Struck

Chapter 1

My name is Jane. Jane Collins. I am going to tell you a story, so you better be ready for it. Although, to be honest, I'm not ready for it. I don't have the slightest clue how to begin. I guess you could say that at this point, I'm stalling. However, even though I don't know how to begin telling you this story, I remember everything. I didn't forget a single thing. I swear.

For starters, who am I exactly? Well, I already told you my name. Other than that, I have blonde hair along with bright baby blue eyes. My skin is fair and isn't capable of tanning. I can only turn into a tomato. That's it. Not that it's important to the story. Just something to mention about me. At the start of this story, I am 17 years old. Just barely an adult. Again, not that important to the story. Just some information about me. And I guess I do have a birthday in there somewhere. Maybe it was important. I don't even know.

Anyway...

I'm quite short for my age. I'm not extremely short, but all of my friends look down on me. They all seem to tower over me. Again, not that important to the story.

But something that is important to the story is my brother. Peter Collins. He has dark brown hair but the same baby blue eyes. He towers over my father making me wonder if he got all the height instead of me. Although 19 years old, he's in the same...what do you call it? Grade? He's in the same class as me. Let's just leave it at that. Despite him being forced to be in my class, he is absolutely praised by my parents. Why? Because he's the perfect son. His grades are perfect, he always does his chores, his manners are stunning, and has just about every perfect feature you can think of.

Speaking of grades...you should probably know how my school system works before I start getting into the story. It's a little bit different from yours. It's supposed to be improved so that kids learn better. However, the way they tried to do it isn't exactly helping. Only half of every generation is actually getting to learn anything. Why? Let me explain.

Each and every single age group is forced to take three different tests in their lifetime. One at 5, another at 10, and the last one at 17. The test is looking to sort the nice and smart students from the bad and dumb ones. We are then sorted into the left or the right classroom. The right classroom is the one you want. The left is not. The right is where all the smart kids go, while the left is where the kids who couldn't get into the right go. Dumb, bad, or anything that's not smart and nice, means the left classroom.

The rules in both rooms were different as well. The right classroom required an uniform, hair trimmed short, and actually learn. They're given tests, quizzes, and homework assignments. They're given grades. The left classroom is very different. There is no required uniform. There is no dress code. They do not learn a single thing. I don't even think that there's a teacher to watch them.

Okay, okay. I know what you're beginning to think. There is no much exposition! Is there a story underneath all of it? Well, yes. Yes there is. I'm going to be getting to it now. Because I figured out how I'm going to start this...despite starting it with exposition. Sorry...

Anyway, here is the story you came here for. About 600 words too late, am I right?

...   ...   ...   ...   ...   ...   ...   ...   ...   ...   ...   ...

"Jane."

"Jane Collins, do not make me get the ice bucket."

"Jane!"

My eyes open as I get my covers literally ripped off of me. Using the bed to help me, I sit up. I yawn and stretch out, "Morning already?"

"No complaining," my mother pulls me to my feet, "Today is the big day. You have to get up."

"What do you mean today's the big day?" I ask her she gives me my blankets back. I begin to make my bed as I ask her, "What's going on today?"

"Why don't you pay attention in class?" my mother sighs, "You'd probably know if you did."

My mother looks a lot like me...if you add many years of stress. Her face is covered with wrinkles and her hair is slowly turning to white. She's definitely been impacted by age and her job. She works as the school secretary. She gets my brother and I up for school every morning and takes us there every morning. It never changes.

I give her a confused look, "I do pay attention. And I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Peter seemed to get up knowing about it," my mother mutters.

I give a deep sigh, "He always gets up like that. It doesn't matter what day it is."

"Your hair is getting a little bit long again," my mother comments as I finish tucking everything in, "Let me trim it."

"Yes, ma'am," I respond. I move to my chair in front of the mirror. I look at my face, disgusted by the freckles on my face. My mother comes up behind me with a pair of scissors, a hair brush, and a comb. 

She notices my glare in the mirror, "You're not looking at yourself in the mirror, are you?"

It doesn't take me long to conjure up a lie, "No, mother. Just thinking it could use a cleaning."

My mother's eyes glance at the mirror, "It could use it. Yes. And make sure that kitchen gets clean today."

"Yes, ma'am," I respond. She brushes the few knots in my hair from sleeping. As soon as she's done, she makes me hold my head straight and starts cutting.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

"Don't forget to sweep," her face is extremely focused. Making sure she doesn't make a mistake.

"Yes, ma'am."

Snip. Snip. Snip.

"The dining room too," my mother snaps, "Don't forget about that."

"Yes, ma'am."

Snip. Snip. Snip.

I continue to watch as my shoulder length hair loses an inch. It's up to my ears as a small bob. My mother is only cleaning it up now.

Snip. Snip Snip.

I guess it's handy having short and thin hair.

"That should be good," my mother places the scissors, comb, and brush in a drawer, "Now get dressed and sweep up the hair. Hurry up."

"Yes, ma'am," I reply as I get up and dust off the loose hairs. I can hear the door to my bedroom softly close and I quickly get dressed into my bland uniform. White shirt, plaid skirt, long black socks, and black shoes. I quickly grab a broom and brush up the tiny bits of my hair. Once I'm finished, I head downstairs where my brother is eating an apple.

I lean on the doorframe, "Do you know what's going on today?"

Peter gives me a look, "Something is happening today? Was there a test that I missed?"

"When is there ever a test that you forget about?" I ask him and he smiles, "Mother was telling me that today was a special day today."

Peter hesitates, "You don't think it's test day, do you?"

I give a confused face, "They'd let us know about it, wouldn't they?"

Peter shrugs, "Not necessarily. This is the last one. That last one is different than the other two."

And because this test is so different, that is why this story is so special to me. This test changed my life forever. You see, I'm in the right classroom, but I don't exactly belong in it. I get average grades no matter how hard I try. I feel so out of place there. Everyone gives me odd looks at times. The teacher gives me a sad look for a B. On occasion, I'd look over to the left classroom and almost want to be there. I never see them actually doing anything specific. I see them fooling around all the time. 

And during this test, something happens to me that turns my whole world on its head...