WE’RE IN PT AT DAWN the next morning, and of course my imagination keeps replaying Jack’s kiss, and it makes me so crazy fluttery I can barely stand still!
Last night after Jack left my dorm I had so much nervous energy I called my mom and told her a little about the dance, and then all about my upcoming fashion show. Now I feel on the verge of tears every time I think about our conversation, about how lucky I am that my parents are mine, how excited they were to be there when I do my fashion show, because they’re my mom and dad.
Being this far away from my family has made me feel silly for all the times I complained about them suffocating Ella and me. And it makes me want to show them that I can use the focus and discipline I’ve learned here on creative projects like this show. It’s weird. I always knew I was a little different back home. But Mount Pleasant is full of artists, and children of artists. It’s the kind of place where it’s totally fine to be artsy-fartsy. But it’s so different here at the Academy that it’s made me even surer of how I want my life to be when I leave this place.
“Attention!” Sturtevant screams for what might be the eightieth time this semester. She blows her whistle, which is overkill because of course by then we’ve all already gone silent. It’s one of the many things I’ve grown to love about this place: you don’t bend the rules and talk a little past the time when you’re supposed to shut up. It’s freeing, really. It’s no longer uncool to do things exactly like you’re supposed to.
Sturtevant, O’Neil, and two other TACs are standing beneath the basketball hoop. Only Sturtevant is grinning, but it’s like a Cruella de Vil type of smile with her teeth bared. “Good morning, cadets,” she says, starting to pace. “This is your final trial for War Games. The selection will be posted this morning after your TACs and I confer, and the cadets selected will begin a special process of evening training sessions to prepare for the games in May.”
Evening training. I glance over at Jack. I guess this would mean we’d have to put our nighttime runs on hold. We’re already up to three miles per night, and Jack is pretty sure we can get to ten by the end of the semester. He catches my glance and gives me a secret look that makes me feel just as buzzy and nervous as I felt last night. All I can think about is being alone with him tonight on our run and kissing him again. And the way he looks at me makes me sure he’s thinking the same thing.
“This morning’s test takes much more than physical strength,” Lt. Sturtevant says. “It takes intuition and instinct.” The memory of Sturtevant’s fist coming millimeters from my face that first day flashes through my brain. So much has changed. “Your final War Games trial will consist of partnered sprints, and you will aim to reach your fastest time as a three-person team. That means you must stay together; you are only as fast as your weakest member.” She glances over all of us, giving a look that says: this part is really important. “If you sprint ahead more than twelve inches from any member of your team, your entire team will be disqualified.” I take a breath and try to relax my muscles. I’m pretty sure she just means sprinting in a straight three-person line. “As you sprint for the length of the gymnasium, you must sense how fast your team can move without leaving a member behind,” Sturtevant continues. “Pick your teammates wisely. It matters.”
I’m sandwiched between Jack and Joni, and Amanda and Ciara. I look down at my feet. I can sense Amanda tightening her stance with Ciara, inching toward her and away from me. I get it. Even though my athletic skills and my endurance have greatly improved, I’m still far from the fastest sprinter.
“Partners?” Joni says to Jack.
He puts out his hand to low-five her.
“Um,” I say, “I’m just going to . . .” but I can’t even finish my sentence because I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to assume I’ll be on Jack and Joni’s team because he’s my maybe-almost-boyfriend and she’s my best friend here. I want Jack and Joni to have their best chance at winning this, because making War Games means something to all of us, not just me. I can’t believe that after all these months of training, today’s the day we’ll find out who made it.
My eyes meet Amanda’s. They’re green and hard and there isn’t an ounce of sympathy in them. It’s obvious she doesn’t want me on her team. Ciara opens her mouth to say something but I beat her to it. “I’m gonna go find another group,” I say, pointing vaguely toward the other side of the gym like I have a plan.
“No, you’re not,” Jack says.
I lift my gaze. Jack’s dark eyes are just as hard with determination as Amanda’s, but instead of coldness, there’s something else.
“You’re coming with us,” he says. “You, me, Joni. Unbeatable.”
Joni nods at me. “Unbeatable,” she says. She grabs my hand and pulls me closer, right to her side, like that’s where I belong.
Once everyone’s settled into their groups, Sturtevant instructs us to do two warm-up laps and then lines us up along the back wall of the gym. She gives me a slight nod when she sees me standing with Jack and Joni. I watch as she calls forward the first group of teams and repeats her instructions. Then she blows her whistle, and the cadets take off like they’re on fire. But only two of the first six groups are able to stay within one foot of one another. Two boys leave their third teammate almost a full four feet behind before realizing that they’ve disqualified themselves. The other three groups are finding it so hard to stay within one foot of one another that they’re practically stopping and starting for the entire length of the gym. Sturtevant shouts out last names: “Lucke! Peterson! Mazza! You’re disqualified!”
I watch the next heat of six start. They’re even worse. Only one group manages to stay together, but they’re only able to do it by jogging, not sprinting.
Our turn is coming up, and I think about Military Strategy and all the myriad strategies to use to gain what you deem victory. I pull Jack and Joni close, and then lower my voice so only they can hear. “You guys know I’m not the fastest,” I say. “So let me set the pace. I’ll run in the middle of us, and I’ll sprint with all I’ve got. You two stay right with me. Okay?”
