World Parting- Book One

[Arrow]

Loganna's Point of View The peace shattering noise of an aircraft woke me from sleep. The noise the engines made drowned out the peaceful sound of the breeze and birdsong of the early spring morning. The noise of the planes was becoming far more frequent, and it was often my new alarm clock in the mornings. I opened my eyes a little. I didn't feel like getting up today. I knew that we still had a long while left of school before us, and I wasn't feeling up to finishing out the year. All of my energy had been drained away. "Lowganna, you'll bwe wate for scwool," I heard a voice say. I knew that it could be only one person in my entire six person household that talks like that- my four year old sister, Peymela. I know, she has a strange name. I thought so myself. After my father grudgingly agreed to have another girl, he wanted to name her Peyton and mom wanted to name her Pamela- so they reached a compromise with the first three letters of Peyton and the last four letters of Pamela. Her name is pronounced Pey-mel-a, just in the case a few of you were wondering. She was sitting on me, gazing down at me. She was too young to go to school yet, but mom was sure she was smart. And she was. Skye, one of my best friends, was convinced that Peymela was six when she first met her, which was when she was only three. Shoving my little blond sister off of me and rolling her over to the side of the bed I didn't take up, I took a moment to look out the window. The plane had passed. The birds weren't singing, though. I looked outside- the trees had been blown and ripped over. Another storm had come last night. We were lucky this time- the wind was only strong enough to maul the trees. Peymela squealed as I shoved her off of me. She was my other annual alarm clock. Usually, the four year old was the first one up in the house. I looked at the clock on my bedside table- it was eight forty. School started at nine. This was great. I had been sleeping in recently, and I had been late for school. If I was late again, I might get detention, which would ruin my chance for a positive stamp when I moved to the middle school next year- yes, we have reputations, and I'm in no mood to ruin mine. Flinging the purple covers off of me, I darted out of bed and over to my dresser. The pad was showing me the weather forecast for the day- high of seventy-eight with a few thunderstorms possible. At least it said a few- usually it was already broadcasting a storm warning. Maybe it would be the first quite day in a while. I lived in Missouri. The natural and man made disasters had been taking a huge spike this year- a lot of people, even a majority of the government, think the world might actually be coming to an end. Since Missouri's most common natural disaster is the tornado or floods, I'm used to seeing storm damage when I wake up- I am a heavy sleeper, after all. It seemed like today might actually be quite. I hoped so. The dresser popped out it's suggestion of clothes for the day. Usually, I didn't take what it suggested, but I was in a hurry, and the animal patterned tank top looked for some reason ideal today, while the purple shorts, not so much. I took them anyways. Peymela was following me out into the hall now, her baby blue nightgown falling down around her tiny little ankles. It had been the second oldest child in the family, Helena's, when she was Peymela's age. Even though the gown was faded and torn in a few places, Peymela usually never changed out of it. She was convinced it was a ballgown dress, and she looked like a princess in it. Mom would tell her that her fairy tale would look more convincing if she didn't let her blond hair be so messy. It looked as if Helena had slept in as well. She was just closing the door to her bedroom as Peymela and I emerged from the hall that led down to my bedroom. Her light brown hair was frizzy with her typical morning bedhead- and her light pink t shirt was wrinkled. Her socks and shoes were dirty. the only thing that looked clean on my younger sister was her jean shorts. She must have been in even more of a hurry than I was, because she's the type to never reuse clothes unless she really doesn't have enough time to pick out any clothes. She doesn't like the dresser computer choosing her outfits for her- she gets that from my father. Helena didn't say a word as she stalked past me. A moment later the place where she had been before was just empty air- she was never a pleasant sight in the mornings. The whole family was already rushing to get ready for the day when Peymela and I got downstairs. Helena and I were pretty much always the last ones awake, unless mom or dad was off of work. Then they usually slept as long as they could, until the house got too noisy if us kids were out of school. My younger brother, whom is the third oldest kid in the house, was already chowing down on his pancakes. Aaron usually wasn't one to stuff his face, but he was sick, so he was hungry after vomiting for three days in a row. I knew it was only a matter of time before someone else in the household came down with Aaron's bug. "Morning Loganna," said my mom as she brushed my and headed for the front door. "Sorry I couldn't stay longer, but I'm late for work." I didn't say anything back to her. Her hours were long and unpredictable. Mom was the manager of a jewelry store in the city, and they needed her around. She was one of the toughest people in the store, and with all the robberies, they needed a touch employee to fight them off. People really want to purpose to their partners when the world is destined to end in like, eight months. Dad was sitting across from Aaron on the light wood breakfast table, but he was just poking at his food. His murky brown hair stuck out against his paler than usual face. He hadn't shaved his face like he said he was going to last night. Dad looked sick. Aaron's stomach bug must have found it's next victim. "Loganna, do you mind watching Peymela today after school? I