Republican Phenoms

Making Friends

June

It's going to be a long year.

It's almost like Daniel is following me, taunting me. Not only did he end up in my platoon, which will stay the same for all four years that I'm here at Drake, but he also ended up in my Introduction to Republican Weapons class, which I missed yesterday because I was in the dean secretary's office getting my report. Why couldn't somebody else be in half my classes?

He had already arrived in my Introduction to Republican Weapons class before I got there, so I was able to purposely find a seat in the opposite half of the classroom. If I look at the teacher and my eyes don't wander around the classroom, I don't even have to see him.

"Hey, kid," a voice next to me whispers.

I look up from my paper that I'm taking notes with and smile. "Hi," I whisper.

"You're in the same platoon as I am," he says. "I'm Josh."

"June. Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, everybody knows who you are. Did you see that we have a survival skills camping trip planned in a month? The week after Independence Day?"

I shake my head. "No, I haven't looked that far ahead into the calendar."

"It should be pretty fun."

My teacher, Miss Rowell, stops her explanation of the basic types of guns that our soldiers use in order to look directly at me. "Cadet Iparis, is there something you would like to share with the entire group?" she asks.

"No ma'am," I say, lowering my gaze. I can't afford to get a second report on the second day of school. I don't want to get expelled. "I just think that these guns are fascinating, that's all."

"Well, perhaps you would like to keep your opinions on the Republic's weapons to yourself, at least until class is over," she says, her eyes looking over her glasses at me. She has dark hair pulled back into a severe bun.

"Yes, ma'am," I say, trying to sink down into my seat. Some of the kids around me are giggling. Across the room, Daniel is just looking at me. I'm usually good at reading people, but I can't figure out what he's thinking.

After the class calms down, Miss Rowell continues to talk about the benefits of different Republican handguns, and why we would use one weapon over another in certain situations. I shoot Josh an apologetic glance, and look down at my paper to take notes.

At lunch, I get a salad and some chicken and see Josh at one of the tables. I wave to him and he motions to me to come sit with him.

"Sorry about getting you into trouble in class today," he says as I take a seat at the table. "I have a feeling she's not going to be one of my favorite teachers."

"I'm used to getting into trouble," I say, "I got my first report yesterday." I frown. "Not a good way to start my time at Drake, huh? At least I didn't get another report. I can't afford yet another one today."

Josh takes a bite of the hamburger he took for lunch. "I suppose it's not easy being twelve years old at a university though," he says. "They expect more out of us here."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the other twelve-year-old, Daniel, sitting at a table with a group of girls. He looks relaxed, and has his arm around one of the girls. "Perhaps not for everyone." I tilt my head in his direction.

"Not everything is always what it looks like," he says, picking up a French fry and dipping it into ketchup. "I saw him at physical training this morning, but I haven't had the chance to talk to him yet. I did hear some of the girls in my calculus class talking about him earlier today though. They think he's cute, but in the way you might think of a preschooler as cute or something."

I giggle at that thought, then think about the guys that I've met at the school so far. Some of them are very attractive, but I know that they're way too old for me, and I wouldn't really be interested in a relationship with any of them. Then I think of how I might feel if I was in a class with an eight-year-old. Even if the eight-year-old was cute, that's probably all I would think of him -- as cute. It's not like an eight-year-old would be boyfriend material or anything.

"What classes do you have later today?" he asks.

"I have Intermediate Self Defense after lunch today," I remark, "and then I have Republic History 2080-2100."

"How'd you get into Intermediate Self Defense? Isn't that a class for sophomores?"

"Yeah," I nod. "But they bumped me up after I successfully defended myself against Patrick Stanson."

"Good job on that one," he says. "I wasn't there, but I heard about it."

My insides warm with pride. "Thanks."

"I heard that he was cursing up a storm this morning," he laughs. "He was yelling that his alarm went off at three in the morning today, and then when he went to take a shower, his soap had been coated in nail polish!"

"Really? That's funny." I wonder if Daniel had anything to do with that. Yesterday he told me that I should get my revenge, but that I shouldn't get caught.

"Nobody has a clue how it happened, but I doubt anybody is sympathetic towards him. He picks on everybody he perceives as weak. If anybody does know anything about it, they're not saying anything."

"I have a guess of how that happened," I say, glancing over at Daniel's table, "but like everybody else, I'm not saying anything either."

"How was your day, Junebug?" Metias says as he picks me up. His coworker, Thomas, is sitting in the passenger's seat, so I sit in the back. "I see you didn't get another report."

"No, fortunately." I fasten my seat belt. "It was a little better than yesterday, I suppose." I look over at Thomas. "Hi, Thomas."

"Good afternoon, Ms. Iparis," he says.

"I have some work to do this evening, June, so I'll have to drop you off at home," Metias says. "Sorry about that."

"That's fine," I say. "Today was a lot better than yesterday, at least. I made a new friend."

"That's good to hear," my brother notes.

"Yeah, he's going to be in my platoon, so we'll be drilling together for the next four years too." I feel my face sour a little. "Unfortunately, that boy is also in my platoon."

"Which one? The one you got into a fight with yesterday?" I look at my brother's reflection through the rear-view mirror. He looks concerned.

"No, not Patrick Stanson. That would be worse, I guess. And I didn't get into a fight with him. I didn't even touch him."

"Is there a boy that's hurting you?" Thomas turns around to look at me.

"No. Patrick Stanson tried to bully me yesterday, but he didn't hurt me. The other boy only irritates me." I roll my eyes. "Today at lunch he had this entire table full of girls practically drooling over him. It was disgusting."

"Why do you care what he does?" my brother asks.

I shrug. I guess I shouldn't let him bother me so much. I don't know why he does.