Everything at home reminded me of Byron, from the worn green couch where my mom first caught us kissing, to the rock that jutted out of the grass next to our porch steps. When I was little I tripped and fell on that rock, slicing a deep cut in my chin. Byron sent Camille to get my mom while he used his sweatshirt to stop the blood. The entire time he held my hand and told me over and over again that it would be okay. If you looked closely you could still see a faint scar along my jaw line.
Admittedly, I was nervous riding an air-tram for the first time. I didn’t know anyone who had ever ridden in one, and had no idea what to expect. My mom had looked up some tips on her tablet. Supposedly chewing gum made take off and landing easier. I didn’t know exactly how that worked, but the moment I sat down I popped a piece in my mouth.
I looked around to see what everyone else was doing, but the area the attendant had seated me in was empty, even though there were eight seats total, four on each side of the aisle, facing each other. I leaned back in my chair and discovered that it reclined. A footrest flipped out, just like my dad’s sofa chair – but this was so much more comfortable. Looking around I found two pairs of retractable ear buds, still wrapped in plastic. One was labeled Movie, while the other one was for music. I popped the music buds into my ears and found a song I liked. Closing my eyes I leaned back and did my best to relax and fend off the constant ache of despair.
It worked for a while too, until the air-tram started to move. I pulled my ear buds out and bolted straight up in my chair, causing it to bang closed.
“First time flying, huh?” a deep amused voice asked in between chuckles.
I looked around the cabin and saw a young man close to my age had joined me. “Guilty,” I admitted sheepishly knowing there was no way to deny it after my panicked behavior.
“Well there’s nothing to it really,” he reassured me. Then he switched over to the seat next to me. The seats were wide, but he somehow managed to press his leg and arm against mine. I scooted further away. “I’ll walk you through the process so you know everything that’s going on. Right now the air-tram is taxiing to the end of the runway. Then we’ll stop for a bit while the pilot waits for the okay to take off from the control room.” He leaned over close to me and gave me his attempt at a reassuring smile.
Something about him struck me as familiar. It certainly couldn’t be his strange gray eyes with a mischievous glint in them. I would remember seeing eyes like that before. I examined the rest of his features to see if I could put my finger on it. He had dark brown – almost black – hair that stuck up in long spikes pointing in every direction. His skin was a pale ivory, but I couldn’t detect any shadow of a beard under it. He must have just recently shaved. His features were both broad but delicate at the same time. On a girl they would have looked pretty – on him they looked handsome. I’m sure he had no issues gaining girls’ attention, which certainly explained his overly friendly behavior with me. Too bad for him that he was stuck with the one girl that had zero interest in anything to do with romance.
“So are you always this friendly to complete strangers?” I finally said when I realized he was waiting for me to say something.
“Nah. I’m truly a scoundrel at heart, but there’s an unwritten rule that us fast-trackers stick together,” he smoothly purred.
“How did you know?” I blurted back in shock.
“So I’m right them.” He smiled smugly. “You just have the look of someone new to the lifestyle.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I crossly snapped back.
Holding his hands up in mock surrender he said, “Hey, nothing personal: I just know the look. I’ve grown up around fast-trackers. They are a despicable, ruthless crowd that will stop at nothing to get their way. You can’t trust a single one of them – believe me.” He smiled and let the words just roll off his tongue. “But if you want I can show you the ropes. I’m Avery Huntington, by the way.” He held out his hand to shake.
“Alexandria Scannell. Before you commit yourself to anything, I should warn you, I have absolutely no interest in a romantic relationship. So if you’re looking for a girlfriend or even a quick hook-up, save your energies for another girl.” I grabbed his hand and gave it a firm, very non-girly shake.
“Consider me warned and point taken.” He chuckled. “You keep up that attitude and you’ll have no problem dealing with us scoundrels.” He leaned back in his chair and warned, “Take off.”
