PROLOGUE
"WAKE UP!" A male voice rings in my ears, awakening me from nothingness. I start to become aware of myself. I exist somewhere. That is good. But I don't know who I am, and that is worrying.
"Open your eyes." The same voice issues another command and I obey, but immediately regret it, and shut my eyes tight-the light is so bright around me.
But there's no stopping the voice. "Ms. Smith, the committee is not going to wait forever. Are you able to talk?"
My mouth is bone-dry and my thoughts are null. The words come back with difficulty. I risk opening my eyes again, and another concept of time and space enters my mind-I am sitting in a white windowless room. I acutely perceive the current reality around me. My body awkwardly stands out against this whiteness-I am wearing some dark clothes. I feel uncomfortable and try to sink into the chair, pressing my hands to my belly. Something is not right, far from perfect. It disturbs me.
"I repeat, are you able to answer our questions?" I hear some irritation in the voice now.
No, something else bothers me, not this demanding voice. Then I feel it. My hands are not right-they are scarred-no, scratched. Who could have scratched me?
Oh, my gosh! My cat. I have a cat.
And now I remember. I remember how I landed here. And strangely, I am ready to answer their questions, though I am scared to death of doing it. And I also feel something inside me just won't give me a chance to lie, to disguise certain details. I know I am going to tell them everything, the very moment I open my mouth. I guess they've given me some sort of truth serum, and so I am doomed.
I draw a deep breath and say, "I am."
There is a female voice, very familiar this time. "Very well, Ms. Smith. Now you should give a full and clear account of the events which made you so shamelessly infringe the agreement. The disciplinary committee will reach their decision according to your sincerity and personal circumstances; therefore, neither details, nor your reactions to them, though private or embarrassing, should be omitted. We particularly would like to know the names and motives of those who have been assisting you on this disgraceful venture. Is this clear, Ms. Smith?"
As I suspected, the words escape my lips against my will. "Ma'am, it will be a very long and complicated story-"
"The time required should be the least of your concerns now. You wanted to become a writer, so here's your chance, perhaps unique, to narrate your tale. Freely speak your mind; the audience is very appreciative. Why do you think you got involved in this story at all? What were the premises for your taking this particular decision at the end? What was the first in this unlucky chain of events?"
I still play for time and say the first thing that springs to mind, "Well, I suppose it all happened because of my crazy desire to have an iPhone and my mom's obsession with being different, which is why she never let me have one."
"And how is this connected with your situation?" Now there is an amazed male voice, a voice I recognize at once, and I feel my heart flutter and my cheeks blush despite his betrayal. But it also brings tears to my eyes. Oh no, I can't cry in front of them. I have to get a grip. Now!
And so I start, hoping to sound confident: "Well, once I read a phrase somewhere that when you like or want something very badly and get obsessed with it, it becomes your weakness and a tool for manipulation. And my weakness was to wish to be like others," I pause, gathering my thoughts. "Okay, as for my story, I guess it started in physics class this past Monday..."
