CHAPTER 1

If I had known then what I know now, a great deal of my precious time would have been saved. Maybe five months, maybe five hours. No, five hours wasn't enough time. I knew that from the beginning.

I wouldn't exactly call myself someone who worked well under pressure. That final exam made me feel like some sort of imbecile who couldn't figure out the easiest of questions.

Simplicity just was not my forte.

I repeatedly reminded myself not to rush; that wouldn't do anyone any good. With every dribble of sweat came resentment toward my "natural capabilities." Supposedly, I was so outstanding to where I couldn't take this test with all the ordinaries, otherwise known as my background characters.

The room should have calmed me, perhaps. Utter silence, soft snores of the monitor settled in the corner of the room, a euphoric scent that resembled something along the lines of vanilla. I should have been calmed, but the rapid tapping of my feet below didn't seem to give in.

Two hours later, I finished all of the questions and clicked the "submit" button on the tablet. Sweat repulsively continued to condense onto my cotton shirt right by my armpit. I knew that if I took one more glance at this screen, I would throw myself at a wall.

I walked up to the old woman sitting in the corner of the room, her head leaned back against the wall, mouth hanging wide open with drool dripping from her chin. Her head snapped up before my finger even touched her shoulder. Wiping the drool from her face, she took the tablet from my hand with a glare, tucked it under her bat wings and fell right back asleep.

I returned to my seat at the long conference table and peeked at my friend, Lucinda, who sat two seats away and across from me. She raised an eyebrow, rolled her eyes and returned to her exam when she saw that I had finished before her. Her curly red hair dangled over her test as she hurriedly continued typing, and I frowned. She wasn't done yet.

I was growing more and more perturbed as I spied everyone else finishing much later than I had. About an hour later, the other fourteen students in the testing room handed in their tablets.

I rushed.

For three good seconds that felt like treacherous hours, I stopped breathing and listened to only my heart beating once, then twice to the rhythm of my chattering teeth.

When the monitor dismissed us from the conference room, I lied to Lucinda, "I'm going to go to the nurse. I'm not feeling very well." And before she could reply with her usual stutters, I treaded in the opposite direction from the rest of the crowd, like I always did. While they made their way to their classes for a pointless remaining 20 minutes of the educational day, I decided to make more significant use of my time.

Looking back, I never knew what my intentions were for ninety percent of the things I said and did. That day was no exception to this. The educational year was almost over, the day was coming to a close, and I saw no point in returning to class.

Wandering aimlessly through the wide, gray corridors of my education center, I peeked into classroom windows and made faces at the kids with glasses and pants pulled up over their bellybuttons. I robbed a vending machine for a soda can by kicking it over and over, and when a teacher from the classroom next door heard this and opened the door to see what the ruckus was, I was already gone.

When I stepped inside the elevator to go to the twelfth floor for whatever reason my defiled brain had, I jumped up and down repeatedly, my soda splashing out of the can and onto the silver floor. But there were no stains. The drop would be visible for one second and gone the next. I didn't contemplate this too much back then. Now, it's different. Now, I'm not the only one questioning the odd functions mobilized by our creators. It's everyone.

The elevator doors silently opened to the main center room and while taking a sip from my drink, I collided with a boy much shorter than myself. He quickly apologized, but I didn't care as I looked down and noticed the freshly spilled stain of sticky soda on my shirt. I waited for the stain to disappear like it did on the metal floors of the elevator, but it never did. Thanks a lot, League.

I looked up at the kid, ready to share my words of disdain toward him, but I stopped when I noticed the black eye. Before I could open my mouth to ask what was wrong or shove him to the ground, someone else came from behind and nimbly pushed me aside. "It's okay, I've got him," he said to me. "Come on, Eli. Let me go help you."

This person threw me one last look with his prominent green eyes before turning around and unintentionally lashing my face with his golden locks. Like coming out of a coma, I remembered this person. Vincent Wilson, the boy everyone knew and wanted to be. Popularity shouldn't have been allowed, but it happened anyway. It was just a part of The Circle of Growth. A cycle that I now know is humanly natural.

As they were walking toward the bathroom, I strained to see the face of the young boy again, but Vincent's broad shoulders served as a shield guarding my petite physique. So instead I watched both of them float away from me.

Remembering the new mark on my shirt, I groaned and turned around, about to make my way toward the bathroom on the opposite end of echoing main room when someone bumped into me. Again. This time my drink slipped out of my grip and went airborne, falling with a loud pang and spilling its contents all over the reflective floor. I quickly turned around to see which fool did this, and I saw Dave Harrows. I immediately sensed a beat of aggravation for Dave and felt pitiable due to my lack of skill on keeping old companions.

