The Queen Bee

THE QUEEN BEE

At last, the bell chimed for break. I snatched my reader from our joined desks and headed for the classroom door. I wasn’t running from my classmates, or their note, I assured myself. I opened the door and yanked it shut behind me, smoldering.

None of them knew what it took to be the best—complete focus. While I pulled extra study sessions, they watched old-world television in the Reel Room. While I squeezed in hours at the library, they smoked hash in the gardens. They had inside jokes and illicit meetings with the Clayskin merchants, and I had the ear of the Teachers.

They called me traitor now, but someday soon they would wish they had done the same. My time was coming. Stooped over, with busy little strides, I increased the distance between me and the senior class.

“Arika!”

Ducking my head, I hurried on.

“Arika, wait! Arika!”

With a sigh, I turned to see Jetson, Covington and East Keep gaining on me. Jetson was waving me down. He stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

“Jetson,” I said. My eyes avoided his cheek.

Covington snorted. “I think what Jetson meant to say is—Arika, what are you doing out of the library?”

East Keep snickered. “I hardly recognize you without a book under your nose.” She wrinkled her own nose, which was short and stout.

I looked between them dispassionately.

“Leave off,” Jetson said. “She bagged the Silver Award, didn’t she?”

“She won the award last year,” Covington pointed out. “So, what’s her excuse now? We’ve barely laid eyes on her in weeks.”

“Not that we want to,” East Keep added. “I don’t know how you stomach her.”

“Graduate Assessments are this week, or did you forget?” I said to Covington.

Her cheekbones were set at a sly angle. She looked down her nose at me. “I remember the Assessment; I’m just not dwelling.”

I clutched my books. I’d spent many anxious nights speculating on the Assessment. If even one Teacher objected, I’d be reclassified, despite acing the Final Exam.

“Besides,” Covington added, “everyone knows that Teachers only object out of spite. If you’ve put them off that badly, you’re vexed regardless.”

My eyes cut to her. “So I should, what—hang out in the Rec Room drinking punch and varnishing my nails?”

Covington’s eyes lit. Jetson stepped between us. He looped an arm around my neck and spoke in my ear. “At least you can take a break and come to the gathering East Keep is hosting tomorrow.”

On cue, East Keep brandished a pink, elaborately decorated invitation. She tried to hand it to me. It reeked of flowers.

“No thanks.” I ducked from under his arm.

“Come on. It’ll be fun,” Jetson wheedled. He quirked one brow. “I’ll be there.”