I wish Guardian Bose didn’t have to come to the movies with us; he’s obviously miserable about it. But we knew there’d be rules for this field trip—of course there would be. It’s going to be tough to avoid him.

The bus turns onto Main Street, and we’re all pressed to the windows. The town is small, less than fifteen hundred people, but there are dozens of residents walking around downtown right now. People watch us drive by, men tipping up their hats to get a better look. Women shaking their heads in disapproval.

I think about the hosts at the places we visit, always scurrying out of sight the minute we arrive. Jackson said the town knew about the school, but not about the girls. They wonder about us. But not enough to question the men in power.

I used to fantasize about coming into town. But now that I’m here . . . I feel suddenly vulnerable. It makes Winston Weeks’s request seem more appropriate than ever. We need to be socialized to society, and society needs to be socialized to us. By hiding us away, the academy made us outsiders. Maybe they wanted it that way.

Who would believe girls they’ve never seen before? Who would believe outsiders?

The bus hisses to a stop at the corner gas station, and the doors fold open. Guardian Bose moves to the block the aisle.

“We’re heading down Main Street toward the movie theater,” he says. “Straight there, understand? No funny business.”

Brynn snorts a laugh at “funny business” and quickly covers her mouth. We try to nod solemnly and deeply like we’re taking him very seriously. He rolls his eyes, annoyed with all of us.

We file off the bus, gathering to wait for everyone. The open air smells like gas and trash from a nearby dumpster. Weirdly, despite our important mission, the sudden freedom is intoxicating. We find ourselves smiling, accepting the abnormality of our lives to have these few moments. Sydney smiles at me.

Guardian Bose leads the way, but several of us hang toward the back. I keep my eyes out for Jackson, scared the Guardian will notice him before I do.

We continue down Main Street, passing people who don’t say hello, even though we’re very polite to them. Mostly, they avoid our eyes.

As Annalise pauses at a shop window, distracted, a woman walks toward us with a child, clutching her hand to her side as they pass. The woman doesn’t look at me, but the little girl does. Her large blue eyes study me, her fingers in her mouth. I smile at her and offer a wave.

The little girl smiles back with several missing teeth, and I find her response delightful. She continues to look back over her shoulder at me. And then she pulls her fingers out of her mouth to hold them up in a wave. Her mother tugs her forward and tells her to keep walking.

“She was cute,” I say. Brynn comes over, looking after her too.

“I’ll take several of those,” she says, pointing at the kid, but talking like Annalise would while shopping. We both start laughing.

The Main Street theater is old fashioned, with a freestanding ticket booth. The boy selling tickets—not much older than we are—averts his eyes. His hands shake as he takes our money and slides the tickets in our direction, making sure never to touch us.

“Thank you,” Annalise sings out, leaning in to kiss the glass window. She leaves a red lipstick mark. When the boy looks up at it, he actually gulps.

“Let’s go,” Marcella says, grabbing Annalise’s arms. “Let’s not terrorize boys so early into the afternoon.”

Annalise laughs, and we head inside. The entry is dramatic, with oversized red drapes and statues of famous actresses set up throughout the lobby so people can take pictures with them. While the others check them out, Sydney and I head straight for the concession—mostly to keep an eye out for Jackson. Well, mostly so she can get popcorn and I can get candy, but also to watch for him.

It’s thrilling to have to wait in line with other people. It shouldn’t be, I’m sure. But Sydney and I exchange a few smiles as we overhear people talking about their lives. Their jobs. Their favorite soda.

It occurs to me then that the girls and I don’t talk about our futures, not in a significant way. The academy tells us to trust them, that they know what’s best. Clearly that’s not true. The only one who ever questioned our futures was Lennon Rose. And soon after . . . she was gone.

I look around at the people in this concession line, wondering if I’ll be like them once this is over. Able to make my own choices. Or will Mr. Petrov hand us over to another man—one we have to marry. Or will it be our parents, telling us to charm our fathers’ rivals?

The school is using us, using our futures. Our potential. To what end, I’m not sure. I think we’ve been trained to not imagine the possibilities.

The Guardian calls gruffly from behind the line for us to hurry up. We’re not in control of the line, but I glance back at him and smile obediently anyway. I can feel him checking every person who comes near us. But after a bit, he must give up because he goes to wait at the theater door.

We’re each allowed one item from the concession, at Dr. Groger’s suggestion. You need to learn how to moderate your choices, selecting items based on what you’ve learned here.

Well, I’m obviously buying candy. That seems like a good choice to me.

Once I have my candy and Sydney has her large popcorn, we meet the others at theater nine. I’m surprised by how big the room is—all the seats and the massive screen.

It’s a little crowded, so we can’t all sit together. The Guardian allows Sydney and me to grab two seats in a row near the back. Annalise and the others opt to move closer, asking the Guardian to sit with them. They’re going to try to keep him distracted while I talk to Jackson. If  Jackson shows up.

The room suddenly darkens and I gasp before realizing it’s supposed to happen. The screen expands and the volume gets louder as a voice over a loud speaker tells us we’re about to watch trailers for upcoming movies.

We watch, mildly interested even though the previews are men with guns, men with fast cars, and men diving from one skyscraper to another. In the hallway there were posters for movies that seemed much more interesting.

I’m growing impatient when suddenly there’s a flash of movement at the end of the row. I glance over casually just as he sits next to me, and when I see it’s Jackson, I viciously rip off a piece of licorice with my teeth.

Jackson’s out of breath, his eyes wide as he stares at me. Worried, I guess. I haven’t seen him all week.

I sweep my gaze over him in the darkened theater. And then I narrow my eyes and ask, “When were you going to tell me about your mother?”

He runs his hand though his hair and whispers, “Fuck.”

“Jackson,” Sydney whispers, leaning forward to look at him. She quickly checks to make sure the Guardian hasn’t noticed him sitting with us. “For the record, I knew you’d show up.” I give her a pointed look, and she presses her lips together and goes back to watching the movie.

“We need to talk,” he whispers to me, sounding a bit desperate.

“Oh, you think?” I ask. He doesn’t seem to like my coldness, but I don’t care what he thinks about my behavior. For once, I’m acting the way I feel. Speaking my mind. And right now, my mind is angry.

Sydney checks on the Guardian again. “If Bose comes looking for you,” she says, “I’ll tell him you’re in the bathroom. Just hurry.”