Free The Vault of Dreamers by Caragh M. O'brien

I lost track of Janice. Through the downpour, the giant screen panels that covered
     the façade of the auditorium were aglow with the live broadcast of The Forge Show . All one hundred of the first year students’ profiles were up, magnified to five
     times life-size. They were bright enough that the rain only added a shimmer of streaks
     before them, and they were organized by rank, with the top fifty students bordered
     in bright green. Every twenty seconds, like a fancier, faster version of the big blip
     rank board in the dining hall, all the profiles shifted to show their updated rank.
    Cheers and gasps came from the students around me. More students were sheltered near
     the doorways of the dance and music buildings, anywhere it was dry enough to see the
     big screen, and their voices cut across the quad, too, like an echo.
    Dreading what I would find, I scanned the profiles until I found mine in the sixth
     row: a thin, wet, bow-legged girl standing under a rainy awning. I was in 54th place,
     the highest I’d ever been, but it wasn’t high enough. Janice’s blip rank was up to
     26. Burnham’s was 7. Ellen, the girl from the chapel bathroom, was now ranked at 70.
     Her profile showed a still photo of her smiling, and I was puzzled until I realized
     they must have cut her live feed when she entered the ambulance and drove off campus.
    The screens flickered and refreshed again. Another burst of cheers and groans surrounded
     me. I was down a notch to 55.
    My fate was right there on the wall, impossible to ignore, and still, stupidly, I
     couldn’t accept it. This idiotic hope of mine wouldn’t die. Despite everything I’d
     learned about Forge today, I still wanted to stay.
    In four minutes, the time would hit five o’clock, and the scores would be finalized.
    A gust of wind blew a spattering of rain on my face, and I winced.
    I couldn’t stand still watching helplessly.
    I bolted out into the downpour and turned sharply, sprinting alongside the student
     union. Completely soaked, I cut behind the dining hall. Behind the art building, the
     two giant wooden spools were dark with water and more drops bounced off their edges.
     I ran toward them, splashing loudly in the wet gravel. A garbage can pinged under
     the cascade of drops. I peered around the parking lot, then through the rain toward
     the pasture and the tower, seeing no one.
    He wasn’t here.

 
    7
     
    THE FIFTY CUTS
    I HUGGED MY arms around my wetness, closed my eyes, and tilted my face to the pouring sky.
    “Rosie?”
    I spun around and squinted toward the back of the art building where Linus was striding
     forward. Under a baseball cap, he wore a dark patch on one eye.
    “Where’ve you been?” he asked.
    My throat choked up and I could barely talk. “It looks like I’m going home,” I said.
     I wiped my nose with the back of my wet hand and let out a laugh. “All the real artists
     are fine about it. Except this one girl Ellen. She’s a mess. And me. What did I do
     wrong?”
    He came a step nearer, and as he did, I discovered a hug was what I wanted more than
     anything. I leaned near him uncertainly. His white tee shirt was wet. Lightning flashed,
     and I shivered, expecting thunder. When it finally came, the sky opened up harder
     and the rain fell with a punishing noise into the gravel.
    “Hey,” Linus said, bending near to my ear. “They can’t hear us.”
    When I peered up to him, he took off his hat and put it on me so the brim sheltered
     my face.
    “I don’t want to go home,” I said.
    “Then stay,” he said.
    “I can’t. It’s too late. Listen.” I could hear the clock starting to bong. It was
     so unfair to want it most just as I was losing it.
    “You know what to do,” he said, and his gaze dropped to my lips.
    Fear shot through me. I’d never kissed anyone before. I didn’t know how. It felt like
     despair to even try, and I didn’t know why he wanted to help me. But he was giving
     me a chance. I had to