The Leftovers

shared a room, but close enough, closer than she could reasonably have hoped for.
    *   *   *
    AS A general rule, friendships were discouraged within the G.R. The organization was structured to prevent people from spending too much time together or relying too much on specific individuals for their social sustenance. In the Ginkgo Street Compound, members lived in large groups that were frequently reshuffled; jobs were rotated on a regular basis. Watchers were paired up by lottery and rarely worked with the same partner twice in a single month. The point was to strengthen the connection between the individual and the group as a whole, not between one individual and another.
    This policy made sense to Laurie, at least in theory. People were extremely vulnerable when they joined the G.R. After expending so much energy tearing themselves away from their old lives, they were dazed and exhausted and deeply vulnerable. Without proper guidance, it was all too easy for them to lapse into familiar patterns, to unwittingly re-create the relationships and behavior patterns they’d left behind. But if they were allowed to do that, they’d miss out on the very thing they’d come for: a chance to start over, to strip away the false comforts of friendship and love, to await the final days without distractions or illusions.
    The main exception to this policy was the highly charged relationship between Trainer and Trainee, which the organization tended to view as a necessary evil, a statistically effective but emotionally perilous strategy for easing new members into the fold. The problem wasn’t so much the formation of an intense, exclusive bond between the two individuals involved—that was the whole point—as it was the trauma of dissolving this bond, of separating two people who had essentially become a unit.
    It was the Trainer’s job to prepare the Trainee for this eventuality. From the very beginning, Laurie had stuck to the protocol, reminding Meg on a daily basis that their partnership was temporary, that it would come to an end on January 15th—Graduation Day—at which point Meg would become a full-fledged member of the Mapleton Chapter of the Guilty Remnant. From then on, the two of them would be colleagues, not friends. They would treat each other with common courtesy—nothing more, nothing less—and strictly adhere to their vows of silence in each other’s company.
    She’d tried her best, but it hadn’t done either of them much good. As the end of Meg’s probation approached, they grew increasingly agitated and depressed. There were several nights that ended with one or both of them in tears, lamenting the unfairness of the situation, wondering why they couldn’t just go on living as they had, sticking to an arrangement that was working fine for both of them. In a way, it was worse for Laurie, because she knew exactly what she was returning to—a crowded room in Gray House, or maybe Green, a sleeping bag on a cold floor, long nights without a friend nearby to help pass the time, nothing to keep her company but the frightened voice in her own head.
    *   *   *
    A WEEK EARLIER, on the morning of Meg’s Graduation Day, they’d reported to the Main House with heavy hearts. Before setting off, they’d hugged each other for a long time and reminded themselves to be brave.
    “I won’t forget you,” Meg promised, her voice soft, a bit hoarse.
    “You’ll be fine,” Laurie whispered, not even convincing herself. “We both will.”
    Patti Levin, the first and only Director of the Mapleton Chapter, was waiting in her office, sitting like a high school principal behind an enormous beige desk. She was a petite woman with frizzy gray hair and a stern but surprisingly youthful face. She gestured with her cigarette, inviting them to sit down.
    “It’s the big day,” she said.
    Laurie and Meg remained silent. They were only allowed to speak in response to a direct question. The Director studied them, her face alert but expressionless.
    “I see you’ve been crying.”
    There was no sense denying it. They’d barely slept and had spent a good part of the night in tears. Meg looked like a wreck—hair tangled, eyes raw and puffy—and Laurie had no reason to believe she looked any better.
    “It’s hard!” Meg blurted out like a heartbroken teenager. “It’s just really hard!”
    Laurie winced at the breach of decorum, but the Director let it pass. Pinching her cigarette between thumb and