“You really think you can beat me?” I look over at Pierce whose face looks more statue than human. His sharp features harden the more focused he becomes. He’s silent and when he gets into position, I follow suit.
Instructor Hadley stands off to the side, “Remember—this isn’t all that serious. It’s not life or death,” oh, but isn’t it always? “We’re trying to gauge if you would be a good fit for training. Don’t be disappointed if you don’t make it, there will be plenty of other jobs available,”
Pierce doesn’t acknowledge him. I nod.
“One,” his shuffles the clipboard to his left hand, “two,” with his right, he gets ready to start the stop watch, “Three!”
And we’re off.
He’s lean and tall, running in the sort of way that looks like flying. I’m fast, but he’s faster. My chest burns but I push myself harder, eventually keeping pace with him as we both turn the shoulder of the track. I inch ahead of him, my legs screaming. There’s too much weight on my bones to ever move gracefully. My steps are hard, they’re thunder. He’s lightning. Put us together and we’d storm the world.
My lungs ache but the end is in sight, I think, for a second, I could almost beat him until the last few steps when he rushes in front of me.
Instructor Hadley stops his watch. He’s quiet for a moment and we both jog to a stop. I double over, hands on knees and gulp in more air than my lungs can hold.
“I really think I can beat you,” Pierce teases. I think I notice the corner of his lips tug up into a smile.
Hadley writes something on his clipboard and looks at us, “I think it’s safe to say you both would be invaluable assets in the future,” he’s beaming, as if putting our lives on the line in the name of President Clarke is the greatest sacrifice someone can make. To him, it is.
Two other students take our place. I follow Pierce back to the benches and sit down beside him.
He’s staring at me intently, like he wants to say something. But the words die before they reach his lips.
“When do you leave?” I ask, swallowing a few mouthfuls of water.
“Three days,” I can’t tell if he’s excited like Marcus who couldn’t stop talking about becoming a soldier for weeks after getting accepted. Or if he’s like me—doing this because he needs to survive. I know nothing about Pierce, nothing significant—and yet when he looks at me, it’s like he knows all my secrets.
“Are you scared?”
He considers the question, weighs his answers and then finally says, “Anything for the good of my country.”
My heart drops a little.
The setting sun makes his skin glow and I catch myself trying not to stare. Golden boy, he shines so bright. This must be how Icarus felt, I think to myself. So willing to fly close to something beautiful, even if it meant devastation.
