The Woodlands (#1 THE WOODLANDS SERIES) (COMPLETE)

11. ALLOCATIONS

We were roused at 06:00 for showers and then straight to breakfast. Krepke and Baron were at the entrance to the bathroom, shouting at us to hurry up. I saw Baron strike a girl on the back while she was still in a towel, a red welt appearing across the girl’s still wet skin. I was always good at getting ready fast, so for once, I was first in line.

Breakfast was a help-yourself kind of deal, with big metal dishes full of steaming food. Food I had never even seen before. I piled a little of everything on my plate. I wanted to try as much as possible. As I went to sit down, I could see Joseph sitting at the end of the table again. He looked up at me and smiled, sadly. I took a step towards him but he shook his head. His behavior was infuriating. I wanted to go and confront him but I heard ‘Hey amazing eyes, over here’. Rasheed and Serge were motioning for me to sit with them and I figured, well, at least they wanted to talk to me, so I turned away from him and towards my new friends.

“You should be quiet, Rasheed, you’ll get us in trouble,” I winked.

“Call me Rash, and I think trouble’s more fun!” He winked back, eyeing my piled-high plate with amusement.

I dug in and, to my disappointment, found that everything tasted the same. The red meat tasted the same as the noodles with soup, which tasted the same as the orange fruit. I stared at my plate, confused.

Serge spoke, “It’s synthetic, made to look like food from home but tastes like grey sludge. It has all the nutrition we require. I think it’s supposed to stop us from feeling homesick if it at least resembles something from home.” We rolled our eyes in unison. I was grateful that dinner, at least, tasted like real food.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Rash said with a wicked grin, brandishing his spoon like a weapon. I was sure I shouldn’t be associating with this boy but I couldn’t help myself. He was like me; I’d never met anyone like me.

When breakfast was over, we were told to report to our town room for allocations and the Letter. I had forgotten about the Letter. Once we received our Class allocation, we would be given one hour to write a letter to our parents, informing them of what we would be doing and to say farewell. I wondered what they would do for Ana’s parents. It had to be on our own paper and with our own pens so that the parents would know it was from us. The Superiors treated us like we were ignorant peasants. If they wanted to fake a letter, they could, easily. They thought of these inane ways to placate the people when all they really needed to do was maintain the fear. And they certainly did that.

Rasheed grabbed my hand and gave it a friendly squeeze. “Good luck, see you at dinner,” and with that he was off to meet his group from Banyan, Serge to the Birchton group.

I followed Joseph and the others down the hall to a door with the Pau Brazil tree stenciled on the front. Upon entering I could see my place, with the five pens on the table that mother had found and our family letterhead stamped on the top of the paper. There was an envelope on the table that I knew contained my whole future. My allocation. Everyone took their places and started opening their envelopes hungrily. There were sighs of relief, looks of confusion and sheer devastation. I opened mine. It read ‘Rosa Bianca has been allocated the Class of Construction’. Confused didn’t even begin to cover how I was feeling. It was like getting sucked down a drain hole, gripping the edge for a moment before it pulled you down a waterslide. Joseph turned around to face me. I mouthed the words, ‘construction’. He mouthed the words ‘medical’. We both looked confounded by what we had read. Though Joseph was far better off than me—I was headed for a life in the Lowers.

We were barely given time to process this new information before we were told we had one hour to write our family letters. Everyone started writing frantically. I just sat there and stared at my page. What could I say? This would be a disappointment to Paulo or maybe a triumph. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I had failed. My mother would be destroyed by it. I wanted to write something personal, tell my mother I missed or loved her, but nothing came, my hand was still but for the pen pecking dots on the paper. Joseph was scribbling away at a frenetic pace. In fact, so was everyone else. What was wrong with me? With about fifteen minutes to go, my hand selected a pen and wrote:

To Lenos Bianca,

I hope you are happy now.

Sincerely, your daughter,

Rosa Bianca

P.S. Thanks for the eyes.

I folded it up carefully, slowly, drawing out the last few remaining minutes. I put it in the envelope and wrote his name on the front. Then I just sat there and waited for them to call time.

Joseph was writing right up until they told us to stop. His broad shoulders hunched over his desk, his arm wrapped protectively around his precious letter to his beloved parents. I was so jealous of him and angry with him too. He could talk to me—he should. He owed me at least that.

“Please stand up and place your letters on the front desk.” We stood and Joseph’s hand shot back. He shoved a folded-up piece of paper into my hand and walked out, without turning around. I quickly stuck it in my waistband and followed. We had twenty-five minutes before we were to report to our Class rooms. I took this opportunity to walk to the gardens.

I stepped through the gate and was immediately enveloped in greenery. It was cold but my cheeks felt warm. My heart was beating so fast as I raced to find a place I could sit and read. I was hoping it was an apology or maybe even a confession. That he wasn’t going to ditch me in this place. That he was still my friend. I should have left it to my imagination.

The first part was crossed out. I thought I could read the words ‘your father asked’. But then the rest was illegible. The part that I could read was an apology. But it was not the apology I was hoping for. Joseph said that he was very sorry. That he had used me for comfort, as a distraction while he was in the waiting period and upset about leaving his family. He said he never should have let it go on as long as it did and that he felt terrible. He said he did care for me, but now that he was going to the Uppers and I was going to the Lowers, it was better for both of us that we spent time with people from our own Class. He asked me not to talk to him and asked forgiveness for his behavior.

I felt my insides turning to stone, my heart slowing, my breath taking longer and longer to go into my lungs and out.

If I didn’t know how I felt about him before the letter, then I certainly knew my feelings now. Now, when it was too late. So this is what it felt like to have your heart broken, I thought. I hadn’t even noticed that I was crying until the words on the page started to blur as the ink ran together. I knew I wouldn’t come back from this.

I stood up and scrunched the letter into a tight ball in my fist. I let the stone turn inside me, feeling the exquisite pain of love lost—before I even had a chance to hold it. I walked to my Class, feeling heavy but empty with tears still streaming down my face.