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been eight years since they disappeared. I bet they were part of the Alliance and had to go fight against the Resistance. Maybe that’s why the Polatzi can’t find them.”
    The hallway crowd was beginning to dwindle. I pulled her with me into our classroom. “Don’t talk about that stuff here,” I murmured. “You don’t know who’s listening.”
    Alice’s eyes widened, confused. “I didn’t think you cared what the government said we could and couldn’t talk about…”
    Before anyone could hear her dig us further into the grave, I cut her off. I didn’t need the Polatzi on my case today. “I don’t want to give them any reason to take you. I’m an Elementalist,” I smiled sardonically, “They have to tolerate me.”
    “And that doesn’t apply to me,” she said, sadness seeping into her voice. “I’m a seamstress. A Traditional.”
    Without another word she passed by me, handed her paperwork to our professor and took the seat he pointed out. The desk was the one farthest from me. Figured. Alice gave me an apologetic glance as she opened her tattered satchel.
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Wallace, the professor, called out, “today we’re going to be watching a film on the war. ‘ What war? ’ you may ask?”
    Like we really needed to ask. There was only one war anyone talked about, and it was only spoke of in approved situations. Otherwise we swept it under the rug, like it was normal to live in a glass dome.
    He looked around the room, hopeful that he was pulling us all into some mesmerized excitement. We weren’t. When he came to this conclusion, he smiled anyway. He looped his pudgy fingers through his black suspenders and rocked on his heels. “We’re looking at the only war that matters: the one that put us in this predicament. World War III. Can anyone tell me anything about it?”
    Of course we couldn’t. Or it was more that we didn’t want to appear to know too much. We weren’t allowed to talk about World War III outside of government-sanctioned education classes. The people who did went missing and if they came back, they had a healthy respect for letting sleeping dogs lie.
    He motioned to a tattered sheet was taped to the ceiling and hung down, its ripped portions swaying in the gentle breeze of the oxygen purifier that hummed in the corner of the room. An old film projector sat between desks in the center of the room, modified to run on steam.
    My stomach clenched. Not again. Not today.
    Mr. Wallace gestured to the film projector and he eyes rested on me. “Well, Miss Pike, if you could be so kind as to rev up our projector, we’ll see what devastation the war imposed on us.”
    “It’s not my responsibility to provide steam for your class, Mr. Wallace,” I said, hoping my voice came across stronger than I felt. I didn’t want to use my abilities, but I didn’t need Mr. Wallace angry with me. I’d already pissed off my quota of people today.
    Mr. Wallace’s smile slightly fell before he hitched it back into place. Menace laced his words. “You are the only one in the class capable of making this machine run, Miss Pike, and I plan on teaching this course today.”
    It wasn’t the first time he’d made me his own steam provider, and I was tired of being used like some on-demand tool. “Maybe you should have planned how you were going to provide the course a little better. I’m not your personal generator.”
    His face turned red as he puffed out his chest and fought to keep his smile from turning into something hateful.
    It didn’t work.
    He stalked to the back of the class; each student’s head turning to follow his movements. His plump hands came down on my desk quietly and he pushed down on the front, lifting the back legs of my chair off the ground. I slid forward, forced to inhale the stench of coffee and cigarettes that impregnated his clothes and breath. His voice was dangerous and quiet. “You’ll do as you’re told, Miss Pike.”
    My fingers gripped the