Outside the Gates, Chapter 1

VOLUME I: BEGINNINGS

“All glory comes from daring to begin.” - Eugene F. Ware

CHAPTER 1
         The year was 2312. My eyes opened up to see a small beam of moonlight coming from the slit of the blinds that hung over the window. I looked around to see two other girls on matching bunk beds; all of us with matching pajamas. One of the beds was empty; I knew exactly who it was because that particular person always got up early. Morning people.
         I looked down at the floor below me and slowly sat myself up to an awkward sitting position. I sat there for awhile, letting the sleep wear off of me, and the reality of another day hit me. After a few seconds I climbed down the ladder and went over to the door, and turned the knob.
         There was no one out in the halls, but once I went into the bathroom there were about three others in there, including the morning person from my room: Jetta.
         “How can you get up and ready so early?” I asked her as she washed her face in front of the wall mirror and sinks.
         “Easy, you just get up,” Jetta said. I guess you could say that Jetta was the quiet reserved type; it’s hard for her to just jump into a conversation with people she doesn’t know. She has wavy dark brunette hair, and piercing brown eyes, that if she stared at you long enough, she could get almost anything out of you. She was my best friend; we had known each other since we were six years old, and we had always been in the same dorms ever since our first years here. She was really smart, always on a schedule, and was, of course, a morning person.
         I went to the cabinet on the opposite wall and opened up my assigned locker, and grabbed my toothbrush, comb, face wash and cloth. I went over to the sink and then began my morning routine.
         We do the same thing every day: get up, get dressed, brush our teeth and hair, eat breakfast, go to school, eat lunch, go to more school, have free time, dinner, and then have more free time. It’s hectic, but for me it’s everyday. I don’t know of any other routine, besides this one.
         Jetta left while I was in the middle of brushing my hair to go back to the dorm. I finished up, and while I was doing so, my other two dorm mates walked in: Keitha and Sherry.
         “Hey Sherry,” I said.
         She groaned at me, and grabbed her things out of her locker.
         Sherry was the kind of person that anyone could easily become best friends with. She was black, had hazel eyes and curly light brown hair, which she always threw in a side ponytail. She wasn’t, however, my best friend, but just a friend. We had grown up together since we were six, but I guess I never really knew her until these past two years.
         I saw Keitha enter the room, and she brushed past me towards her locker.
         Keitha, unlike Jetta, had a rude personality. She had tan skin, sandy blond hair, and glowing green eyes. She could jump into a conversation with anyone and seemed to always need to be the center of attention, even though she could have her reserved moments. I don’t know her very well; I only talk to her because she stays in our dorm with us. She transferred to ours since everyone in her dorm practically hated each other.
         Today was one of these days, ordinary, bland, and unchanging. We live in a place known as the Serkos. We don’t know why it’s called that, but it’s been our home ever since we were six years old. We had this place called The Greens, a lavish place—that’s what we thought anyway—where most everyone would go in our free time. Patches of wildflowers scattered throughout grass, mixed with daisies and a giant white gazebo for the center, all made a beautiful mess. Curved stone benches were arranged throughout The Green. Then there were the dorms, where we hung out at night. There was the school where we learned, and the cafeteria, our third favorite place.
         Every day we wear the same thing, a blue polo and khaki pleated skirt, and we have a fixed schedule of classes, lunch, then more classes. Classes end at 3:15, and from then until ten it’s our free time to do whatever we wanted. We had to have lights out 10:00 p.m. or else there would be consequences. Dinner was served at exactly 6:30 every night, and everyone had to have some food; it was against the rules not to eat. Every Saturday and Sunday it was completely different though. We had game day Saturday and electives day Sunday. Game day, I guess, could also be called workout day if you wanted to call it that. We dressed up in our workout clothes, and from one o’clock to three we either ran, did a workout video, or we lifted weights in the weight room. The rest of the day, though, we had to ourselves.
         Sunday, electives day, was where everyone had to take their electives classes; mine was Art II, as I had taken Art I last year. They had electives in history, science, math, and other arts too. Today, thankfully, was a Friday, so tomorrow was game day, my, well, second-favorite day. Sunday was my favorite day because drawing was pretty much my favorite thing to do.
         But now I sat in my history class, watching the balding head of Mr. Watson make its way to the front of the room. He laid down his books heavily on the flimsy teacher’s desk, and made his way to the front board. The walls of this room made me go crazy. He never put up anything on them, leaving them to be boring off-white long walls. The fluorescent lights added to the dullness of the room. He took up a red dry-erase marker in his hand and began writing on the board, big letters that spelled out GEORGE W. BUSH. He only wrote in capital letters.
         He set down the marker below the board. “Now,” he began, “can someone tell me about this person I’ve just written on the board?” Two people raised their hands. He began moving his pointer finger around us. He was going to call on someone, and I hoped it wouldn’t be me. “Tarika.” He hated me. “What did Columbus do? All you have to do is name one thing.” No matter where I sat, front, back, middle, he called on me when I didn’t know the answer to his question.
         “Umm….” I had no clue. “I know he was a really bad president…” I trailed off and apparently didn’t quite answer his question thoroughly enough.
         He sighed. “Did you read your textbook?”
         All I gave him was a blank stare. He sighed again.
         “You must ALL read your textbook when I tell you to!”
         A few of the girls snickered, and so did I, just inside, where he couldn’t tell.
         “Emma,” he said, calling on a girl who had her hand up, “what did George W. Bush do?”
         “He started the Iraqi war, a fight to achieve democracy.” She was so smart.
         Mr. Watson actually smiled. “Good! Someone read.” He shot me a look.
         I decided to blank out the rest of the day.