48 Students Remaining
I’m already awake and thinking about the fifteen notch marks in the back of my closet when dawn breaks over the Luminary campus on my first official day of school.
They looked like a countdown…or rather, a tally of sorts. But this is Luminary’s first-ever class, so whoever lived in my room before me couldn’t have been a student here.
And yet I still peek into my closet one more time, eyes lingering on the splintery notch marks. Wondering.
There’s a tiny black kitten perched on the bottom stair when I head downstairs. As I make my way past, it cocks its head, studying me with eyes it takes me a moment to recognize.
“Hello, creature from Zo’s backpack,” I greet it. I can’t say for sure, but I’m willing to bet she had the kitten in her backpack during dinner last night, that it was the creature I saw peering out from behind her book. The kitten flees back up the stairs without a sound.
“They just updated our schedules,” Scarlett says, meeting me outside the Innovator dorm. She flashes her tablet at me. “Want to see if we have any classes in common?”
I grab my tablet, and sure enough, a schedule has appeared on the screen. I take a moment to read it over:
A Schedule (Monday, Wednesday, Friday)
8:00 a.m.–9:00 a.m.: Physics—Barn 2
9:05 a.m.–10:05 a.m.: Calculus—Barn 3
10:30 a.m.–11:30 a.m.: English Literature—East Townhouse, Room 112
11:35 a.m.–12:35 p.m.: Lunch
12:40 p.m.–1:40 p.m.: Computer Science—West Townhouse, Room 089
1:45 p.m.–2:45 p.m.: Advanced Research Seminar—Barn 3
2:50 p.m.–3:30 p.m.: Guidance Meeting—Innovator Dormitory, Room 130
I stare at the schedule, overwhelmed. There seems to be an abnormal focus on science, which I don’t really get. Did I give off a sciencey vibe during testing? The idea is vaguely unsettling. I’d prefer to give off an unhinged fashion witch vibe.
Scarlett peers over my shoulder, scanning my schedule. “Oh, good, we have the same lunch,” she says. “And I’m in Physics first thing, too. We can walk over together.”
We make our way across the campus to Barn 2. A false wall splits the giant barn in half, and rows of desks have been set up to face a sort of high-tech screen at the front of the room.
Scar and I take seats in the back row. Up front, an older Asian man with salt-and-pepper hair leans over a lectern set up in front of the screen, squinting down at a tablet.
He doesn’t raise his head until every chair in the room is filled, and then he looks up, like he only just realized we were all here.
“Welcome!” he says brightly. “I’m Professor Tomo Aoki, but you can all call me Tomo.”
Tomo writes his name on his tablet, and an instant later, it appears on the screen in front of the class.
“We’ll begin the semester by going over Newton’s laws of motion.
This is to prepare you for your first round of testing.
Unlike most schools, we don’t wait until the end of your first semester to test your skills.
Instead, students advance through a series of modules, each culminating in a comprehensive assessment in week three.
That might seem like a long time now, but it’s going to go by fast, so I’ll be giving you a sneak peek of what to expect at the end of class.
” For some reason, he sounds absolutely delighted about this.
“Goodie,” I whisper to Scarlett. She snickers, then tries to cover by turning it into a cough.
Tomo spends the next twenty-five minutes sketching out a complicated graph filled with boxes and arrows and underlined words. Everyone around me immediately removes the stylus from the top of their tablet and begins taking notes.
I try to pay attention, but I’ve never been good at sitting in a chair and listening. I’m much more comfortable doing. But Blackwood is on the line. I’m going to have to actually try.
An object at rest stays at rest, I write. An object acted upon by balanced forces stays at rest.
But I find my gaze drifting. I spot the back of Rani’s head near the front of the classroom.
He’s not taking notes, either, but he nods along with Professor Aoki—er, I mean Tomo—clearly following along.
Ian sits a few seats over, building an elaborate castle out of a deck of playing cards with pictures of Minnie Mouse on the backs.
“All right,” Tomo says, after about twenty-five minutes of lecturing.
Ian’s card castle has grown to three stories high and takes over the entire width of his desk.
For the past ten minutes, it’s been taking all my willpower to stop me from testing Newton’s laws of motion by throwing a balled-up piece of paper at it.
“I believe we’ve got the general concepts down, and I can tell I’m already losing some of you, so this is a good place to move on to the active participation portion of our lesson. ”
I tear my eyes away from Ian’s card castle, suddenly interested. Active participation?
“One of the primary tenets of Luminary’s educational philosophy is that students learn best when there are real-world stakes at play,” Tomo explains.
“In other words, you won’t absorb information as fully as you’re capable of by passively listening and taking notes.
With that in mind, I’d like you to leave your tablets on your desks and follow me.
” Tomo doesn’t wait for us; he just claps his hands together and walks to the other side of the false wall.
There’s a moment of confused silence, everyone looking around to see whether anyone else knows what’s going on. Then, one by one, we all push back from our desks and follow him.
My mouth falls open when I see what’s on the other side of the wall. Now I understand why Physics takes place in a barn.
A brutal obstacle course stretches across the room like a battlefield.
Ramps jut upward at angles so steep they seem impossible to scale.
Slacklines dangle over nothingness, daring you to cross.
Ropes swing like nooses, and a trapeze sways ominously, suspended far too high above the unforgiving concrete floor.
There’s a balance beam flanked by weighted balls that swing with a terrifying force, pendulum-like, ready to smash anyone foolish enough to attempt crossing.
My eyes drop to the floor beneath the course, and a cold shiver shoots down my spine. There’s no soft landing, no foam pit to catch you. Just hard, unforgiving concrete. A phantom pain pulses through my shins. I can practically feel the bones snapping under the weight of a fall.
Is the idea that we’ll absorb information more fully if there’s a risk of dying? Because this course is a death trap.
I’m not the only one who seems unsettled.
A buzzing sound has filled the room. Nick Roberts—a skinny guy with sandy hair—yells “Hell yeah!” while a mousy girl named Jenna Hughes is just muttering “Holy shit” over and over again.
I’m not sure she realizes she’s talking out loud.
And then everyone starts shouting over one another, talking all at once so I can’t tell who’s saying what.
“No way!”
“Won’t someone get hurt?”
“I’m not doing that!”
Some students have taken a few steps back in an attempt to edge toward the doors. Others are on tiptoes to get a better look at the obstacle course.
I glance at Scarlett. Her face is white. “What happens when one of us falls and snaps our neck?” she hisses at me.
“You think the safety waiver they made us sign covers death?” I’m trying for a joke, but it falls flat. Scar doesn’t even smile.
Tomo, on the other hand, looks practically giddy. “This is the Newtonian Gauntlet,” he explains. “Now, who would like to try it out first?”