Heat spread across my cheeks and neck. I wanted to get back to the quest.
“I warned you about him,” Teacher said after what seemed like a lifetime. “Tomorrow you tell Jeremiah that if he’s thinking of abandoning this community, I have no problem sending the video of his q1 to his former employer.”
I stifled a gasp. The day after my initiation, I had confronted Jeremiah about his admission. How long had he been cooking the books? Did anyone at his company know?
He’d gazed at me sadly. “I thought you knew me better than that by now. I made it up, Kit. I bet at least half of those confessions were exaggerations—or straight-up lies—to outdo each other. To win points with Teacher.”
Half of me was relieved I wasn’t the only one who had embellished their secret. The other half was disappointed—were we freeing ourselves from judgment if our transgressions were invented? What was the point?
“Carry on,” Teacher said in my ear.
Color had returned to Jeremiah’s face, so Sofia left his side and smoothly resumed preparations. She picked up an alcohol swab from her metal tray and tore it open. She patted my right leg until I relaxed, lying like a cadaver on her table. She wiped the swab across the pad of my right big toe. My breath hitched.
“The mark we wear on our toes is an homage to all that we’ve learned,” she said. “The three points of the triangle represent Wisewood’s three principles. The triangle plus trunk form an evergreen tree to remind us where our rebirth originated. And the triangular Q plus the F beneath it stands for ‘Quests of Fearlessness,’ the reason we’re all here tonight.”
It’s just a tattoo. I exhaled, thinking of the star on my temple—I’d gotten it the week after Mom died. Nat thought I was crazy then, and she would think this was crazy now. But how was q2 any different from a man branding his girlfriend’s name across his chest? A family commemorating the death of a loved one with matching angel wings? We wanted a way to express our commitment, a daily reminder of what we were working toward. All of this was pain with a purpose. Teacher often reminded us that pain was fear leaving the body. In our case, it was especially true. With every quest, we were one step closer to fearlessness. I didn’t know how to make Nat understand.
She’s not here, I reminded myself. Don’t let fear of judgment get the best of you.
If my sister were here, she’d say that I followed Teacher around like a puppy, with a head empty of opinions or reason, but she would be wrong. I knew Teacher manipulated me. I knew she played all of us against one another, keeping us closer to her than to each other. I knew she told me what I wanted to hear to strengthen her hold over me.
But I cared less about the reasons behind her actions and more about the actions themselves. Every wink, every compliment, every hug—they made me feel needed. Most of the time, it didn’t matter if she was telling the other students the same things. I craved her approval. Teacher telling me I was special was more important than whether it was actually true. I was willing to overlook serious flaws if it meant being loved. Who among us wasn’t?
I tolerated these manipulations because they pointed me in a direction I already wanted to go. Teacher wasn’t trying to force me to wear a skin that didn’t fit, to push for a life I didn’t want. She could be harsh but she was also right—fear was a monster of our own making. Fear held power over us only if we let it.
You’re a tidal wave, Kitten. You’re exactly what Wisewood needs.
“Sanderson? Raeanne?” Sofia said. The two of them rose.
Sanderson cleared his throat. “I’m not totally down with . . .” Raeanne grimaced at him. He swallowed and approached the table.
“You take her legs. You get her arms,” Sofia said.
Clammy hands clamped my ankles; a dry pair grabbed my wrists. I reminded myself Teacher had said touching was allowed for quests as long as we didn’t enjoy it. I willed myself not to think about how much time had passed since I’d touched another human being—besides her—in a non-classroom setting, but a number materialized anyway: six and a half months. I refused to think about my mother’s hugs or my last boyfriend’s kisses. I ignored the blasphemous thought that touching was a form of socializing, and socializing was what made us human.
I focused on lying still on the table, wondering if Raeanne could feel my pulse jumping out of my wrists. Sofia laid a comforting hand on my back as she talked about the importance of pain, how it made us stronger.