Orientation Week

by Ruby Vincent

  Orientation Week

  Breakbattle Academy

  Ruby Vincent

  Published by Ruby Vincent, 2019.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  The Plan

  Mailing List

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Chapter One

  Jordan dumped the box before the threshold and flung herself on the mattress. I carefully inched through the door, hands straining to carry my bin full of books.

  “You could at least make up the bed first,” I said. I let the bin slip through my fingers and fall to the floor with a thump. I didn’t waste time opening it and filling the empty bookshelves with the beautiful sight of multicolored spines. “The covers and sheets are in the box by the desk.”

  The mattress squeaked as Jordan got comfortable. “Nah, Zee, you can handle that.”

  I rolled my eyes as I peered over my shoulder. “If you didn’t come to help with the unpacking, why are you here?”

  She shot me a wounded look. “Don’t be like that. I came to hang out with my favorite cousin. I haven’t seen you since we were thirteen.”

  I wasn’t moved. “We’ve video-chatted almost every week since I left for Southeast Asia. You’re sick of my face. We both know why you really came rushing over.”

  Jordan put on the offended look for a few more seconds before dropping it. “Alright, fine, we do. But for the record, I’m not sick of your face. I really did miss you.”

  A smile tugged at my lips. “I missed you too.”

  Before I knew it, I had abandoned my books and crossed the room. Jordan and I enfolded each other in a hug. She was my cousin, but also my best friend and I didn’t have a lot of those. A life moving from country to country with Mom meant I lost friends as quickly as I made them. My constant video calls with Jordan were what kept me sane.

  “Is it weird being back home?” she asked.

  I pulled away and took up a spot on the edge of the mattress. “No, not really. This was never home. Sure, we visited for Christmases, but I’ve spent most of my life away from Chesterfield.”

  “Which is why I thought you’d want to go to Chesterfield High with me. At least you’d know someone there and you could hang out with me and my friends. I don’t get why you’re doing this.”

  I cut eyes to my open door. “I’m starved,” I replied, skirting the obvious question in her voice. “Let’s grab something to eat and we can finish setting up my room.”

  I got up and walked out before she had a chance to protest. Her footsteps thundered behind me as I reached the stairs.

  “But why Breakbattle?” she hissed. “That place is weird as hell. Did you check out the website? It’s insane what they make the students do.”

  Voices floated up the stairwell. “...my office. I’m excited about this new venture into nonfiction. I will be the voice of female empowerment this generation needs.”

  “Glad to see you’re still as modest as ever,” came the amused reply.

  “I’m serious, Beverly.”

  “I know. Trust me, I know.”

  Jordan and I reached the bottom steps to find our mothers looking exactly the way we expected. A frown twisted my mom’s otherwise pleasant features while Aunt Beverly looked on with half fondness/half irritation.

  It struck me how similar they looked. They weren’t twins, but you could easily make that mistake. They both had the same pointed nose, sable eyes, and wavy brown hair—or they did before Mom shaved her head to shed the “shackles of expectations in hair length and femininity.”

  I glanced at Jordan. She looked like her mom too and I knew, as she got older, the resemblance would only grow stronger. She was beautiful. All three of them were beautiful women, and more than that, they looked like a family. I couldn’t help but feel out of place the rare times the four of us were in the same room.

  I did not look like them. Blonde crept into my genes and burnished my wavy locks into a much lighter version than theirs. My nose was snubbed rather than pointed and my eyes a light brown in place of their sable orbs. The three of them had at least three inches on me and curves for miles. I was short and thin.

  I even dress differently, I thought as I took the three in. Even with their different tastes and personalities, I managed to be the odd one out. Mom in her tight, high-waisted pants and sleeveless blouse. Aunt Bev in her loose jeans and flannel, and Jordan in her tank top and skinny jeans. I was the one who favored skirts and dresses—much to Mom’s chagrin. If I hadn’t seen the extremely graphic and traumatizing video of my birth, I wouldn’t have believed I was related to these three at all.

  Aunt Beverly pulled my scowling mother in for a hug. “I’m glad you’re back, Brenda—”

  “It’s not Brenda,” Mom snapped as she escaped her hold. “I shed that name and the past she evoked. As I have told you multiple times, my name is now Andronika.”

  “You should also shed any delusions that I’m going to call you that.”

  Jordan stifled a laugh while I looked on with wide eyes. No one else dared talk to my mother like that, but Aunt Bev had the self-assurance that came with running construction sites and being the older sister. She wasn’t one to be intimidated.

  Beverly leveled a finger at me. “You had to pass it on to my niece too. Honestly, Brenda. Zela? You know Mom was hoping you’d name your daughter after her.”

  I piped up. “You can just call me Zee, Auntie. Everyone does.”

  Mom spun around and pinned me with her glare. “She cannot call you ‘Zee’ nor should anyone else! I went on a four-month spiritual journey to discover the name meant for my only child. Zela was the name given to me to give to you. It means you are a warrior. You lack nothing and need no one. It is a name you should be proud of.”

  “Yes, Mom,” two voices said at once. Mine was loud and clear while Jordan mocked me under her breath.

