Qualify (41 page)

I squint and blink up at her and at the overhead light that’s shining directly in my eyes. How stupid was that, picking a bed right underneath the overhead light? Did I really think I’d have time for reading in bed?

Disgusted at myself, I moan and mutter something.

“Hey, seriously, girl, are you unwell?” Laronda bends forward over me and puts the back of her hand over my forehead to check for temperature.

“Nah, thanks, I’m okay, just seriously dead after yesterday.”

“What happened?”

I turn my head and there’s Hasmik, sitting on her bed next to me. She looks tired and unwell, but at least she’s not green.

“Gwen,” Hasmik says. “Gwen,
akhchik jan
, thank you so much for trying to help me yesterday. I am so sorry you got in trouble. So sorry!” And she leans forward and takes my arm and squeezes it gently.

I smile weakly at her, then make the effort to sit up.

“So, tell us! What happened?” Laronda is relentless.

“I had to stand balanced on one foot and then the other for about half an hour, like an idiot. It was painful hell. And then I had to go up to their offices, was chewed out, and dismissed. Then I stopped by an Instructor’s office for help with homework. That’s about it. It just seems like it took forever and I did my running homework at the arena track.”

“Wow.” Laronda shakes her head at me in a motherly fashion. “Poor baby. So how was he? The evil Atlantean prick, whassisname?”

“Aeson Kass.” I shrug, and feel a rush of anger return at the thought of him. “Pardon me—
Command Pilot
Aeson Kass,” I mock.

“Did he say anything about Disqualification?”

I consider what I should or should not say at this point. “He basically told me to keep my mouth shut and behave in the future. And you’re right, he
is
a jerk.”

“He’s kind of good looking . . .” Hasmik says suddenly. “A cute jerk.”

I look up. “Oh, please. He’s just full of himself.”

And on that note I pick up my clothes and head to the bathroom.

T
his is day five of Qualification, and first period Agility class finds me in a rotten mood, a combination of exhaustion, muddled anger, and general nerves. Blayne Dubois ignores me completely as he does his usual hoverboard maneuvers away from the rest of us. It’s as if last night never happened.

I climb the different levels of scaffolding and barely make it across a few rungs of the parallel bars before slipping off, and yeah, yet another stinking demerit is mine.

However, a minor moment of triumph happens during our running laps. Oalla increases the number of our laps yet again, from eleven to thirteen. And for the first time, as I stumble to the finish line, I am
not
last. Somehow I manage to pass both Janice Quinn and Jack Carell, and frankly I don’t know which one of them gets the demerit.

Wow! It’s a strange and amazing small victory. I think Oalla gives me an interesting look as for once she passes me by to scan another person’s token.

As a result I feel somewhat better as I head to the next period.

Which is Atlantis Tech, and it starts out really boring. Mr. Warrenson goes on and on about the importance of being
in tune
when making the musical tone commands. He also tests us for pitch perception, using a larger version of the Atlantean sound gadget that was used during Preliminary Qualification back at school to make us repeat the “eeee” sounds. This thing takes up half the desk, and looks like a strange malformed lump of silvery rock on the surface of which occasional colored lights come to life.

“One at a time, please,” Mr. Warrenson says. “Come up here and place your fingers on the surface, right here. Then you will sing a scale exactly like the sound unit does. Listen, then repeat!”

We go up there, one by one, and when it’s done, Mr. Warrenson tells us that although we can all replicate the sounds very well, only three of us in this class have
perfect pitch
, according to the device.

“Candidates whose names I call, have earned a credit today. Come up here and I will scan your tokens—Antwon Marks, Claudia Grito, and Gwenevere Lark.”

Okay, I admit I did not see that one coming. Especially considering that when it was my turn up there, I barely squeaked out the notes. . . .

But it makes me feel good! Yet another good thing today, to partially make up for all the yuck of the previous days. Not only did I not get a demerit, but a credit—my first one!

