Everyone was waiting for the rain. The rain that they knew would never come.

The last humans' civilization on Earth's barren wasteland was shielded from the outside by a giant glass-type box. It was always cold in the box, not cold to the point of blue lips and frostbite, but just enough to have goosebumps sprout on your skin and turn your cheeks rosy. It was the type of cold that sank heavily into your bones. It was always gray and dismal too; the skies above the glass ceiling were always smudged with dark clouds of smog, giving every day an aura of calm like it was about to rain. It never did, though. It was useless to even fathom a day where the residents of this society would be able to experience the blessing of rain, and yet they did. They knew it was pointless, yes, but their instinct as stubborn, irrational human beings was to hope. And so there was no resident of the Glass Box Society that could be seen without an umbrella tilted over their head, waiting for the day it would rain.

Adelaide stared up at the dark ashen sky above the glass. She wondered for the umpteenth time what amount of force it would take to break through these walls, to have the glass break and free her. Everyone would die, obviously—the glass was there to protect everyone from the toxic gas outside—but her heart leapt with pleasure just thinking about it. And she could see it with stunning clarity: cracks and fissures spidering along the walls at impossible speeds, aligning with each other and shattering. Adelaide pictured herself under the rainstorm of glass showering down upon her, tearing into her body and ripping through skin. It would be positively bliss, she decided. And now she really wanted to do it, to achieve that rush of adrenaline, that feeling of being consumed by pure delight. She wanted to feel something. She knew she should stop thinking about it, though, or she would eventually persuade herself to do it.

She figured she was the only one who had these intrusive thoughts, the only one who stared down a ledge and genuinely wondered what would happen if she decided to plunge herself down it. It was dangerous, they told her, those intrusive thoughts. She was also the only one who was impulsive—or stupid—enough to carry through with her plans, not be able to control herself, one of the reasons she'd landed in the Children's Asylum of the Glass Box Society in the first place.

Rivulets of sweat laced her forehead. And neck. And back. This was not the time for sweating. Not when she was standing amidst a myriad of uneasy kids on Chore Day, where tension would be dripping from every individual. Not when the frigid air made your breath come out in visible puffs, freezing the droplets of sweat on your back and making you therefore colder. Not when it was so quiet you could hear the blood pounding through everyone's head, smell the rancid stench of fear in the air.

Adelaide tended to perspire much more than a normal human being when she was under stress. She supposed that was a side effect of not even being fully human, but rather, half automaton. Stress would make her system override, she assumed. Moisture crept down her nose and settled on her upper lip, but she couldn't wipe it off, or everyone would notice she was sweating. She shifted uncomfortably in her spot, gravel crunching beneath her canvas shoes.

At the moment she stared down at her toes, like usual, and wished the asylum provided socks. Her feet were heavy blocks attached to her legs and nothing more, soaked through with cold and inching towards numbness.

She swallowed, her gaze darting around the courtyard like a frantic bird. Everyone was shooting each other looks, as usual, trying to psych each other out. That was one of the Unspoken Rules: if you showed signs of weakness, you would get the horrible, nightmare-inducing chores to learn to toughen up. Once again, Adelaide was one of the prime targets. She was well-known at the asylum for being, well, weak. If you'd been there long enough, it was hard to change your image. Everyone would remember you as the girl who screamed when anyone crept up on her, who bawled her eyes out at the slightest contact from a whip.

Trying to keep her gaze from wandering down to her feet (though it was tempting) and her back arched, she slowly slid her hand into Jason's. He didn't say anything, didn't move an inch from his rod-straight position. He just gave her hand a comforting squeeze.

The Staff prowled around the horde of skittish children, each one of them outfitted with the standard uniform of the asylum: blue polo shirt, gray cargo pants, darker gray canvas shoes with no socks. They narrowed eyes and nodded heads, running their fingers along the whips in their hands.

A feeling of apprehension slithered through Adelaide's body. As the Staff person came around near Adelaide, her clammy hand dropped out of Jason's and she managed to keep her chin up and her hair out of her face, skinny arms by her side, posture stiff as a wooden board. She tried to keep her eyes fixed on a point in the distance, a slightly cracked window on the third floor of the asylum.

Her eyes remained stuck on the window as the Staff member studied her individually, eyes narrowed. The Staff member's whip trailed on the dirt-and-gravel floor, poised to attack at any moment. Adelaide didn't blink, didn't swallow, didn't dare to even breathe, until the Staff man was safely a few yards away, inspecting the next kid. Her shoulders slumped with relief.

"I think we're okay," Jason whispered, loud enough so only Adelaide would hear. She'd known Jason for a little over a year but they'd become close immediately. He was the latest in a long line of Kinda-Sorta-Maybe Best Friends at the asylum, people whom she would form something resembling an alliance with, people who wouldn't snitch on her when they caught her pickpocketing and share their meals if she had been punished and forced to skip dinner. Sometimes she'd even sit next to them at mealtimes. But they all came and went; some got released, some died from starvation or sickness, some went insane from their time there and got transferred to the Private Wing for Dangerous Children, as many did. She'd learned, slowly, not to hang onto them for too long, because nothing there was permanent.

