CHAPTER FOUR: ANEW

          I don't know whose voice was that, but I went to the Director's office right away. I can hear the murmurs from everyone wondering the same thing. It's the first time someone has been summoned to the Director's office. Most of the time, students get called to the faculty or the vice principal.

           I hurried anyway. It's against my principle to make other people wait. I knocked at the Director's Office, and his secretary opened the door for me. She looked at me curiously. Then, she asked me to go in. She left.

           I turned left when I arrived at a corner.

           "Good day, Miss Garcia," the Director greeted and put the papers he was holding down. 

           I can just guess that the paper contains information about me. I doubt the Director really knows me.

           "Good day to you, Sir," I answered, and that's when I noticed two uniformed men standing near the window. 

           Soldiers. Yikes. I mean, Whoa!

           "You have visitors," the Director raised a hand informing me of whom. "A Lieutenant Margaery and a Sergeant Paris."

           Silence.

           "Well?" I asked after staring at them for a very fat minute. It's not every day you'll have the Director and, uh, military men be your audience.

           "Director, we would like to borrow the room," the woman said. 

           "I will not get kicked out of my own office," said the Director suppressing the venom in his words.

           "You are interfering with government matters," said the lieutenant and glared. "Perhaps the letter is not enough?"

           The Director's jaw tightened. 

           "Call the Defense Secretary, soldier," the lieutenant said, addressing the other one in the room.

           "FINE!" the Director gave up and brusquely shoved me out of the way. He left the room.

           "Er," I said. "We could've just found ourselves another place to talk."

           "We're too busy for anymore detour," she answered, and for the love of whomever, she smiled. 

           How can something this pretty hide under the fierceness of her scowl? When the smile vanished, same as her angelic aura.

           "I am Lieutenant Kira Margaery, and this is Sergeant Newton Paris.

           "We came here to give you a letter and answer your questions if there are any."

           Sergeant Paris passed me an envelope.

           "Isn't this the President's, uh, seal?" I asked, uncertain.

           "Close." A terse reply.

            I shrugged and ignored the seal. The seal doesn't matter anyway.

           I started to read quietly. There was nothing more to it than an invitation to a new facility the newly elected president co-organized with the Secretary of Defense. 

           "What is this new facility?" I asked. 

           "It's a boot camp."

           "What's that?"

           "That's where recruited soldiers go for primary training," the Sergeant asked. He looked kinda smug like he didn't approve of me or whatever it was.

           "It's not some laboratory, is it? Am I going to be a human test subject or something?"

           Sergeant Paris coughed. He sounded like he was choking a laugh.

           "I don't want to go," I answered, but that didn't, the slightest bit, bother them. Their expressions remained stern. Then I remembered what she said about answering questions alone, so I asked. "Is that an option?"

           "Of course," she answered. "Unless you still want this kind of life, then you are free to decline our invitation."

           "Is that so?"

           "It's not every day a renowned murderer like you get an opportunity like this."

           My eyes widened in shock. How did they know?

           Of course, they know. That's the very reason why they're here, dumbass. They're finally arresting you. The new facility, my ass. Now, I've done it. But still...

           "My... You, lady, are one hell of a negotiator," I murmured. She smiled. The Sergeant chuckled. "And renowned? Pshh. No one knows me here."

           I considered it. According to the letter, I am drafted to participate in the newly established curriculum for military soldiers. In short, they are offering me to start anew. How can I say no?

           Duh? I thought you were planning to go to college?

           "How long will this Boot camp last?" I asked, emphasizing a little bit the word I deemed foreign.

           "Three years."

           "So I will be able to go to college?" I asked. "Then?"

           The other soldier laughed. It appeared that in his perspective, what I said just now was the funniest so far.

           "What's so funny?" 

           The lieutenant answered for him. "He thinks college is for wimps. But if you still want to go to college after graduating from the boot camp, then that's going to happen."

           "What's in it for me aside from the life-changing scheme?" I asked and folded my arms in front of me. When the lieutenant's eyes narrowed, my arms fell beside me. I took a nervous gulp.

           "Aside from you are going to be stronger and smarter, you'll be given a grant of 100 thousand after you graduate. And get to the top ten drafted kids, and you'll get a million," she answered, bemused.

           "Money huh," I asked, nodding. "A hundred thousand is plenty. So when am I leaving?"

           The Sergeant stifled his laughter. Did I repeat something funny? The lieutenant ignored him.

           "Start packing your things now," she said and started to the door. "A copter will be arriving anytime tomorrow."

           They made this soldier-gesture, and I did uh... the same. Although mine's sloppy, they took it as it is and left. I heard them talk to the school director about the oath of secrecy, and when I met the Director on my way out, he just glared at me. What a nosy oaf.

           I returned to the dormitory, wondering if Yolly was already there. When I opened the door and glanced around, I exhaled, relieved. I wouldn't want her snooping around while I pack.

           I head to my cabinet and trot out my clothes. If I'm going to go to some kind of army camp, shouldn't I minimize the things to bring?

           I decided to pack a few pairs of clothing, underwear, and my very few valuables. Then what am I going to do with the rest of my things? 

           Pack it in a different bag?

           And so I did. By the time I finished packing, it was already half-past five. I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. 

           What have I gotten myself into? Since when did I dream of becoming a soldier? And for the love of Yolly, I'm just twelve. I'm still waiting for the right body parts to grow, and yet here I am contemplating military life.

           I am not even a woman yet. Can a kid become a soldier? I've watched a couple of movies where the kids get to be more assertive with training but are trained for the army? 

            I'm going to be a soldier version of Ninja kid, huh. 

           And they know. Those soldiers know about the skeleton I'm hiding. Why recruit someone like me who, for the love of Yolly again, managed to take two lives and still pass the psychological tests they asked me to undergo. I am normal, says the tests. Still, adults can never view an eight-year-old killing two armed and dangerous adults commonly. If someone should've been killed, it's my sister and me, not the other way around--- the very reason why they view me as an abomination. It was probably more logical and acceptable when it went the natural way. But no, we were alive at the expense of taking our attackers' lives. And it's all because of me.

           I know that what I did was right. What choice did I have back then aside from killing or getting killed? None. I had nothing else to do but fight back. And now my life is ruined.

           I stood up to wash my face. I went to the girl's shower room with my basket of toiletries. Even before I entered, I knew the space was empty. I was relieved that my hunch was correct. I stared at the mirror and put my basket by the sink. The girl in the mirror looked normal, harmless, and friendly. She's gray-eyed with raven black hair, not long nor short. The little girl looked pale and thin. And the face she was looking at in the mirror was tiny like that of a pixie. The corner of the little girl's cupid lips twitched, disappointed.

           I look fragile. 

           I glanced at my basket and grabbed my toothbrush, then brushed my teeth and washed my face. I went back to bed and closed my eyes. 

The Boot Camp is what I need to rebuild myself. It's the catalyst of change. And now, I can't wait to go.