Selection (Book 2 of P.O.E. chronicles)

The Secret Origin of Tom Triole Part 9

As part of our disguise, we had to undergo some transformation. At first, I didn't think much of it, but it soon became clear that I underestimated this.

"Come on Tom, we got to go to the stylists," Owen said as he emerged from the bathroom. I frowned, then remembered that it was mentioned by Nirmal at some point.

"Sure," I replied and got up, following him out. Oscar, Bowen and Nate had gone earlier today, they could only accommodate up to three at a time. As we headed down the corridor, a black-haired boy approached from the opposite direction. There shouldn't be anyone else aside from us in these part.

"Hey, you are not meant to be here," Owen called out. The stranger froze and there was something about him that felt familiar. When he raised his head, my jaw dropped.

It was Bowen.

"What happened?" I asked before I could stop myself. For once, instead of rushing into bit my head off, he sighed.

"This is my disguise." He sounded so defeated that I almost felt sorry for him. But my concern at what they would do to me outweigh my sympathy. The initial shock was wearing off and I started to see how funny it was.

Bowen threw me a warning glare before storming off, which was just as well or I might have laughed at him. However, a sense of dread built up inside me as Owen and I continued to make our way there.

Nate and Oscar were outside when we arrived and neither of them looked particularly different, which was a relieve. They nodded at us as we approached.

"Did you see what they do to Fred?" Owen asked and Nate stifled a laugh. Even Oscar looked amused.

"They gave him extra attention, that's for sure," Nate mused. "I think it has something to do with his background."

We'd all be idiots if we hadn't figure out that Bowen was from a P.O.E. family. Though why he was sent to the Academy was still a mystery.

"Good luck, boy." Nate tipped an imaginary hat at us before ambling off with Oscar. Owen gave me a tight-lipped smile before entering before me.

The wall to our left was mounted with mirrors in a straight line rimmed by light bulbs, almost blinding me with the intensity. There were four people milling around the room and they all spun around to face us.

"About time, let's get you both started," one of the men shouted and immediately two others approached us and steered us towards the chairs in front of the mirrors. I had to squint to avoid being blinded by bright light.

"Don't worry, we won't eat you." The girl with her hands on my shoulder winked at me. I would rather be back outside the Wall than in this chair.

"Whatever you do, just don't move your head," she said with another wink. I resisted the urge to bolt and grip the handrest tightly. I was pretty sure this place wasn't empty because their expertise wasn't needed; it was because these people wee scarier than Legres.

Tired of the bright light, I closed up eyes and tried to concentrate on anything other than the sound of snapping scissors. Owen was chatting amicably with his "stylist", but I evaded all attempt at conversation. She got the hint eventually and joined the other two.

"I'm done," she called after what felt like hours. I breathed a sigh of relief and opened my eyes slowly, allowing them to adjust to the unnaturally bright light. The first thing I saw was three expectant faces staring back at me through the mirror. Then I saw myself.

I jolted from my chair towards the mirror, unable to comprehend the reflection that looked back. What had they done to my hair?

"I must say, you look very different with your hair flat," the girl said, amusement evident in her eyes. "Your hair was also very determined to stay curly. I'll give you some cream to help with that."