Planet B

Think Fast, Heads Up

It was a terrible, stupid, and very flawed plan that could go wrong in so many ways, but I prefer to look on the bright side. When it benefits me, that is.

Pax is for these good people, right? But I'm pretty incapable of being productive in society, so I'm far from that. We even took a practice exam in senior year as some activity with all these philosophical questions and I got a D with the comment "Step up your game for Pax" in bold red letters, and I tried on that test.

So I need a good person. Not to teach me good things, because that's very boring and something I will most definitely deflect at any given moment.

Here's my plan, follow close:

If I befriend a good person and spend the year with them, they'll get into Pax and succeed in this AE. And if they get a place, maybe I can get them to give it to me instead.

There are 10 billion people on Earth, but only three billion spots in the space craft. Only the best of the best are getting on there. Young, smart, productive kids. You have to be pretty good to get in, and even though it seems like you might as well be the next youngest philanthropist, the world's ratio of good to bad people have been dwindling for the past century.

If I get close to Theo, play a sob story, he'll give up his spot like a good angel. Granted it was highly un-guaranteed he was as nice as his face value, but it's not like I had many other options. If Theo turned out to be rotted on the inside like everyone else, then it would just take a few turns and a walk to find the next better martyr.

Is it a faulty plan? Yes. Is it a plan that'll probably give me a reserved seat in hell? Yeah. Could it go wrong very quickly if he catches on? Probably.

But Pax is a chance to start anew. Pax could be a shot to drag myself out of red hornet addiction and misery. Earth needed good people more than Pax needed good people.

This was my shot, and I was not throwing it away.

I think I found my outside force.

___________________

First light disk practice.

Couldn't be too difficult.

I walked into the gates, slamming the door behind me. According to Henry, the only requirements for the first practice around were basic athletic gear, lots of extra water, and a will for survival. 

If this didn't make me gain some extra muscle, then nothing would.

The whole team was already atop the center rink at the one third mark. They were chatting away with each other as they stretched their arms and legs, their conversations echoing in time with their laughter.

I made my way up the steep steps until I reached the top. Heather's curls were colored  bright, a dark wine red and tied up high. I hoped she wasn't too crazy about hair masks like G or I was going to have a very difficult time identifying her.

Coach March was talking into her phone, the screen projecting a face that I didn't recognize. I dropped my bag off at the side and made my way towards them.

There were three guys, including me, and three girls, including Heather. I was the shortest—and the slimmest—by a wide margin. Even the girls were broader shouldered. What did a guy have to do to grow a little around here?

My eyes scanned over them. One girl—short black hair and eyes that looked ready for warfare, skin pale compared to the average Californian—was the shortest of the women. Her face barely moved as she talked, seemingly disinterested with whatever the discussion was about. Above a pristine black jersey's white number four, the name CHUNG spelled itself out in bold letters.