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  “What do you mean?”

  She runs a hand along my bedroom wall, staring at the spectacles of dust that gather on her fingertips. She rubs her fingers together, yet again, not giving anything away.

  “Where am I going?” I demand.

  “Sin won’t be tolerated in this house,” she says mechanically, as though she’s reading from a script. “You need to be cleansed.”

  “What is wrong with you?” I say. “Seriously, you don’t need God, you need a therapist.”

  “Therapy,” she repeats, almost smiling at me, almost. “I couldn’t agree more. Therapy is exactly what is required.”

  I lean my head deeper into my headboard. “You’re crazy.”

  “We will be leaving in exactly ten minutes.”

  “To go where?”

  “An academy that specialises in these particular situations,” she says. “You are dirty. And you must be cleaned. You must be cleaned.”

  I stay silent for a few moments, as she repeats that same sentence to herself over and over again, I watch her in a strange type of pity. I always knew there was something mentally wrong with her, but it’s like she’s suddenly malfunctioning. She still repeats the words, while patting down her apron against her knees.

  “Do I need to reboot you?” I say.

  “Clean and tidy,” she says while compulsively flattening her apron. “Too much dirt.”

  “I’m not going to any academy,” I say. As much as I actually love the idea of leaving them for a long period of time, to go join some delinquents like myself that also stick their fingers up at their parents, I can’t leave Nathan.

  Not after what happened last night. I need to know that he’s okay and I actually really want to yell at him for being so stupid. But most of all, I just need to know that he’s okay.

  “This is a special academy, Elizabeth,” she says, finally breaking herself out of her repetitive, robotic pattern, maybe she comes with a reboot button after all. “And you are enrolling today.”

  “For how long?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  “For what?” I say quietly. “To become a robot?”

  “To become committed to the faith,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me. “To be good.”

  I think about that. This is most definitely still an aberration and is a consequence from my defiant abjure nature—but to abscond to this academy and to make my parents believe, for once, that I might be making progress, is almost a victory. It won’t change me, nor will it push me towards becoming like her, but the prospect of coming back and laughing at their expense is almost equivalent to winning a medal.

  As much as I hate the thought of leaving Nathan and not saying goodbye, I really don’t want to stay another night in this house, and an academy for people like me doesn’t sound so bad. We can share war stories, bond over how much we hate our lives, eat forbidden cake after dark when we think the coast is clear and probably get caught.

  My parents may see it as a training exorcise for me, but I see it as a vacation. It’s not as though I’m out on the streets every night taking drugs and robbing corner shops—the academy will barely have anything to do with me, there’s nothing they can change for the better. I am for the better. Every day I get just a little stronger, and I better myself from becoming like Jonas and Amelia.

  Every day I’m proud of myself, even if no one else is.

  I meet my mother’s eyes and I accede to her. “We better get going then.”

  Chapter 7

  “I don’t understand,” I repeat again, while my mother drives me silently through the quiet town and my father sits awkwardly beside her. “Why am I not allowed to take my own clothes?”

  Yet again, my question is met with ignorance. I wonder if I’m being naive, and if the academy is all but a rouse and they’re secretly planning to drop me somewhere completely different, like the middle of a desert. My mother picked out a white blouse and grey skirt for me to wear, an outfit that in other circumstances, I would never in a million years put over my body. I despise their plain, boring colours, it reflects too much of their personalities and I don’t want to be reminded of that.

  I shuffle in my seat, glancing towards the window to where my face is warmed by the bright, high sun. And then, I straighten as I realise what street this is. The police station is just a little bit further down and even though I know there’s a strong chance he’s already been released, I can’t help but stare at every detail of the street in eager search of him. The car moves past the station, and it is crammed with police cars and teenagers standing in huddles outside of the building. They’ve all probably been released, so where is Nathan?

  I scan my eyes over each face, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but before I have time to look at every person, the car speeds up and the station fades behind me.

  I fall back into my seat, banging my head against the leather head-rest as I start to breathe heavily. “What is the name of the academy?” I say. If I’ve read about it or heard about it, I’ll remember instantly.

  “Cross Academy,” my father says.

  “Wait,” I say. I lean forwards into the middle of their seats. “That’s a religious academy.”

  I remember coming across Cross Academy on one of the computers at the library a few months ago. I even scrolled through their page because anything to do with housing robotic religion folk amuses me. At the top of their page in huge, bold letters was the sentence, ‘God needs you now, more than we need you to come, but he needs you.’

  And then it went on to describe how only Catholic and Christian followers could sign up, and it welcomes all ages, but at the bottom, the sentence that stood out to me the most was.

  ‘Do you have children that won’t abide by the will of God? Do you wish for them to be put on the right path to redemption? Then this is the place you have been looking for.’

  I remember the pictures that covered their home page with fickle, fake advertisement. Every child and adult photographed was smiling happily, as though this academy had changed their life. But I saw the truth. The people in the photographs were actors, I recognised that immediately, because my mother and father have always forbid photographs being taken—it is seen as vanity.

