The WRA Draft

Chapter Fourteen: The Argument

(two weeks later)

I scream as I throw my shoe across the room out of frustration. I do the same for my other shoe. They both hit my wall with a dull thud. With another scream, I flop on my bed. To touch it off, I scream into my pillow, exceptionally loud for good measure.

I lie like this, my face buried in my pillow, for a brief moment of silence. Then I feel it hit me: the tears.

They well up in my eyes and absorb into the pillow. They go unstoppable, insuppressible. I will for them to stop, telling myself that I need to quit; I have work to do. But alas, my tears continue to stain my navy blue pillow while it stifles my soft sobs.

It felt like an eternity in that position. Just me and my stress, however, a small knock at my door slices through the sad silence.

"Shit," I mumble under my breath. I sit up and try to wipe away my tears and freshen up and little. I hated crying in front of people. I hated that feeling of vulnerability. I glance in my mirror and see that my face it still red so I grab the script and a pen and sit in the bungee chair with my back facing the door. This'll have to do. "It's open."

I hear the door open and close and footsteps on the soft gray carpet come closer and fall to their knees behind me. I feel them place their hand on my shoulders and rub them reassuringly. I have yet to know who's in my room, so I take a peek.

Eliza smiles softly back at me. A wave of relief fell off me as I smiled something small back at her. She wraps her arms around me and rests her head on my shoulder. I sighed, closing my eyes, happy to have her near me. Sisterly love is just what I need right now.

After some peace, she asks just above a whisper, "Are you okay?"

I stare at this now dreaded script as I shake my head just slightly. My voice is hoarse, "Not at all."

She sighs sadly. Eliza hugs me tightly. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize, Eliza. This isn't your fault. It's that shithead, Frank. He's gonna turn this place into a dictatorship someday."

"Don't say that. He'll get impeached soon."

"Not soon enough," I add.

"You'll do just great. I hold all my faith in you and your classmates."

I lean my head back on her shoulder. "What if we lose?"

"Don't say that," Eliza repeats, more forceful this time. "You'll beat the challenge with flying colors."

"The last time the students won was 2019. That was four years ago. Four years, Eliza. Four classes that lost their education."

"You can break that chain," she assured me.

"Four years. Four schools that won't have a graduating class one year."

"Oli—"

"One of them was a kindergarten class."

Eliza fell silent.

"A group of five-year-olds doesn't get an education just because they couldn't build an obstacle course."

"Olivia, you're not like them."

"You're right," I agreed. "I'm older than that. If we lose, it's not necessarily because we're young, but because we don't know how to do it."

"That's not your fault. You don't go to school learn how to write musicals. You go to learn what you need to be successful in life."

"What if this is what we need to be successful in life?" I ask.