Excel

Chapter 4

(Sorry if this sucks I wrote it like a year ago)

"Close your mouths, children. You aren't frogs. We can't have our future celebrities known for eating bugs."

Future celebrities.

Something tells me he's not kidding, and that terrifies and excites me at the same time.

"Are we riding in this?" Malik asks, still gaping despite the mayor's comment.

"Of course. What else would you ride in?" The mayor asks, sounding serious. "But only to the subway station. You'll take a subway to our school in North Carolina, and then-"

"We're going to North Carolina?" Racer interrupts loudly, looking furious. I'm standing behind him, so I can see his last name, Kreans, in bold black lettering right above the large number 31.

I'm also shocked to hear that we're going to North Carolina on such incredibly short notice. We live in the north-eastern part of Georgia, so we're probably going to have to go through South Carolina. I've only been to North Carolina once before, on vacation with my family when I was eight and still obsessed with glitter and mermaids.

Wait. My family.

"Hold on," I say quickly, "Do our parents know we're leaving? I want to say goodbye. I want to pack. I want to-"

"I'm sure that they will be informed," The mayor interrupts quickly, "And there is nothing you have at home that you won't have here at our school."

I think about how untrue that is. I won't have my writing journals, or my clothes, or my books. I remember leaving my iPod and Kindle on my nightstand this morning. I won't have my mom and dad, my little sister Justice, my older brother Calloway, my husky, Diamond, or my cat, Tulip.

"Now, please, get into the limo. The subway station is only fifteen minutes away."

We hesitantly follow the mayor to the door of the limo.

"You are the last group to go to the subway station from your lovely school," He says as he pulls open the door and ushers us inside next to six other students, "But I can assure you that the school we are taking you to is even lovelier than the one you just came from. State-of-the-art technology, beautiful uniforms designed and crafted by our own staff, food that will make you want to cry from delight..."

He trails off as he closes the door and joins the driver, a tall dark-skinned man in a tuxedo and dark sunglasses, in the front of the car. I sit in between Racer and Malik on long benches on the opposite side from the doors. Three eighth graders, a guy and two girls, talk quietly in the corner. The eighth-grade girl with long red hair wears a tennis uniform, gray-and-blue with an owl  symbol like Racer's. She's sitting with her back against the side of the limo, so I can't see the name on the back of it. The other girl, a blonde with very fair skin and freckles, wears a plain navy blue bathing suit coverup. She clutches a pair of gray goggles in her hands and squeezes them tightly. She has a terrified expression on her face as she whispers to the boy, a tall blonde wearing a plain white-collared shirt and black pants. His uniform is pretty much exactly like Malik's, except that the blonde eighth grader doesn't have a smock. I guess he's not a painter, but he must be some other kind of Artist.

There are also two small sixth graders, who I'm guessing are identical twins. The girl wears the same outfit as Cali, who, I notice, isn't in this limo. She must have left earlier. The boy she's sitting next to has the same black hair, freckles, and green-blue eyes. His white shirt has the same music note pattern as the girl's dress. He also wears black dress pants and dress shoes.          

"Fox? Is that you?" I hear a female voice from my left, sitting next to Malik. The limo lurches as it begins to move forward. I turn toward the voice and see another one of my friends, Stormie. She wears a gray-and-blue Owls cheer uniform. Two gray and blue Pom-Poms rest in her lap. She fiddles with her hair, tied back in a long ponytail. The tips of her blonde hair, which are dyed blue, look cool against her uniform and blue-and-gray Owls bow that says her name. They also match her eye color almost exactly, which was the reason she dyed it that color.

"Yes! Stormie! Cheerleader, I guess?" I smile at her. Stormie has been cheering since she could walk. I'm so jealous of her tumbling skills. Doing back handsprings, ariels, back tucks, and round off layouts are as easy as breathing to her. Her jumps are sky high, her motions are super sharp; it's no wonder she was picked for the cheer squad here. Shes made every team she's ever tried out for, and, in this case, even the ones she hadn't.

"Yeparoo. Guessing you're an Author, Foxy?" She laughs her girlish giggle. Malik moves his seat so I can sit by Stormie. I look around at the others in the car, thinking that maybe Cali is here and I just missed her. I keep looking towards the doors, waiting for the mayor-or anyone, really- to to swing them open and shout, "Haha, got you losers! This is all just a prank, and you fell for it! Ha ha ha!"

But the doors never swing open, and I don't see Cali anywhere. I wonder just how many other students from our school were Excels, just how many limos came here to pick them up. My mind drifts back to the mayor's "future celebrities" comment. What did he mean by that?

"Foxy?" Stormie prods my shoulder. "You seem out of it."

I shake my head. "I'm fine, Storm."
Everyone sits in silence for the rest of the ride. No one talks, and no one dares move a muscle. The tensity and fear is so palpable it makes my head spin.

After what seems like five hours, the limo begins to slow. I try to look out the window, but they're so tinted and so dark that I can't see anything at all.

"Ok children, I need you to step outside and I will give you your Number," The mayor calls, opening the door. The huddle of eighth graders is the first to leave. Then the musical sixth-grade twins. Malik and Racer exit, followed by Stormie and I, clutching each other's sweaty, clammy hands.

We cluster in a huddle outside of the luxurious limo, circling the chubby mayor. He's holding a piece of paper in one hand and  the suitcase sits beside him.

"Now, I will make this quick because we are holding up the subways inside. They can't leave until we are all there. Each of you have a Number based on the order of your birthday and your grade. There are 100 of you in each grade overall in each of the three states. By three states, I mean Georgia, Florida, and South Carolina. Your first number will either be 6, 7, or 8, depending on your grade. It's confusing, and doesn't really matter. I'll just give you your numbers."

He stops and adjusts his glasses, then starts reading off his paper.

"In eighth grade. Daisy McGerlee, 823. That means you are the 23rd oldest eighth grader, since your birthday is February seventh."

He looks at the redhead tennis girl when saying this. She must be Daisy.

"Next in eighth grade- Lambert Elkger, 867. Also in eighth grade, Clover Alexander, 891."

The blonde Artist boy and the Swimmer nod.

"In seventh grade- Malik Dawlin, 719. Racer Kreans, 750, Stormie Elori, 768," He continues, "We had a little bit of a problem with you, Fox Wellston."
I freeze. Of course, the only one with a problem is me. I'm always the problem. He's going to have to be a lot more specific.

"The problem is nothing that can't be handled. It just seems that you have the same birthday as another student. June twenty-sixth. You will be 771, and he will be 772."

I sigh and nod. He goes on to the sixth grade twins, Lailey and Logger, and then we walk inside.

The station is packed, and I wonder how there's enough oxygen in it for the hundreds of people crowding inside. Hundreds of other Excels are running and walking and shouting, making the subway station seem like complete chaos.

And I'm in the middle of it all.