sylvie was looking for. But she was undeterred.

“So you knew Ellena’s mother?” No sooner had the words left Sylvie’s mouth than a loud cheer broke across the yard. Sylvie had not been around the Rebels long, but she did not even have to look up to know what it meant.

The hunting party was home.

Sylvie cursed them for their timing as her question fell on Jules’s now deaf ears. But she could not deny her own excitement at their return. Quickly, Sylvie scanned the crowd that had formed around the little band—her eyes almost immediately finding her prize.

Jack stood almost a head taller than most of the people that crowded around him. His face was dust covered, but rather than detract from his appearance, Sylvie found it only made his smile brighter from the contrast.

“Looks like they were successful,” Jules said, wiping her hands together to brush away the crumbs from her treats. The wild boar that dangled from a long pole amid the excited mass told Sylvie just what the object of their trip had been.

“Is that for the Feast?” Sylvie asked, pointing at the massive hog. It was easily 200 pounds and it took three grown men to keep the body from dragging the ground. Sylvie wrinkled her nose at the blood-matted fur, realizing that she would never be able to see pork the same way again. But the grisly scene did not detract from the enthusiasm generated at the promise of fresh meat. For days, they had been surviving on dried fruit and the last of the dried meat called jerky, so the hog in itself was a cause for celebration, even without the yearly observance of the Feast.

“Oh yes!” Jules said, reminding Sylvie of her question. “We will all eat very well tonight.”

The next hour Sylvie spent helping Jules prepare everything necessary to cook the prized meal. Precious spices were pulled from dwindling stores and the last sack of grain had been used to bake enough fresh bread for everyone to have their own piece. It was a collective token for everyone and Sylvie couldn’t think of a better one.

Her mouth was practically watering as she and Jules brought the steamy rolls from the old industrial kitchen to the bustling yard. The warm aroma saturated the cool air, bringing hungry eyes and hands immediately their way. Sylvie heard herself laughing and exchanging smiles as she passed out the prized tidbits.

Sinking her teeth into her own tiny ration, Sylvie found herself enjoying the springy bite more than anything she had tasted before. The excess in which she had always lived her life had made everything underwhelming. And now, somehow, appreciation had enhanced the flavor. She was still reveling in the buttery mouthful when Jack sauntered toward her for his own share.

“Welcome back!” Jules said, stepping forward to serve him herself. Sylvie swallowed down the last mouthful, blaming the lump in her throat on the denseness of the bread rather than the sudden arrival of the smiling boy.

“Thank you,” Jack said, greeting Jules’s apparent eagerness with a warm smile. Holding the fresh bun to his face, he breathed in deeply, his grin widening in response. “Smells great, Jules.”

At his words, Jules’s cheeks flushed a brilliant red causing her birthmark to take on an almost purple hue. Self-consciously she brushed her hair forward in a frantic attempt to cover the imperfection. Watching the exchange, Sylvie felt a rush of emotions—sympathy, guilt and even a touch of jealousy battled one another for the primary spot in her mind.

Looking away, she hoped to disguise her reaction more successfully than her discomfited friend. But any sense of security vanished the moment Jack turned his attention to her. “How are you, Sylvie?”

Sylvie started to reply with the perfunctory fine, but Jules chimed in with an answer of her own. “She is having a great day!” she said with an enthusiasm that had very little to do with Sylvie and everything to do with her target audience. “She received a token this morning.” The way she drew out the word made it linger there like not so subtle bait. Her eyebrows lifted with anticipation and Sylvie wondered if this was the first time Jack had been given the hint.

Something told her it was not.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, undisturbed. “From who?” Trying her best to ignore the way Jules’s lip suddenly twisted into a pout at Jack’s slight dismissal, Sylvie retrieved her little bouquet and held it up.

“It’s from Ellena,” she said, smiling at the memory of her little face when the tiny girl presented it to her. Sylvie instinctively hugged the prize to her chest proving its endearment.

“She’s a hard one to follow, that one,” Jack said, looking at the petals with shared respect. “But a man has got to try.” Reaching into the pack he had slung on his hips, Jack withdrew a large, oddly shaped parcel. It was wrapped in an old t-shirt and fastened with a belt that Jack quickly unbuckled causing the fabric to fall away. Beneath the folds, Sylvie spied a heavy cast iron skillet that she immediately knew was intended for Jules.

“We did some scouting and found an abandoned neighborhood,” Jack said, tucking the shirt back away in his bag. “I know you have been wanting a new one.” Before Jack could finish his explanation, a cry tore from Jules’s lips.

“I love it!” she squealed, snatching the blackened pot from his hands. It was a twin of the one Sylvie had seen her use in the kitchens, only this one was free from rust or any other signs of wear. It was a wonderful gift, but Sylvie had a feeling the girl would have been just as delighted with the wrapping it had come in.

“I’m glad you like it,” Jack laughed good naturally. “I hope Sylvie is as happy with hers.” Sylvie’s stomach lurched as Jack reached again into his bag. Delicately he removed a small leather bound book. The smallest remains of gold leaf still clung to the letters embossed on the cover.

“The Works of Nathaniel Hawthorne,” Jack said, reading the faded words as he slipped the volume into Sylvie’s hands. “I marked a story for you to read. I think you will find it interesting.” He punctuated his words with a quick wink and before Sylvie could utter any word of thanks, he turned and walked away.

As Sylvie’s eyes trailed after his retreating form, she wondered how he had managed to give her exactly what she needed. Was it a coincidence? Dumb luck?

Or was it something much more?