I followed his example and was glad I did. A moment later the air-tram lurched forward, quickly gaining an incredible speed. Then I felt us tilt upwards. I intentionally kept from looking out the window, but I knew we must be in the air climbing upwards. I didn’t like this feeling at all: my ears felt like they were going to burst.
I felt Avery’s hand give mine a squeeze. I pulled my hand back. “It’ll get better in a minute. Try chewing the gum you have. It will help.”
I had forgotten about the gum – it was clamped between my clenched teeth. I followed his instructions and started chewing it again. My ears began a soft series of pops and the pressure I felt eased.
When at last the plane evened out, I muttered, “Thanks.”
I finally chanced a look out the window. The houses looked like tiny boxes and the people were miniscule blurry dots. Cutting through the middle of it was a tiny stream. Actually, it was probably a large river, like the Blackstone River, but from this height it looked no bigger than the tiny stream that cut through the woods near my house.
We had spent so many of our weekends at that stream. We used twigs, grass and whatever else we could find to build makeshift rafts and boats. Then we’d vote on whose was the best looking. You couldn’t vote for yourself, so most of the time Camille won that contest – she always favored looks over structure. After that we’d race the boats down the stream. Whichever boat that reached the rocky part first won, and the boat that traveled the farthest before breaking apart also won. Byron and I usually took turns winning those two contests. To make things interesting we’d switch around the boats’ requirements each time, deciding that they had to be a certain length or height. Things would get pretty competitive between us. Then again, Byron and I always seemed to make a friendly competition out of everything.
The air-tram suddenly bounced like it had hit something. I gasped involuntarily.
“Don’t worry; it’s just turbulence, caused by the air. It’s perfectly normal. Nothing to worry about,” Avery reassured me. I remained ashen-faced and white-knuckled, so he added, “It won’t be as bad when we land. The runway on this end of the flight was short, and there were a lot of tall buildings nearby, so the air-tram had to climb steeply and quickly. The landing will be more gradual.”
I tried to make myself to relax. “Sounds like you’ve made this flight more than once.” I felt like a dork pointing out the obvious.
“Guilty,” he admitted with a shrug.
“So are you reporting to the Academic College today too?” I asked just to make conversation and get my mind off of the air-tram’s turbulence. I didn’t care how normal or harmless it was: I didn’t like the feel of it, not a single bit.
“Oh no, that’s just for newbies.” His voice carried a tone of disdain.
“Oh. I guess I assumed this was your assessment year.” I blushed, embarrassed by my incorrect assumption.
“Well yeah it is, but as I told you, I grew up as a fast-tracker. The initial orientation would be more than redundant for me.” In response to my offended and confused expression he added, “Every year the school invites all fast-trackers from non-fast-tracker families to the school early. It gives them the time to get settled in and familiar with everything before everyone else arrives.”
“I guess that makes sense,” I said before putting my ear buds back in and relaxing for the rest of the flight. I didn’t know what to think of Avery. He seemed nice, but he had this overly cocky and snobbish side. But for now I would hold off judgment. Who knows: maybe he could be telling
the truth. Maybe he is really the nicest out of a bunch of scoundrels.
The moment I walked out of the air-tram station, I desperately wished I hadn’t ignored Avery during the remainder of the flight. I had been to Boston a few times in my life, and despite knowing that New York City was the largest city on the east coast and second largest in the nation, I had assumed the two cities would be similar – I was very mistaken. I should have paid more attention to the tablet’s description of the city. Built on top of the old New York City, the current city was easily six times the original in size. I believed it as I looked up at buildings that just disappeared into the clouds above me.
“Don’t let its size fool you: it has the same grid pattern as anywhere else and is just as easy to navigate. The only difference is you also have to know which floor you want.” I breathed a quiet sigh of relief that my behavior hadn’t deterred Avery’s attention and help. “Come on, I’ll show you to the college; it’s in the direction I’m headed anyway.” He placed his hand on the small of my back and steered me towards the tram. I was so thankful for the help that I didn’t complain or pull away.
