Keefe giggled. "Everybody farts, Foster. It's cool. I still think you're cute."

Sophie became very interested in studying the tent. The canvas had been decorated with bold swirls of color. It might have once been pretty, but there were too many patches and tears, and the whole thing looked like it could use a thorough wash.

"How's your ankle?" she asked Keefe as he stretched and winced. He wore a robe just like hers and had a black bandage wrapped around his foot.

Keefe hiccupped. "The boobrie dude said it's not broken. And he gave me this to help with the pain." He held up an empty vial and hiccupped again.

"Boobrie dude?" Sophie asked.

"He wouldn't tell me his name. And he has this crazy bird mask." He giggled again.

"Where did he go?" Sophie asked.

"Hopefully to get me more of this." Keefe tried to take another drink from the empty vial, then settled for licking the rim.

Must've been a powerful elixir.

"What's in it?" she asked.

"No idea. All I know is it tasted like kissing a muskog."

"And you have a lot of experience with that?"

"Hey, I never say no to a dare!"

"Wait-you seriously kissed a muskog?" Sophie asked, remembering the burpy froglike thing Stina had put in Dex's locker once.

Keefe hiccupped again. "I've kissed lots of things! Just ask Biana."

"You kissed Biana?"

"A couple years ago, yeah," he mumbled. "Mostly on the cheek."

"What do you mean by 'mostly'?"

"You want a demonstration?"

"Um . . . I think I'll pass." She was sure her face was redder than Mr. Snuggles.

"It wasn't a big deal," he told her. "It was just a dare."

"Okay," she said, not sure why she was clenching her fists so hard.

Keefe narrowed his eyes. "You're a hard one to read, Miss F., you know that? Sometimes I think you-ohhhh, the boobrie dude gave you some of the awesomesauce!" He pointed to a vial on the floor next to her mattress, filled with swirly purple syrup. "You should take it. Or if you don't want it, you should give it to me!"

Sophie snatched the vial out of his reach. "I think you've had enough."

"Boo-you're worse than my mom! Actually, no you're not. No one is. Was. What's the right verb? It needs to be past tense, right?"

The thought seemed to sober him up and he rolled onto his side, curling his legs into his chest. He tapped his empty vial with his fingernails.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Sophie studied his expression, wondering if this was the real Keefe. Without the jokes to hide behind, he looked angry. And really scared.

"Right now it's in the 'we don't know' tense, Keefe," she said gently.

"Yeah." Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. "I made her a necklace one time. Did I tell you that? I made it out of beads to match her favorite bracelet. I painted a different flower on every one. And do you know how many times she wore it?"

Sophie was pretty sure she could guess.

He held up both of his fists with no fingers raised. "That many. I really thought she would. She even defended it. My dad said I'd wasted an afternoon when I could've been preparing for my Foxfire entrance exams, and she told him she thought it was pretty. I'd painted the flowers from memory after studying for the agriculture exam-not that my dad cared. So I thought she'd wear it. But nope. She always wore the ugly ruby necklace he bought her."

He tapped the bottle so hard it slipped out of his hand and bounced to the edge of the tent.

Sophie got up to grab it, sucking in a breath as she put weight on her burned leg.

"That's what you get for climbing out of bed before I tell you," a sharp voice scolded.

"Hey-it's the boobrie dude!" Keefe said as a green-cloaked figure slipped into the tent. "Got any more of the good stuff?"

The boobrie dude frowned, which looked especially strange now that Sophie understood what Keefe meant about his mask. The black metal had been decorated with yellow feathers that stuck through the fabric of his hood.

"I don't think you should give him any more," Sophie told him.

"No, I don't think so either," the boobrie dude agreed. "Don't worry, his head will clear soon. What about you?" he asked Sophie. "You're not having the same side effect?"

Sophie held up her still-full vial. "Didn't seem like a good idea. Plus, I had to make sure there's no limbium in it."

"Ah, so you're the one with the allergy-I wasn't sure if it was you or the other girl. I was careful just in case. Now let's see that burn."

Sophie stretched out her leg, cringing when she saw the blisters coating the top of her foot and running all the way to the middle of her calf.

He pulled out a nearly empty tube and squeezed the last of its contents onto the burn. The cream was gray and chalky and felt scratchy on her blisters.

"We're out of numbing ointment," he explained. "We're out of most everything, but this should be enough. I make what I can with any herbs I stumble across, but what I wouldn't give for one measly supply shipment."

"The Council doesn't send any?"

He snorted. "All they ever send is more Waywards-though never five in a single day before. How'd you manage that?"

Sophie shrugged. "The Council doesn't like us."

"Well, it's good you're used to that, since the Coaches don't like you either. You ruined the Arch of Dividing."

"They were the ones who left us dangling like pinatas."

"Pinatas?" he asked.

"They're a human thing."

"Well, I'm assuming comments like that are what got you here. Probably those eyes, too."

"Hey, I like Foster's eyes," Keefe told him. "Brown is so much warmer than blue."

"You two should be careful," the boobrie dude said as Sophie blushed. "Names are not welcome here."

"Does that mean I can keep calling you boobrie dude?" Keefe asked.

"If you must. But I'm serious about my warning. Keep to yourself. Focus on the skills. And wipe off that leg."

