Chapter 10
Solving The Unsolvable
Hands trembling, scribbling on a scrunched piece of paper, I outline my game plan in my mind. I hold my breath and pray that no one comes into my station and sees what I am doing. I barely touch the paper with my hands.
To avoid creating a trail of evidence to the detriment of my mission and my life, I cannot write down any words with a real pen. I simply envision it in my mind.
I have many thoughts running around my brain and on this scrunched piece of paper, but the ones crowding me the most are these:
Survive the remaining Tests.
Pass the 10 by 10 Test.
Read The Tragedy of The Commons book.
Find Levon.
On the wall, “Saturday” and “6 a.m.” appear in bright golden neon lights on the virtual educational chart.
The artificial brightness instantly causes my eyes to twitch.
I turn my face away to take a quick peek out the wall-like windows and for the first time, it is not dark.
I look to the educational chart on the other side of the wall, and it reads, “Math and Science Week.”
A loud snake-like voice comes through the intercom, jarring my head forward. “You’re welcome for the extra sleep, Commoners. Enjoy it while it lasts, for death awaits in Math and Science Week. Cheerio, Patron Suzandrick.”
The students instantly jump out of their beds, eyes widened, faces stoic.
Zia is shaking, her face red, her eyes drained.
I instinctively reach out to hold her hands, but she runs to the restroom.
A pungent smell emanates from the door as I walk through a traffic of girls.
I stop, resting on the windows. My body touches the glass, and my skin tingles in attraction to the warm reflection of the tuscan-colored sky.
I close my eyes and imagine Levon. Her golden waves spinning in the caramel sunlight, her goddess-green eyes glowing in the pink sunrise.
My heart can hardly hold itself. It leaps up against my chest and a chuckle escapes my lips, happiness exuding through my soul at seeing my beautiful sister dancing in delight.
She is my motivation. She is my vision. She is my light.
She is my love. I’m not sure how these girls around me stay happy, or if they even do, but for me, the hunger of finding my sister keeps my soul alive.
I exhale and drive my feet backward to snap back into reality.
I splash some soap and water on my skin in less than six minutes.
That’s what we call a shower here. I hurry to my dressing station and find my perfectly placed uniform.
I raise my hands to my drawer and find my Commons brown sweater.
I slip it inside my backpack. I never know when I’ll need to keep warm with these cold tests.
I am about to put on my white polo, then slip into the sleeveless navy-blue dress with golden highlights.
This is our first option for uniform as girls in The Commons.
Zia comes out of the restroom wearing a perfectly straight, crisp white shirt tucked into blue pants. This is our second option as girls in The Commons.
“Zia! I thought you prefer wearing skirts on Saturdays,” I say, noticing her dragging her feet.
“I’m not in the mood. What I really want to wear is the dress, but I can’t because you’re about to wear it, aren’t you?” she says as her head tilts toward the dress I laid out.
“Why not? Wear it with me. Come on, it’ll brighten up your day. You love dressing up, plus you wore that yesterday.” I pull her chin up, giving her a motivational grin to cheer her up.
“Wear something else then. You’re gonna take all the attention away from me with that dress if we were the same thing.”
“No way, it’s not a big deal.”
“Yes, it is! Everyone notices you. Even Zavish. I can’t exactly compete with you when you have a body like that.”
“Zia stop, you have a great body, but you don’t want someone who sees you just for that—”
“I don’t want your lectures, Shantavia. Just try not to be selfish.”
“Okayy…” I don’t even bother. I really don’t want to argue with her this morning. She already seems like she’s in a bad mood. “Whatever, I’ll wear something else. I don’t care. It’s really not a big deal. I just want to see you cheer up.” I put away my dress and change into the pants.
“How do you even stay so fit? Your waist is way too snatched. Not fair!”
“What are you talking about? We weigh the same.”
“Yeah, but I starve myself!”
“And I’ve already told you to stop doing that, you look perfect.”
She sighs and rolls her eyes, shoving past me. To my surprise, she slips into the short blue skirt with the button-up white shirt. This is our third and last uniform option as girls in The Commons.
“Wow. So pretty. But, I thought you would be wearing the dress?”
“It looks bad on me. I just wanted you in the pants. Not that it takes the attention away from your behind.”
“Zia. Stop.” I roll my tongue, trying not to get irritated.
She smiles, placing her hands on me. “I’m sorry. But thanks for always looking out for me. I do feel better in these.”
