Exceptional

The Passage

        Time flew without being asked, as it tends to do.

        School's going fine, thanks for asking. I know that's the big question on your mind right now. None of that silly rebellion stuff, I want to know if Sean Roscoe made the honour roll! Well, I did. By a landslide, I landed in the B Average category. Midterms were fine too. Boring and stressful, as every test is, but fine.

        Okay, yeah, you don't care. And that's fine. But I thought I'd tell you. Not much happened between the start of training and Christmas Eve. Oh right, training. Remind me to talk about that again later. But Christmas Eve, that crazy Christmas Eve, that made up for everything boring that happened before.

        Now, I should probably talk about Truman's sadistic ideas of training. Well, you're probably getting the wrong idea when I use the word sadistic. More like "eternal" or "relentless." Every single afternoon as soon as classes were over, we'd report straight to his classroom. First, he'd have Arthur construct a mute zone around the entire room, so no one could barge in unexpectedly. Then he'd fight us. I say us, meaning Marvin, Safirah, and me. We could attack in any way we chose. He practised his fighting skills by fending us all off with just a decorative sword that hung on the wall, but he'd still get pretty hurt sometimes. And that was Kira's practise. She'd heal us, well, mainly Truman, when we were done sparring. The point of her practise was for her to learn to heal more while suffering less. But it was still pretty awkward for her, having to leave a class and go to the nurse's office almost every week. Safirah knew how to patch a few wounds, but nothing too serious. Poor, poor, Kira.

        Yeah, that training was awful. But it did help. I could conjure my fire much faster. Marvin was more maneuverable in flight. Safirah could teleport much further and faster than she originally could. Arthur could sustain a mute zone seemingly forever. And, indeed, Kira could heal more and suffer less. She even learned to heal Arthur's occasional headaches from overusing his exception. Bleh. That's something I could go without seeing. They should get a room. But not my room. Nooooo, not my room.

        Truman taught us an interesting phrase too- "Think weaknesses." It means that you should always look for what your enemy's weakness is, but never let him figure out yours. Of course, he told us this after we had already told him our weaknesses. Well played, Truman Tide. But seriously, he couldn't have figured this stuff out? Obviously, my fire won't work in water, and it can't melt... things that don't melt. Safirah "avoids" teleporting through walls, which, I don't know, does that mean she can't? Or she doesn't want to? Marvin can't fly in cramped spaces, and Kira can't be of any help unless there's something that needs to be healed. And she can't heal scars. I asked her. Arthur's can't work if he can't hear or say anything, which, also, is kind of obvious. Maybe Kira's older brother isn't the brightest bulb. OR maybe he just zonks out when it comes to obvious stuff, like what happens to me sometimes. Yeah, that might be it.

        Needless to say, with training and normal schoolwork combined, I was pretty burnt-out. But somehow, I could never have a good night's sleep. I always had the same nightmare. I was back at the picnic where my family died, but I'm older than I was then. I heard the sound of the crickets chirping, and shivered. I hated that sound ever since that day, I don't want to hear it again when I sleep. Then the fire comes, suddenly, as suddenly as it did that day. I try to fight back with my power, but I'm overwhelmed at the last second. I can hear the crickets, and the screams, and the crackling fire, just like I did that day. And I wake up.

        Now, this isn't just an every-so-often occurance. We're talking every night, this happens. From October to Christmas. The dream was never quite the same, though. I would fight back in different ways. I'd try to save someone, or convince the family to move out of the way before the fire started. But the dream ended the same way every night.

        The Christmas season came sooner than expected. Truman thought it'd be a fun idea to do a "Secret Santa" type thing, and we agreed, although we'd have to do it before Cristmas Eve, the day of the revolt. We drew names on the 15th, and exchanged gifts on the 23rd. I got Safirah a cute choker necklace with a pink flower on the side. I may have gotten it at the last minute, but when I saw it, I knew it'd be perfect. She loved it from the moment I gave it to her. Truman had apparently pulled my name, and he gave me this old, beaten-up, leather-bound, journal with the words "Creative Writing" scrawled in permanent ink under this intricate Celtic cross. He specifically informed me not to open it until after the attack. Whatever, man. That thing looked like there was dried blood, among other things, splattered all over it. You'd be lucky to get me to touch it again.

        Truman waved us from the classroom once we had cleaned up the mess from the presents, telling us that we attacked first thing in the morning. I assumed five-thirty would be a good time to meet him at the classroom, but according to an infuriated Safirah and a pouty Kira, Arthur and I were about an hour late.

        Truman irritably brushed it off, and told us to follow him, quietly, to Bones's office. I was freaking out from the moment Bones's name was mentioned, but we had already started walking down the sleeping hallways. We stealthily made our way to the office. Truman took out his key (perks of being a teacher, I guess) and carefully unlocked the door. The office was still suspiciously normal, but dark now, and unsettlingly silent. Truman walked slowly to the small door on the far side of the room, unlocking it with a different, smaller key.

        It was then that I kind of lost my cool. "Wait," I hissed, under my breath. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

        Safirah elbowed me in the ribs. "Of course it is," she whispered. "Now shut up and follow the leader."

        "It's understandable that he's worried," said Truman over his shoulder. His voice sounded more harsh and brisk than usual, but maybe it was just because he was whispering. "But think about it, Sean," he said, turning around to look me in the worried green eyes. "This is what you spent months of your life waiting for, working for. This is what you wanted to have happen, from the beginning. This is it. This moment will come and go, it will pass just like everything else. Now you've got to ask yourself- are you ready?" He pushed open the door, which led to a narrow, dimly lit passageway. "Trust me," he said sadly.

        He ducked, and started down the corridor. I followed, everyone else right on my tail. But Truman was walking so fast, almost like he knew the way by heart. But maybe he did. Maybe all the teachers did. Maybe this is what we're up against. This is crazy. We're taking on grown adults in a place we've never even set foot in before. Who knows what we were going to find! The passage started getting lighter. A bright white came from the end of the narrow walkway. Truman stepped out into it, and turned around to face us as we came stumbling out into a sterile, white room.

        My eyes stuggled to adjust to the light. I squinted at Truman's serious expression, and then I realized...

        He was not alone.