Chapter 2

Sunday

I looked up from my textbook, and put my yellow highlighter down. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Wendi poked her head in, biting her lip nervously. “Is Grant here? ... Oh, hi.” Wendi nodded at Grant, who was sitting up on his bed in the neck trainer, his eyes closed, listening to music on headphones. Grant opened his eyes and saw her; he reached up to push the headphones away from his ears.

Wendi stammered, “I - I’m sorry, I’m interrupting, I could come back. It’s, I...”

Grant levered himself up with the handholds and unhooked the neck trainer collar. “It’s okay, I was about finished. What do you need?”

Wendi came further into the room. She seemed not to know what to do with her hands. “I’m ... well, I’m kind of scared. I’m scheduled for my Fifteen on Thursday...”

I said softly, “Wendi, everybody’s nervous about it. But we’ve all been practicing a lot. I know you’ve done more than fifteen minutes in practice, right?”

Wendi sat abruptly on the nearest chair, wringing her hands nervously.

Wendi spoke, a quaver in her voice. “I’m doing something wrong. The last few times with Lucas, I’ve almost fainted after about twelve minutes. I was doing it that long almost a year ago! Lucas’s tried to help, but he’s not sure what’s different.” Lucas was Wendi’s roommate; both had lost their original roommate last year.

Wendi buried her face in her hands, “Of all times for this to happen!”

The Fifteen. We felt it looming over us toward the end of our second year. Early in the third year, every student had to be able to hang and, stay conscious and kicking, for at least fifteen minutes. For this test, you got only one chance.

The Academy believed that any student who, after two years of training, had not reached the point of being able to survive a hanging that long, could not uphold the standards that the Academy demanded for its graduates’ final performances. And, just as in that final performance, in the Fifteen test there were no do-overs. Practice sessions didn’t count—The pressure of performing the official Fifteen was supposed to simulate the tension we’d experience in our final show.

Of course, students who failed the Fifteen were given the same honors as any other student who died in a demo or at a party. Their thanerone would be distributed to their classmates, and their heads would be enshrined in the Hall of Honor. But the specter of sudden failure daunted even the students who had never come close to the Bottom Five: the five students who faced the possibility of being chosen for a demo or a party hanging.

I started to move toward Wendi, but stopped. Grant slid off the bed, pulled the hanging platform out and centered it under the room’s noose. “Okay, let me see what you’re doing.”

Wendi smiled gratefully at Grant and peeled her clothes off quickly. Grant followed her up onto the platform with a short rope and began tying her hands. He finished adjusting the noose around Wendi’s neck and jumped down from the platform. He let Wendi adjust her breathing for a moment, then pulled the lever.

As Wendi hung, squirming and writhing, Grant stood watching intently, fingering his chin absently. He was focusing so hard on Wendi that I wondered whether he would feel it if I slapped his butt.

Grant suddenly backed off a few feet. I was a little surprised—if Grant had spotted something, I would have thought he’d move in closer.

Grant gave a small nod, and pushed the lever to raise the platform. As soon as Wendi had caught his breath, Grant asked, “When did you start doing that little kick?”

Wendi shook her head blankly. “What kick? It’s all kicking. Like everybody does.”

“Uh-uh. This one’s added on. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

Wendi shook her head again, looking lost.

“Okay, get ready. I’m going to hang you again.” He gave Wendi a moment, then pulled the lever again.

He moved to stand a little to Wendi’s right. Watching Wendi’s kicking with the same intensity as before, he suddenly reached down to slap Wendi’s ankle lightly, just as she made a kick. A few seconds later Grant did it again, and then a third time shortly after. He pushed the lever then, to raise the platform.

As Wendi stood looking down at him, breathing hard, Grant said, “That kick.”

“But it’s just another kick.”

Grant shook his head. “You fell into a new habit somehow. You can choreograph all you want, but sometimes self-preservation instinct throws in something new, especially if you’re tense about something like the Fifteen. You’re making a kick at a really bad time. It throws off your balance just when you need the pressure off the right side of your neck so the blood can come up the carotid.”

Now I understood why Grant had backed off suddenly earlier. He’d wanted a wider field of view so he could keep his eye on Wendi’s leg and head movements at the same time.

Wendi closed her eyes, swaying a bit as if replaying the last hanging in her head. She suddenly gasped. “Oh!! That ... yeah! I see what you’re saying now!” She shook her head. “I wasn’t thinking about it. I’ve just ... well, I started worrying about the Fifteen, and tried to imagine I was doing the Fifteen when I practiced. I started feeling ... you know, kind of desperate. I guess it’s like you said—self-preservation.”

Grant nodded, and untied Wendi’s hands. “It’s a pretty stupid instinct sometimes. Does exactly the opposite of what it’s trying to do. Look, go back to your room and relax about an hour. Then come back and we’ll do a real Fifteen practice.”

Wendi pulled off the noose and nodded eagerly. She jumped down from the platform and beamed at Grant. “Thank you! I’ll be back in a little bit.” She dashed out into the hallway, almost dancing.

I came up behind Grant and put my arms around his waist, kissing his neck lightly. “You’re almost supernatural sometimes. You know that, right?”

