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"DO IT AGAIN, MISS PEYTON," Ms. Susie demands. I don't dare disobey her, knowing what would happen if I do. I've only ever had to spend one night in the wretch room, and I never plan on having to do it again.
I pick up another knife off the table behind me, readying my stance to throw it at the target shaped as a human. Knives have never been my specialty. My hands are too shaky to ever get a good grip on them, and it's so easy for them to slip from my grasp. Ask me to fire an arrow at the target from forty yards away, no problem. The knife, on the other hand, is a whole different story.
Still, I somehow manage an adequate throw in front of Ms. Susie this time. Luck is on my side, I suppose. The knife sticks to the shoulder of the target. Not where I was aiming, but what Ms. Susie didn't know wouldn't hurt her. If asked why I didn't go for the heart, I'd reply with a smart comment about how I was trying to injure, not kill. I would get praised for thinking outside of the box instead of getting scolded or taken to the wretch room.
Ms. Susie didn't say anything—which meant she was satisfied with my work—and just continued on her way down the line of girls as they all threw knives into each of their respective targets.
I sigh in relief once she's out of earshot, allowing myself to relax now that the intimidating woman is gone. At Canyon Ridge School for Girls, one of the most important ideals that is taught is to never be intimidated by another. However, living up to that standard proves to be very hard when we are all surrounded by some of the most terrifying, intimidating women who have ever walked the earth.
No, I am not exaggerating. Canyon Ridge School for Girls only accepts the absolute best—at least that's what their slogan says—and that applies to both the students and staff. Ms. Leighton Susie—before she was offered this teaching position—was one of the best ELITIST spies there ever was. She was up at the top of the ranks alongside my parents.
I got to spend a solid eleven years with my parents before they were killed in a covert ops mission. I wasn't allowed to know any of the details, which of course made me frustrated. The agent covering my parents' case just suggested that I give it up; nobody was going to tell me anything since the information was classified. He was right. My parents' death remains a mystery to me even to this day.
I try not to think about it, and for the most part it works, but then when the end of the school year comes around, and I see everyone being picked up by their families, I begin to wonder again. What really happened to them?
The plan wasn't always for me to go to Canyon Ridge School for Girls. It was my parents' dream for me to go to their alma mater, Tutwiler Academy. When it was time for me to start the seventh grade—the standard year most ELITIST schools begin at—however, neither of them were there to send letters of recommendation, so I accepted my offer to go to the second best ELITIST school in the nation. Now, four years later, I'm one of the best students they have.
"Knives down. Time for lunch, ladies. Head straight to the cafeteria, then it's military logistics time," Ms. Susie demands, and with that, we all make haste towards the cafeteria.
The lunches are pretty good here. The kitchen staff are excellent and are much kinder than the teachers. They always make sure everyone gets enough to eat, knowing how much work—both mental and physical—we go through on a daily basis.
I smile softly at Regina—my favorite lunch lady by far—as she places some spaghetti on my tray. Sometimes I like to imagine what their lives are like outside this school. Is Regina married? Does she have kids? What does she do when she's not here?
After my tray is full, I head right to the table I normally sit at. Margo—my best friend—is already there with her own tray of food and engaged in a lively conversation with our other friend Wyoming. When I first started at Canyon Ridge, nobody really knew how to approach me. My parents had just been killed, and nobody knew what I'd really be like. Some probably expected me to break into tears every five minutes while some expected me to keep a stone cold exterior.
I guess I somewhat compromised. I spent my days in class and around the public with a cold, expressionless mask plastered on my face. I spent my nights bawling my eyes out, thankful we didn't have roommates at Canyon Ridge so that nobody saw me cry.
To this day, nobody has ever seen me cry, and I intend to keep it that way. If Canyon Ridge did anything for me these past four years it was toughen me up. By ninth grade, I was already put on the A-Team—short for Alpha Team—list, meaning when I graduated, I would straightway join a top ELITIST team. The list is composed of the most promising students from all ELITIST schools in the nation. Now, at sixteen, the top spot on the list keeps going back and forth from belonging to me, to some guy my age from Tutwiler Academy named Ian Yang, and to an eighteen year old from Tutwiler Academy named Faith Cuevas. I know the last name Yang all too well. My parents worked very closely with an Agent Yang years ago until he betrayed the ELITES and just completely disappeared from society. It was suspected that he ran away to join the Rebels. I'm sure the guy from Tutwiler is his son.
Sometimes I wonder if he faces any scrutiny at school. I wonder if he's like me in a way—nobody really knows how to approach him or even deal with him.
Anyways, when I showed up to Canyon Ridge for orientation, Margo was the only one who didn't act like I would break if she spoke to me. Since then, we've been best friends.
"Did you hear me, Eva?" Margo asks, snapping her fingers in front of my face.
I nod half-heartedly even though I have no earthly idea what she said to me.
"Oh really?" she asks, letting out a snort. "Okay, what's the answer, then?"
