Specificity At It's Finest.

J O U R N E Y

"What do you think you're doing?"

My feet freeze in mid-air, and I nearly fall over. I slowly turn around and face my step-mother in the late summer air. A newborn breeze rustles through the leaves that have started leaving their trees. The wind whistles its way through my hair, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I was just going to head over to Ravyn's house," I say, unsure if she had more chores for me, or if I skipped one. I go through a checklist in my head and come up short. No, I remind myself. I've finished them all.

"What about your application to the Academy?"

I nearly roll my eyes. I forgot about that. I'm not entirely set on going, either. The Academy is one of the best universities in the Northern Sector. Once out of high school, people tend to go to a university to further their education. Very few choose not to attend another school.

"Blaise," Portia says, stepping towards me. "Your application must be submitted in the mail by tomorrow, no later. They only accept youths like you for so long, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I wave my hand through the air as if dismissing the topic. I haven't started the application, but I can't let Portia know that. She pushes me hard as it is.

I turn back around and start walking toward the gate, stopped by Father clearing his throat. I stop, let out a breath, and turn around again. Father's eyes seem to be questioning my every move. Mine do the same.

"Blaise, listen to your mother." He cautions.

I shake my head and correct him. "Stepmother."

Before he can say another word, I start walking backward. "Look, guys, I'll finish my application, and submit it tomorrow. But I need to go if I'm going to catch the pod to Ravyn's."

I flip around, hop over the fence, and take off running despite the calls of my name behind me.

☁ ☁ ☁

I make it to the pod just before the doors close. I glance around and see the faces of the sleep-deprived people heading off to work, clutching their cups of coffee for dear life. They lean up against the glass walls, the feet shuffling across the glass floor. Some sit on light gray seats, while youths gaze out the windows, admiring the sky. I hold on to my backpack with a tight hand, and smile, watching the youths pretend that they can fly.

Soon the pod stops and slows down, and the hum of the engine dies down as we settle into the pod station. Waiting people line the benches outside of the pod, and the doors slide open. I walk out and slip through the mid-morning crowd. The youths who were pretending to fly earlier seem to have landed. They shuffle their small feet across the ground, grasping to their mother's fingers like a lifeline.

The walk to Ravyn's house is short and uneventful. The identical houses seem dizzying after walking past rows and rows of them. I finally reach the one with the slightly darker shade of beige tinted on the awning and open the gate. No one owns a lock in the entire Sector. Locks imply secrets, and secrets imply rebellion, which is the exact opposite of what this country needs.

I pick up the newspaper on her porch and then knock on Ravyn's door. While we don't have locks, it's still considered rude to just walk into someone's house. Ravyn's younger sister, swings open the door, smiling. Rebecca's about 15 and looks as if she could be a model for a magazine. Captivating is what she's often described as.

"Hey Becca," I say, giving her a hug. "Ravyn around?"

"No, but she should be coming home soon. She just had to run to the post office to send in her application for the Academy."