Elemental War

Chapter Twenty-Five - Fifths Already? (JASON and MARK)

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{JASON}

"Special training?"

I sit, squirming in my seat, opposite Callum, frowning.

"Basically. We'll be training you for a couple months, then take you to a different base, for a change of scenery."

Addison is pacing backwards and forwards behind him, muttering to herself; Claire is staring into space, miming something with her hands.

"Claire?" I ask.

"Hmm?" she murmurs.

"What're you doing?"

"Nothing. What do you mean?"

Callum bites his top lip. Ad stifles a laugh.

"The-" I imitate what she'd been doing.

"I- I don't do that."

"You play guitar riffs. Air guitar riffs," Callum says, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Claire blushes and glares at her hands.

"Even when I'm not talking about guitars? Or music?"

Addison and Callum nod simultaneously.

"Damn."

"You play the guitar?" I say.

Three pairs of eyes turn to me and I mentally slap myself.

"Stupid question. Sorry," I mumble, shifting nervously again in my chair, eyes on my twitching feet.

"You start Boxing Day."

Clearly dismissed, I scramble out of my seat and beeline to the door without looking up.

I walk to my room and check the calendar above my bed.

December 20th.

Five days till Christmas. Eleven until New Year.

Seventeen until my birthday.

I've not told anyone yet, but I've been counting down for ages. Seventeen years old I think as I flop down onto my bed. Maybe I'll get an English driving license. My parents never let me near a car in America, even though I'm of age. It is seventeen here, right? Maybe. I'll ask in the morning.

My thoughts return to the conversation with my three new trainers. I made such an ass of myself back there. Of course she plays the guitar. How stupid can I get?

Pretty stupid, from previous experience.

There's a soft knock on the door and I call out: "S'open," my eyes still shut.

I hear someone stumble over one of my sneakers that I'd kicked off the night before.

"Uh..." I hear a quiet squeaky voice. "Are you... are you Jason Smith?"

Opening my eyes, I swing my legs off the bed onto the floor, heaving my body to an upright position.

The guy I see in front of me stands to attention, chest puffed out, back straight, a look of nervousness on his pale face. Even though he's skinny, and only about my height, and he looks a bit older, maybe eighteen, nineteen. There's some faded bruising on the left side of his face, on his cheekbone and jaw, and he keeps running his thin fingers through his sandy hair.