Chapter 1

I scrunched around trying to get comfortable, sitting in the recessed alcove, looking through the metal grill into the Party Room. The admissions director, Ms. Bennett, was checking off names on a list as the students entered the room, urging them to sit in the front rows. They must be nearly all here—I counted sixty-three now ... no, here was another.

I wasn’t allowed in the room for the orientation session—it was outside the Academy’s secured “student” area. For the next year I wouldn’t leave that area except for the six parties our class would host. But I wouldn’t have missed this session for anything. I wanted to feel I was part of the class, not missing any experiences the other students had, and that meant somehow attending the orientation, even though I already knew everything they were going to be told.

There was a pleasant murmur of voices from the new students, interrupted by frequent chuckles. A few of them obviously knew each other from high school, but most were strangers to each other, trying to get to know the boys and girls around them with whom they would become a quasi-family for the next three years. I shook my head in wonder. More than half of them wouldn’t survive to graduation. I looked at the faces trying to guess, based on no information, which ones would make it.

Most of the students were dressed very casually, though some wore semi-formal outfits. I suspected each had few other clothes to wear, except the ones they’d chosen for orientation. By now they’d either given most of their possessions away, to friends or younger siblings, or had boxed them up in preparation for doing so, as I had before leaving home. They would not be keeping any of their original clothes here, except a few outfits the staff would approve as being sexy enough to wear to the parties. Other than that, each would have only the official uniform: shirts or blouses, shorts or hot pants, underthings, socks, and sneakers. I had several sets of those, all identical, that I’d been wearing for a month.

Ms. Bennett looked down at her list to confirm that all the students were present. She looked up at the grill where I was peeking in, and gave me a smile and a little wave. Then she signaled to Dean Porter, who rose and approached the lectern.

My heart pounded. This is it! I can start feeling like a student now, instead of an interloper!

The Dean looked out at the faces of eager and slightly nervous students; after a few moments they grew quiet. He smiled.

“On behalf of the Hanging Academy, I’d like to welcome all of you to Orientation. I’ve met all of you individually within the last few months, and it’s my pleasure to be able to congratulate you on the achievements that have earned you a place in our student body.”

There were a few suppressed snickers, probably students whispering to their neighbors some joke on the phrase “student body,” but everyone settled down quickly and paid close attention to the Dean.

He continued. “I know that you all know why you are here. And there is very little I can tell you that you shouldn’t already know. I trust that each of you has received our student handbook in the mail in the last month, and I hope each of you has read through it carefully. Did anyone not get one?” He waited to see if any hands were raised. None were.

He nodded. “Good. Now, I just want to say a few things to you personally, all of which you should know from reading the handbook. Foremost, I want to reiterate something you must each be very clear on. All of you who accept admission will be hanged. I hope that you can reach your goal of performing as an Academy graduate, but many of you will not. It is my hope, though, that every single one of you will, by your death, serve a greater purpose than simply culling our student body—or even than entertainment. Some of you will be hanged in classroom demonstrations, and you will help every one of your fellow students learn more about the craft and art that you will all be trying to perfect. Some of you will be chosen to die at one of our parties, in front of an audience who will appreciate your performance very much, and that ending may be very nearly as satisfying to you as if you had done it as a graduate. But none of you, once you accept your admission to the Academy tomorrow morning, may withdraw as students. You are making a very serious commitment, which I hope each of you will carefully consider after you return home tonight. Discuss it with your parents, your siblings, and anyone else with whom you feel a special bond and trust.

“If you do decide to join us tomorrow, you will become slaves, the property of the Hanging Academy, as soon as you sign the admission forms. We will issue you your new uniforms and slave collars, your books and videos for your classes, your food cards for the cafeteria, your schedules of classes, and a room in the First Year dorm. That will take nearly half the day. The rest of your time tomorrow will be free, so that you can get acquainted with your roommate and your other colleagues, and become familiar with the grounds. Classes will start the following day, Monday.”

I shivered with excitement. Just two days until my classes begin!

The Dean continued. “Once you have entered the secure area, you will not be allowed to leave it, but we do have quite a large campus, and you will find that the scope of your life is not really very limited.” He smiled. “I think our upper-class boys would probably tell you that your studies won’t leave you very much time to go anywhere anyway.”

There was quite a lot of nervous laughter at that.

“You will have a great deal more freedom than most other slaves, but you should bear in mind that, once you join us, you will indeed be slaves. You have seen in the handbook that we do have strict rules of behavior, our Honor Code, and you have read about the penalties for Level 1 and Level 2 violations of the Code.” He paused, probably as aware as I was of the sudden tension in the room. “Now, you’ll be reassured to know there have been no Level 2 violations in the last...” He stopped to think. “Is it ten years now, Vonda?”

The boys turned to look at Ms. Bennett as she answered, “A little more than ten, yes.”

The Dean nodded. “In the last ten years there have been no Level 2 violations, and I’m sure I can count on all of you to extend that interval into the indefinite future. I know all of you are responsible young students, and will uphold the Honor Code as a matter of course.” He beamed at the students, who seemed to relax a bit.

“When you return tomorrow morning, you will sign in, and then we will conduct you into the student area to finish getting you checked in.

“Now, that completes our orientation session.” He smiled. “We told you in the letter it would be brief. You can see you can trust us.” More laughs. “Before I dismiss you, I’d like to see if any of you have questions.”

