1Tina woke up on the edge of her bed, curled into a ball, the taste of blood in her mouth from a cut in her lip. This was the third time she woke up in this fetal position, the third time she had the dream this week.
She shook her head, trying to stop counting, but the counting continued. The third time she dreamt of birds. The third time she dreamt of death.
She bit her tongue, wincing at the pain, but her brain supplied two more statements. The third time she dreamt of abandonment. The third time she dreamt of blood on her hands.
Finally, her brain fell silent, satisfied with its work, satisfied with the pain it inflicted on its host. Tina sometimes hated her brain, though it was the only reason why she was born in the first place. It was too perceptive, too cold, too heartless.
The two-year-old noted the time: 5:30 AM. Perfect timing. She climbed out of bed and hurriedly put on clothes suitable for the occasion: a pair of underwear, a pair of denim shorts she altered to fit as pants, a blue flannel shirt her size, a blue hairband, a pair of white socks, and her black flats.
It was the first day of preschool, a first that she hasn't had any information about, asides from the obvious fact that it is a predecessor to "real" school, hence the prefix "pre" in front of the word "school."
As she packed her little black backpack, Tina wondered if it would be different than the other experiences she had with "firsts." Perhaps, she mused. Perhaps it will be, perhaps it won't.
Tina started walking to the building where the "preschool" was kept, having looked its location and schedule up the day before; her siblings had their own school to go to, she was too young for the bus, and her parents trusted her to make it safely. Just in case, she packed her reed-making kit in her backpack and carried her little portable umbrella in her hand.
When she got to the school, Tina was greeted by a stuffy-looking lady. She noted that the woman wore a grey blouse and a black pair of slacks, practical attire. Tina also noticed that the woman didn't look too particularly happy or glum, she just was. The lady seemed to be of average intelligence, which is more than some can say, so that is okay.
I wonder what we'll learn in class today? I mean, that is what school is for, learning subjects and information that will later help in life. Or at least that's what all of the descriptions I found said about school. I wonder if we'll learn Mathematics, or to use a text to write an essay. I should probably-
"Where's your mother, sweetie?" Tina looked up at the woman, and wondered as to why the lady was speaking with that ridiculous falsetto voice.
"She is at work, Miss Jonah, so I walked myself here. My name is Tina Martik, age two years, first day of preschool, and I would like to begin my education. You'll find that all of the paperwork has already been filled out and turned in. I would like to see what a school is like."
The woman immediately changed her tone, "Well, darling, you hardly look old enough to walk yourself here. I won't ask about how you know my name, for you seem intelligent enough to have looked it up beforehand. I'll also not ask any more questions until later, for I don't want to keep you waiting on one of your firsts. That would be detrimental to both of us."
Tina was impressed with the lady's take on the situation, and chalked it up to an underestimation of the woman's intelligence.
Right as she began thinking about what else she might have underestimated, Tina realized that Miss Jonah was walking away at a brisk pace, and hurried to catch up, her little legs going three-and-a-half times the speed of the woman's yet not covering exactly the same distance.
Annoying how height does that, but it can't be helped.
We walked through the hallways, the light-blue walls decorated by posters the teachers brought in, until we got to the attendance office. Miss Jonah checked me in; however, instead of being led back to one of the classrooms, the lady behind the desk gestured for me to come with her.
We went into a small room that was located inside the office, the only furniture in there being a small desk, a little chair, and an adult-sized chair. The lady motioned me towards the miniature desk, on which there was an iPad-shaped device, an answer sheet, and a pencil. It can't really be an iPad now, could it? I mean, it had been out of date since Juke Limited put out the Glass Desk© more than 105 years ago.
I sat down, unsure of anything beyond that I was about to fill out an answer sheet; the answer sheet indicated that I was about to take a test, but the purpose was, as of yet, a mystery.
The lady picked up the device and logged in, it being tilted so that I couldn't see the screen. She set it down, and I saw a bunch of shapes.
The lady finally spoke. "Name, Martik, Tina. Age, two years. Test, Intelligence Quality Assessment. Purpose, Classified. Preschool, Rackham p-5. Are you ready to take the test, Ms. Martik?"
"Yes." I felt embarrassed at my small voice, though it was to be expected, being a two-year-old and all.
"The test has four parts: patterns, mathematics, reading and analyzing a text, and personality. Each part has a multiple-choice and a short response section and you are not going to use a calculator on the mathematics portion. Raise your hand if you have a question about the requirements or need something, the choices being either a sharpened pencil, a tissue, or another scratch piece of paper. If you leave the room during a testing period, whatever you finished of the test will be taken up and scored, and you won't be allowed to resume the test. Restroom, water, and snack breaks will only occur between parts. Cheating is prohibited, and your test will automatically be scored as a zero, your test starts now."
Four hours and one-thousand, four hundred, and eighty-eight questions later, Tina clicked the last question, pressed the button that said, "Test Finished," and raised her hand.
The lady picked up the Desk and signed off, signaling the official end of the test. She looked up the scores, did the mathematics, and told Tina, "Congratulations, Ms. Martik, you completed the test and got into the program. I will take you to your class shortly."
Yep, left it off at a semi-cliffhanger. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. No views yet, but it doesn't hurt to be hopeful. The test isn't for Battle School, and I pulled the corporation's name from Swarm by Orson Scott Card.
I do not own any of Orson Scott Card's books or characters, but I do own Tina Martik, Miss Jonah, and the lady in the attendance office who was in charge of the test. I will not say why Tina needed to take a test...from her point of view. But I will hint at it through POVs set at that of the adults'.