  Mom sniffed and stomped away while Aunt Bev shot me a wink before trailing after her.

  I narrowed my eyes at Jordan when they were gone.

  “What?” she challenged. “Every time your mom spins out, you back down and go ‘yes, Mom. Sorry, Mom’ until she flounces away. It’s not my fault you’re predictable.”

  Heaving a sigh, I sidestepped her and led the way to my new kitchen. We had been back in Chesterfield for a week, but our split-level bungalow was still a mess of boxes, bubble wrap, and pieces waiting to be assembled. Aunt Bev helped Mom buy the house while we were overseas, but we stepped off the plane with nothing but what fit into our single backpacks. We had to order everything new and wait as stocky deliverymen brought in the pieces that would make up our new lives.

  I paused in front of the box that held our teakettle and lifted it off the counter. My eyes grew unfocused as I gazed at it. In my short fifteen-year life, I had lived in twenty-six countries. What began as a short vacation to “discover” my name, ended up with my pregnant mom traveling all over Africa meeting new people. She came back to Chesterfield to give birth to me, but during her last trimester, she completed her first fiction novel based on the people and settings she lived in.

  That book earned her a hefty advance and saw me at seven months old on my first transatlantic flight. We had been traveling light and moving from country to country ever since.

  That’s a lot of different teakettles, I thought as the image of the simple metallic item stared back at me. But no more. I’ll be using the same kettle for years to come. I’ll sleep in the same bed. I’ll walk through the same halls and wear a tread in the carpet.
Everything around me is new, but this time they’ll be with me long enough to become familiar.

  “You’re getting all poetic again, aren’t you?” I jerked my head up to see Jordan’s wry smile. “Who says math geeks are all cold and analytical?”

  Cheeks warming, I tore open the box and pulled out the kettle. “I’m not a math geek and I wasn’t getting poetic.”

  “You are a math geek,” she shot back. “It’s why you had to move home. Plus, you can’t play me. I know you’re skipping about finally being in one place. You hated all that moving around.”

  What I hated was how well Jordan knew me. I turned my back on her as I filled the kettle in the sink. “I didn’t hate it,” I said after a few seconds. “I got to visit places people only dream about and I’ve met the coolest people, but...”

  “But your cousin is your only friend in the world because you moved around too much to make any and you’ve had to endure being homeschooled by Aunt Dronika. Trust me. I know why you’re happy.”

  I turned the kettle on and went back to Jordan. I moved the box of towels and pot holders off the stool before taking a seat next to her. “I didn’t mind being homeschooled by Mom, but it did become obvious I was years ahead in math. She didn’t think she was qualified to teach me advanced mathematics and she wants to focus on her new book anyway. She agreed that high school was a good time for me to go to a traditional school.”

  Jordan leaned in, lowering her voice. “But you’re not trying to go to a traditional school,” she hissed. “You’re trying to go to Breakbattle. Does your mom know you want to go there?”

  I glanced at the kitchen entrance before whispering, “No, you’re the only one I’ve told.”

  “Of course, I am, because you’d be a smear on the driveway otherwise. Your mom is going to freak! It goes against everything she believes in.”

  Doubt tried to creep in, but I fiercely beat it back. I had to do this. I couldn’t let anyone stop me. “I know, but I have a plan. I can get her to say yes.”

  “How are you going to do that? No one can get Aunt Dronika to do anything she doesn’t want to do.” She shook her head. “Or that’s what Mom says. She told me your mom used to be so happy and sweet, but she changed after your dad ditched her.”

  I looked away as my fists balled under the table.

  “You know what I think?” Jordan’s voice broke through the fog descending on my mind. “I say Mom is romanticizing the past and her little sister was always this tough. My theory is that after your mom and dad reproduced... she ate him.”

  A laugh ripped out of my throat unbidden. I shoved Jordan’s shoulder and almost sent her toppling to the floor as I howled. “You’re such an idiot,” I cried.

  She righted herself with a grin on her lips. “I’m serious. She is always saying how women don’t need men and she’s been empowered through single motherhood. I don’t think your dad left. I bet she went praying mantis on the guy.”

  Laughing, I leaned forward and pulled her in for a hug. “I really did miss you, cuz.”

  She squeezed me just as tight. “I know, so... tell me why you’re not going to Chesterfield High. It was all you could talk about last week when we picked you up from the airport. What changed?”

  My eyes fluttered shut, but that did nothing to block the visions assaulting my mind. Something had happened. Something that had changed everything—that had changed me. No matter how Mom felt about it, I was going to Breakbattle Academy.

  But no one could know why.

  “I’ll tell you everything,” I said as I broke the hug. Well, no one could know except Jordan. It was why I spilled the beans to her in the first place. “But no one else can know.”

  I pushed back the memories and locked them away. “I’ll tell Mom it’s because I am a math geek. Chesterfield High only offers math classes up to Calc II and I’m past that. Breakbattle has the advanced classes I’m looking for.”

  “Okay, but do you really think that’s going to be enough? How are you going to convince her to let you go?”

  “Now that... is where it gets tricky.”