  “What else did you expect?” says my mother.

  “I thought you were taking me to a—” I stop myself, wondering if I should give them the satisfaction of telling them that I expected to be going to a different kind of academy. An academy that wouldn’t make me pray as though my life depended on it. “Never mind.”

  “You will learn everything you are supposed to learn,” my mother says. “You will be clean.”

  “No matter how long that takes,” my father interjects.

  No matter how long that takes, I repeat to myself. How long is how long? A fortnight? A month? The whole of summer? I can do this as long as I can still write to Nathan, I remember their website stating that participants are allowed to write to loved ones once a week. I’ll explain everything to him properly, I’ll explain how much I really didn’t have a choice.

  I’ll explain that one day, even though it’s uncertain, I’ll be with him again—and no matter what happens, no matter what this academy throws at me, they won’t ever change me.

  And I’ll be home soon.

  Chapter 8

  I remain silent during the rest of the car journey, as there is nothing else to say and no straight answers I will receive if I do. I’m not sure where we are, I just know that we’re not in California anymore and everything around me screams country.

  We’ve been driving for the entire day, and my legs are beginning to feel stiff and my back is beginning to ache, and my arm from the fall last night is starting to display thick, purple bruises that leave me wincing in pain every time I move it.

  But worse than that, I’m severely dehydrated. My parents don’t feel thirst and hunger like normal people do, they eat and drink when needed, but they could go hours, if not days, without it. It�
��s something that they have tried to thrust upon me, but it doesn’t work. Whenever they surrendered to bed, I’d just sneak downstairs and pour myself a glass of water. Fasting is part of their strong beliefs and they believe that if a person cannot fast, they cannot handle the word of God.

  I wish that they could take the passion that they extract from the Bible and put it into something useful—like loving their daughter, or even loving each other. I’m not sure how they met, or what direction their lives were headed in before they did, but something must have sparked between them. Whether that be a shared interest in being Martians or maybe they enjoyed each other’s silence, I don’t know.

  What I do know, is that at some point eighteen years ago, they did interact and they did have sex. Otherwise, how else would I be alive?

  They can put on this hilarious sin resentment all they like, but the truth is, both of them have sinned themselves. But with no evidence or photography of their wedding or the date they were married—it’s unclear if they actually have. So, I can’t point out the contradiction, I can just think it.

  My mother suddenly jerks awake from her long sleep and she gently stretches out her arms like a cat. She glares at the darker sky, admiring the visible moon that camouflages within the plain clouds.

  “Ready to switch?” my father says quietly.

  “Yes, pull over.”

  As the car pulls over and they both trade places tiredly, I remember the location of Cross Academy on the internet page and I realise that we have an even longer drive ahead of us. We probably won’t reach it until morning and that’s if they don’t make any stops. We stopped at the gas station a few hours ago and they allowed me to briefly use the bathroom, but the thirst is beginning to irritate me.

  The only way I can quench it is to sleep myself. So, I rest my head against the window as the car starts moving again and I fall into the quiet darkness.

  + + +

  I awake to the sound of a truck beeping its horn beside my window. I let out a small yawn and I turn my head, glancing at the truck that is waiting at the same set of lights. The sun is up and the sky is a radiant blue.

  I rub my eyes as I sit up, my mother is still driving and my father is sitting up straight in the passenger seat, his eyes glaring forwards.

  The car roars to life and my mother turns us away from the junction and onto a country road that is in the middle of beautiful, over-grown trees. The car turns around many bends, picking up speed as though we’re in a race. And as we manoeuvre towards a large tunnel up ahead, I brace myself for the awkward darkness.

  It comes quickly and we travel through the tunnel for a matter of moments, and then the car turns left abruptly.

  I glance out of the window in awe as we speed down a long, dirt road that is placed between two forests. The car travels for a few miles before slowing to a stop outside a giant, steel gate that is attached to a line of high fences that create a perimeter, shielding whatever is inside.

  Above the gate is a metal sign that reads: Welcome to Cross Academy.

  I hold my breath for a few moments before the gate automatically slides open and I catch a glimpse of a security camera that beams a red light into my eyes.

  And then, we enter.

  Chapter 9

  The steel gates slam to a close behind us. It makes me flinch as I suddenly realise that I am now a part of whatever is inside of here, and the outside world is now lost and locked behind me.

  I turn my attention to the compound around me, becoming startled as I see woman after woman walking in a straight line behind each other, all of them dressed somewhat the same. They walk in synchronisation with their arms by their sides, staring on ahead as though they have nowhere else to look. Their outfits are not outfits—but uniforms. The older women are wearing grey sweaters with grey trousers, while the younger women wear grey-collared gowns that flow down their legs to their ankles and wrap themselves in a dark, grey shawl. All of them, are barefoot.