I started to join the regular queue of people waiting to grab a seat, but he grabbed my hand and led me over to a sectioned-off area. I watched as he swiped his identification card over a scanner. The next tram to arrive seemed to slow down too soon. It stopped short of its normal mark, and the very first compartment lined up with our area on the platform. The door slipped open, and an attendant warmly welcomed us. I noticed none of the other doors on the tram opened.
I walked into the compartment and immediately noticed it was unlike any tram I had ever been on. Usually trams just had rows and rows of thinly padded bench seats, bare metal walls, and sticky metal flooring. But this compartment had big comfy seats that reminded me of the ones on the air-tram. Plush burgundy carpeting covered the floor and the walls were lined with dark wood paneling. The entire thing was all lit by several fancy sconces.
“Would you care for a beverage?” the attendant pleasantly asked. Avery just waved her off without even glancing at her. I at least smiled and thanked her for asking, but my politeness just seemed to amuse Avery.
I expected the tram to pull forward and line up with the rest of the platforms once we were seated, but instead the tram started up and just kept going. “What about everyone else?” I asked, confused.
First Avery just chuckled – then he explained, “Trams run a little bit differently here. The stops are so close together that it’s impossible to stop at them all. So it only stops to pick passengers up when they swipe a scanner with their ID. Then it only drops them off at the stations they indicate once they are on the tram.” He motioned the attendant over. “The college.”
“Yes, sir.” The attendant nodded and stepped over to a screen and pressed some numbers in.
“Only the busier stations have a special fast-track area, but you can swipe your ID at any scanner and it will automatically line up the proper compartment for you to enter. Once you are on the tram, it won’t stop to pick up any additional passengers. Unfortunately it does still stop to drop off the ones that are already on it, but at least the stops are minimized.” He chuckled at my amazed expression. “Sweetie, that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Do yourself a favor and stop looking so surprised. It’ll be a dead giveaway to all the other fast-trackers that you’re a newbie and they’ll eat you alive for it.” He punctuated what he said by patting my knee.
I crossed my legs in the opposite direction. I nodded my head and kept my face neutral as he continued to explain some of the differences I’d notice in the city. Apparently the air-tram was located in an industrial section of the city. The college itself was located in a section known as the heart. It was the area where the business, entertainment and high-class residential housing converged. In the center of it was Central Park’s Botanical Gardens.
I knew from my history lessons it was named in honor of the original Central Park that existed before the rebuild. That park was said to be nothing more than a small patch of grass compared to its modern day counterpart. As a little girl I had dreamed of one day visiting it. Now, from what Avery said, I’d be living at its edge. If I was lucky, I might even have a view of it from my living quarters. Momentarily I forgot to be sad as I imagined how wonderful that would be.
“I’ll have to give you a tour of the park one day, but right now you should hurry and find Mrs. Glabough. She’s the last person you want to keep waiting,” Avery warned as we exited the tram. He hurriedly led me to the college and its elevators.
I only got a quick glimpse of the area around me before we entered the building, and the sight was fantastic. The college was the only building in sight that was above four stories. On my right the park spanned out as far as my eyes could see. To the left of me must have been the residential section that Avery mentioned. Elegantly adorned buildings were surrounded by pristinely maintained yards that were protected by wrought iron fences with such intricate details that they became works of art.
Avery wished me good luck as he pushed me into the elevator and disappeared from my sight. Taking a deep calming breath, I told myself everything would be fine and pressed the button for floor eight: student housing.
Chapter 6
Sure enough Mrs. Glabough was waiting. She had an extremely impatient look about her. Two girls stood on her right side, and two girls stood on her left. All of them looked uncomfortable and nervous.
“Well it’s about time,” she huffed.
I looked down at the watch. It was only a minute past eight o’clock. “The letter said to report at eight,” I foolishly responded.
