Page 29 of Beyond The Maples
Falling short in the area where most of my family members thrive, sucks. Especially as the oldest. When Linden started getting better grades than me, sometimes while doing the same work, I had all but given up on school. People always thought me bright, just distracted. They blamed my bad grades on a tough home life. An eccentric dad, my mother's illness, then her absence. Long nights of working and helping my family meant little time for studying.
In reality, I knew it was more than that.
My hands clench involuntarily as I start to spiral into my own shame. I silently try to give myself a pep talk. I would make up for it in other ways. I always did.
We all line up in the hallway. Wesley is there with his glasses falling down his face, calling cadets and pointing to rooms.
"Good morning, cadets. This part is going to be a lot of waiting. I'll call you all individually and direct you where to go. You are welcome to wait in the cafeteria and grab a bite in between sessions."
My stomach rumbles as if on cue. We haven't eaten yet this morning, and although I'm used to the familiar ache of hunger, getting some food in me will make my brain function better. I wander alone into the cafeteria.Farra was called to one of the assessment rooms, and I'm not sure where Leo has wandered off to, harassing other people into being friends most likely.
I walk up to the window at the back of the room where a man is theatrically waving his arms at his kitchen mates. Chef, I presume. He's a stocky man, with thick, dark hair, bushy eyebrows, and a mustache to match, all of which are peppered with grey. Grabbing one of the metal trays, following the lead of the other cadets ahead of me, I watch as the other person around the chef scurries at his barking orders. I wonder if he could hold his own against Marta, and the thought makes me smile.
The cadets in front of me show the chef their tags and get their meals. My eyes widen as I see what he places on their trays.
Was that a muffin?
I stand there staring blankly, brows furrowed as he places one on my own tray.
"Are you brain dead? Move along," he snaps.
"Have I died and gone to the underworld? Is this Aethur?" I mumble to myself, I hear a raspy chuckle and look up to see Chef's plump cheeks pulled up in a grin, which I return, as he shoos me away.
I scurry to a table in the corner, hoarding my treasured muffin like a greedy earth sprite. I sit there for a while. Staring. I'm not sure why I feel so emotional in this moment. It's silly, to feel emotional over a muffin. But I do. My eyes sting and I try to blink the emotion away. A pang of guilt sits in my gut as I stare at my plate. Willow and Linden probably ate their protein bricks already this morning. Would they feel betrayed to know I was sitting here in front of baked goods? I woke up this morning and ran, outside, without dust choking me. Panic starts to flood my system as I wonder how my sister is doing. It's not even been a full twenty-four hours, and I'm starting to fall apart.
I take a deep breath, and remember my resolve in the truck coming through the city. I just need to figure out how to get them here. This thought grounds me and my mouth waters, staring at my food.
I let out an embarrassing moan the moment the muffin passes between my lips. It's been years since I've had anything this decadent.
"Gods, woman, hold it together," Farra huffs as she sits down across from me. I frown at her.
"I don't even care. This is the best thing I've ever eaten." I try, but I can't seem to eat it slowly, instead inhaling it like a wild animal. I watch Farra eat hers delicately.
"How are you not as excited about this as me?" I ask sincerely. "Do they still have real food in your town?"
Farra considers my question, and I expect her to avoid answering altogether, but she surprises me.
"No, I haven't had this type of food since I was a kid. I'm just holding back my feral groans better than you."
I look at her and can't help the laugh that bubbles out of me, and to my surprise, Farra's face brightens as she smiles a little.
"How did your tests go?" I ask, my knee bouncing against the metal bench, giving away my nerves.
"It was fine, boring really. I'll have more in a bit here. They're just trying to gauge our mental well-being and see how much previous education we have. They want to figure out who will be capable of leadership roles later on, and who to plug for different streams."
I hum my understanding. Farra seems to catch the worry on my face, and she softens slightly.
"You'll do fine. They are desperate for cadets. Unless you admit you are a resister, they push everyone along. This is just a formality."
I'm a little surprised by this show of kindness, but I appreciate it all the same.
"Are you sure you just got here? You seem so... comfortable," I say carefully, scared to frighten her off. She shrugs.
"I'm an army brat. My older brother and dad both served. I don't remember much of my dad. What I do remember is just stories of his glory days here. My mom is the only one in our family who hasn't served, and that includes distant relatives. I grew up listening to story after story about all of this." She waves her hand around, gesturing to the giant facility. "And places before it. They prepared me more than most, I guess."
She looks at me tentatively, like maybe she's said too much. But I just nod, appreciating her openness, and say gently, "I'm sorry about your dad. Both my parents have been gone for a while now, too."
The two of us make eye contact for a moment before Farra's face goes carefully blank again.
