I stand beside the river, under the trees, as if they will shield me from the blankets of rain coming from clouds the colour of hardened magma. The river's intense rapids have surely crushed my watch by now as it is swept upstream. Throwing it away has given me a surprising sense of independence and empowerment.

"Let's go," Jagger nearly yells to be heard over the wind and rain, crashing against the trees. Sommer and I chase after him, leaping above overturned trees, twisting through shrubbery--a maze of greenery.

My long-sleeved shirt has long since soaked to my skin, my denim trousers stiff around my knees and backside, slipping down my hips. I struggle to keep pace with Jagger and Sommer as they dart through this large clump of trees. As soon as an opening is visible, we jog through the wall of trees, revealing many houses, scattered across crumbled pavement and sun-bleached grass. 

Thunder claps; the rain starts to lighten. The clouds part slightly, a few rays of the sun gleaming through the gray, sparkling against the wet pavement. Jagger slows his pace to a walking speed. Sommer follows. I jog to their side.

Jagger shakes his head like a wet dog, combing his fingers through his hair. It splays in all directions. His eyeliner has smeared, gathering in the corners of his eyes like wet charcoal. Sommer wears her hair tied back, the hood of her buttoned sweatshirt over her head. Her extravagant makeup has not smeared at all. Jagger takes note of this as well.

"I really should invest in that waterproof stuff." He rubs his forefinger under his eye. It returns slightly blackened.

The rain has stopped now, the clouds dispersing across the sky, the sun bright. As we near the house, Sommer points to the sky, smiling. A perfect rainbow cascades across the vivid blue. The storm was brief but tremendous. I have never felt such exhilaration in my young life. Jagger holds the door for Sommer and I.

I take a moment to consider how truly out of place I am in this environment. And yet, I seem to have already become comfortable. I seriously contemplate my recent actions. Today is a self-revolution; my greatest act of rebellion. I have rid myself of my connection to my class. I no longer rely on authorities to govern where I am to go, who I am to associate with, what I am to do with my future. I am to rely on myself now. I cannot help but wonder if I have blown every prospect and dream I have ever dreamed to pieces. If I decide to return, would I still be accepted in my community?

I wonder what my mother will say when she hears that I have run off and abandoned my responsibilities. She will not worry over my well-being, I'm sure. She will be furious at my act of rebellion, however. And highly embarrassed. Julian will laugh at my cowardice, taking pride in the elimination of his sole competitor.

It crosses my mind that my authorities may come searching for me. I wish to avoid thinking about this, but the fear continues to spiral in the back of my mind. I attempt to muffle it. That is the only reason I have gotten here thus far. The only reason I was able to run away, preform interviews, and throw my watch in the river--by simply not thinking about the Class A reaction. But occasionally a toxic thought seeps into my mind.

I contemplate my next actions. I may have to remain in this community until I have gotten together enough information to prove the rest of the world of my point. I do question, however, if there is even enough information to support my theory. Again I attempt to clear my mind of these worries as I step into the house.

I remove my shoes, completely waterlogged. Sommer removes her jacket and scurries on tiptoe down the hall, presumably to change. Water droplets leave a spotted trail behind her. Jagger removes his shirt casually. I consider doing the same but quickly decide against it, feeling too intimidated.

Jagger's body is rippled with muscles, lining his abdomen, chest, and arms. He catches me looking at him and I quickly turn my head, further building the visible tension between us. He opens the door to wring the water from shirt outside. I watch it splatter against the aged cement.

"You're gonna need to change," he says awkwardly.

"There is a change of clothes in my bag," I reply, avoiding eye contact. He returns with the bag and steps into the corridor out of sight.

I am highly uncomfortable getting undressed in this public environment. I quickly do it anyway, struggling to pull the wet denim from my legs, putting on a pair of loose cotton shorts extending to the knee and a collared short-sleeved shirt.

I step into the kitchen to retrieve my laptop. It is not on the counter where I left it. I look around the rest of the kitchen, inside drawers, and in the living room. It has disappeared. I could have predicted that an event like this would occur in this community. An anxious panic spreads through my abdomen, up my spine, tingling in my head.

"Jagger!" I call as I turn into the corridor. There is a single door to the left and a long staircase. I scramble upwards, calling for him again. At the top of the staircase, the first door to the right opens. I jump, failing to find words, my tongue in knots. After quieting me, Jagger asks what is wrong.

"My laptop is gone," I say, rather hurriedly. I comb my fingers through my hair anxiously, twisting the longer parts beside my ear. "Where is it?" I accuse him.