The past was something I never really liked to talk about back then. It's funny now, though, because I'm talking about the past right now, like some sort of paradox. But there was one past in particular I didn't enjoy mentioning or pondering about, and that was my past with Dave. It wasn't tragic. It wasn't heartbreaking. It was just a memory, and like all memories, they fade. He was my own definition of a good friend, and I didn't have many of those. But The Circle of Growth had a way of toying with my relationships and emotions, and let's just say ... Dave didn't last.

A girl a little taller was planted right behind him. She had short black hair and, well, I gave her kudos for her impressive makeup, making her appear much prettier than she probably was. Her skin was a bit darker than most people I knew, and it really brought out her acute green eyes. I was envying them although I didn't know quite why. Maybe that was also humanly natural? Or at least that was what I tried telling myself.

"Oh my goodness, I am so sorry ... Trina?" he said.

I snapped my head up at him the moment the liquids disappeared into wherever and shook my head. "Really?"

He bit his lip nervously while the girl behind him shamelessly stared at me with eyes of daggers, not even bothered by the fact that she knew I thought she was a creep. "Tabatha?" he asked. I shook my head once more. He continued guessing names like Talia, Tammy, Tory and even Tommy. I tapped my foot impatiently, making sure that he would hear it. "Samantha!" he declared. I rolled my eyes and tried to look as aggravated as I could.

"Terri Adams? Remember?" I asked.

He stared at me impassively.

"Forget it, Davey. Hurry up and bandage up my scar," the girl said. She lifted up her sleeve and revealed a long scrape resting on her arm. Davey. I cringed.

"Right, sorry, Khloe," Dave apologized. Khloe. In most circumstances, I owned my judgments to where I could justify them. But this time, the pestering voice nestled in the back of my head wouldn't allow me to form any viable reasons as to why I suddenly hated that girl's name.

Dave and Khloe squeezed past me to the nurse's office, and although it was tempting to spy on them, I had other priorities, such as getting rid of the stickiness on my shirt.

I entered the bathroom, disgusted to find at least seven posters hung on the walls, mirrors and stalls, proudly announcing the money we had raised from a recent fundraiser. It was ridiculous; we already had so much money, my education center was twelve stories high, and we had everything we needed. Why were we bragging about the money we made from selling useless food items and house décor? We were giving people luxuries they didn't need in return for money that we didn't need.

No matter how much water I splashed and scrubbed onto my fabric, the stain was still apparent, and that was not good enough. Deciding that the day was nearly over and I would be home soon, I ripped off my shirt and figured I could just walk around in my tank top. No one who mattered would see me, and if I got in trouble for violation of dress code (or skipping class), I would find a way to explain myself. Or I could outrun them.

The moment I exited the bathroom, I stopped short when I saw Khloe and Dave arguing by the bench that was next to the elevator. Although eavesdropping was condemned in the League among anyone of any age, it was a custom that simply couldn't be helped. Or at least, that was what I told myself while ignoring that pestering voice.

I stood close to the wall, facing their backs. Khloe's twiglike arms moved in a frenzy of theatrical movements, from up above her head to holding out her palms like she was a beggar to pointing a finger, stating something about, "The way you looked at her."

I saw Dave take a hold of both of Khloe's hands. I almost choked on air. Dave holding her hands made me sick to my stomach in a way I can't really explain. Jealousy? Spite? I was never sure.

He was speaking too quietly, so I couldn't hear what he was saying. But I did see Khloe rip her hands from Dave's grip, spin on her heel and stomp off toward the elevator. The odd wave of relief that swept over me was something I could not defend.

Dave took a seat on the bench and covered his face in his hands so all I could see was a blob of brown hair. He wasn't crying, and he knew I was there. "Terri, go away," he whispered.

"I can't," I confessed. My voice cracked, and it sounded like I was suppressed. I came out from being pressed against the wall and walked up to the bench to sit beside him. "You really don't remember, do you?" I said to the air, less of a question. I didn't even look at him although I indisputably wanted to. I was straining my neck to keep it down, to not look at Dave. It would be too hard to look away.

"No. I really don't," he said.

"How? How can you not remember? We despised each other when we first met, but then somehow along the way we became friends?" I pathetically tried to rejuvenate his memory.

I reflected on all the pranks we used to pull on our classmates and how he got me in trouble for sticking gum under a table and how he gave me a cake on my birthday and everyone teased us but we didn't care because our minds were so full of pure innocence and all we cared about was our friendship. Everything was perfect before we had to grow up.