think Aaron gave me his bug," Dad muttered, his voice rough as a turtle's back. "Dad..." I drifted off as I thought about the plan I had made today. I was supposed to go hang out with Skye and Journette after school today, but if I had to watch Peymela, I couldn't leave the house. Helena and Aaron had something to do already. "At school," he finished saying weakly, not bothering to make eye contact with me. We shared the same hazel green eye color. "What?" I choked. Why would school be over, yet the students would still be at school? That didn't make sense. Maybe Dad's bug was just getting to him. I walked over to the pantry and snagged a beagle. It was all I had time to eat. I didn't feel like buttermilk pancakes today, or really anything that would mean sitting down at the table. I quickly rushed down the hall towards the front door where Helena was making her way out her, her hair still not combed. "Brush your hair mongoose," I sneered at her. Mongoose was the nickname Skye and I had come up with for her. Aaron was convinced, being only six, that Helena actually was a mongoose, and she needed to be skinned. He ran after her one day with Dad's razor chanting "Time to skin mongoose!" Aaron's English skills weren't exactly flattering. Helena rolled her eyes at me and stalked out the door. She hadn't bothered to smooth out her wrinkled shirt or comb her hair. It would be her fault when the popular girls bullied her at school today. I followed Helena out the door. I knew Aaron, bein in kindergarten, wasn't coming to school again today. Chances were he still might puke again, since he had been gorging himself with buttermilk pancakes, which the doctor did not recommend. This was just our normal life. Helena had picked up her hoverscooter already. The once pink paint had faded, and been ripped away by Helena's lousy steering crashes more than once. She hopped on and sped off to school, hovering six feet in the air, which was about five inches higher than my Dad. My hoverscooter was clean and in good shape. I didn't crash like Helena did. I knew to control my speed. Helena was an adrenaline junky, and often pushed her hoverscooter's speed over the edge until she lost control and crashed to the ground. Thankfully, Mongoose never obtained anything worse than an concussion, and three broken fingers. Those were different incidents, by the way. The silver paint on my hoverscooter reflected the bright sunlight. It was humid, and my clothes stuck to my skin already. I could see the last few thunderheads from last night's storm in the distance. Hopping on my hoverscooter, I sped off after Helena, hoping she hadn't crashed. I ended up having to walk my scooter after three driveways because of a hovercar crash. At first, seeing the flash of twisted green metal, I was afraid it was Mom's hovercar, but after closer investigation, I was relived to find it was not. However, the driver of the green hovercar was killed. Walking a hoverscooter isn't fun for two reasons- one, it sucks when you could be zooming six feet in the air, and two, I needed to get to school faster than walking would allow. I still made it to the brick structure of Wolf Stream Elementary just before the bell rung. For now, my reputation was safe. The class, as normal, was filled with activity when I walked in. Skye was talking with Isac, one of our good friends by the open doorway when I walked in. The halted their conversation to look at me. Skye's dirty blond hair was combed out today- no, it was straightened. She had been trying to make a good impression on Conor recently. He was another one of our good friends, whom many of the girls considered to be good looking. Her t-shirt and shorts for some reason seemed more formal than they used to. Nothing had changed really, it was more or so just Skye's general appearance that had changed. Isac still looked the same. Olive skin, brown eyes like Skye's, and short black hair. I was nearly convinced that his appearance would never, ever change. "What's up?" said Skye as she looked at me, leaning up against the doorway. Isac had dispersed to talk to Conor and Quanten. "Nothing," I muttered, and stalked past her. Mornings weren't my strong suit. Then again, were they anybody's? Maybe Peymela's.... Skye seemed to be a bit taken aback by my hostility, but she knew I wasn't a morning person ether. Skye was extremely hard to wake up in the mornings- I knew that from our various sleepovers. As I went to hang up my backpack in the back of the room, I noticed that our desks were no longer in the social squares that they used to be, but spaced out. And, it seemed like Mrs. Staller, our teacher, had meant to put Skye's and mine's desk on opposite sides of the room. As I took my seat, I saw a stack of very formal, thick white booklets making a home on the counter in the back of the room. The shadow of the blue cabinet above them cast the booklets into a darker light than the rest of the room, making the booklets look gray. I counted twenty, one was thicker than the other nineteen. The ninety nine percent of the booklets all looked to be the same size. Was one of these booklets for Mrs. Staller? After doing the typical morning work of writing with a prompt, Mrs. Staller announced what those booklets were for- she seemed a bit startled and taken aback by it herself. She clearly hadn't known about any of this. I don't think any of the teachers did. "So, class, I just received news that we'll be taking a different test than the State Test this year," she said, her short black hair frizzy, her eyes tinted with confusion. I don't think anybody that was staff in the school knew exactly what was going on. It was as if the booklets had just appeared on our doorstep. "Now, listen," said Mrs. Staller, her voice taking a sudden nosedive to seriousness. "This test, however, is even more important than the State testing." The whole class, even the stupid gossip girl chatter, fell into an eerie, stunned silence. Mrs. Staller had just droped a verbal bomb on us.