  “GOODBYE, SWEETIE.” Aunt Bev gifted me with kisses on both cheeks. “Jordan will come by tomorrow and help you unpack for real.”

  Jordan waggled her brows at me from the front steps. “Yep, and then after we’ll go school shopping.”

  I gave her a warning look. “Sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Mom waved over my shoulder. “Goodbye, Beverly. We can talk more about my book this weekend over dinner.”

  “Can’t wait,” Bev mumbled. The two stepped off the porch as Mom slammed the door shut. She heaved a sigh.

  “I love her, but my sister can test the patience of a saint,” Mom griped.

  Why do I have a feeling Aunt Bev is saying the same thing on the other side of that door?

  Mom turned and walked off. I fell in step behind her.

  “Mom, can I talk to you about something?”

  “Is it about dinner?” she replied without slowing down. “I’m not in the mood to cook, so you may order takeout, but nothing fried or dripping in oil. A woman must treat her mind and body as a temple. They are the sources of her power.”

  “Right, of course. Sources of power. I know. But that’s not what I needed to talk to you about.”

  “What is it, Zela? I’m very busy.” Mom stopped in front of glass-paned double doors and threw them open. “I want to finish the first chapter today.”

  I paused in the doorway while Mom went inside. Her office was the only room in the house that was done. I looked around while she took a seat at her desk. It was exactly how I pictured it would look the dozens of times she described her dream office. Her desk rested before the bay windows and sunlight cast over the paper-laden surface. Bookshelves lined the walls filled with books written by my mother and her favorite writers. Plush, brown carpet covered the floors and made the room cozy. It was a beautiful space, and one I was forbidden to step foot in.

  I straightened my back as I gazed at my mother across the room. “Mom, I wanted to talk to you about my high school. I’ve decided where I want to go.”

  She didn’t look at me as she opened her laptop. “I know you want to go to school with Jordan. We’ll get you registered next week. Now, if that’s all—”

  “I don’t want to go to Chesterfield High,” I cut in. I took a steadying breath. “I want to go to another school. I want to go to... Breakbattle Academy.”

  Silence descended on the room. It wasn’t broken by the sound of my breathing because I stopped doing that the moment the final word fell from my lips. Mom froze, head bent down and partially obscured.

  Slowly, Mom lifted her head over the tip of the laptop. Our eyes met and the look in hers made my throat dry up. “What did you just say?” she asked, voice so soft it barely carried across the room.

  “If you let me explain—”

  “Get in here.”

  I swallowed hard. “But I’m not allowed—”

  “Come here. Now.”

  Lifting my chin, I stepped into the room and padded across the carpet. Mom rose when I stopped in front of her desk.

  “What on earth would give you the idea that I would allow you to go to that place? It’s everything that is wrong with our society.”

  “Mom—”

  “It’s an elitist institution built on sexism and discrimination.”

  “I know, Mom. I—”

  She threw up her hands. “It’s the very reason I’m writing this book!” she cried. “To show women that they need not be defined by the limitations others put on them. To have my own daughter tell me she wants to don a plaid skirt and skip through their segregated campus is unthinkable! I will not—”

  “Mom, I want to go as a boy!”

  “—allow you t-to...” Mom trailed off, blinking at me. “Excuse me? What did you say?”

  I placed a hand over my clamoring heart and tried again in a lower tone. “I don’t want to don a plaid skirt; I
want to don a blazer. I want to enter the academy as a boy.”

  Mom was still gaping at me. I think this was the first time in her thirty-six years that she was struck speechless. I used that chance to get the rest out.

  “You’re right about that school being everything that is wrong with our society. They keep the boys and girls apart because they don’t believe they can compete against each other. I want to prove them wrong.”

  “Why?” Mom asked when she found her voice. “Why in this way?”

  I gestured at her laptop. “Because of your book. Don’t you see? This is a case study. Breakbattle tells the world that they’re the best—better than Evergreen Academy ever was. They sell this lie that their system is revolutionary, and that no discrimination takes place, but the boys and girls can’t prove otherwise because they’re kept apart. If I go in as a boy, I can see what it’s really like and you can use what I learn.”

  The skin around her eyes crinkled as she squinted at me. I held still as though she was seeing through to my soul. “You’ve never shown an interest in my work before.”

  “Y-you’ve only written fiction before,” I said quickly. “I couldn’t help with that, but a guide for women and female empowerment I can. Breakbattle offers the most advanced classes in the county, and when I graduate top of the boy’s school and reveal myself as a girl, the whole world will know the stupid rules they built the school on are crap.”

  Mom studied me for such a long time, my knees almost gave out when she nodded. “You’re right.”

  I am? Oh my gosh. It’s working?!

  “That institution is an awful place that touts itself as the top school in the country. It should be exposed for what it really is and the damage they do.” She tossed her head. “You know, your father graduated from Breakbattle.”

  “My dad did?” I whispered. My hands began to tremble and I quickly clasped them behind my back. “What— What class was he in?”

  “The top class, of course, and it fed into his ego and ridiculous illusions that he was better than everyone and beholden to no one,” she spat, venom lacing her voice. “He believed himself to be the best, but in truth, the best thing Jeremy Holt did was leave.”