WICKED told them the Trial was over -no more tests, no more lies, but Frankie had been deceived enough to know that the statement alone could never be true.
Truthfully, she wanted to die. She wanted to leave this cruel world of being experimented an...
Frances stopped tidying her desk and glanced up to find her three friends, who were looking at her with expectant looks on their faces. "I don't remember."
"It's the last number, Frannie!" Harriet exclaimed, "How could you forget about it already!"
Sonya wailed, "I don't think I'll bloody pass 95. I'm so stupid."
"No, you're not," Marie tried to reason, "Half of this class doesn't pass 95. Besides, the Director said everyone here is smart. Including you."
"But," Sonya pouted, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, "Half of this class does. Including you."
This scenario happened every time the examination period ended —Sonya wallowing in the fact that she wasn't the brightest student in the room, Marie consoling her as best as she could, Harriet demanding any answer Frances could remember to compare it with hers, and Frances pretending to not remember a thing because she didn't like being the walking answer sheet everyone searched for.
"It's lunch time!" A red head, Marilyn, zoomed through with her bunch of best friends.
"I'll ask more later," Harriet said, "Let's go."
The four girls followed the stream of chatty eleven-years-old out of the examination hall, towards the cafeteria.
Frances gave occasional remarks as the other three conversed more about their previous Advanced Applied Statistics test.
They almost reached their destination when a ruckus of something scraping against the floor and something falling boomed from the classroom on their right.
"You— Newton— Get back here!"
Most of the girls kept on walking, too immersed in their own world, including her friends. But Frankie, being an observant introverted child as she was, saw him.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A boy her age with messy blonde hair, piercing dark brown eyes, pointy nose, and a serious expression was pressing his palm against the window. He peeked through openings, eyes searching for someone in the crowd.
He reached the door and opened it, leaning forward until half of his body was out of the room to get a better look.
"Minho!"
Then another one appeared. This time, the boy had tousled black hair and a pair of eyes that disappeared under the fat of his flushed plump cheeks when he smiled. The second kid bolted out from his classroom and rammed against the first one with a boyish grin, sending both of them down at the four girls' feet.