[Arrow]

Skye's POV The thought of a test even more important than the annual State Testing, or for grades above eight, the SATS, didn't seem real to me. Though some people might think that the not seeming real part was far fetched when it came to me, an avid believer in all sorts of the paranormal. Still, I couldn't think of a test kids our age that we would take that was more important than state testing. Mrs. Staller seemed dead serious though, and I wasn't about to question her. I looked around the room. Even the annual gossip girl chatter was silent with that verbal bomb. I could see some of the stupider kids and the classic looks on their faces- pure dread. I wanted to laugh, but I'd probably get in trouble. "We have to start today," Mrs. Staller finished, her hazelnut eyes scanning the classroom. I could now feel the pressure and strain in the air- we were not prepared for a test. Knowing Conor, he was awake until two am doing who knows what- he says he watches porn, but I doubt a fifth grader would have access to that. He's just trying to be cool in a tough world. I half expected the class to groan, but why would they? I think many of them were to stunned to even think about how late they stayed up, or how they had not eaten breakfast- I cast Loganna a shifty look when the thought of not eating breakfast came to mind. She didn't seem to notice my curious glance. Maybe she did notice, but was too deep in thought to do her "What?" face back to me. Brushing my fingers over the desk, I thought about what this meant- I hadn't exactly made it my top priority to get to bed early, ether, which wasn't exactly what I would call good. Skye Carsnn does not fail tests. Neither does Loganna. This test had just whipped in like those ever so common tornadoes now a days and taken everyone by surprise. I doubted anyone except Emilla and Delilah were probably ready. I could tell they were actually excited. Delilah was tapping her painted a flamboyant yellow fingernails on her desk, making a hallow clicking noise. Emilla was biting her chicken lips trying not to laugh at everyone's surprised faces. Had they known before now? Probably not, they were always enthusiastic about everything. The class seemed to recover. The radiation of shock and surprise had lifted, though the pressure was still choking me from above, choking everyone but probably Emilla and Delilah. Everyone in the school. Mrs. Staller had made it sound like everybody in the school would be taking this test. Any grade below third doesn't do state testing. So this must be a really important matter after all. I wanted to mutter a string of curses under my breath, but it would be pointless, so I gave up. With the oppressive silence shrouding the classroom in it's choking grip, somebody with sharp ears would hear me and turn me in- even though the boys dropped the f bomb various times in front of Mrs. Staller. To my dismay I saw that my desk was right in front of Zeli's desk. Great. If I did curse, she's surely tell. There's always been a rivalry between us, but I would get to pissed if I go into the details and not be able to focus on the test. I needed to keep my mind clear. Mrs. Staller seemed dead serious. All of our colorful, and educational posters had been stripped from the painted white brick walls, leaving everything bare and dull. Our classroom didn't feel the same without the colors- it felt dull, which the people in it were certainly not. She had even drawn the grayish white blinds over the large glass windows in the back of the room. The room felt empty. It didn't feel like our colorful room anymore. Who knew a test could strip you of more than just your cool? I could see the nervous looks on many of my peers' faces as Mrs. Staller handed out the thick test booklets like she was in a funeral precession. I could see the worry even in her eyes, which was usually filled with a kind and strong expression. Even this sudden, and quite demeaning test had broken down her walls. She must be just as nervous as her students were about the test. When she handed me my booklet, her shadow cast my desk into darkness. I wanted to look up and smile, but I couldn't seem to find the energy to. I just stared at the white, and fairly thick test booklet in front of me. It was as if the booklet had grown a face, and was taunting me. I wanted to take my sharp pencil and stab it, but then I'd ruin the book and a lot of bad things would happen. So I just gripped the pencil and flexed my hand over and over again in a weak attempt to relieve stress. it helped a little. Everybody else seemed to become even more choked by the pressure as Mrs. Staller slowly and solemnly handed out our test booklets. That was, everyone but Emilla and Delilah, who, in a way, were bouncing out of their seats. Emilla was making her lip bleed trying not to smile while Delilah was actually jumping up and down in her chair- she was known to be very, very energetic. She was a great girl, but sometimes, she needed to be a bit of a downer- she was always so happy! I couldn't see how she did it. I'm the glass half empty, negative Nancy type. Just ask my Dad, he'll confirm it for you. For the first time I got a good look at the looming responsibility, AKA thick test booklet, before me, staring back up at me from it's perch on my desk. I narrowed my eyes at it. I didn't want to take this test, but at least we got out of State Testing, which I