I am also majorly psyched on Antwon’s behalf—he totally deserves it with his amazing honey voice, not to mention he’s a great guy. On the other hand, seeing Claudia swagger up there to get her token scanned with a credit puts a minor damper on things. . . .

Soon, it’s lunch hour, and as I walk through the Common Area lounge, my confidence almost back, I see Claudia, Olivia, and Ashley watching me. They balance sitting on sofa backs, legs dangling, and Claudia’s piercings glitter metallic as she taps the sofa with the fingers of one hand. Her upper arms are sleek and well-toned and her shoulders look tough in that black tank top she’s wearing.

“So, Gwen-baby. Perfect pitch, eh?” she drawls mockingly, craning her neck slightly to cut me down with her tough street look. “How about you and me sing it out, later tonight, to see who’s really
perfect?
”

I stop and look at her. “What?”

“What? What? Hard of hearing? I thought you had perfect pitch.”

I shake my head, not sure how to respond.

“Cat’s got your tongue too?” Claudia is really laughing now, and Ashley and Olivia have their hands up over their mouths in hard, mean giggles.

“She’s obviously deaf and dumb, chicas. That stupid Atlantis audio device really screwed up when it picked her. I bet she mewls when she sings.”

And Claudia makes cat meowing noises at me. Ashley and Olivia pick it up and echo her.

I stand there, genuinely dumbstruck and the cold sickness is back in my gut, twisting like a knife.

A few other hashtaggers show up, including Wade and Derek. “What’s up, what’s happening here?” Derek says, walking up from behind me. He’s sweaty from class and his sharp scent mixed up with aftershave seems to surround me. I cringe away involuntarily, and he notices it and moves in even closer with his big muscular arms, so that I have to step away, which brings me unfortunately closer to Claudia.

“What’s happening,” Claudia says, “is that our girlfriend Gwen here doesn’t want to sing with me tonight. See, we have perfect pitch, both of us, and we’re gonna have us a sing-off.”

“No, we aren’t . . .” I mutter.

“Oh, yeah?” Derek says. “You’re going to sing, Gwen-baby. Because our Claudia says so. And because I say so. You got that?” And he leans in my face with his hard unblinking glare.

“I’m not doing anything,” I say softly. “Get away from me.”

They exchange glances, and then Derek grins at me, baring his teeth. “You’re going to sing, or else. Seven o’clock, outside this dorm, in the back.
Be there.
”

“I don’t think so,” I say, looking up at him.

“What did you say?”

I feel like I am suddenly short of breath, as they are all closing in on me. Why is there no one else in the lounge when you need it? Where is everyone?

“I said—I cannot sing . . .” I say suddenly. “The audio machine made a mistake. It was an accident.”

“Nooooo,” Claudia drawls. “You can’t take it back, Gwen-baby.”

I take a deep breath, because if I don’t I will pass out. “You know what?” I say.

“What?”

“Screw you!” And with those words I shove past them all and run up the stairs to the third floor girls’ dormitory. I find that I am shaking.

Because of this crappy incident, I end up skipping lunch. I sit on my bed, hunched over, rubbing my arms with both hands, and I think.

Neither Laronda nor Hasmik are around, and there are hardly any other girls on the dorm floor now, since most have gone to the cafeteria.

Oh, how I wish the other Gees were here now! Where are my brothers? Where’s Gracie? For that matter, haven’t they heard about the awful “disciplinary action” against me yesterday, and why haven’t they tried to see me, to make sure I’m okay?

There’s no way I am going to sing.

No one, not even the bullies can make me do it. Especially not to prove a stupid point.

But—what’s going to happen to me if I don’t?

I plop down on the cot and lie there, on top of the covers, with the overhead light glaring directly into my eyes.

T
he alarm claxons go off indicating time for the 1:00 PM class.

It’s time for Combat.

Somehow I drag myself downstairs to the basement Training Hall.

