"Class will be in the East Wing, and meals will be served in the West Wing. If you have any questions, our main office is in the North Wing. Just leave any concerns with my secretary Miss Land." The headmaster's words are as fast as his feet, ignoring my heavy panting behind him. My arms struggle under my suitcase and the OTF pamphlets, the ones the headmaster threw at me the moment I stepped foot into the underlit lobby. I barely had time to glance at them before Headmaster Bulldozer started his rampage.

The inside of the OTF is like another planet. The walls are cement blocks lining the hallways, and the ceilings are a plain white with their tiles bulging with water stains. The doors look plastic, cheap. This building's prime has come and gone. All that's left is an outdated infrastructure begging for repairs or to be put out of its own misery. Each City oversees funding for their own Training Facility, but the Outercity must have other interests besides investing in their next generation's future.

No wonder the Outercity has the most poverty.

"Where are all the students?" I ask, my words echoing against the empty hall.

"They are taking their class. You can settle in and join them when you're ready."

"Are you going to give me a course schedule?" I ask, stopping for a breath, my calves crying out against the extra weight of my suitcase.

Headmaster Asher furrows his brow before his face relaxes with understanding, like he was remembering where I was from. "Your class is from seven in the morning until three. You will be taking the course with the other students."

"You mean one class? As in, everyone in one room?" My voice climbs.

"Is there a problem?" Headmaster Asher throws me a look that tells me my answer should be "no".

"That just makes everything less confusing, that's all. No problem." I try again to smile through my teeth and not talk back.

Did this oversized lemon think he could threaten me?

Just keep smiling.

Headmaster raises a confused eyebrow at my forced smile. "The dorms are in the South Wing. Just pick a vacant bed, and you'll be set."

The dorms. Where Andrew's been staying.

I wait for the headmaster to say anything else. When the headmaster doesn't do anything, I decide to take his hint and leave. My grip tightens on my suitcase, and I turn to wobble to the dorms.

"Miss Goodwill," I look back at the headmaster. His hands hide in his pockets and a dark look crosses his face.

"Yes?"

"I might not know all the details to why you came to the Outercity, and I'll just pretend its because you failed a retake. But maybe you should think about your new life here as an opportunity to reinvent yourself."

My eyebrows pull together as I try to follow what he is saying. Headmaster Asher's shoulders slump. His fingers rub the space between his eyes.

"I don't know if the Outercity needs a Cassandra Goodwill."

His words make me flinch, but it's nothing I didn't suspect before. At least now, I know he won't go advertising that a Goodwill is in the OTF. I straighten my back, holding my chin up, "I don't think so either, Headmaster Asher."

Headmaster Asher nods before turning away and leaving me alone.

I head down the hallway before running into stairs. The stairwell circles up and up until it comes a sudden stop on the sixth floor. I peer around the empty space and around the hallway, but there is no elevator to be found. My calves give a pitiful scream, anticipating.

I let out a sigh of frustration. Nothing is going to be easy in the Outercity.

I hold my remaining suitcase up, my arm already shaking against its weight.

About three flights later, a door appears at the top of the steps. My back and arm muscles relax, and I let my suitcase drag on the floor, no longer caring if I scratch up the hand-stitched material.

Emma's beaming smile appears in my thoughts, reminding me of when we bought our luggage for the ITF. She wanted to buy a matching set, but I refused. I thought it would look stupid.

Once I reach the door, I tap it, and wait for the hologram to pop up.

After a moment, nothing happens.

I tap it again. When no holographic keyboard appears, I run my fingers over the door. It doesn't feel like any door I have touched before. It feels cold. There isn't the faint humming of a machine working with all its parts. It's like there is nothing inside. My eyes travel down, and I spot a long bar, sticking out and crossing the length of the door. I press the bar, and the center of the bar sinks in.

I snatch my hand back, then try again. Once I put my full weight on the bar and push, the door swings open.

It was so...simple.

I take a mental note of the door and step through the threshold, expecting to see a hallway full of dorm rooms, but that's not the case. Instead, I'm meant with lines of beds in a long, rectangular room.

Each bed has a dark red blanket and grey pillow with tube-like bed frame, holding the bed together. There are about fifty beds lining both walls. Some beds are perfectly made, like no one has touched it. Others are covered with clothes, suitcases, or duffle bags. Each bed has a bedside table with a lamp. Some lights are blinking, and others are either turned off or dead.

No one but me lingers in the room. My steps echo off the walls as I walk down the single aisle, taking in the beds, the space, the lack of privacy.

This is what they call dorms?

I pick a random bed and throw my stuff on it, or what's left of my stuff. I stare at my suitcase and bend down to open the zipper. The zipper strains, but it doesn't budge. I pull harder and harder, but it doesn't move. I dig my fingernails in-between the zipper and the fabric, but I can't get it lose.

I kneel in my sparkly shirt and dark flattering pants and pull with all the strength left in my arms. A growl rumbles in my throat as I yank and tug, but nothing gives. I slap my suitcase, letting my hands hit it over and over. My yells echo back at me as I curse and spit.