Adelaide didn't reply to Jason's comment. Instead, her eyes wandered around the courtyard, skimming the faces of all the kids. One of the groups was comprised of the skinny, acne-riddled, stone-faced teenagers. The other consisted of the wild-eyed, somber-faced, snotty-nosed children. Adelaide bit her lip and felt a pang of sympathy for the kids. They probably hadn't learned that Rule yet and would be stuck with the worst chores, like scraping the grime off the buildings in the alleys, where the dog-sized mutated rats with venomous spit and barbed tails prowled around. Adelaide shuddered. She'd had nightmares for weeks after that experience.

And then there was Beatrix Forest, someone who stood separate from a group. Beatrix had not ever come close to making the Kinda-Sorta-Maybe Best Friends list, as she was not Adelaide's equal, or anyone else's, for that matter. There was a hierarchy among the kids of the Children's Asylum of The Glass Box Society, and Beatrix was the queen. Her face wasn't the least bit perturbed as the Staff came around to her. Her sightless eyes were unfocused but hardened from all the years she'd spent at the asylum. She was one of the kids that had grown up there. She'd had it rough in the beginning, being blind, but now nobody could picture her as weak. She'd climbed her way up to her throne, her crown woven from the bones of all her tormentors she was rumored to have slain.

But she was no hero. She was disgustingly selfish and malevolent to the point where it was scary. Whenever there would be new kids still adjusting to the ways of the asylum, every last one of them would think they could take advantage of Beatrix's blindness and try to steal her food, for instance. They learned the hard way never to mess with her, earning impressively purple bruises, jagged scratches oozing scarlet, or even bite marks in the process. Adelaide reminded herself to avert her gaze because Beatrix could even tell when a person was looking at her.

The seventeen Staff members (it had always been seventeen) were gathered in a huddle standing before the children. After nervous glances were shared between the kids, hands were squeezed, backs were patted and fingers were crossed, the Staff broke apart finally, letting their leader step forward. The head of the asylum was a colossally flabby, bull-necked middle-aged woman with dramatically arching eyebrows and tiny, beady, rat eyes, inching towards the age of sixty. Her most prominent feature was her dislike for children.

Her name was Mrs. Cronin, but everyone called her The Beast. She was the one who dragged kids out into the hall for crying out in their sleep, the one who starved children if they were naughty, who whipped them without mercy and left scars on their backs. Now she stood before the huddle of kids, awash in what was left of the pale afternoon light, what wasn't coated with smog and dust. She clutched a rolled-up sheet of paper in her chubby hand, the paper that would determine which kids had to face what fate. In her other hand, she held a box of pins, each one meant for the bearer of the chore to pin onto his or her shirt.

Adelaide's hand found its way to Jason's again, and she gripped it harder than before. For a few heartbeats, nobody moved. Nobody dared utter a sound. Time was still. Blood roared in Adelaide's ears.

"Tawnia North: dishwashing."

Adelaide's heartbeat slowed a bit, but she didn't dare release the breath she was holding. Meanwhile, a small, mousy brunette girl tottered across the dirt to receive her pin. Tawnie North, Adelaide's roommate, was a fourteen-year-old girl with a sharp tongue and prosthetic leg. Even though she was a lot younger than Adelaide, she wasn't as mean to her as the others were, and you had to acquire friends wherever you could at the asylum. Adelaide was relieved that Tawnie, at least, was safe.

"Jason Myers: window cleaning." Now Adelaide let out a sigh of relief. Cleaning the windows was tedious, sure, but not harmful. Jason was safe. Adelaide released Jason's hand so he could go get his pin, and as she did, saw the color flood back into her fingers.

The Beast went on, tossing out names, matching them with chores, each one more undesirable than the last. Taking out the trash. Setting mouse traps in the attic. Chasing away the snakes from the basement. Adelaide waited as Jason fumbled with his pin for a few moments before getting it fastened onto his shirt, then they held hands again as Adelaide waited to see if her name was going to be called.

They were best friends, and nothing more. Maybe Adelaide had had a crush on him when they'd first met, but now that they were best friends it was weird for her to think of him in that way. Moreover, being romantically involved with him would arouse a lot of hate from other girls. Jason was a rude, angry and irritable specimen, but that never got in the way of girls liking him for his looks.

Adelaide glanced around the courtyard. Yvette Thompson was shooting daggers from her eyes, directed at Adelaide. She swallowed and let go of Jason's hand.

Names were called and pins were collected. Not once did Adelaide hear her name. Time stretched out painfully during that time, but once it was over, Adelaide was able to breathe again. She collapsed in her best friend's arms.

"I can't believe it," she breathed. "I didn't get a chore."