It took Sophie a second to realize he wanted her to use the towel he was offering, which didn't necessarily look clean. But there weren't any other towels, so Sophie wiped the gray gunk off her skin, relieved to see no trace of the blisters.

The boobrie dude nodded. "You're lucky she put out the fire so quickly."

"She?" Sophie asked.

"Our Hydrokinetic. She called the wave that caught you-which should've gotten her ejected, by the way. But she also put out the rest of the fire, so the Coaches let it slide."

"Why would helping me get her ejected?" Sophie asked, hoping it meant "expelled" and not actually being launched out of the campus.

"Because here it's about everyone for themselves. And since you seem like the type, you should know it would be a terrible idea to thank her. Communication will get you both in trouble-and then you'll have to deal with the Shade."

The way he said the word gave Sophie chills. "Who's the Shade?"

"The worst Wayward here. And he's incredibly protective of the Hydrokinetic. If you want to survive here, you'll keep your distance from both of them."

He turned his attention to Keefe, unwrapping the bandage and rubbing a green gel on Keefe's ankle.

"How long have you worked here?" Sophie asked, hoping he'd say a long time. If she could learn something about the Psionipath, it would make the whole physician-visit-on-the-first-day thing less embarrassing.

"Honestly, I've lost count," he said. "I think it's been ten years, but it all blurs together."

Ten years was a good answer. "Did you ever treat a Psionipath-or remember meeting one-over the years?"

"I've met several," he said, turning back to face her. "Why?"

Sophie shrugged, hoping she looked casual. "I ran into one a few weeks ago and he said he used to go to Exillium."

He shook his head. "If this is a crush thing, you can do better."

"It's not a crush thing," Sophie said, ignoring Keefe's snickers. She realized it was going to take a little more "truth" to coax out the right answer, so she added, "I think he might be part of some sort of rebellion."

The boobrie dude flinched, and she knew she was onto something. Especially when he said, "Stay away from him."

"So you know who I'm talking about?"

"I'm pretty sure I do, though I couldn't tell you his name. And he's even worse than the Shade. Anger at the Council is pretty standard around here, but I remember thinking, 'This guy could spark a revolution.' And given the strangeness I've seen in the Territories . . ."

"What strangeness?" Sophie asked, her heart officially in thunder mode.

"These are dangerous questions," he said. "The kind that could get you ejected-or worse."

"It's wrong to want to know what's happening in our world?" Sophie asked.

"You don't have a world anymore. You're banished."

"She's just trying to settle a bet," Keefe jumped in before Sophie could argue any further. "I bet her that the guy was lying about being at Exillium to sound tough, so she's trying to prove me wrong. And my leg feels all better now. Thanks."

The boobrie dude didn't look convinced by Keefe's excuse. But all he said was, "Both of you need to get dressed." He pointed to new pants and boots at the foot of their beds and lowered a curtain between their beds to give them privacy. "The Coaches are ready to mark you."

"Mark us?" Sophie asked, trying not to picture a dog marking its territory.

"Yes. It's time for you to learn your place in Exillium."

FORTY-THREE.

THE BOOBRIE DUDE escorted them from the Healing Tent to a stage under a golden canopy, where the three Coaches stood in their colored robes in the center of the platform. The rest of the Waywards were lined up in front, in neat rows with their arms at their sides, like soldiers.

Sophie searched the crowd for the rest of her friends, but the hoods and masks made it impossible to recognize anyone. The only distinguishing marks were colored handprints on their sleeves-either a red handprint on their left arm, a blue handprint on their right arm, or a purple handprint on both arms. The colors corresponded to the Coaches' robes, and also to the three tents set up in the remaining corners of the campus. The canopies reminded Sophie of the pictures she'd seen of celebrity weddings, with raised peaks in the middle and silky panels of fabric flapping in the strong mountain winds. The tent on the right was deep blue, the left tent was ruby red, and the center tent was royal purple. The Coaches stood in the same order, each holding a bowl of matching paint.

"Since these two have taken it upon themselves to delay today's lesson with their accidents," the red Coach said in her raspy voice, "we will be skipping lunch and switching today's skill to appetite suppression."

Every Wayward groaned, and Sophie was pretty sure she was officially the most hated girl in school. Fortunately, that was familiar territory.

"And now, for your marking," the red Coach said.

The blue Coach stepped forward and faced Keefe. "Your immediate, impulsive action-despite being foolish-made it clear that you belong in the Right Hemisphere."

He dipped his hand in the paint and smacked Keefe's right arm, leaving a blue handprint on his sleeve.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" Keefe asked.

"Very much," the blue Coach said.

He moved back to the other Coaches, and the purple Coach stepped forward, handing Sophie the bowl of purple paint.

"Your indecision to act, as well as your unconventional solution, made it clear you are neither right nor left, but Ambi." She dipped both of her hands in the purple paint and marked each of Sophie's sleeves.

Sophie stared at the purple handprints, wishing she wasn't being separated from Keefe. The Coaches dismissed the crowd, and she hoped she'd find at least one of her friends at the purple Ambi tent. But there were definitely no friendly faces. A few Waywards even tried to trip her as she walked past.