THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

every year, most are no older than you, some are criminals and some have been turned out of their homes to survive on their own. The Browns–”  He nodded at the other two adults as if I’d forgotten their names already. “Sponsor a handful of Native teens every year. The police know to contact them about potential candidates. While we wait to hear back from the detectives about your background check, you’ve been given the opportunity to remain here...as long as you behave and don’t cause any trouble.”
    I wanted to ask what a Native American was, but something told me to keep some questions to myself.
    At the jail, someone had called me a savage and shoved a handful of clothes at me. They’d sent me to a small room where I’d washed off most of the dirt. I now wore a thin maroon-colored chest cover called a T-shirt that was soft against my cuts and bruises, and blue pants — no, these were called jeans.   I didn’t mind changing.
    At least now I felt clean and people had stopped staring at me.
    “Rayen?”  The woman speaking to me had smooth skin, and warm hazel eyes above sharp cheeks. Like mine. But my eyes were blue. Sort of a green-blue. The eyes and cheeks I’d seen — but hadn’t recognized — in a mirror when I’d changed clothes. Who doesn’t know their own face? 
    Mrs. Brown smiled, the first welcoming expression I’d seen since opening my eyes in the desert. Her sun-colored yellow dress flattered her skin. The compassion on her face reminded me of another woman, one with straight black hair like hers and...I wanted to growl when the image never completely formed.
    I realized she’d gotten quiet, waiting for me to say something. I went with the simplest reply. “Yes?”
    “We’re here to help you, Rayen.”  She sent her smile over to Mr. Brown, a tall man dressed in charcoal gray...Pants. Jacket. Shirt.
    A uniform? No, something else. A suit ?  
    Could that be right?
    I wanted to ask if I was correct, but not now when three sets of eyes judged every breath I took.
    Mr. Brown stood with his back against a wall of books...
    Colors flashed in my mind again, prodding me to think harder. At least the pain wasn’t as sharp this time. Those were real books printed on paper. My heart thumped faster at the thought that paper was precious...then I hit a blank spot again. I curled my fingers, frustrated at failing to piece together yet another shattered memory.
    Mr. Brown missed nothing, arms crossed, observing me with the intensity of a wise elder, dark eyes expectant. Not an easy man to read.
    When he flicked a look at Mrs. Brown, she moved closer to me, taking the chair on my right. “We’ve been told you have no identification.”
    “Yes.”  I wasn’t sure what she expected for identification other than my face. Eye scan? That triggered another half-memory that came and went. I wanted to pound the chair arm.
    “And that you are reluctant to share information. Is that correct?” she continued.
    “No.” I hesitated, battling over how much information to reveal. But what did I have to lose? “I just don’t have information to share.”
    “Oh.”  She paused and seemed perplexed, but her lips turned up in a reassuring way before she spoke again. “I’d like to tell you about our Institute.” 
    “Why?”
    “Perhaps you’d fit in here.”
    I had no interest in joining her school, but from the minute my hands had been tied this morning, I’d lost all control of my life. For now. What could be the harm in hearing her out? I nodded just to appear agreeable.
    “Our program is for teens of high school age and is different from other schools in this part of the country in that we have two unique areas of study. We use a selection process based upon the skills of each student. Our diverse program was created to offer students with unusual abilities a chance to excel in areas not often taught in other venues. Or perhaps not taught in as specific a way as how we guide students here.”
    What was she saying? At a loss, I gave her another nod as a prod to continue, and she kept talking.
    “We pride ourselves on not only accepting students with brilliant minds who are headed for places such as MIT and Harvard, but also those who strive to develop their other senses, like their sixth sense.”
    I understood the words being spoken, but their culture and terms were strange. MIT? Harvard? Sixth sense ignited a thought. Six senses.  Touch, smell, hearing, taste, sight...and