I purse my lips for a second, pretending to think even though I have no idea what kind of question she even asked. "Sure," I blurt, giving it my best shot.
"Sure? As in—sure you would love to go out on the town with us Friday night?" Margo questions, eyebrows raised.
I wrinkle my nose in disgust. I never go out with them to Larkville. They love meeting up with civilian boys there. I absolutely detest it. What's the point of it anyway? I truly didn't understand.
"That's what I thought," Margo retorts with a smirk, taking a bite of her spaghetti.
I roll my eyes and begin to eat my own food, knowing we didn't have much time left for lunch. By 12:30, we'd need to be heading to our next class. Wyoming and I have military logistics while Margo has advanced military logistics. It's a class Margo enjoys. Me, not so much.
Suddenly the PA system goes off, and I jump at the little ding it makes to get everyone's attention. "Please excuse this interruption. Eva Grace Peyton, you are needed in the Dean's office. Thank you."
My heart almost stops in my chest. Being called to the Dean's office is never a good thing. It always ends bad in some way. I can feel everyone's curious and scrutinizing eyes on me as I stand up slowly, exchanging a quick glance to Margo and Wyoming. They send me encouraging nods, probably having no idea what else to do or say.
My walk to the Dean's office is slow and precise. I count my steps in between each crack in the tiled floor to ease my mind and not think about the doom I will face in a few minutes.
I get there sooner than I hoped to, and the large double doors are already open, beckoning me to just walk right on in. I am scared of what's inside.
Still, I enter the room anyway, knowing I have no other choice.
Mrs. Reina is sitting at her oversized executive desk in her oversized executive chair. It is all to make her feel more important I suppose.
The Dean of Canyon Ridge School for Girls is also a living legend. She was the best double agent there was back in the day when the Rebels were just beginning to rise. I wonder if my parents used to work with her sometimes.
"Good afternoon, Miss Peyton," Mrs. Reina greets, setting down the papers she was going over on her desk and glancing up at the teenager. "I assume you are curious as to why I've called you to my office, yes?"
I nod in response, not sure how to vocally reply to her without sounding rude.
Mrs. Reina sifts through the pile of papers on her desk until she pulls out a thick envelope and runs her thin fingers over it. "We received this in the mail the other day. While it is addressed to the school, the contents inside are obviously meant for you." She hands over the letter without another word, carefully analyzing the way I react.
I take the thick envelope from her and glance at the return address. When I notice the words Tutwiler Academy written in bold lettering in the top left corner of the envelope, I almost drop the envelope in shock. I swiftly open the envelope, pulling out its contents. I start by reading the letter included in the envelope.
Dear Miss Eva Peyton,
It is with great joy that I invite you to join us at Tutwiler Academy as a part of our junior class this year. As you may know, Tutwiler Academy has been proclaimed the most distinguished and prominent ELITIST school in the entire country for years now.
The fall term began September 4, 2271; however, we would love for you to join us right away before November begins.
We look forward to hearing from you!
Sincerely,
Mrs. Amelia Harper
President of Tutwiler Academy
I narrow my eyebrows in confusion, immediately skeptical of the letter. Why would they just now be accepting me rather than years ago? They had their chance to recruit me after my parents died, yet they didn't.
"I know what you're thinking, Miss Peyton. I was wondering the same thing myself, so I called over there to find out," Mrs. Reina explained, taking a sip of water from a crystal clear glass. "Mrs. Harper stated that a spot had simply opened up—which seldom happens in the first place—and that they wanted the best they could find."
The best they could find.
I'm the absolute best they could find? Surely not.
I know I am very high on the A-Team list, but I believe my teachers and the officials over the list overestimate me and my abilities because of who my parents are. Who am I kidding? I can't even make a knife land where I aim it.
However, Tutwiler Academy is my dream school and has been the dream since I was a little girl. I could never pass up an opportunity to go there.
"Okay," I state, gathering my thoughts together before I bother to speak again. "I guess I need to send a reply." That should be my first move, after all. To let them know I'm accepting their offer.
Mrs. Reina nods in understanding, already knowing what my choice must be. Yet, she still asks me anyway. "If you don't mind me asking, Miss Peyton, are you planning on accepting the proposal?"
I nod swiftly, a bit frightened at what her reaction would be. Mrs. Reina is a very intimidating woman. I'm surprised when she doesn't make any objections.
"I completely understand," Mrs. Reina replies, and I'm immediately thankful for her gentle—as gentle as she can be—approach. She stands up, offering me her hand to shake. "It has been an honor to have you here at Canyon Ridge, Miss Peyton. I know you will succeed no matter where you go next."
I'm shocked to say the least at the seemingly heartfelt goodbye, but I stand up anyway and respectfully shake her hand.
When I leave the room later and wander the halls of Canyon Ridge back to my dorm room, I'm left to wonder how I will ever tell Margo.
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