Those Who Shatter

Chapter 10: Outshooting the Cowboy

I'm going to forget how to use my eyeballs properly, I just know it.

For the rest of the day, I avert my gaze from any of the school plaques, statues, or banners just in case any other Settler hidden messages decide to smack me across the face again. As a result, nothing abnormal enters my thoughts or exits my mouth, and I switch from class to class with Peripheral ease, allowing the shrill beeps of the bell to herd me. I remind myself that I've been attending Peripheral school since kindergarten, since my dad was born of the Peripherals and my mom had to keep up pretenses. So it's as easy as falling back into a pattern that I've set on autopilot.

The only thing I have to do is grin as Annabelle chatters about our U.S. History teacher, Mr. Armell, who apparently is only twenty-four, single, and ready to mingle. On a high school campus that barely holds over 150 students, I'm not at all surprised that we have most of our classes together. As we follow the Yellow Brick Road to Building G: Gym Facilities, I even wave at some of the familiar faces, and that's when I realize that I'm doing it.

I'm blending in.

"What gym elective did you sign up for?" Annabelle asks. She leads me up the stairs to the glass doors of the gymnasium.

I hover on the top step. "Wait. You were allowed to sign up? I thought they just assigned us an elective at random!"

Annabelle scrunches up her nose in a look of mock horror. "Oh, no. You got stuck with something awful, didn't you? Juniors and seniors get to choose a P.E. specialty class every semester. So, where were you placed? ROTC training? Weight lifting?" She grimaces even further, her nose wrinkling. "Flag football?"

I glance at my schedule again. "Archery." Well, isn't this just ironic? Is nowhere safe for me to be without constant reminders of the Orbs Hall? That world has it out for me, I swear. "What happened to regular old dodgeball?"

"Oh," Annabelle draws out on a low whistle. "Have fun with that. That instructor hails directly from hell."

"Lovely." Though it's not like I haven't dealt with demons before. I brush my hair over my shoulder. "What do you have, then?"

She leaps into a wobbly stance, holding her arm out in front of her and clutching an invisible sword. "Fencing, my friend. Don't mess with me."

I raise my eyebrows. "Fencing?"

"Oh, come on, like that's such a surprise when you're signed up for archery."

"Touche."

We enter the gymnasium, the regular stale-sweat smell of a school gym absent; it's replaced instead by a rubbery scent that reminds me of new basketballs and the cleanly scent of chlorine. Battlefield must have some generous benefactors. There are signs posted around the lobby that point towards the different areas reserved for specific electives. A student worker waits behind a desk, reading To Kill a Mockingbird with his feet propped up on the counter. Annabelle shoves me towards the archery sign with a feisty, "Knock 'em dead, Guin." 

She pauses and then giggles suddenly. "Nock? Get it? Like a nocked arrow!"

She's still laughing at her unintended pun as she disappears around a corner where many of our classmates have congregated. That girl is insane. I glance around at the solitude of the hallway Annabelle has left me in. Of course I would get placed into the most deserted class down the emptiest hallway. I stretch out a crick in my neck nervously before walking past the boys' locker room and towards my gym class, shoving out the memories that threaten to consume me.

A blond Comrade. The thud of arrows, one after the other. A training room. Precise. Sharp. Perfect.

I shove open the door and nearly whack it straight into the small group of students clustered on the other side. I recognize one of the girls from my literature class, but most of them seem to be seniors that I have yet to meet, judging by the class insignia on the breast pocket of their shirts. A few of them are tossing a red lacrosse ball back and forth as they wait for the bell to ring. In restless anticipation, I flip my head upside down and gather up my hair into a loose ponytail, securing it with a rubber band. When I straighten up, a tall, muscled boy with dark hair and childish dimples grins over at me in a rather wolfish way. He's one of the boys playing catch with the lacrosse ball. He seems about ready to chuck it over at me, so I glance away and look at the walls instead.