"How should I--" He stops mid-sentence. I follow his gaze up to a small door in the ceiling. It is made of wood with a ring that pulls down to open. I assume there is a ladder on the inside. Gray smoke seeps from the cracks, spreading across the ceiling. A rotten smell fills my nostrils. I step back to cough.

"Something is burning!" I exclaim, pointing to the door. "Where is your fire extinguisher?" I begin running down the stairs.

Jagger obviously does not share my concern. He simply watches the smoke seep from the cracks and dissipates across the ceiling. I reach to take his wrist and lead him down the stairs.

"There's no fire." He glares at me with accusation, stepping away from my reach. I place my hands on my side.

"Stay here."

I obey. I watch him reach to the ceiling and pull on the ring. The door extends downward like my assumption, revealing a ladder that unfolds as it is pulled down. Jagger climbs it, smoke filling the floor. I cover my nose with my hand, inhaling slow, cautious breaths. He steps into the room and disappears.

I sense slight movement behind me. Turning around I see Sommer. She glares at me, her expression serious, pressing a finger against her lips telling me to remain silent, before returning her gaze to the ceiling. I am tempted to step up the ladder to see what is on the floor, but decide against it, fearing the wrath of Mr. Rayne and the mysterious smoke. After a brief moment, Jagger returns, clutching my laptop. I exhale in relief. He passes it to me before climbing down and closing the door. Jagger faces me. I glare at him questioningly, hugging my laptop against my chest.

"Why-"

"It doesn't matter," Jagger interrupts me, turning to walk down the stairs.

Against my better judgment, I continue to question him, chasing him down the stairs.

"If you are operating a highly illegal narcotics dealership I will inform you--"

"That's not what it is." He turns to face me. "I can assure you."

I inspect my laptop for damage, casting him suspicious glances.

"Don't go up there. Ever," Jagger says sternly. I nod slowly, deciding it is best not to further antagonize him.

We stand for a few moments in awkward silence. Sommer skips away, returning with her notebook. She scribbles inside it, turning it to Jagger and my view.

Are you going to continue your interview?

"Perhaps that would be logical." I nod. "Seeing that the chances I will find other willing volunteers are very slim."

Jagger leads us into the living room, taking a seat on the chesterfield in the center of the room. Its dull brown fabric pattern is faded from the sun that peeks from behind the drapes, outlining the patio doors. It is well worn. As Jagger sits, dust particles bounce from the cushions, slowly drifting to the floor. It emits a peculiar scent, similar to that from walking into a room of antiquities. Sommer takes a seat beside him. I scan the room and find a lone kitchen chair. Sliding it in front of Jagger and Sommer, I sit, opening my laptop.

"Jagger and Sommer Rayne, ages 19 and 17. Correct?" I read from my form. They nod. "Are you enrolled any type of educational institution?"

"We both go to Richards High School. If you can call that an educational institution."

I nod, typing his response. I wonder if it is customary for people in this community to fail grades like Jagger. I would assume so. I decide it is best not to question him further on the topic.

"On average, how many students would you estimate attend school on a regular basis?"

"Not a lot. Maybe 20%."

"How often do you yourselves attend?"

"A few times a week."

I hum in recognition.

"With whom do you reside with?"

Sommer gives a questioning look to Jagger, who twists his lip piercing with his tongue, studying the floor.

"Just us," he says, snapping his head in my direction.

"Who is your guardian?" I ask in confusion.

"I am," Jagger replies quickly. "I'm an adult. Technically."

I cast them a suspicious glance. Jagger's body language tells me he is not being truthful; his tense posture; the way he wrings his hands. His eyebrow piercing twitches. Sommer stares at me blankly.

"Write that down," he demands, reading my expression of doubt.

"Your mother and father's names?" I ask while typing. I pretend to read it from my screen, although the question is not included in my form.

"Why do you need that?" Jagger questions.

"For," I pause, determining a believable excuse. "record keeping purposes."

Sommer writes in her notebook.

Chloe and Angelo Rayne.

"Sommer," Jagger says in annoyance, facing his sister. "He doesn't need to know that. He's just being snoopy."

Sommer shrugs and raises her arms as if to say, What does it matter?. Jagger faces me.

"Next question."

"Why do you not reside with your mother and father?" I ask this too quickly, forgetting to glance at my screen to appear as though I am reading. Jagger catches this.

"Let me ask you some questions now," he says, adjusting his posture.

"There is no need to take a hostile tone. You are free to question me as you desire," I reply, realizing my mistake in offending Jagger, remembering his obvious physical advantage over me. I close my laptop, taping my fingers anxiously against the metallic surface, waiting for his questions.

He seems taken aback by my cooperation. He rests in his seat. Sommer continues to stare at me blankly.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen years."

"Are you married yet?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know what I mean. Have you been assigned to a partner to make Purebred super-babies? You guys do that pretty young don't you?"

