Unravel Me: The Juliette Chronicles Book 2

important.
    “Hey, Winston, can you get someone to check if they have any chocolate in here?” Emory—another guy on my assembly team—is smiling at Winston like he’s hoping for good news. But then, Emory is always smiling. I’ve only known him for a few hours, but he’s been smiling since 6:00 a.m., when we all met in the orientation room this morning. He’s super tall, super bulky, and he has a super-huge afro that somehow manages to fall into his eyes a lot. He’s moving boxes down the line like they’re full of cotton.
    Winston is shaking his head, trying not to laugh as he passes the question along. “Seriously?” He shoots a look at Emory, nudging his plastic glasses up his nose at the same time. “Of all the things in here, you want chocolate ?”
    Emory’s smile vanishes. “Shut up, man, you know my mom loves that stuff.”
    “You say that every time.”
    “That’s because it’s true every time.”
    Winston says something to someone about grabbing another box of soap before turning back to Emory. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your mom eat a piece of chocolate before.”
    Emory tells Winston to do something very inappropriate with his preternaturally flexible limbs, and I glance down at the box Ian has just handed to me, pausing to study the packaging carefully before passing it on.
    “Hey, do you know why these are all stamped with the letters R N W ?”
    Ian turns around. Stunned. Looks at me like I’ve just asked him to take his clothes off. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he says. “She speaks.”
    “Of course I speak,” I say, no longer interested in speaking at all. Ian passes me another box. Shrugs. “Well, now I know.”
    “Now you do.”
    “The mystery has been solved.”
    “You really didn’t think I could speak?” I ask after a moment. “Like, you thought I was mute?” I wonder what other things people are saying about me around here.
    Ian looks over his shoulder at me, smiles like he’s trying not to laugh. Shakes his head and doesn’t answer me. “The stamp,” he says, “is just regulation. They stamp everything RNW so they can track it. It’s nothing fancy.”
    “But what does RNW mean? Who’s stamping it?”
    “RNW,” he says, repeating the 3 letters like I’m supposed to recognize them. “Reestablished Nations of the World. Everything’s gone global, you know. They all trade commodities. And that,” he says, “is something no one really knows. It’s another reason why the whole Reestablishment thing is a pile of crap. They’ve monopolized the resources of the entire planet and they’re just keeping it all for themselves.”
    I remember some of this. I remember talking to Adam about this when he and I were locked in the asylum together. Back before I knew what it was like to touch him. To be with him. To hurt him. The Reestablishment has always been a global movement. I just didn’t realize it had a name.
    “Right,” I say to Ian, suddenly distracted. “Of course.”
    Ian pauses as he hands me another package. “So is it true?” he asks, studying my face. “That you really have no clue what’s happened to everything?”
    “I know some things.” I bristle. “I’m just not clear on all the details.”
    “Well,” Ian says, “if you still remember how to speak when we get back to Point, maybe you should join us at lunch sometime. We can fill you in.”
    “Really?” I turn to face him.
    “Yeah, kid.” He laughs, tosses me another box. “Really. We don’t bite.”

TWENTY-THREE
    Sometimes I wonder about glue.
    No one ever stops to ask glue how it’s holding up. If it’s tired of sticking things together or worried about falling apart or wondering how it will pay its bills next week.
    Kenji is kind of like that.
    He’s like glue. He works behind the scenes to keep things together and I’ve never stopped to think about what his story might be. Why he hides behind the jokes and the snark and the snide remarks.
    But he was right. Everything he said to me was right.
    Yesterday was a good idea. I needed to get away, to get out, to be productive. And now I need to take Kenji’s advice and get over myself. I need to get my head straight. I need to focus on my priorities. I need to figure out what I’m doing here and how I can help. And if I care at all about Adam, I’ll try to stay out of his life.
    Part of me wishes I could see him; I want to make sure he’s really going to be okay, that he’s recovering well and