Drafted

Chapter 1

The queue was unreasonably long at the Registry, a semi-organized throng of teens continually shifting and fidgeting in the blazing June heat. Young women clad in jean shorts that resembled bikini bottoms and crop tops bitched about the heat or scrolled through their infeeds, giggling madly, the holos half-projected on the person in front of them while their male counterparts seemed to prefer bro-ing out or not-so-subtlety seducing the more scantily-clad girls.

Delainie Trenelli pushed her side bangs out of her eyes, resenting the way they stuck to her sweaty forehead yet grateful for the braid Bekkah had done earlier, grateful that she'd been able to finish Nationals with her volleyball team before they'd been forced to fly back across the country. Now they stood in line together, the majority of the girls chittering about something or other. Delainie was silent, preferring to observe the masses swarming about her instead of involving herself in a conversation she would be feigning interest in. 

Monique's unreasonably loud swear attracted her interest however, the girl in question realizing her holo was about to die. Monique—or Mon as she was usually called—garnered the attention of her cousin, Alex, and best friend, Marie, respectively, who instantly cracked up at the outburst. Delainie just shook her head knowingly, a slightly tired smile gracing her features and a quiet giggle escaping her lips. Mon was superficial to a fault and usually annoyingly so, but wasn't a bad girl. Just like nearly everyone sweating to death in the line, she didn't deserve the sentence they were receiving: mandatory conscription.

An obese woman, khaki uniform coated in sweat stains and reeking of body odor, waddled toward Delainie's team, puffing with effort. She stuck one pudgy, leather-gloved hand impatiently in Mon's face.

"Identification." Her voice sounded gravelly, rusty almost, perhaps a product of years of smoking or excessive drinking. 

Seeming a bit surprised by the intruding limb, Mon hesitated a bit before placing her papers in the hand. "Monique Penderton," she murmured nervously. 

The woman glared. "Age?"

"Nineteen."

The guard sighed, shoving the papers in Mon's direction and jamming her thumb over her shoulder. "Head to table 5, line 2." After a brief hesitation, Mon obeyed, mouthing 'See you later' to Marie and Alex as she hurried to obey. 

After shooting a far-too ferocious glare after the retreating teen, she turned back toward the remaining individuals and extending her arm said "'Kay, next." Little Raquita, a quiet but charming individual extended a trembling arm, papers grasped a tad too tightly. The woman seemed to sense her nerves and sighed deeply as she retrieved the papers. "Swear I don' bite darlin'. Now, what's ya name?"

"Raquita Johnson. I'm sixteen." Tremors shook her tiny frame and Delainie laid a comforting arm around her shoulders. The smaller girl looked up, a relieved smile on her face which the other returned.

"Sixteen eh?" The woman nodded. "Table 12, line 3." Raquita's eyes shot open in fear and the woman must've noticed as her red face cracked a shockingly tender smile. "Nothin' to worry 'bout darlin'. Y'all just signin' up for some extra weekend work ta help on the home front. Table's that way." Raquita left, but not without being pulled into the team's arms for a quick group hug. 

"'Kay then," she huffed, her hand jammed far into Delainie's personal space. "How 'bout you?"

"Delainie Trenelli, age seventeen." The papers were handed over confidently and calmly.

Biting her lip, the woman shook her head. "'Fraid you're considered eighteen darlin'," she muttered, eyes scanning the page. 

Fear hit Delainie like a ton of bricks. "W-wait," she stammered, calm confidence evaporated into the summer sun. "I'm only seventeen. I'm not old enough for the draft."