The Truth Within a Lie: Chapter 3

Classes come and go faster than normal. I weave through the crowds of students as quickly as I can…as if that would make today go by any faster. Before long, it’s my last class of the week and my favorite, Computer Science, then to go with Abbi get the results. Today is also the day to turn in our computer terminology webpage. I’m not worried. Unlike the rest of the day, time begins to slow in this class. 

Students are called alphabetically to discuss the project with the teacher and with a last name like Weaver, you always end up last. Abbi’s situation is the opposite, with her last name being Clements, so she is always one of the first students called. When she returns from the meeting with the teacher, she gives me a thumbs-up. She must have done the assignment late last night…and still did well enough. I play around with web design features with the Holo screen on my desk until Mrs. Bowen calls me. Walking as quickly as I can, I walk to the back of the room and open the door of her office, wasting no time finding the file on my tablet and flicking the project into the homework folder. She pulls up the results so that they appear on the holograph screen behind her desk. A minute or two goes by as she clicks though the portfolio and I begin nervously rubbing my hands along my pant legs. 

She finally reaches the end and speaks, “Congrats, Emma, on another 100 percent.” 

She closes out the file and flicks it back to my tablet. “Thank you, Mrs. Bowen,” I say, ready to leave. 

“I have one more thing to talk to you about.” My hand lets go of the door handle and I sit cautiously on the edge of my seat. 

“Yes, Mrs. Bowen?” Her brow furrows as she fumbles for words. 

“Mrs. Weaver…” she begins slowly, “I can’t help but notice you took the MTA’s again yesterday.” My heart starts beating faster as she continues. “This is your second time taking it, correct?” 

My voice strains to work, “Yes, ma’am.” 

“How do you think you did?” Her eyes glance down to her tablet and I sneak a glance at the holograph screen. It’s off. 

“Definitely better than my first try,” I say trying to sound sure of what I say. What if I failed miserably? Why else would she be telling me this? 

“I just think that it is wise to lay out other options for you. Not everyone’s destiny is to be in the military.” 

“But,” I begin defensively before I get cut off. 

“Look at your talents! You are top of your class in mathematics and computer science. Your talents…would be better spent focusing on those skills.” I look at her quizzically as she reaches into a folder, a folder with my name on it, and hands me a packet of papers. As I flip through, she explains to me that it is an application to CMP-SKY Labs, the same place my parents were employed, and how I am guaranteed a spot on their junior labs team. All that I can think is, why are you telling me this? But I don’t let her see that. The only way I can figure out why she’s doing this is by agreeing. 

“Don’t you see, Emma? This is where you fit into the picture, not as a soldier,” she says with a grin as I seemingly agree with the ultimatum she has given me. 

“I’ll go there after school. It sounds perfect for me.” “It’s where you belong,” she says, nodding in agreement. Since I’m last alphabetically, my project was the last to grade, so once we finish discussing the application, I follow Mrs. Bowen out of the office. I sit down at my desk as she reads out our next assignment. I can’t help but stare at the clock, waiting for the buzzer to indicate that this nightmare is finished. As soon as it rings, I sprint out of the building to the bus stop. I hop aboard and get out at the MTA stadium.

The receptionist eyes me warily as I run up to the front desk, out of breath and heart beating insanely. 

“I need the assessment scores for Weaver, Emma. I took the test yesterday, but I want to know if my results are here early.” She nods, finally realizing why I’m so anxious, and begins searching for my results on her computer. 

“Weaver? Is that it?” she says, looking back sweetly. I nod back excitedly. I hear her tap my name on the screen and watch as her face changes to disappointment. 

“I’m sorry, dear,” she begins, reaching across the desk to pat my shoulder, “The scores are negative.” My eyes lower to the ground for a split second before I remember to thank her for helping me. 

“No problem, dear. Just study hard and make the last retest count.” I smile politely and then walk at a much slower pace than I did when I entered the room.

