4 Waking Up To War (Evelyn Roda)

"Why are you staring at the wall like it owes you money?" Clara’s voice cuts through the morning air, sharp and annoying as she tosses her designer gym bag onto the bottom bunk.

I jerk upright, the sudden movement making my head spin. The smell hits me first. Cheap lemon floor cleaner mixed with the faint, sickly sweet scent of vanilla body spray. It is the exact scent of the room I lived in before the world decided I was disposable. I scramble to the side of the mattress, my hands gripping the metal frame until my knuckles turn white. Clara is standing right there, rummaging through a drawer, looking exactly as she did three years ago. Her hair is perfectly styled, her skin is flawless, and she has no idea that I know exactly how much she enjoyed watching me bleed.

"I had a weird dream," I manage to choke out, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.

Clara rolls her eyes and turns to face me, checking her reflection in the mirror with the same bored vanity that used to make me feel invisible. She doesn't notice the way I am watching her hands. I am looking for the ring she usually wears, the one she got from the Headmaster as a reward for the false testimony that ended my life. It is not on her finger yet. She is still playing the part of the supportive, oblivious best friend. It is a brilliant performance, but the script has changed.

"You always have weird dreams, Evelyn, just get your head out of the clouds and start getting ready for the orientation," Clara says, tossing a crumpled schedule onto my bed.

I reach out and snatch the paper, my fingers brushing against the edge of the desk. I look at the date printed in bold at the top. It is the morning of my very first day at Blackthorn. Three years before the execution. Panic tries to surge in my chest, a hot, suffocating wave, but I push it down. I treat the terror like a physical object and force it into a locked box in my mind. I am not a victim anymore. I am a ghost who just got a massive upgrade.

"What did you say the date was again?" I ask, my voice sounding eerily calm even to me.

Clara laughs, a sharp, patronizing sound that used to make me shrink back in shame. Today, it just sounds like noise. "Are you actually stupid or are you just trying to get us both kicked out on day one? It is September first, the start of the rest of our lives, so stop acting like a deer in the headlights."

I turn toward the mirror hanging on the back of the door. My reflection stares back. The face is the same, but the eyes are different. The soft, scared expression I wore for years has been replaced by a gaze that is sharp, cold, and entirely unfamiliar. I lift my hand and trace the line of my throat, pressing my fingers into the skin where the blade was supposed to bite. There is nothing but soft, smooth skin. No scars. No bruises. No silver chain burn. I am breathing, I am whole, and I am armed with the memories of a ghost.

"This is not a dream," I mutter, mostly to myself, the reality of the situation clicking into place with the finality of a lock engaging.

I look at Clara, who is now applying lip gloss with agonizing precision. She has no idea. She thinks she has all the time in the world to plan her betrayal. She thinks she is the one holding the cards. I stand up, my balance perfect, my movements fluid and deliberate. I don't need to scream or cry. I don't need to ask for help from the people who will eventually pull the trigger. I just need to survive until I can learn how to strike first.

"Did you hear me, Evelyn, or is your brain completely fried from that dream?" Clara asks, turning to snap her fingers in front of my face.

I slap her hand away with a speed that makes her stumble back against the dresser. The look of genuine confusion and shock on her face is delicious. It is the first bit of joy I have felt in what feels like a lifetime. She opens her mouth to retort, but I turn my back on her before she can get a word out. I am already mapping the room in my head, identifying the exits, the blind spots, and the hidden places where I can start training.

"Maybe my brain is just finally working the way it should," I say, my voice smooth and dangerous.

I pull my hair back into a tight ponytail, the action making me feel like a warrior preparing for the first skirmish of a long, brutal war. I am done being the background noise in other people’s stories. I am the one writing the plot from here on out. I look at my schedule one last time, my eyes landing on the location of the library and the restricted archives. That is where I start. That is where I find the entrance to the shrine.

"Are you coming or are you just going to stand there looking like you’ve seen a ghost?" Clara asks, her voice dripping with annoyance as she grabs her bag.

I grab my own bag, slinging it over my shoulder with a sharp, metallic zip. I walk to the door, stopping only to look at her one last time before stepping out into the hallway. The air smells like impending change, and for the first time in either of my lives, I am ready to burn the whole thing down. I have a three year head start, and I am going to make every second count.

"I am coming, Clara, but I think you should be the one worried about seeing ghosts today," I reply with a smile that doesn't reach my eyes.