After a minute, I stop and watch my trembling fists.

My knees give out, and I let myself crumple to the floor.

How did it come to this? Me unpacking in the OTF? I tried so hard all my life, did everything my parents told me to do. I listened to the stupid rules. I followed my mother's corrections. She has never been wrong before. She told me I was in charge of my future, but I don't feel in control of anything.

The only moment that I didn't do what I was supposed to, the one moment I did what I wanted, was that night with Andrew. His kisses, his touches were what I craved. He gave me hope of a future in the Innercity with him. In that perfect moment, I thought I had everything. My trembling hands become steady as the adrenaline leaves me. My thoughts stop yelling at me, leaving quiet resolution.

I still have Headmaster Glinda's promise. I have hope of leaving. I have Andrew.

Andrew is here, somewhere. Maybe he's in class, listening to a boring lecture, and he has no idea I'm in the building. Maybe I can't fix my problem with the OTF. But I can still have a future with Andrew. If I can survive the Outercity, its with Andrew.

My feet come under me, and I start moving. Part of me wants to go straight for the classroom, but another, stronger part of me wants to see where he has been living these past weeks. If I can see his bed, his things, maybe I can see how he has been doing. I don't know if I want to confront him before having a hint of how his life has maybe changed.

I walk up and down the aisle, studying the beds, and waiting to see something of Andrew's pop out at me. I look for camera lens, pictures, beanie hates, or his stupid adorable sweaters. I scan the bed, hoping for something to point me to him.

But there is nothing.

I don't see anything.

It's only when I drop to the floor to look under the beds that I spot something. It's a folded white paper shimmering in the florescent lights. I crawl up and sprint to the folded paper. I bent and snatch it off the ground.

It's exactly what I thought it was.

A picture.

I sit on the nearest bed and peal the picture open.

My smile stares back at me. My younger, smaller frame awkwardly overlaps Andrew's shoulder. Andrew's dimpled face smiles up, his eyes still bright from our banter. My younger self's eyes don't stare at the camera. But are shifted at Andrew.

Our "selfie".

I turn over the picture, looking at the vintage laminated gloss and the vibrancy of the picture. He must have spent a good bit to have this printed out.

My finger grazes our picture before I tear my eyes away, looking for more signs of Andrew. But there isn't anything. Only empty beds.

***

Without any OTF uniform, I decided going to class in my wrinkled, old clothes wouldn't make a good impression. I pulled out a new outfit, thankful that my remaining suitcase had some clothes, though it was nothing compared to how much I lost in the Check Station.

Once I found and changed in the bathroom, I headed to class in the West Wing. I had Andrew's picture in one pocket and my tablet in the other. Without my hairbrush, one of the many things missing, my hair was finger combed into a ponytail.

Andrew's lacking presence in the dorm makes me unsure about what to expect in the classroom. It mostly makes me question where all his stuff went and why.

The West Wing isn't as big as the South Wing, and thankfully, the classroom is located on the first floor. My calves are still sending electric pulses through my muscles, but they appreciate the break. The hallway stops at a dead end with a double door class room to the left. The door is also plastic with a dense bar crossing through there middle. Apparently, holographic technology hasn't reached their doors yet.

This is what I would imagine living Before the Great City would have been like.

I can hear the Professor lecturing through the door. Before I can over think it too much, I push one door open and file in.

Students sit in an incline lecture hall. Most of the students aren't sitting next to each other and are spaced out through the wide room. The number of people in the class baffles me.

There are only about thirty students.

How are there only thirty students going to the OTF? There should be more. A lot more.

My eyes instantly run over the room, hungry for the sight of him. One girl leans on a boy's shoulder. The boy isn't Andrew, but the girl notices me staring at him. Her bleached blonde hair is in braids close to her head. She rolls her eyes towards me and smiles with a wicked, toothy grin. She waves finger by finger at me. The boy next to her doesn't seem to notice her on top of him. He just stares at the wall in a blank stare.

Both don't wear any type of uniform. In fact, their clothes look pieced together with denim, a cheap replica of leather, and the remains of a t-shirt type material.

The girl notices me studying her, and her eyes lock with mine for a split second. I wrench my eyes away from the couple and scan the crowd of students, hoping beyond anything that he is here. It doesn't matter that I couldn't find his things in the dorms. It doesn't matter that he has been gone from me for weeks.

After all I have been through, he had to at least be here.

My eyes fall on each face before I find myself looking around the crowd again. And again. And again.

The Professor pauses and looks at me with beady eyes. His hair is combed over his balding head and old glasses sit on his nose. I have never seen anyone with a bald head, well I have, but not like this. Adults in the Innercity choose to either have hair or cut it all off for a hairstyle, but none have let their head have a bald spot.

The Professor crosses his arms, "Well are you gonna take a seat, or do you want to give this lecture?" He snaps.

