The Athena Chronicles- chapter 1

1

Late May 2150

United Democracies of the West

I don't think I can handle another test. This school just doesn't work the way my old one used to. There, I wasn't 'educationally challenged' enough in my basic classes, so my parents took me here, to the West’s capital city, Denver for something more fitting for my supposed intelligence. 

I looked out my window- towards the buildings that shot up into the hazy atmosphere, the lights beaming through the evening dark. People bustled through the streets below my family's apartment, shopping for new clothes or whatever they so desired. New Year's decorations pop up atop even the highest buildings, glittering gold and purple and practically every other color in the rainbow. We have everything here in Denver. It was one of the couple of cities the Eastern  didn't try to destroy. 

My brother was probably downstairs, eating dinner with my mother and grandparents. I ate earlier, so I could devote more time to studying.

My alarm goes off. 5 O’clock. I tug on clothes. My backpack. Stumble out into the street. Into the bus station and into the bus. In what felt like seconds, I went from dragging myself out of bed to standing in front of my school.

A hulking building so large I haven't yet gotten used to, at least five floors overground and two or three belowground. Basement classes are the worst- no windows and no heating. Also, most science classes are down there, and that's the worst subject for me at the moment. The winter air bites at my face and fingers, freezing right through my coat. 

"Hey." A voice comes from behind me, and I yelp whirling around. Greeting me is my friend Bridget. She has a tall, lanky frame- a part of more school sports than I can count. Her blond hair is always back in a braid and her nails are always immaculate. Today, they're clear, with small flower designs in various pastels.

"Spooked me there," I tried to control my voice after that lapse in calm. "Are you excited?" 

"Why on Earth would I be excited? It's a test. And you know how I am with tests. And," she paused, "I know how you are with tests."

"I do not."

"How much sleep did you get last night?"

"I do not understand the importance of my sleep to your comments."

"Just answer the question."

"Whatever. Eight hours, as recommended."

"Liar."

"Six."

"Also liar." She kept a grin on her face through the whole interaction.

"Thirty minutes."

"Right on the money. You know you're going to die one of these days if you keep that up, right? You probably know that."

"Science has proven small naps improve memory, especially after studying. It's been proven through research paper after research paper-"

"Sometimes I feel like you're dumber than I am."

"Sometimes." I look down at my hand- it's shaking. I always get like this talking to her. Like there are butterflies in my stomach, but they're pinching at my stomach in their strongest attempt to get me to keel over and die right here on the pavement. 

"Too much coffee this morning?" She asked. Good intentions. LIke always.

"Nope. Just jitters."

"The test?"

"Yeah," I lied. "The test."

She smiled. "Well, good luck to you."

"Thanks," I tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace. Like I'd eaten a lemon, rind and all. 

"Talk later?"

"Yeah." And she walked away. Why do I always act like this around her? It's so foolish. So incredibly foolish. 

Every time I spoke to Bridget, my composure dissolved. I went from a collected, well-spoken student to a giggling, quaking mess. As I opened the door to the school's foyer, a welcome blast of heat washed over me. Hopefully I'll stop shaking soon. 

I didn't have my test until the second part of the day, after lunch, so I supposed I could spend lunch in the library, cramming for whatever slipped my mind from last night's delirium. But, first, I had a few other classes to attend to. 

Classic Literature. AP Physics. Musical Theory. The first half of the day slipped by and before I knew it, I stood in the entryway to the auditorium, where people I have never met would decide my fate. 

I don't remember taking the test. I remember sitting down, setting out my permitted note page and some supplies, but nothing after that. That may be for the better, though. 

Stepping out of the exam room, I didn't even know how much time had passed. I had to check the hall's clock because they confiscated all our watches and devices before we tested- the hall clock read 13:27. I finished 3 minutes before the time limit. 

I walk through the halls- the lower classrooms are always much colder, and my coat was in my locker. Shivering, I wondered what all this would mean for me. The test itself was mandatory, in some form, but every student chose which subject- or, for a more ambitious student, subjects- they would test on. My classmates came up with many different hypotheses as to why exactly this was the case, but nobody could come up with something solid, something that made sense of it. Even me. 

Opening my locker, I started packing up the things I'd need for homework. there wasn't any, really, because I got to skip over my afternoon classes. I'd have to check in tomorrow to see what I'd missed. 

Bridget’s voice came from behind me, once again. "Leaving so soon?'

"Well, yeah. I finished up."

"Already?'

"Yeah, already. I mean, you're out too, so it can't be that soon."

"Yes. That." She paused for a moment. "I suppose so."

This conversation dragged on much too slowly for my taste. "What did you even take your test on, anyways?"

"Public Speaking and Speech-writing. It's the only thing I really know how to do."

"Well, I'm sure you did great."

She smiled. "I mean, what do they even use these scores for?"

"Dunno." I paused to think. "It can't be standardized testing in any form, 'cause everyone's taking a different one. It can't just be for the school, either- I saw some people in unfamiliar uniforms in front of the main office a couple of weeks ago, and they were wearing the same logo emblazoned into the front page of the testing packet."

"Weird. Also, good detective work."

"Thanks." With Bridget, there always was a point in our conversation where things dulled. Was it my fault? Kind of. Was I ever going to fix it? Likely not.

We said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. I didn’t know what to think after that, as the thing I had poured all my life, all my free time, all my everything into was in the rear mirror. My mind felt far from quiet, though.