ꜛꜜ𝓐𝓵𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓾𝓭𝓮ꜜꜛ

ꜛꜜ𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮ꜜꜛ

I lean over my book and skim the pages quickly. At least, I think it's quick. When I look at the clock, I see fifteen minutes have passed. I spend the last five minutes quickly flipping through pages. I glance at the clock again. Time for the multiple choice. I look over the questions and realize that none of the answers relate to the reading.

I watch as the kids around me look at the papers. At least I'm not the only one who is confused. I remember that the people in the front are familiar with these types of readings. I look to the front. The Rockets are skipping around the pages, looking at one page, then going back and circling an answer. They keep doing it over and over. I decide it is time to try.

I run my eyes over the pages and flip back and forth from one question to another, realizing the answer to the second question is in the first one. My eyes widen as I skim the pages. All the answers are there. I just need to look around. I answer the first question, then flip to the next page. I circle a few more answers and look up. The Rockets have moved on to the paragraph. I pick up my lead stick and scribble down a bullet list of points to include in the essay. I hear a quiet hmmm and turn to see Mr. Golstein looking over my shoulder. He points to my paper.

"You're not as dumb as I thought." He paces past my desk, and I feel my body flushing with heat. I scratch my head and ignore the stares from other kids. I continue the paragraph until I finish. I look to the front to see the Rockets still working. I check over my work, convinced I made a mistake; there is no way I finished before a Rocket. But I am confident in my answers. I quietly raise my hand. The teacher looks over his glasses at me and begins to walk over.

"Do you need something?" He asks quietly.

"I finished," I say quickly and hold up my paper.

"Impossible..." He takes the paper back to his desk and stares at it with a crimson lead stick in hand, ready to mark every answer wrong. I watch him silently and pray I didn't make a mistake. He sets the stick down as he skims the pages. He consults a different piece of paper and flips back and forth a few times. He stands up quickly.

"Attention, class," he begins, "Rockets, Propellers, and Engines, you have just been beaten by an underage Engine. He finished before all of you and got every answer right. He figured out the trick before most of you and aced the paragraph." He stares at me. "Congratulations, Finch."

ꜜꜛꜜꜛꜜꜛ

"How did you do that?" Someone asks. We just got lunch. I collect my pizza and water.

"Oh, uh... I don't really know. I saw some of the Rockets doing it, and I assumed they knew what they were doing." I scan the dining hall for a table and see the girl I bumped into earlier. I head over.

"Can I sit here?" I ask quietly. She turns.

"Oh... sure." She scoots over to make room.

"I'm sorry about earlier," I say quickly, "I wasn't looking where I was going, so I-"

"No worries," she smiles. "My name is Aspen. Aspen Finner. I'm an Engine. What about you?"

"My name is Finch. I'm an Engine too. But..." I bite my lip. Do I tell her my real age? "I'm 15."

"Wait, you joined underage too?" She exclaims. "I was 16 when I joined. I feel like I've been here my whole life." I smile.

"I guess I have a whole lot of learning ahead of me, don't I?" I ask. Aspen nods and grins. "So what are you here for?" I ask.

"My parents, err, my mom was a Massfighter." She pauses and clears her throat after she says was.

"Oh, cool. My dad is a politician. My sister is here for my mom's job, an Eco Associate."