A choir of snores. I’ve slept in the same room as a boy before. When I was young, and too scared to be alone, I would crawl into bed with my brother and listen to his breathing. This is different. These boys—everyone here in this cabin—this is the last night we will sleep as innocents. Tomorrow, and the next day, and the one after that, we will learn to be murderers. We will leave Kill School ready to claim our victims. I blink away tears as I think of my own room with its wide window overlooking the backyard and the swing set my brother and I used to play on when we were young. Here, there is no swing set and no playground, only training camp. My childhood feels like a distant memory, one that may have never existed at all. I can’t cry. I get to learn how to skate. I get to meet many new kids. I get to be free. I can leave the house whenever I want and stay out all night, just like Sebastian. My lips quiver when I remember what takes him out at night. Youth are riotous and merciful.