  I notice how each of their hair is combed into a tight bun, not a single strand falls out of place and most of the women wear bandannas. Some grey, some white, some black. Not a single colour is located on their body.

  There are lines and lines of them in every direction that I look. They are all being led somewhere different by a person wearing a black and white gown in front of them. All of them act the same, all of them walk the same, all of them terrify me.

  My mother stops the car outside one of the many buildings that inhabit the ground. I gaze at the building; it is a small, orange-bricked cabin that no line of women are directing themselves towards.

  “Out of the car, Elizabeth,” my mother says as she swings her door open.

  I reach my hand out to the door handle, my heart begins beating twice as fast, as I remember all of the women I have just witnessed, aimlessly walking past the car as though it would kill them to even glance at it.

  What the hell is this place?

  I open the door and step into the fresh, cool air that feels like heaven against my skin. I’ve spent hours cooped up in that car, so I take a few moments to regain my comfort, before I am snapped straight out of it.

  The door to the cabin bursts open, and into the light of day, steps a short-haired, middle-aged man with tan skin, a thick moustache and frosty, dark eyes. He doesn’t regard me at all, his only interest is my parents.

  “You must be the Sanchez’s,” he says. “Thank you for seeking our help.”

  “We are desperate,” my mother tells him. “Thank you for accepting her at such short notice.”

  I want to wave a hand in their faces, to avert their strange introduction and direct their attention to me, the person that is standing here, right beside them. But I remain silent, watching them intensely as I think of the words I should say when I do need to say them.

  “I am all too familiar with desperate,” the man says sadly. “I reviewed your case last night and I felt that this situation needed correcting immediately.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” says my mother. “What you do here is inspiring. I only hope you have the patience for this particular challenge as it is a rather difficult one.”

  “I have dealt with the most difficult of difficult,” the man responds and then he finally looks at me, eyeing me from my toes to my hairline. “I broke them all.”

  “Broke?” I say.

  “Hush,” my mother sneers at me. “You don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.”

  “What do you mean you broke them?” I ask him, ignoring my mother.

  “Do you see the problem?” my mother says.

  The man flicks his eyes from me to her. “I do. That behaviour will not be tolerated here. Let that be a warning.”

  I find myself grinning at him. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  His face falls sinister as he takes steps towards me and he leans above me with fury mounting in his ice-cold eyes. “You are brave, Miss Sanchez,” he says through his teeth. “Bravery at Cross Academy is not heroic. And not one person here sees it as heroic. Do you understand?”

  I nod.

  “Good. Let that be lesson one.” He scrolls his eyes to my parents. “You may leave now.”

  “What about the contract?” my father says. “We need to sign.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” the man says. “Elizabeth can sign herself. You have brought her to the right place. We will contact you with updates. God bless you.”

  “God bless you,” my parents say at the same time.

  I stand still beside the man as my parents surrender themselves back to their bland, black car. No goodbye, no advice, no real reason as to what the hell any of that meant—I truly mean nothing to them. I am merely an inconvenience, a burden that they have finally released themselves from. I watch as the car begins moving from me, back towards the steel gate that slides open for them to exit. I watch as the only two people that I have all but tried to love, leave me behind as though I am just a hitch-hiker that they’ve fin
ally dropped off, as though I am a stranger.

  “Come,” the man says, his hand falling onto my arm. “We have lots to discuss.”

  I slowly turn around to allow him to lead me towards the entrance of the cabin, while secretly I am, wishing that my parents will turn around and come back for me, to tell me that it’s all a mistake, that they have always loved me and I do mean something to them, and leaving me here alone is just a joke that they took too far.

  I’d be okay with that. If it was just a joke. One day, I’d laugh.

  One day, I’d even forgive them.

  But as I linger at the doorway, my eyes scanning over that gate, my hopes are crushed with a sudden realisation: they are never coming back.

  Chapter 10

  “My name is Duncan,” the man says over his shoulder as I follow him through a wide-open chapel room with a shiny, tiled floor, and rows and rows of seats. “But you shall address me as Pastor.”

  “Fitting,” I mumble under my breath.

  At the top of the chapel is a high-up stage that holds a dusty piano and a wooden book holder with non-other than the Bible spread across it. I gaze around at all the empty seats, wondering why the members aren’t here because it’s Sunday. I would have thought, at least, one member would be here.

  Then again, from what I saw of the compound outside, it is pretty big. There could be dozens of chapels. That could be where all those women were headed.

  But where are the men?

  Duncan opens a small, oval door around a red curtain and I step inside what looks like an office. My eyes scan over the shelves of books against the wall that are neatly organised and categorised in chronological order. That, to me, gives me the first impression that Duncan has severe OCD. As I observe other objects around the room, I come to the same conclusion. Every single object on his desk, including his paperwork, has been lined up across it and placed perfectly vertical.

  He walks over to the other side of the desk and despite it already being neatly tidied, he begins re-straightening everything anyway, as though it’s his own compulsion that they’re not straight enough, especially with an audience watching.