Steering the Stars by Autumn Doughton, Erica Cope Page B

one side. I drew in a half-breath and felt my skin break out into goosebumps. Before I could say thank you or swoon any harder, he dropped his hands from my body and took a small step to the right.
           “Ready?” Mr. Hammond called from the other side of the court.
           I swallowed and nodded.
           He made the serve. The ball arced perfectly, hit the wall and bounced once. Holding my breath tight inside my lungs, I concentrated on the ball, took aim, and slammed it hard and low just like I was supposed to. Mr. Hammond dove for it and missed. He actually missed my hit!
           I jumped in the air and hooted. Sure, it was just a racquet connecting with a ball, but to me it was sweet redemption.
           “ Nice shot,” the guy said in a quiet, deep voice.
           It took a second for his accent to register, but when it did, I nearly shouted, “You’re American!”
           “ Yeah?”
           “So am I!” I whirled in his direction.
           And I whacked him in the face with my racquet.

 

     
    I moved through the lunch line in slo-mo feeling like a total loser. I couldn’t decide between chips and fries to go with my hamburger and I didn’t want to hold up the line any longer, so I just grabbed both. Because, why not?
           A quick scan around the cafeteria and I knew that I definitely didn't want to have one of those awkward lunch scenes like in a bad movie where the girl is wandering around, looking for a place to sit but every table she approaches shuns her like she's a leper.
           It was still raining so finding a quiet spot under a tree was out. And I really didn't feel like hiding in a bathroom stall that stunk of urine. Just the thought was enough to rock my appetite.
            I found a deserted corner in the commons area and quickly claimed it as my own. There were other students around but at least it wasn’t as cliquish as the cafeteria. I set my tray down and got out my phone so it would look like I was occupied and completely content to be all alone. Lucky for me, there was a new message from Hannah waiting for me.
     
    To: Caroline< [email protected] >
    From: Hannah< [email protected] >
    Date: August 31
    Subject: My day...
     
    Remember how I was supposed to tell you how my day went? Well, it started with this total beeyotch telling me I couldn’t wear nail polish at school. What is that all about? Did I stumble through a wormhole into the eighteenth century?
     
    And, my classes are ridiculous. For most of the day, I had no idea what my teachers were even talking about. I felt like a ten year old who’d been mistaken for a trained surgeon. I frantically scribbled notes and nodded my head a lot, but that was just a cover to make myself feel better. I’m sorry to tell you but it’s glaringly obvious to me that my dad is right and the American school system is failing us all.
     
    I mean, I thought I came here to be a writer, not a cadet in the military. But the teachers here prep us the way an elite squad is prepped for a black ops mission. We are soldiers and it’s war. Casualties are to be expected.
     
    The worst part? I’m suspicious that my classmates actually like homework and tests.
     
    Hannah
    ____________
     
     
     
           I laughed as I wrote her back.
     
     
    To: Hannah< [email protected] >
    From: Caroline< [email protected] >
    Date: August 31
    Subject: Call in the National Guard
     
    Hannah—
     
    You think your day is going badly? Mine is a disaster! You will not believe what happened to me today. There was a huge—EPIC—mess up with my schedule and I didn’t get into that photography class like we planned. I’m so mad! It’s not even a core class so why do seniors get priority over everyone else?? Grrrr! But that’s not even the worst part. Instead of photography I got stuck in... wait for it… Are you sitting down while you read this?? I wound up in Intro to