I stare at the bus stop map trying to decide where to go or what to do. Going home now means facing Aunt Lillian and Uncle Tim. And going there also means facing Abbi, which is even worse because I promised to wait for her to get my results. Whoops. As I look back to the map, SKY-Labs complex grabs my attention. I unzip my bag and pull out the crumpled application from Mrs. Bowen. What if I went to get that “junior labs” internship? Tim and Lillian wouldn’t have to be ashamed of me. They would be proud that I’m following my parent’s footsteps. Finally, I see where I fit into the picture.

It only takes me five minutes to cross the city by bus to the address on the form, the CMP-SKY offices, where I can be interviewed. When I get off the bus, I cannot believe my eyes. The lobby stretches up three floors with escalators on both sides of the room. The front of the entrances is made of glass, so I can see people on all three levels moving incessantly. The lobby’s desk is a huge circle of teal glass and stainless steel with many receptionists behind it. I walk over to the desk with my paperwork gripped tightly as I take in the new sights. Finding someone who isn’t already helping someone, I wait. 

“How may I help you?” she says without looking up from the screen of her computer. 

“Yes. I would like to speak to…,” I pause as I look at the papers, “Mr. Emmitt?” 

She clicks a few buttons on her computer, scans the hall pass, and hands it to me. “Third floor, second hallway, and fifth door,” she says robotically, still not looking at me. 

“Thanks,” I say as sarcastically polite as I can. The steady stream of people moving to the escalators pushes me along with them. The escalators are crammed tight with people, but as we get to the 3rd floor, the people begin getting off at their designated floors. The second hallway of the third floor is eerily quiet, compared to the rest of the building. The hallway is very long with at least 20 rooms and I’m thankful I only have to count to five to get there. 

The door, which is cracked open about an inch, so I can hear two male voices having a discussion inside. I hear only mumbling. Gathering my courage, I begin pushing the door open. Apparently, the men don’t see or hear me as the door swings open and I step past the threshold. Mr. Emmit, the man sitting behind the desk, is a portly man with a smaller, gentler voice. The man he is speaking to is an average-looking offical, but his voice is much sharper and clearer, as if he has the authority. 

“Mr. Emmitt?” I say cautiously. 

Mr. Emmitt blinks and turns to face me, “And who are you, young lady?” 

As I speak, the other man also turns to look at me. “I’m Emma, sir. I’m here for an interview?” I turn back to the other man, whose eyes are wide with shock. He stands up with a start, bumping the desk with his hip. He strides across the room quickly and reaches to shake my hand. 

“Sorry. I was so busy speaking to Mr. Clayborne that I forgot to check my appointments,” Mr. Emmitt says, walking over to shake my hand as well. 

“It’s fine. I just got here,” I say reassuringly, first shaking Mr. Clayborne’s hand, then Mr. Emmitt’s. Although the shock in his eyes lessens, he still looks at me incredulously, like he can’t quite believe I’m here. 

“What did you say your name was?” Mr. Clayborne asks politely as he gathers his papers. 

I am ready to answer, but Mr. Emmitt speaks first. “This is Emma Weaver, the brightest in her class at the local secondary school. Mrs. Bowen told me you were coming,” he says with pride, as if he has made me who I am. 

“Ah,” says Mr. Clayborne, his look of shock fading as we speak, “I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a celebrity.” 

I blush, even though the way he says it doesn’t feel like a compliment. He gathers the last of his papers and heads to the door. 

“Nice meeting you, Ms. Weaver. See you tomorrow, Trent?” 

Mr. Emmitt, sorting through the piles of papers surrounding his desk, says, “Oh, yes! Tomorrow? Let me write that down…"

Then he ducks under the desk in search of something to write on. I turned back to Mr. Clayborne, but the door was already closing quietly behind him.

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Anyone who reads this: if you could focus your reviews on dialogue and descriptions, that would be very helpful. I know that it's what I struggle with most, so any advice would be helpful.