“Well you should have followed those directions. Between you and the yet-to-be-found girl, our whole day will be behind schedule.” She walked forward and began circling around me. Her beady little eyes squinted above her hooked nose as she scrutinized me. The way her stiffly sculpted blonde hair jutted out from her head reminded me of ruffled bird feathers. If she were to raise her arms out like wings she might have been able to take flight.
I jumped back as she thrust her face into mine, pulled my mouth open and began inspecting my teeth.
“Well at least you attempted to look halfway decent, but much too kitsch. We’ll definitely need to do something about that. But at least the starting material is decent.”She prattled on, talking to herself as if I wasn’t even there, brazenly running her hands as she did along my arms, back, and waist as if I weren’t a person but a prize racehorse.
When she cupped my butt and squeezed, commenting on its firmness, I had had enough. “Do you mind?” I snarled in a tone that unexpectedly sounded haughty.
My response for some reason seemed to excite her. Raising her eyebrows up at me and giving me what I think was supposed to be a smile, she said, “Well, well. I might finally have a girl with real fast-track potential.” She continued smiling at me while her hips and the rest of her body started wagging back in forth in a weird sort of way. “You’re Alexandria, right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said in a tone that I meant to be polite, but the previous haughtiness bled through a little.
“Well the name is the first thing that will have to go. Too much of a mouthful. Maybe Alex?” I crumpled my face in disgust. “No, much too masculine. Maybe Andria?”
Not any happier with Andria, I interjected, “My closest friends call me Lexi.”
“Oh no. Definitely not. Much too cutesy. Oooh-ooh, I got it. Zandria.” She stood back and smugly scrutinized me. I cringed just imagining what she would try to change next on me. I was about to suggest using my middle name Paige, but I never got the chance. The elevator doors opened and deposited the disheveled and winded sixth member of our group.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I got lost. It’s my first time being in a city,” the girl explained between panting breaths. The poor thing must have run the entire way here: she was sweating and her clothes were all askew.
Mrs. Glabough somehow managed to give her a
more disdainful look than I had received. Her face crumpled up as if someone had just placed a pile of poop under it.
“Well at least we can finally begin.” She turned her back on the frightened looking girl and addressed the rest of us. “For those of you that don’t already know, I’m Mrs. Glabough. I am the supervisor for new female fast-trackers. I have been given the challenging job of molding the six of you into presentable ladies deserving of the fast-tracker honor with which you have been bestowed. From this day until the day you decide your career, you are my responsibility. Be warned: I will not tolerate any embarrassing behavior from any of you. My rules are to be followed without question or complaint. Understand?” She bellowed the last word: we all jumped. “Well?”
“We understand,” I replied and the rest of the group joined in.
“Good. Now follow me.” Waddling her butt back and forth, she click-clacked her way over to the elevator in too-tall and too-pointy shoes. I never realized I could feel such an instant loathing for a person.
She led us to a large room on the seventh floor. My jaw dropped. The letter said housing would be provided. I had imagined it would be a bit more than six cots lined up in an empty room.
“You don’t expect us to live here?” a girl with long blond hair balked.
Almost sounding apologetic Mrs. Glabough responded, “No. No, of course not. Your rooms won’t be ready until the end of the week.” Then she paused, gathered herself and snapped, “Enough whining. Drop your stuff on a cot and follow me.” Without another glance in our direction, Mrs. Glabough headed out of the room.
We spent the rest of the day in a classroom listening to Mrs. Glabough explain the hierarchy of fast-tracker life. The overall message was clear: unlike other class levels, not all fast-trackers are created equal. As newbie fast-trackers we had no power or money of our own – the ample allowance we’d be receiving would be considered a joke by real fast-trackers. We were the lowest of our class, not really even considered fast-trackers by the rest. Mrs. Glabough made no attempt to even hide her own level of loathing for us.
Fast-Tracked Page 6
