Pep Squad by Eileen O'Hely

cadets’ desks while touch keyboards materialised on the desktops.
    Excited murmurs went around the classroom, apart from the moody-looking boy from assembly who, Jess noticed, looked distinctly unimpressed.
    On the computer’s prompting, Jess typed in her name.
    Instantly a garbled collection of characters, some of which resembled Greek characters she’d learnt in maths classes at school, appeared on the screen. She put up her hand.
    Before she’d even fully stretched her arm up, Master Qing had appeared silently beside her.
    â€˜Yes, Ms Leclair?’ he said, making Jess jump slightly.
    â€˜I think there’s something wrong with my computer. The display’s all garbled.’
    Master Qing looked at her screen. ‘That is only garbled if you don’t know how to read Russian,’ he said. ‘It is obvious you do not, so move to the next question.’
    With her cheeks burning, Jess pressed ‘Enter’ and the next question appeared on her screen. Thankfully this one was in English.
    Sharon has a brother. Last year she was four times as old as her brother. Next year she’ll be twice as old as him. How old are Sharon and her brother now?
    Easy , thought Jess, typing 5 and 2.
    The next question was a picture of a left-facing dog made up of matches. The instructions were in Spanish, but Jess could guess from her knowledge of French that the task was to make the dog face the other direction by moving only two matches. She completed the task easily and moved onto the next question, which was on Arabic grammar.
    Jess continued making her way through the aptitude test methodically, leaving out only the occasional question in Spanish and all of the ones in Russian and Chinese. Then her computer froze.
    â€˜Machine is frozen,’ complained the blonde-haired Russian girl who’d been confused about Lieutenant Parry’s use of the word execution in the auditorium.
    â€˜That is because the two hours are up,’ said Master Qing.
    â€˜Two hours?’ exclaimed Ben.
    â€˜It goes quickly, doesn’t it?’ said Master Qing. ‘We will compile the test results and you will be issued with your individual timetables during dinner, which will be served in the refectory in fifteen minutes. I presume you remember the way from memorising the maps in your dorms.’
    â€˜Fantastic. I’m starving,’ said Emily as her stomach made a growling sound. ‘Let’s go.’
    â€˜I’ll catch up with you,’ said Matt.
    â€˜You’re not hungry?’ asked Jess.
    â€˜He’s got an appetite for something else,’ said Ben, nodding towards the Russian girl.
    Emily smiled. ‘Good luck, bru ,’ she said, before turning to Ben and Jess. ‘Now, which way is dinner?’
    â€˜This way,’ said Ben. ‘The refectory’s on the ground floor.’
    The closer they got to the refectory, the more cadets they saw in red and green fatigues and the more intimidated Jess felt. There was a certain worldliness about the more experienced cadets, and Jess felt even more nervous than she had during the teachers’ introductions at the welcome assembly.
    The refectory was a long, high-ceilinged room. The teachers’ table sat beneath a large stained-glass window with the Theruse Abbey crest. There was a servery along one side of the room and the rest of the space was filled with tables and chairs.
    Some cadets were already eating. Others were pushing trays along the serving bench, choosing dishes from the bains-marie.
    â€˜Wow! Pizza!’ said Ben, reaching for the plate with the biggest slice and putting that on his tray.
    â€˜What’s so exciting about pizza?’ asked Emily, taking a bowl of minestrone.
    â€˜I thought they’d have us on some special diet, like green vegetables drizzled with fish oil.’
    â€˜Sounds tasty,’ said Jess, taking a portion of lasagne and a bowl of green salad.
    A tray slammed