All of a sudden, Adelaide's head snapped back and her scalp erupted into searing pain. She let out a gasp, but as soon as the pain had come, it had already started to ebb. She whipped her head around and spotted the loathful Beatrix Forest ambling past her, clouded eyes staring at nothing. A smirk was on her face.

"You have nice hair, Addy," Beatrix hissed, her yellow teeth curling into a wretched smile.

Adelaide clenched her teeth and dove at Beatrix, but she sidestepped just in time. Jason held Adelaide back as she tried to lunge a second time, saying to his best friend, "She's only mad 'cause she got a chore and you didn't. Personally, I think you have every right to clobber her, but not now when the Staff is watching." He put a hand on her back and lead her to a door. The kids had been dismissed and had an hour of free time before dinner.

Jason nudged her gently as they made their way up the pristine stairway to their hall on the second floor. "Balcony," he said simply, then dashed up the stairs, his feet leaving audible claps on the tile. Adelaide followed him wordlessly. This had happened many times before.

The balcony on the second floor, in their hallway, was their special place, the place where they would talk about serious things. Adelaide had met Jason on that balcony. They were both staring out at the Ordinary Society, outside the asylum, which they could only see but never reach.

The stairwell opened up on the second floor to a long corridor of dorm rooms on either side. Adelaide glanced around; Jason was nowhere to be seen. He was probably at the balcony already. The entire corridor seemed to be empty. Adelaide walked down the hall, her shoes making a soft thud on the linoleum floor.

However, when she passed her dorm room, she heard a painful-sounding crash, the sound of shattering glass, and a caterwaul echoing through the hallway.

She threw the doors open. "What's wrong? What happened?" The room was a cramped space with only one window, making it more suffocating. A bunk bed was shoved up against the concrete wall, a chair against another, and a cheap coffee table near the chair. And splayed out on the floor and twitching was Tawnie North.

"Oh my god, Tawnie! What happened!" At this time, Jason had heard the scream too and was now behind Adelaide. Tears stained Tawnie's cheeks and a stream of blood flowed steadily from her hand. She lay crumpled in a heap on the floor, broken glass scattered all around her.

Her violent spasms wouldn't subside as she tried to force out words. Then her body contorted and she doubled over, coughing and hacking and spewing vomit from her mouth. The stench filled the air and made Adelaide recoil with repugnance, but she couldn't leave her friend here. She knew she should go help Tawnie, ask if she was okay. But her body was slack with shock, her feet rooted to the ground. Tawnie was sobbing now, stopping every few seconds to puke, and cradling her hand. Her clothes were stained a bright scarlet, smeared all over her face and hair as she tried to wipe the tears away.

Jason was crouched next to Tawnie, ignoring the vomit and blood creeping up to his shoes. "Tawnie! Tawnie, should we go get the nurse? Should we take you to the infirmary?" Adelaide still didn't move, not even when Jason shouted to her to go get the nurse.

Tawnie, still convulsing with violent shudders, paused her sobbing for a moment to screech, "D-don't you dare! You... you k-know what they do to you in the infirmary!" She paused for a moment to retch onto the floor, but her stomach was empty and nothing came out. "They'll think it's-s contagious-s, they... they don't... they don't want t-to... to have people... to have it s-s-spread, they kill you... inject you with a...with a thing... a s-serum to s-stop your—your heart. I'm f-fine!" The blood dripping from her lips contradicted her last statement, however.

"Okay," Jason agreed. Everyone knew the infirmary was the place you went when your situation was hopeless, the place you went to die. "We'll help you, then. Right, Addy?"

Jason's voice sliced through Adelaide's paralyzed state. "R-right," she choked out, taking slow footsteps towards Tawnie, careful to avoid the puke and the bits of glass and the blood. "You're going to be okay," she said to Tawnie, hoping her voice was steady and convincing-sounding. "Do you know what happened?"

Tawnie looked down at the blood oozing from the gash in her palm. She was still shaking a little, but less so than before. "I...I came in here just to have—just to drink some water... I—I left a glass here b-before, and I...I drank it...it tasted sorta weird... then my knees got all wobbly and I was... I started shaking... I fell and the glass slipped... I dropped the glass." She held out her crimson hand for confirmation.

Just then a horrible noise echoed through the room, all the way through the corridor: the dinner bell. The Hall Master, a thin, wispy lady named Mrs. Farrington, would come up to alert them about dinner shortly. Very shortly. The door burst open, and a gasp came from the doorway.

"My dear!" Farrington cried, rushing over to Tawnie. "We must take you to the infirmary this instant!"

Tawnie's eyes widened and she shook her head back and forth, moaning, "No no no no..." But despite her many objections, Farrington shouted something into the hall and soon a few stiff-looking Staff members dressed in white were hauling Tawnie out on a stretcher. It all happened so fast, Adelaide barely had time to process it. "No no no no no!" Tawnie wailed, louder this time, as she was carried out of the room. Adelaide could hear her cries echoing down the hall, growing fainter and fainter with every passing second.