His words reawaken me, and I feel a blush run up my cheeks. I can feel not only the Professor's stare on me, but the whole class.

So much for blending in.

I shake my head, and out of habit, move to take a seat at the front of the classroom. I hear someone snicker behind me, and before thinking better of it, I throw a fierce glare over my shoulder.

"Oh, Invader got bite." Someone chuckles.

I try my best to ignore the giggles behind me, but my shoulders tense up to my ears.

"Settle down. Remember ya'll need this more than I do." The Professor says over his glasses. I hear groans and mumbles behind me, but no one else says another word.

I take out my tablet and bring up my notepad.

The Professor talked about some facility maneuvers and the different variety of places to work, though none of them looked good. I couldn't help but notice how the Professor didn't talk about paychecks or other management opportunities. Though today's lecture was mostly focused on clothing manufacturing and distribution.

The clicking and tapping on my tablet echoed around the room. It wasn't until I stopped and looked around that I noticed no one else had anything on their desks. Some students glared at my tablet or sneered at me. Some students pretended I wasn't there, like the blonde girl's boy toy.

Throughout the lecture, my hand kept coming back to my pocket where Andrew's picture is tucked away. Maybe I couldn't find Andrew, but he was here at some point. This picture is my proof. I wonder if Andrew got close to anyone here, or if he made any friends.

My gaze sweeps over the students' bored faces. I can't picture him talking to any of these people. But someone here might know where he is. My attention gravitates back to the Professor. I'm not sure if he is the only professor at the OTF, but I think it would be safe to assume so. His hunched shoulders and weary, glossy eyes hint that he has spent a lot of time here. That, and how he talks to his students.

"If you have any questions about today's lesson, I want you to take note of them and have them ready for tomorrow." He says simply. The students' wrestle out of their seats and shuffle out of the classroom.

I click my tablet off and fold it, watching the professor gather his things in a suitcase. He moves to the exist, and I sprint to stop him.

"Professor?" I ask, jumping in front of the professor.

"Any questions will be answered at the start of class tomorrow." He tries to move past me, but I fling my arm out and hold the door frame, blocking any way of escaping.

"Please, I just want to see if you recognize," I pull out the picture using my other hand, "this person."

The professor sighs and takes the picture. He glances at it before handing it back. "Yeah, he was in my class for about a week and a half."

"Why wasn't he here today?" I ask.

"He hasn't shown up all week." He shrugs, as if he could care less.

"How can that be possible? Doesn't the OTF keep track of their students?" My hands fall limply at my sides. He hasn't been in class for a week. Was he even in the OTF anymore?

"Listen, many students move on before the end of the program. My job is to show up and teach what the TC has provided."

"The TC? But they don't—" before I can finish my sentence, the professor ducks past me and strolls away.

I fold the picture back into my pocket. My mind travels a hundred miles a minute, wondering what the TC has to do with orchestrating classes in the OTF. The TC and the Training Facility work together but are mostly independent. My mother would come home having fits when a headmaster would suggest ideas or regulations on the Test.

"You're a pretty girl." I spin around to the braided blonde girl. She smiles and swaggers up to me. "With pretty things." Her hands move to my pants and into my pocket.

I slap her hand away, but not before she got what she wanted.

The girl's crooked, toothy smile mocks me as she holds my tablet away from me. "This looks brand new. The latest model if I had to guess." Her fingers trace the edges of my tablet, leaving her dirty trail all over it.

"Give that back," I snap at her, no longer worried about keeping a low profile. It's only me and her in the hallway. It wouldn't hurt to put one person in their place.

"What's your name?" She extends the tablet out to me.

"Cassan—" I stop. "Cassie." I match her stare and reach to take my tablet.

"Nope, wrong answer." The girl snatches the tablet and holds it behind her. She tilts her nose up and studies me. "You don't look like a Cassie to me."

I fight the urge to drape my hair over my face and hide my features. "Enough." I bite at her, "Give. It. Back."

"Oh, I'm very scared." She giggles.

My first reaction is to tell her who exactly she is messing with. I flash back to all those times when even dropping my name would strike fear into anyone. I used to hate when people would look at me like a bomb instead of a girl. Then I learned to use that to my advantage.

But my name would only get me into more trouble.

"Give it back, or you will regret it." I lunge for my tablet.

Before my hands even touch the surface, something hard hits me in my gut. I fall against the concrete ground. My body jolts from the foreign touch of rage and violence. It takes me a moment to actually understand what happened.

She just kicked me. Hurt me.

I stare with my mouth agape at the vicious blonde.

"Don't make threats when you can't follow through." She combs my hair back in a loving gesture before grabbing it and yanking it back, pulling a few hairs out of my head.

"Next time I see you eyeing my boyfriend, Casket, you won't be so pretty anymore." She stands up, still watching me with curious eyes. "I think Casket is a good name for you," she hums and twirls the tablet around, "since you won't last the week."

The girl winks at me with a playful smile and swaggers away, knowing she won.