“Of course you do.” I pull her closer into a hug, and she relaxes on my chest, taking a deep breath. “We got this. Let’s go.”
We walk toward class as the sunlight crashes through the glass windows and into our eyes.
The two of us tilt our heads away from the windows, looking at the ceiling.
We proceed to a boxed-shaped spiral above us.
There are countless dots on half of the boxes.
The dots indicate the various doors into our different math testing rooms. The building is vertical, so we are unsure of how to get up there.
I try to blur out the blue colors and look to the right to see an almost invisible staircase made of glass.
I smile at Zia with a side eye, and we follow the gathering crowd toward the stairs.
We arrive at our destination’s door. An automated voice indicates to us that we must solve a puzzle to enter the testing room.
Zavish is in front of our line, trying to solve the puzzle as the doors beep endlessly.
I make my way through the crowd to assist. He resists at first, but then surrenders at the touch of my hands.
His eyes strike mine and he steps aside.
He tilts his head as though in a challenge.
I walk past, ignoring him. His eyes on me, he adjusts the collar of his lined, white button-up shirt as he is stepping back, as though to retain his dominance.
I solve the puzzle, and we all enter the class.
“I knew I could figure it out.” I make my way inside.
“Touché, seems you may have some brains after all. Ladies first,” he says, tucking in his already perfectly tucked shirt as if he is about to give a performance.
Zia turns toward him with her mouth open in a lavish smile, but he shoves past her to walk in. Her smile turns to sadness, but she lets it go instantly. She eventually meets up with me, where I am curiously investigating my surroundings, as usual.
The room is filled with numbers and formulas inscribed around the walls, ceilings and on the floor. I look to the right to see a gigantic sculpture hanging from the ceiling.
“What’s that?” Zia asks.
“It’s a mathematical structure representing the surface of a common man,” I respond.
“How do you know that?”
“I don’t know, I think I read it somewhere.”
We see our math teacher, Mr. Pitagura Malon. He is a middle-aged man with large square-shaped glasses and a brain that runs by a never-ending formula.
I overhear Zavish whispering with two of his friends, Tin and Jordan, “Where are the Patrons?” He looks around the class with wary eyes.
“Maybe there are not enough Patrons to go around? I heard Patrons refuse to proctor more than one or two lower-level classes a year. I’m sure they’d rather teach seniors,” Tin responds.
“I heard no Patrons approved Mr. Pitagura Malon’s request,” Zia says in a hush, coming closer to Zavish.
“Apparently, he had to pay a price for that.” Ciaro joins them, flipping her blonde hair to the side so it hits Tin’s eyes. He flinches, but coughs to shake it off.
“Like what?” Tin asks, staring at Ciaro. He fixes his plain white shirt and his golden blazer and straightens his shoulders upon seeing her.
She walks past him. “There is a spot of crinkle on your shirt,” she says to Tin, who instantly looks at his shirt, defeated. “So, the million-dollar question, what price do you guys think Malon paid? J boy?” Ciaro turns to Jordan.
“I don’t know. No one knows what he paid, but I’d guess his soul,” Jordan responds as Ciaro leans against him. Tin flinches at her touching his friend.
“Well, whatever this son of a Pitagura paid means we get to leave class early once our test is done due to his uncommon kindness. So, let’s get this useless thing started, shall we?” Zavish responds.
“Hell yeah. That way, I can get started with my Patron duties quicker,” Ciaro says and struts past them, flipping her hair seductively. All the boys look her way and Zia rolls her eyes, walking away.
“Patron duties? What is that?” Tin asks, looking at his friends.
“Patron Lenon, remember? She’s probably getting him a Gibraltar espresso or something spicier?” Zavish states with an uneven wink.
“Wow. Must be nice,” Jordan says, eying her short blue skirt as she bends down to drop her backpack in the golden bag stations. She unbuttons her white shirt slightly as Jordan’s and Tin’s gazes are still fixed on her.
“Well, when you’re that hot, and smart at that, you’re treated nice, even from Patrons. You two dimwits wouldn’t know the half of it.” Zavish hits both of their heads, walking away with a chuckle.
Zia rolls her eyes—again, frowning at Ciaro’s strut. “You know she’s not a natural blonde like I am,” she whispers, turning to me. “She’s a brunette. You can see it. I’m not even sure her hair is naturally that curly. It might be wavy or even straight.”
“Um… No. I did not know that.” And frankly, I do not care.