I looked at him to see any change in facial expression. Nothing. Fury rose in me all of a sudden. "Forget it. Why am I even still talking to you?"

And that I meant. I was fine without him, just like I had always been. I jumped up out of my seat, ready to leave him behind like he left me behind many years ago. But before I did, I stole a look at his watch and saw that there were only ten minutes left of the educational day.

Just as I was about to exit the main circle room, leaving Dave in his tears over his ex-girlfriend with major jealously issues, I heard a chime. For less than a second, I assumed it was the education center bell, signaling us that it was time to catch our airtrains and head home. But this chime sounded more urgent, and after some confusion, I knew what was happening.

My education center was on fire.

CHAPTER 2

Fires weren't rare in the League. We never had to execute drills because they occurred at least once a month. In all the other cases, I was in class. A teacher led the way, and I had classmates to walk beside. Most of the time, the fire was put out before we could even exit the building. The fire extinguishers who worked at our education center were skilled at their job just because they were so experienced.

The difference with this time was that I was alone with Dave on the twelfth floor. There were no adult authorities around to instruct us. Panic rose in me, and I was nonplussed on what to do. I spun around in every direction, searching desperately for someone to instruct me on what to do next. Dave jumped out of his seat, as bewildered as I was. We both clearly didn't know how to lead ourselves out of there.

Suddenly, we forgot about where we were and who was there on that floor with us. It was an inevitable fact that I was sure other people would understand; we couldn't think straight.

Smoke started entering our lungs, driving us to cough. "I'll ... I'll go find someone ... Or the stairs ..." Dave said, struggling to contain his coughs. He slugged off and then began to run.

"But Dave!" I helplessly called after him. "Wait!"

It didn't take very long for the flames to finally make an appearance. To my left was the hallway of Close-to-Shame classes, and that was where the first orange glow slithered in my direction, ready to entrap me. Like some kind of tease, the flames crawled toward the main center room and blockaded my view of the elevator, what could have been my gateway to quick and easy freedom. It was a moment's decision – stay or run somewhere else. Despite how much I wanted to just lie there and let the flames take my life, I followed Dave.

He waited for me to catch up as I pried my way through all the smoke obstructing a discernible view of his figure. We called each other's names back and forth, and I finally felt his hand clasped in mine, our fingers entwined. As soon as our hands embraced, I felt a spark of no, not love, but strength. A strong gush of vigor coursed through my small body. He aggressively pulled me forward, and together we started searching impetuously for the stairs that we rarely used since there was the convenience of elevators. Undeterred by my wish to keep on marching, Dave halted me to a stop. "Terri, look!"

Before we could take the first step through the stairway, Dave pointed across the smog of the cafeteria to a boy struggling with something that looked like a large box. "We don't have time," I insisted, but it was too late because Dave already started dragging me through and around the fire. I tried to hide how frightened I was by simply dodging the scorching flames on the surface, trying to act like I knew what I was doing. While small masses of students and teachers marched in lines past us to reach the stairs, we fought against their tide.

"Terri! Watch out!" Dave shoved me onto the ground, slamming my head against a table. Dave glided down, his body my shield as a chunk of the burning ceiling plummeted where he and I were just standing. Our noses were almost touching when he whispered, "Are ... are you okay?" I stopped breathing. I've never been so close to him before. Still in consternation of what had just happened, all I could muster was a nod.

Dave helped me up from my crouched position on the ground as the fire gained on us. "Dave, we have to go. We don't have time." He ignored me and resumed lugging my weakening body just a few more feet to collapse next to the strange boy with the box. The vigor inside of me was draining.

The boy's ovate face was contorted as he struggled with the box half his size, his veins popping out of his lanky arms. "Come on, let's get out of here. Forget the box," I told him.

He shook his head. "I can't. This box is full of the money we collected from our fundraiser. We can't let it go to waste!"

Even in such a pressurizing situation, I couldn't resist rolling my eyes.

Dave overlooked the dilemma. "It doesn't matter, Abel. We can make it up somehow. Just come on!"

Abel stood ground. "No way. We're taking the box." Just then, another wad of the ceiling tile plunged to the ground just a few meters away from where we were crouched.

Dave flung his hands up, surrendering to the useless disagreement. "Fine! Fine, whatever. Let's go." Dave and Abel, I then remembered the two friends, lifted the box, grunting, clearly struggling with their efforts to save preciously earned money, but they kept going. I offered to help, but they refused to let me because I am a female.