Allies Read Free Page A

realized a terrible new nickname might have been born.
    Maybe Vikram was too drunk to remember?
     
    H E HADN’T BEEN.
    She wasn’t sure what was worse: the fact that Vikram sometimes liked to drop down next to her in the mess hall and tease her in a way he didn’t seem to realize was sincerely bothering her, or the fact that no one else was talking to her at all.
    But there was something worse, though it seemed very innocuous at first.
    Wyatt met Heather Akron.
    Or rather, Heather decided to meet her. Wyatt was sitting alone in Programming, as usual, when she saw a flurry of movement out of the corner of her eye, and then a girl flounced down right next to her.
    “You don’t mind if I sit here,” she said to Wyatt. It wasn’t a question.
    Her profile flashed before Wyatt’s vision:
     
    NAME: Heather Akron
    RANK: USIF, Grade V Upper, Machiavelli Division
    ORIGIN: Omaha, NE
    ACHIEVEMENTS: N/A
    IP: 2087:db7:lj71::212:ll3:6e8
    SECURITY STATUS: Top Secret LANDLOCK-5
     
    Heather had a shining mane of dark hair, and slanted, catlike eyes fringed with dark lashes. A broad, gleaming smile lit her lips. She wasn’t just pretty—she was beautiful, and Wyatt couldn’t help it. She began contrasting her mental image of herself with Heather. Her lank brown hair with Heather’s vibrant, dark hair; her straight, solemn eyebrows with Heather’s graceful, arched ones; her long nose with Heather’s small, upturned one.
    It was irrational, even comparing herself with this girl. It was as irrational as comparing her brain to this girl’s, when they were likely to be equally imbalanced. . . . But Wyatt had started to realize people spoke to people differently, depending on how they looked. She’d known that intellectually before, but now that she’d grown increasingly aware of other people, now that something inside her reacted depending upon the behavior of other people toward her, things took on an increasing importance.
    And some things just hurt more.
    “You’re Wyatt . . . obviously. And as you see, I’m Heather.”
    “Yes,” Wyatt mumbled, her shoulders tight. She was ready to hear something cruel. She didn’t want to feel the knife of pain inside that came with knowing someone disapproved of her.
    But Heather just smiled. “I’ve heard you’re brilliant.”
    “Really?”
    “Mmm-hmm. I figured I’d rather share a bench with an incredibly smart person than some of the idiots up there.” She rolled her eyes and gestured up toward the front of the room. “So how do you like it here?”
    “I hate it,” Wyatt blurted out.
    She winced, because it seemed like the kind of personal admission that would lead to ridicule, to disdain. She suspected even telling someone this was opening herself up to some sort of attack.
    But when she dared to look at Heather’s face, the older girl’s expression had softened, her mouth an o of concern, her brows drawn together. “Oh, poor sweetie. Are people being mean to you?”
    Wyatt nodded bleakly.
    “Have you ever gone to school before?” Heather asked her unexpectedly.
    She shook her head. “I had private tutors. I was too smart for other kids.” She wanted to clap her hands over her mouth, because that’s what got her in trouble with Marrion. She’d be eviscerated.
    But then Heather’s hand squeezed her shoulder. Wyatt jumped at the unexpected contact. She held herself rigid, but as Heather’s hand stayed there, it took on a new quality. It became comforting.
    “I’m so sorry. It has to be hard, your first time with other people your age, and here of all places.” She rolled her eyes. “People are bastards here. I’ll be honest: there’s this weird, quasi-machismo culture where everyone has to act invincible and unflappable, but half the people here are just dumb, hormonal adolescents who think they’re geniuses simply because they have computers in their heads. Add in the fact that we’re all essentially competing with each other for a chance at