That's It.

Part 1

I sigh in frustration as the soft lead from my pencil shatters again. Groaning, I whip out my sharpener to get at whatever remaining lead there was in this crappy writing machine. Ever since I received that letter inviting me to some competition, I had been attending tests almost daily, and these weren't even normal tests like those about your school curriculum. These are asking you about life in general, and how you would react in certain scenarios.

I shade another blank which I only hope is the correct answer, my brain having sputtered and died out around three hours ago. My answer sheet was splattered with guesses that I decided seemed most correct.

The nasal voice of the examiner resonated across the room. "Five minutes left!"

I looked down. I had barely completed seven questions.

My sharpened pencil flurried furiously across the paper, the lead weakening and protesting as it went.

A virtual bell went off on the examiner's mobile, and she barely looked at it before announcing that the test was over. She walked by the rows of seats, collecting the papers in a fat stack.

My pencil, free of the burden of graphite, rolled across the table and clattered onto the floor, attracting a few glances from nearby test-takers. I cursed and leaned over the side of my seat to pick it up.

As the pencil rolled into my palm like a dog loyal to its owner, I noticed a teenager, like me, lax in his seat. An edgy pair of square glasses sat on his face, imprinting on the bridge of his nose, his arms crossed behind the chair. He wore a collared shirt, for goodness sake.

Well, I thought to myself, fiddling with the shoddy writing device in my hand, there goes my chance of getting into the competition.

I frowned. Was this a competition? I wasn't quite sure; it was an advertisement that had occurred in a violet envelope in my city, on the cusp of America's border, in Minnesota. The letter was surprising, as I was never any outstanding student, more like just another face in the sea of people.

Why me, of all people?

I'm not even special, so why me?

Why?

Why?

Why?

AMOGUS

Why?

Shaking these thoughts off, I focused on the way back home.