The Instructors are not there yet. But, just my luck, all the alpha crowd a-holes are here, waiting for me. Quickly I walk as far away as possible, to join another grouping of Candidates, with Jai and Tremaine and Jack Carell. No one else I know is in this class today.

“Hey, Gwen!” Jai gives me the usual white-toothed grin, and then remembers. “Hey, so how was yesterday, the punishment? Did you get in trouble big-time, or what?”

“Not that bad,” I mumble, and tell them the abbreviated version.

“Okay, so it could have been worse,” Tremaine says. “At least that Phoebos guy didn’t put you in lockup or something.”

“Yeah.” I roll my eyes.

In that moment, Oalla Keigeri and another Atlantean girl come into the gym hall.

The new Atlantean girl, it occurs to me, is somehow familiar. I recognize her and her super-short, straight, metallic hair. She was there, the night of the shuttle accident, up on that upper level walkway in the Arena Commons building, walking next to Xelio and a whole bunch of other Atlanteans while we Candies were all having dinner at the “food court” cafeteria below.

This girl is taller than Oalla and more bulky-muscular, with a powerful and at the same time curvaceous physique. Her skin is golden-brown, a mid-tone range between that of the fair-skinned Oalla and the very dark Keruvat who is absent from our class today. Her eyes are a pale hazel color, and she has amazing sensuous lips that are full and naturally pouty-sexy. She wears the same grey uniform as the other Instructors, but her armband is green.

“Attention, Candidates!” Oalla claps her hands and blows her whistle. “Line up!”

We do as we’re told, forming the two opposing rows.

I notice that the person standing directly across from me as my sparring partner for this class is none other than Claudia Grito.

Oh, great
. . . .

Meanwhile Oalla turns to the other Atlantean girl and nods.

“Good afternoon, Candidates!” the short-haired girl says in a deeper sonorous voice. “I am Erita Qwas, and I am going to be working with you today in place of Keruvat Ruo who is teaching Combat at Green Dorm Three.”

“All right!” Oalla commands us. “First, we do warm-ups!”

Fifteen arduous minutes of hell later, we are lined up and ready for Forms.

“Today, you will practice actual full-contact sparring Forms which require you to defend yourself and attack your opponent. This means that you will be striking each other
for real
and not by accident,” Oalla says in a hard voice, pacing in the middle space between our rows, followed by Erita.

“You will begin with the Floating Swan,” Erita responds. “And then you and your sparring partner will take turns with the opposite combination of Second Form, Striking Snake, to attack, and Seventh Form, Running Scarab, to defend yourself.”

Oh, no
, I think,
Please, lord, no, no! Claudia and I are going to be beating up on each other!

“Row to my right, show me Striking Snake! Row to my left, show me Running Scarab!” Erita exclaims loudly. “First, watch, then follow our lead!”

And with those words the short-haired Atlantean demonstrates. She and Oalla assume the graceful starting position of Floating Swan, and then Erita attacks. The Snake strikes repeatedly, focused and relentless, while Oalla’s Scarab defense involves arms being placed strategically to block each strike, echoing the rapid multi-arm movements of the ancient beetle rolling a ball of dung. They repeat the Form exchange slowly three times, and then speed up. . . . Oh, they’re lightning-fast!

First, Erita is the Snake, and then Oalla. They switch several times, and each of them is the Scarab to the other’s Snake.

“Candidates, your turn! Rows, approach each other, begin sparring!”

And as I stand in the Floating Swan, before I even have a moment to collect myself, Claudia steps forward with a sneer and strikes me. . . .

Her blow lands, hard, against the side of my face on the left. I feel a blinding pain, and stagger back, but there is no time to recover, because Claudia strikes again.

This time I have enough presence left to recall the defensive hand motions that constitute the Running Scarab. I block Claudia’s strike with the back of my arm, and quickly extend my other arm to push her away. My face is still burning with pain while my eyes begin to sting with gathering tears. . . .