The Progress

(07) Weapons...

Stephanie Johnson

There was a noticeable change in Santiago and Minhyuk's behavior at lunch, and it didn't seem to be a good one. Park was shaking, his hands clamoring against the table, food untouched. I glanced over at Santiago, his bowl remained full as he aimlessly stirred its contents. It was a weird sight given that he frequently ate as though the world was coming to an end. I called him out on it once only to get called a skinny bitch.

"The food can't be that bad, right?" Becky leaned over, placing a hand on Santiago's arm. Is she making moves on that dumbass? I shook my head, she has a girlfriend, stop being weird. My brother and Park looked at each other, exchanging a silent conversation. Santiago's eye seemed darker than they were this morning and Park was unnaturally quiet. Even though I hadn't known him for that long, I had gotten used to his snide remarks.

"So how were your classes?" Becky tried to break the ice, hoping to distract the boys from whatever was bothering them. Probably not the best topic to bring up, but at least she was trying. I didn't think there were going to be classes at camp, but I didn't actually know what I had expected. Mrs. Niven had only said it was a great experience that helped her son become the leader he was today. She mentioned something along the lines of it being more intended for people like her, which probably explained the sheer quantity of kids wearing expensive clothes. I don't know why they would create a camp like this for rich kids, but at the time I wasn't going to argue.

"I got some saran wrap," Santiago muttered, nodding to the yellow box. There were some other things next to it that definitely weren't easy to come by. I thought I was imagining slight lumps in Park's pockets earlier, but these new items were only confirming my thoughts.

"How did you get that?" I frowned, something was going on here.

"Let's go," Park grumbled, his face pale, "We're going to be late." Why is he avoiding my question? What's he hiding?

Regardless, I sighed, knowing he was right and lead the way to our long-awaited class, running.

Simply put, it was hell. On a good day at school I stood in the corner and talked with friends. I'm pretty sure my gym teacher noticed but she didn't get paid enough to care. Now I could only wish that she made me run hundreds of miles. Maybe I should have actually followed Miranda King's training videos instead of just watching them while snacking. Even the most athletic girl in our little running group looked like she was struggling, but all of us were afraid to stop. When we finally reached the end of our five-mile long course we were all parched. Apparently, we ran our mile too slow because the guards quickly rushed us off to the next class, dripping in sweat.

We stumbled into the next room, barely glancing at the numbers on the door as it slammed shut threateningly behind us.

"Welcome to Weapons." A thin blond woman greeted us, lips ruby red. She looked like she might be the president of the PTO or manager of the shoe department. Her next words, however, completely changed my mind.

"I sincerely hope that you will all survive." Her smile never reached her eyes. The pale skin seemed too stiff, and her eyebrows were too dark.

"We can't catch a break can we?" My idiot brother grumbled. Does he ever stop complaining?

The blond woman resumed as if she hadn't been interrupted, though the slight wrinkle of her nose indicated that she heard us perfectly well.

"Choosing your weapon can save or end your life." She let out a small laugh. The rest of the classes for some strange reason did not find this funny.

"Choose wisely!" Her grin grew as if Christmas had come early. Somehow, she managed to look scarier than some of the guards standing outside.

"We will begin this class with more primitive weapons." Reaching over she opened up a cupboard. Inside were shelves and racks of knives, swords, throwing stars, and other weapons that I couldn't name to save my life. Which is probably a bad thing.