A brown-haired girl in the second row raised her hand. “Not that I’m planning to get sick...” Some of the others laughed. “ ... But I saw in the handbook that I’ll need a medical excuse from the nurse before I can miss classes. How ... I’m not sure how to say this ... How strict are you?”

The Dean nodded. “Jackie, is it?”

The girl smiled at being remembered. “Yes, sir.”

“I think I understand you. As far as enforcing the rule, we’re very strict indeed, but I think you meant how hard is it to be certified as being actually ill. Is that right?” The girl nodded. “All I can say at this point is that our nurse is very understanding. She is going to be looking for some sign of illness, but I think the upper class students will confirm that she doesn’t just jump to the conclusion that you’re malingering. Of course, as you’ve read, you’ll be responsible for making up any missed assignments, workouts, or practices.” He paused. “Have I answered your question?” The girl nodded again. The Dean saw another hand raised, a slightly heavy dark-haired girl this time. “Yes? It’s ... Shirlee, I think?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve got a question about the program for ‘heavies’. You’ve said you hope to get two or three students in each class to volunteer for that?”

The Dean nodded. “Yes, we do on occasion get requests for a larger graduate to put on a show. That requires a special regimen in addition to the training all students go through. Over the three year training period, the ‘heavy’ students go through additional physical exercises, to promote a greater degree of muscular development—they actually have quite low fat ratios in their bodies—including, of course, extra work to strengthen their neck muscles. They also each have a special diet to support their participation in the program. No student is forced to join the program, and in some classes we have three or four, and in some classes none at all. I take it you are considering volunteering for that?”

The girl smiled. “Yes, sir.”

The Dean returned her smile. “You can sign on for that tomorrow, when you check in.” He looked around again. “Any other questions?”

A blond boy near the end of a row, on the side nearer me, raised his hand. He was truly stunning—everything I could see, the shape of his cheekbones, his tall neck,, the line of his eyebrows ... everything was perfect. He didn’t look at all like Miranda, but something about him, a sense of confidence perhaps, reminded me of her. He was sitting with his arms folded across his chest, now raising one arm briefly to signal the Dean before resuming his posture.

The Dean saw him. “Yes ... Grant?”

The boy nodded briefly, seeming to take it as obvious that the Dean would remember him. “I’ve seen the rules about class participation, but would we be allowed to skip a class if we already feel like we know the material?”

The Dean looked briefly irritated, but regained his smile. “No, you’ll be expected to attend all classes unless excused due to illness. And especially if you have already mastered the material being discussed: you can share your knowledge in class discussions.”

The boy, Grant, sighed, quietly saying “Yes, sir,” in a somewhat grudging way.

I shook my head slightly. The quality in Grant that reminded me of Miranda only extended to his looks. I wondered if there would be an attitude problem. I tentatively assigned Grant to the “won’t make it” category.

The Dean looked around. “Are there any other questions?” After waiting a few seconds, he smiled. “Well, that concludes today’s program, then. I look forward to seeing all of you tomorrow. If you decide to join us, you must be present, here, in this room, not later than 9 am. Until then, I wish you a good day.” He smiled at the room generally as students began standing. Some of them walked up the aisles to the exit; others started talking in groups.

I left the alcove and made my way back to my room. The First Year wing in the dorms was nearly deserted; most of the students had already moved their things to their new rooms in the Second Year wing. I looked in Larry’s and Laney’s room; the staff had already replaced their one large bed with two smaller beds. Larry was filling a box with the last of his possessions. I smiled. “You got your new uniforms!” Larry was wearing the aqua-colored shorts of a second year student.

Larry beamed at me. “And the collar! Come and look at it!” He reached up to push up his metal collar a little higher for me to see.

I came over and bent slightly to get a better look, reading the collar out loud. “Larry—Property of the Hanging Academy.” I looked back up into Larry’s excited face. “That is so cool! You finally got your name on it!”

Larry giggled. “So—Slave Girl,” giving me a little dig to emphasize the difference in our collars, “How did the orientation go?”

I smiled and shrugged. “Same as always, I imagine. You probably remember what it’s like. Say, did you guys have any ... like ... attitude trouble in your class? Any I’m-just-way-above-all-you-peons kind of thing?”

Larry rolled his eyes. “Well, you know there’s always going to be one or two like that. The ones who cruised through high school and thought they were always hot stuff. Or they’ve done hanging before, and they figure they know all about it. Why, did you see one?”

“Maybe ... I don’t know. I should probably give him the benefit of the doubt. I’ll start meeting them all tomorrow, I guess.”

“Yeah ... Oh!!” His eyes suddenly went big. “I just thought. You’ll be totally by yourself in this whole empty wing tonight! Everybody in our class has moved!” All the students I had met in the First Year—now Second Year—class had been eager to change rooms as soon as they were allowed to. The Second Year class always had fewer students than the First Year started with, so the Second Year wing had fewer rooms—and they were larger than the First Year rooms.

Larry shook his head. “Look, Amy, you just can’t stay there by yourself. I’d be so spooked! Spend the night with me and Laney. We’ll get a rollaway.” There was often an odd number of students in a class; sometimes a student had to share temporarily with two others, at least until another member of his class was hanged. Every dorm wing had a few extra rollaway beds for that reason. “I need to get some hanging practice done, and you can help with that. Then we’ll get some popcorn and watch a movie. It’ll be fun!”