longer on Earth?” I ask.
“We were in the middle of the ocean one minute,” he responds, raising his eyebrows. “And then the next, we were on solid ground. So unless they figured out how to hide a giant island behind a floating barge, I’m thinking they’re onto something about the having left Earth thing.”
“I guess,” I grumble, his condescending tone annoying me.
Could it really be that easy? Our government spends billions of dollars on space programs and all it really takes is a short boat ride followed by an uncomfortable stroll down the hall of an abandoned building to hit intergalactic soil? If someone had discovered a way to leave Earth so easily why wouldn’t it be publicized? People cash in on lesser exploits everyday and this one would be akin to winning the lottery a thousand times over. Forget finding new Egyptian treasure, Biblical documents, or a new species of monkey, proof of human life beyond Earth? Now that’s huge. Front-page headlines and preempt-all-your-scheduled-TV-programming kind of huge.
As I ponder, the screen lights up and the image of the tall man who’d greeted us this morning appears.
“Welcome to Thera, Recruits. I’m sure you have many questions, and I’m confident we’ll get them answered for you. Our first unit will describe Thera and its city and unit structure. The second will describe the rules and regulations each inhabitant need know for their assigned unit.”
To the contrary, I doubt they’ll make a dent in my questions.
Mandatory exercise time is enforced at 2230 hours. Wouldn’t want the Recruits going soft. I’m happy to get out of that chair, though. As comfortable as they are, especially during the periodic messages, I was going insane. At the content of the training sessions and at the proximity to Blake, who despite the strong declaration of platonic intentions couldn’t help but brush his hand and arm against mine. And also because I nodded off and woke to my head on his shoulder. He looked all too amused at my unconscious attempt to be cozy. Ugh.
I change into standard issue workout clothes in the ladies’ changing area, and get on the treadmill, working up to a light jog. Skimpy I think, about the clothes, which consist of a ‘barely there’ tank and short shorts. Wonder what they have the guys wear?
Any questions I’d had about Blake’s relative strength to Tristan are answered when he enters, shirtless, into the gym and gets on the treadmill next to me. He barely glances my way before doubling my speed. The boy is slender but muscular, like a marathon runner or triathlete. Stunned that his physique is not of an emaciated meth addict, I awkwardly stumble and have to catch myself on the treadmill’s sidebars, lower my speed, and start up again. If he reacts to my blunder he doesn’t show it.
I want and need to digest the material presented this evening and the terrifyingly cool way they presented some of it, but I’m too distracted by the figure next to me. All he would have had to do at Carmel Valley High was take off that flannel, flash his smile and join the track or swim team, and he could have had the pick of most any girl in our school. But instead he chose, and that’s what intrigues me—that he chose—to become invisible, hiding beneath the façade of a delinquent board-loving loser. I scour my memories of English class, searching for a single time he spoke up to participate and can’t think of one. Most of us thought he was probably strung out, too dumb to form a coherent comment, or asleep. But instead, not only does he score top two percent of California test takers and get selected to take the Second Chance Institute Test, but he snags the coveted spot. The boy is a mystery, and apparently a genius.
After a half hour of jogging I can’t take it anymore. I’ve been watching beads of sweat careen down his muscular back like a pinball game and the effect destabilizes me. Thankfully, his personality repels me,
“We were in the middle of the ocean one minute,” he responds, raising his eyebrows. “And then the next, we were on solid ground. So unless they figured out how to hide a giant island behind a floating barge, I’m thinking they’re onto something about the having left Earth thing.”
“I guess,” I grumble, his condescending tone annoying me.
Could it really be that easy? Our government spends billions of dollars on space programs and all it really takes is a short boat ride followed by an uncomfortable stroll down the hall of an abandoned building to hit intergalactic soil? If someone had discovered a way to leave Earth so easily why wouldn’t it be publicized? People cash in on lesser exploits everyday and this one would be akin to winning the lottery a thousand times over. Forget finding new Egyptian treasure, Biblical documents, or a new species of monkey, proof of human life beyond Earth? Now that’s huge. Front-page headlines and preempt-all-your-scheduled-TV-programming kind of huge.
As I ponder, the screen lights up and the image of the tall man who’d greeted us this morning appears.
“Welcome to Thera, Recruits. I’m sure you have many questions, and I’m confident we’ll get them answered for you. Our first unit will describe Thera and its city and unit structure. The second will describe the rules and regulations each inhabitant need know for their assigned unit.”
To the contrary, I doubt they’ll make a dent in my questions.
Mandatory exercise time is enforced at 2230 hours. Wouldn’t want the Recruits going soft. I’m happy to get out of that chair, though. As comfortable as they are, especially during the periodic messages, I was going insane. At the content of the training sessions and at the proximity to Blake, who despite the strong declaration of platonic intentions couldn’t help but brush his hand and arm against mine. And also because I nodded off and woke to my head on his shoulder. He looked all too amused at my unconscious attempt to be cozy. Ugh.
I change into standard issue workout clothes in the ladies’ changing area, and get on the treadmill, working up to a light jog. Skimpy I think, about the clothes, which consist of a ‘barely there’ tank and short shorts. Wonder what they have the guys wear?
Any questions I’d had about Blake’s relative strength to Tristan are answered when he enters, shirtless, into the gym and gets on the treadmill next to me. He barely glances my way before doubling my speed. The boy is slender but muscular, like a marathon runner or triathlete. Stunned that his physique is not of an emaciated meth addict, I awkwardly stumble and have to catch myself on the treadmill’s sidebars, lower my speed, and start up again. If he reacts to my blunder he doesn’t show it.
I want and need to digest the material presented this evening and the terrifyingly cool way they presented some of it, but I’m too distracted by the figure next to me. All he would have had to do at Carmel Valley High was take off that flannel, flash his smile and join the track or swim team, and he could have had the pick of most any girl in our school. But instead he chose, and that’s what intrigues me—that he chose—to become invisible, hiding beneath the façade of a delinquent board-loving loser. I scour my memories of English class, searching for a single time he spoke up to participate and can’t think of one. Most of us thought he was probably strung out, too dumb to form a coherent comment, or asleep. But instead, not only does he score top two percent of California test takers and get selected to take the Second Chance Institute Test, but he snags the coveted spot. The boy is a mystery, and apparently a genius.
After a half hour of jogging I can’t take it anymore. I’ve been watching beads of sweat careen down his muscular back like a pinball game and the effect destabilizes me. Thankfully, his personality repels me,
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