“That’s brilliant,” Jack says, and Joni grins her approval.
Sturtevant signals for the next six groups to approach the start line. Amanda, Ciara, and their muscle-guy teammate move up, too. They’re right next to us.
“On your marks!” Sturtevant shouts.
“Don’t forget—it’s my lead,” I say softly.
“Go!”
I lunge forward with all my might. My chest seizes with adrenaline as I sprint toward the far wall. I can see Amanda and Ciara sprinting ahead with their teammate—but Jack and Joni are right in line with me; it’s almost like our arms and legs are moving together, like we’re one force moving through the air. I’m breathless, sprinting like I did that night with Jack through the dark hallway my first week here, giving it everything I have.
Amanda’s still ahead, and I can just make out how good she and Ciara are at staying together. But then Ciara stumbles, and their teammate doesn’t realize quickly enough that she’s dropped behind. He surges at least three feet forward before Amanda grabs his arm. But by then, Sturtevant is already yelling: “Moore! Washington! Goldberg! Disqualified!”
It only makes me sprint faster. The group on our other side is slowing, and everyone else seems to be stopping and starting to stay together, but Jack, Joni, and I are flying. In the last ten yards we gain even more distance as our shoes squeak over the hardwood floor. We cross the finish line and Joni lets out a cry of victory. I whirl around. There’s no one at the finish line yet. We won. And we stayed together. And—
“Brooks! Murphy! Wattson!”
I turn to see Sturtevant, standing stock-still, staring at us. I can’t make out the expression on her face. Is she disqualifying us?
She blows her whistle and the gym goes quiet. Even the cadets who got disqualified halfway through the race stand at attention.
Sturtevant turns away from us to face the majority of the student body. “I hope you all witnessed that effort,” she says plainly. “Because that was what I was asking for. Well done, cadets.”
She turns to walk away, but then Jack says, “Excuse me, Lt. Sturtevant?”
Sturtevant spins on her heel to face him.
“It was Private Brooks,” he says, his breath coming faster. “It was her plan.”
Sturtevant nods quickly. “I thought so,” she says, and my entire body buzzes with happiness. She knew it was me!
I did it. We did it. I turn to Jack and Joni to see both of their hands raised, waiting for me to high-five them. I do, realizing I’ve never high-fived anyone for an athletic accomplishment in my entire life.
“Well done, private,” Jack says, the happiness in his voice like fresh air and true friendship. I reach up to his hand with mine and slip my fingers through his.
“Take ten, cadets!” Sturtevant calls out. She makes her way over to O’Neil and the other two TACs. There’s a shuffle in the gym as the rest of the students start chattering excitedly. Everyone’s so on edge, you can feel it running through the gym like a current. I can’t believe we’re about to find out who made it!
“That plan was killer,” Joni says, and Jack nods his agreement. “I seriously think there’s a chance you make War Games.” She and Jack exchange a glance.
I try to act like it’s no big deal, like I don’t want it as much as I really do. I’ve been telling myself over and over not to get my hopes up, but it’s useless.
Jack leans back on his heels. “I think Joni’s right,” he says. His voice is soft but his eyes are like fire as he stares at me. I know he wants this for me, too, and I go warm beneath his gaze. His fiery stare, plus the thought of making War Games, makes me feel so awake and alive I can hardly bear it. “Maybe,” I say with a smile, trying to think confidently: another thing the Academy has taught me. Because if you don’t make big plans for yourself, then who will?
I catch my breath as Jack and Joni recite a play-by-play of what they think the TACs are talking about. At one point Sturtevant looks over at me, then starts talking heatedly with O’Neil and the other two TACs. I don’t say it out loud, but I’m pretty sure Sturtevant’s arguing on my behalf. I can’t explain it, but I can feel it: there’s something she sees in me that she thinks is worth nurturing. No matter how strict she is with me, I know that’s at the root of it. It makes it easier to suffer through her discipline lectures when I remember that.
So much has happened since I got here and became a part of something bigger than me. I think about how hard the physical training is, and about how many papers I’ve had to write this semester, and how the Academy is going to drill responsibility and leadership into my fashion-wired brain no matter what. I think about what it’s felt like to become Joni’s friend, and then, of course, I think about Jack, and my heart squeezes with everything this place makes me feel.
Back home, no one paid too much attention (besides my parents) and it was comfortable—it made it easy to hide out and just do my own thing. But here I realize I have a responsibility to do the right thing—not just for me, but for all of us. The Academy taught me we’re in this together.
Joni, Jack, and I are quiet while Sturtevant, O’Neil, and two other TACs heatedly discuss our fates. What else is there to say?
“Attention, cadets!” Sturtevant calls out. “This piece of paper holds your War Games final rankings. Congratulations to the top fifty percent of cadets who have made the Academy’s one hundred and tenth annual War Games.”
I bring my heels together and my elbows just slightly behind my back, fists curled at my sides. I glance over at Jack and see how proud he looks standing at attention.
“You ready?” he asks me, his dark eyes clear and bright.
I glance up to the American flag silhouetted against a window, showing a crisp blue spring sky.
I straighten my shoulders and smile up at him. “I am.”