Sommer stares at me in horror.

"Not relatively young, no. Typically a partner is determined by the age of 25 or older. Although biologically speaking, teenage years are when humans are in their prime physically to produce child, it has been determined that it is more crucial to take advantage of the young, developing mind, and learn as much information as possible. Therefore, producing offspring is reserved for a later age and adolescents are placed in an educational institution that will adequately nourish their specific skills."

Both of them stare at me, eyes widened. I realize that I should have considered their lack of education of the English language and spoken in simpler terms.

"Do you understand?" I ask to make sure of their comprehension.

"Well yeah, I understand the words that came out of your mouth," Jagger begins. "But I don't understand how the hell you can justify that. That's just... wrong."

"Kindly explain your opinion."

"It's morally wrong. Having a relationship with someone isn't just for the purpose of making babies. There's more to it than that."

"A romantic bond is a later product of arranged partnership."

"Yeah but that's only because you're basically forced to have one. You have no choice in the matter."

He looks down, scratching his head. "Never mind."

An uncomfortable silence fills the atmosphere. Deep oranges and reds peak from behind the curtains. The room begins to dim. It is late afternoon, the sun is finishing her daily rotation. Sommer yawns. Jagger rises rather suddenly.

"So what happens next?" he asks me.

"Pardon?" I reply, unsure of his meaning.

"What are you going to do next? Are you going back to your residence?"

I stare blankly at him, my jaw hanging open slightly, determining an appropriate answer that will state how I have no idea of my next actions, without sounding foolish.

"Although doing so would be the most logical, I do not wish to return to my dormitory and have to face my peers and superiors," I reply honestly. "Especially after discarding my watch in such a manner."

"Tell them it fell off and you lost it," Jagger suggests. Sommer writes in her notebook.

"I have considered that. However, it would not excuse me from explaining how I ended up in a Class C community. I am not in good standing with my educators as it is."

"What do you mean?"

"As the cover of your magazine suggests, my topic of speech is highly controversial. I have unknowingly formulated numerous enemies."

Sommer passes her notebook to Jagger. His eyes scan the paper.

"Aren't they going to search for you?"

"That would be a logical assumption."

Jagger pauses, turning to face his sister dramatically. They exchange glances. He returns the notebook to her.

"You're going to have to leave then," he says plainly.

"Excuse me?"

"Leave." He points to the door. "We don't want to be involved in your issues. We could get in serious trouble if your people came here and found you."

I rise slowly, placing my laptop on the chair.

"There is very little chance that they would think to locate me here, of all places. They have no method of determining my exact location now that my watch has been destroyed."

Sommer stands beside her brother. She glares suspiciously at me.

"Sommer and I don't know if we can trust you."

"But I have not wronged you in any way," I defend myself.

I realize that I am completely helpless at this moment. I refuse to return to my living quarters, in fear of facing my authorities. I fear to be alone in these foreign streets, especially during the night. I have never felt this dependence before. If I possessed the modesty to beg at the feet of these two, I would.

"I-"

I pause. Perhaps begging is not the way to go about it. Perhaps if I leave, mournfully, hanging my head low, they will have pity on me and provide me with safety. Although I do not know if I can trust Jagger and Sommer, because of their obvious hostility towards me, they are the only familiar people to me in this community. It is not assured protection, but at least it is some comfort. Whether it is false or real is irrelevant at the moment.

"I understand."

I turn, gathering my belongings, gently sliding my laptop into my shoulder bag. I put on my shoes at the door, still damp from the rain, and exit, not looking back. Once outside, I walk down the lawn, across the sidewalk. I stop at the other side of the road, listening. I hear no movement from the house. I turn solemnly. I realize that I have truly been abandoned. Sommer peaks from behind the kitchen window. Still, nobody calls for my return. I have misjudged their kindness. Perhaps they do hate me. Now I must force myself to spend the night alone. In complete honesty, I am absolutely terrified.

I continue to walk down the sidewalk. My mind is clouded with self-pity and fear. A cool breeze brushes against my arms, the chill remaining, coating my arms like a stroke of thin paint. I recall the small wooded area surrounding the river that destroyed my watch. Deciding it would be the safest place to spend the night, I head there, twisting around the well-worn homes, stepping deeper into a tunnel of self-pity with each addition to my slow pace.

There are no people on the streets. There are no lights filling the house windows. I find this peculiar. As I reach the wooded area, the sun just peaks over the horizon, a brilliant glowing arc of red. The most brilliant sunsets, it seems, appear after the most treacherous storms.

I sit, my back resting on the thick trunk of a silver oak. I close my eyes, although I know I shall not sleep a minute tonight.