Young Writers Society

Yep, this is it: The (hopefully) long-awaited continuation that (some of) you've been waiting for!

And I'm sorry it took so long to get it posted. For those of you who haven't read/have forgotten Part one, click here!

The Institute, Part Two: Willa

“I'm confused,” I announced to Sandy's back, wanting to see what she'd say.

She spat out the screwdriver so she could speak, though she kept her eyes on the second-generation bug she was working on during our lunch breaks. “What confuses you?” she said calmly.

I scowled, an all-too-common reaction when it came to Sandy. “The teachers confuse me.” That certainly wasn't true- they all worked in predictable ways. “The students confuse me.” That was true, at least for some of them.

“Anything else?”

My scowl deepened as I leaned against a bookshelf. “You confuse me.”

Sandy glanced at me, a smile on her thin face. “I try.”

“You try to make people uncertain around you?” I said in astonishment, forgetting to frown.

“That's what I said.” Her focus was mainly back on the bug, but she spared me a second glance, her blue-green eyes appraising. “That's one more advantage I have. You should try to use that tactic sometime, Willa, especially if we're going to be allies.”

“Not a chance,” I retorted, impatiently brushing aside a wayward strand of dark hair. “It's one thing to be unpredictable, a very different one to appear crazy.”

“Mm” was all Sandy said.

There was a sound, as though somebody was blundering around the normally abandoned library. We stayed silent for a moment, Sandy busily adjusting wires and microchips inside the bug, me listening hard for a sound that would give away whoever it was. When I deemed it safe, I turned back to her.

“All right, I admit it. Acting unpredictably works- for you. And here at the Institute, people understand. I mean, it's dangerous to be too well known.”

Sandy tilted her head in a half-nod, listening to me, screwdriver and bug forgotten.

“But out there, in the real world, things are different,” I said softly, though I knew she heard every word. “There are those who have no idea of the other, hidden world we live in. They are completely oblivious to everything except what they want to see.”

She nodded, her cropped red hair bouncing. “I know.”

I rolled my eyes- not that she could see, as her focus was on the small metal bug in front of her- and went to sit across from her before I continued. “Then there are those who have an inkling of all that is going on, just out of sight. They form weak suspicions and start to think, really think, about the way the world works.” I gestured, a small circle, to show what I meant.

“People like me,” Sandy said.

I shook my head. “People like you are the third group- people who understand what it takes to be in the Underworld. They are born into a knowing family, or get involved by themselves, or get found, like you.” I paused for a moment, thinking it through- how much did I want to tell her?

“And?” Sandy prompted.

I frowned at her. “And what?”

It was her turn to roll her eyes, which she did with much exaggeration as she carefully put her minitools away. “It was very, very obvious that you were about to say something else, Willa.”

I watched her closely for a moment; she quickly rearranged her expression to one of patient waiting. “There is a fourth group,” I allowed. “These people know of the Underworld- were either born into it or discovers it. But they turn their back on it.”

Sandy's light eyes widened before she could look away. “How can they do it?” she half-mumbled, mostly to herself. “How can they just leave the Underworld? Leave being a Watcher?”

I shrugged, ignoring the 'Watcher' bit- it was probably some group that would have no interest with me. I had wondered the same thing often enough. “Well, unless you want to leave, Hacking Basics starts in five minutes.” I sighed; Hacking Basics was my least favorite class, partly because my adopted sister and teacher, Amy, had already beat the basics into my brain, and partly because my idea of fun did not involve computers.

Sandy checked her watch, grabbed her bag, and dragged me out of the library. “Come on!” she ordered in her bossiest tone. “We don't want to be late!”

“You mean that you don't,” I said, so quietly that I wasn't sure she could hear me. “I wouldn't mind.”