Grant shrugged. “If anything’s wrong during a hanging, it just jumps out at me.” He turned his head toward the side I had kissed. “Hey, don’t stop doing that.”

I bent my head, my mouth spread wide this time in an O, covering Grant’s neck and licking it lightly, sensing rather than feeling Grant start to shiver. “Mmmm. Never will.”

Grant moaned softly, and then said, “I’m sorry, hon, let’s wait until after Wendi comes back. I’m still trying to think if there’s anything else I can tell her.”

I gave Grant’s shoulder one last kiss and nodded. He grinned. “Waiting can be fun, too. And I’ve got some reading I can fail to concentrate on.”

Wendi stood, a little shakily, on the rising platform, breathing in great heaves. I quickly untied her hands and helped her take off the noose then said, “Wish you’d given the signal a little sooner. I almost pushed the lever anyway. You were really running out of steam.” I put an arm around Wendi’s waist to help her keep standing upright.

Still breathing hard, Wendi managed to gasp out, “How ... how long?”

Grant stood below her with his stopwatch, and smiled. “Seventeen. How’s that?”

Wendi suddenly shook with a burst of energy. She leapt off the platform straight at Grant, and threw her arms around him. “Thank you so much!! I knew I was going longer!” She laughed joyfully. “At the start, I had to keep watching my movements. Every time I started to kick at the wrong time, it was like I could feel you slapping my ankle again, and I’d hold back. After a couple of minutes, it all started feeling more natural. I just needed you to help me get my rhythm back. I knew you could help!!”

Grant seemed a little dumbfounded at the display, and just for an instant glanced at me as if for help, then returned the hug. “Well, you had the rhythm in you the whole time. You just had to find it.”

Wendi squeezed Grant harder, and giggled in relief. “I’d say thank you again, but there’s no way I can say it enough.” She finally broke off the hug, and quickly bent to gather her clothes. “I’ve got to go tell Lucas! He’s been worried. And I’m going to practice again tonight.” She dashed toward the door, but paused when she got there, gave us a big grin and a fist pump, and turned to pound down the hallway toward her room.

I closed the door, and turned back toward Grant. I opened my mouth to speak, but Grant held up one hand and said, “Don’t even say it.” He smiled, almost as if embarrassed. “Yes, it does feel good.”

I laughed and flopped onto the bed on my back. “So why don’t we both make ourselves feel even better?”

“Got an idea on that,” Grant said, pulling off his shirt.

“Thought you might,” I responded, removing my bra.

Monday

I looked at the clock on my desk. “It’s five minutes to. Who’s up next?”

Grant, sat on the bed beside me. Both of us were using the wall as a backrest while we looked across at the television. He leaned forward to read the printed list in his lap. “Shelby.”

Almost at that moment, Shelby appeared on the screen, already naked for his hanging. He entered from the front of the demo hall, trying to smile at Blaise. the graduate on duty at the moment. Shelby’s hair was immaculately groomed, but there was a grim look on his face. I heard Blaise saying soothingly, “I know you’ve gone longer than this in practice, Shelby. Just pretend it’s another practice.”

None of us could really pretend that, of course. This was something very different from practice.

I nudged Larry, who was sitting next to me, and he passed me the bucket of popcorn. I held it between Grant and me. Each of us took a handful, then passed it to Laney, sitting next to Grant’s other side. Jackie sat on the floor in front of me; I had my heels propped on her shoulders as a footrest. Jackie was sharing another popcorn bucket with Erland, using her right hand to dig out a handful while keeping her left hand wrapped companionably around my ankle. Erland sat with his head on Jackie’s other shoulder, pinning my ankle against it.

Shelby was standing on the platform, facing the camera, his wrists now tied behind him, eyes closed, trying — fairly successfully—to keep his breathing even while Blaise adjusted the noose.

No students, other than the one being tested, were allowed in the demo room to watch the Fifteen, but there was a closed-circuit link; we kept our televisions tuned to that all week. The First Year and Second Year students watched as many of the hangings as their class schedules allowed them. Third Years had no classes the week of the Fifteens, and few us missed any. All of us felt a duty to our classmates to watch them hang.

There was a soft knock at the door. I called out, “In.” The door opened and Melissa entered, still carrying her textbook and lab notebook. She craned her neck to see the TV screen from where she was. “I just got out of chem class. Has the eleven o’clock started yet?”

I waved her over. “He’s not dangling yet. Just getting the noose on.”

Larry scooted forward off the bed and stood, beckoning to Melissa. “Sit over here by Amy. I’m going to move over here.” Larry stepped across Jackie and Erland and squeezed into the small space next to Laney at the end of the bed.

I worked hard to keep my face neutral. I don’t think Larry understood the mixed feelings I had about being close to Melissa. I had not, as yet, discussed them with anyone, not even Larry or Grant. Or, more likely, Larry did perceive it, and just thought I should work through it. I loved being around Melissa and talking with her, but physical proximity brought with it the possibility of intimate contact that made me uncomfortable. At least I knew why I was feeling that way. Maybe that would help me get past it.