080746.

A Chapter by Jasmine

I have precisely 22 minutes, 13.8 seconds until my first lesson �" enough time to go back to my room, get out of this itchy uniform and dump my handbook from the looney bin in its rightful place under my bed.

Erinn’s here: The protein shake blender is out and I can hear her workout playlist blaring from the speakers. Task number one: turn off that techno garble. She stops her workout and glares at me as soon as I do.

“Hey! I was mid squat!” She’s already ready for our first lesson; gym shorts, sports top, long black hair tied neatly in a ponytail. I’m still in my blouse, skirt, tie and blazer.

“Sorry, you know how much that music irritates me.”

She rolls her eyes and chucks me my sports top and gym shorts,

“I’m your best friend, I’ve heard you say it over 100 times, of course I know,” she’s made her way over to the counter and is pouring the protein shake in her favourite cup, “So, how was this morning’s meeting? Did you make this one cry?”

“The usual,” I’m changing in front of Erinn like it’s nothing �" when you’ve been best friends and roommates for as long as we have it is nothing, “Another woman tried to get me to open up, but I ended it before she had the chance. When’s your next appointment?”

2 days after it was revealed that Marcus was gone, the three of us were pushed into weekly sessions with a grief counsellor. It was "attend the sessions or face exclusion”. 3 weeks after the counselling begun, they claimed that we were developing serious disorders due to grief and were forced into counselling sessions 3 times a week.

Since then, Dylan has been diagnosed with 'depression' and is monitored during every class, Erinn has been told she’s 'developed an exercise addiction to distract from the grief' and has been banned from the school gym, and I refuse to let any counsellor get that far with me. I don't need to know what they think of me. They don't matter to me. What matters to me is getting where I need to be.

"My appointment's not until Wednesday, but they expect that stupid training journal completed by then"

The journals �" bright yellow books with rainbows on the cover and the words “Exploring my problems �" Who am I?” sprawled across the front in a putrid shade of purple, provided by counsellors to help the academy monitor our behavioural patterns. Each one of us has one: Dylan - to write down every time he feels sad during the day, Erinn - to document every time she exercises and me - to let them see everything I ~~don’t~~ eat.

At the beginning, it was hard to lie. I mean, our school is an academy designed to train those with unnatural super-genius abilities to somehow help out country someday, there's CCTV everywhere - dorm rooms and toilets included, spontaneous bag checks at least once a day, and rubbish is searched when it is disposed of. However, after a while, you find ways around these, like the blind spot in our room where Erinn can exercise without being seen, or the fact that I can give my food to Erinn and Dylan, my human disposal systems. As for Dylan, he's clever enough to fake a positive attitude when they're watching.

"Oh tough, how’s the handbook going? How much have you claimed to have exercised?"

"Do you think 8 times this week is enough?"

"No way, they're going to expect you to still be bad, at least twice a day"

"Cool, I'll go with 15 times, 14 will make them too suspicious"

“True. Hey, you want an orange?”

“It depends, have you eaten?”

“Erinn. Stop worrying, my brain can’t function without food, I eat, I just don’t do oranges.”

She still looks sceptical. To be honest, if I were her I’d be too. But, I’m an amazing liar. I can get away with practically anything.

“...Ok, fine I’ll have your orange, you know that we have 3 minutes until first lesson, right?”

“Oh yeah, we should go.”

My timetable for today: Self-defence, Tactical operations, break, computer hacking, maths, lunch, algorithm application and undercover operations. The three hours after your final lesson each day are expected to be spent studying and training, you are then permitted an hour of free time before dinner at 20:00.

Self-defence and tactical ops are both practical, so first 2 lessons are done in grey gym shorts and orange sports tops. From break onwards I’m in classrooms, so therefore in uniform: Grey pleated skirt, cream blouse, orange blazer, orange and grey tie. Extracurricular activities such as appointments with onsite counsellors, therapists, nutritionists or life coaches must be attended in school uniform and any extra use of academy sports facilities such as the gym or the shooting range must be done in sports kit.

Saturdays from 11 to 2 and Sundays from 11 to 1 are the only hours that students are permitted to leave the academy, and in these hours one must remain within a 1 mile radius from the school. This narrows down all out of school activities to the little village near the academy, where you can find a jam shop, a church, a charity shop, a health foods store and a mini supermarket. When leaving the academy, any clothes or belongings you wish to take out must be searched thoroughly and scanned underneath the metal detectors. Groups leaving the school during these times must be monitored by a teacher from the school.

We have no freedom. And no out of school life. We are practically raised in a prison.

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