usually scored pretty high in. Something in the back of my head told me this test would be even harder, though. On the cover of the test booklet was a poorly drawn picture of earth (I could have done SO much better) and words were written in bold above the earth- WORLD TEST- COMMUNICATION ARTS. That title stopped me in my tracks. This thick of a booklet was just for communication arts? Now that was messed up. Once again, the strong desire to curse, but knowing that stupid bratty big ears was behind me, I'd be in too deep. I was brilliant in communication arts, best in my grade, but, still, this thick of a book for just one subject was insane. Maybe we had to write a really long story. This might not be so bad after all, I though, and smirked. After filling out my name in the designated line space, I rested my still sharp pencil besides the booklet and began to tap my fingers on the desk. A lot of the people were. This time we got no special treats or anything like we did in state testing, because this test was sudden and uncalled for. I wanted to look to Mrs. Staller to ask her how long we'd be testing. In state testing, we usually only tested for an hour and a half or so. Only, Mrs. Staller's desk was clear of all her usual clutter of schedules and such, and her head was bent over her desk, a pencil in hand. Once of the booklets must have been for her, because it looked like she was thinking, hard. So I guess that meant we were supposed to start with the test as soon as we got the booklet and added our name. I must have missed Mrs. Staller say that. Turning the page, I failed to notice I had grabbed it wrong, and the sharp, white edge of the paper sliced through my finger. The pain was sharp and sudden, then, just as quickly as it had come, gone. There was hardly any blood, for thankfully, it was a small cut. There was just one scarlet drop glistening on that sharp edge of the page, and for a moment, I got a sinister feeling about this test. That whatever this sudden and seemingly impossible test was for, it wasn't for that they said it was, if we would ever find out what conspiracy they had come up with to cover up the real, and sinister, truth. I knew that Mrs. Staller, being a very well informed and intelligent woman, would have told us what this test was for. I must have missed it when she said it, because I didn't remember her saying anything. Maybe I should look at the whiteboard in the front of the class, the board stripped of all it's bedazzles as well. Mrs. Staller had written a simple, and very overused, message- Do your best. I'm not sure what the test is for, but always do your best, is what she wrote up there. Was that the best whoever had written this test could come up with? Just not tell those who would be given, or giving the test, what it was for? Or maybe, since the test had just appeared on our doorstep today, nobody here really did know what it was for yet. I'm sure rumors would be spreading like fire in no time flat. That was the fifth grade at this school- we're pretty much the gossip and drama capital of the world. Put a camera in the classes, lunch room, gym, and recess, and then put it on a soap opera or drama television channel, and it would be in an instant hit. or put it on you tube and watch it go viral instantly. I gulped and finished turning the page. I didn't want to clean off the blood. I wanted to leave it there as a clear message to whoever wrote this- I would do good on this test. I would blow away the averages, just like I did on State testing. Besides, this test was more sinister than it appeared. I had to quit getting distracted, and I began to focus on my test. I breezed through the first questions easily. Those first three or so seemed a bit too easy. Maybe even below fifth grade level, which would be like a fifth grader reading kindergarten stuff for me. Then, like climbing a mountain to the very highest spot you can possibly go, it gets harder. I hated how tests did that. They gave you a steady, and rocky and unpredictable climb to harder questions. Maybe the people who make these tests are rock climbers. After the first page, I stopped for a moment to look around the room, see how my classmates were faring. Loganna, Emilla, and Delilah, as I expected, were fine. We were the smartest kids in the class. Karissa, however, was very smart, she just wasn't in the gifted program like we were. To this day I've never, ever been able to understand why. She seemed to be faring well as well, but others were clearly struggling. Conor was already asleep. Big surprise. So far, this was just like any other big test. Sleep, nervousness, and total relaxation of some kids. I could tell this was easy for some and hard for others. That was just out class. I got back to my test. I was feeling really bored, but I knew I had to keep on top of it to get a good score. Later, after I felt like I needed a bit of a break from all this testing, I turned back to the first page, where my scarlet blood had sense pooled out into the rest of the page. I grumbled, hoping that it wouldn't mess up my score. Why didn't I think of that when I had the opportunity to wipe it up? As I looked closer, I was the letters "ETP" in the corner of the page. It was barley readable. I doubted that anyone could have seen it, and, I just happened to illuminate the three letters with my unfortunate cut. I narrowed my eyes. This really put me in a sour mood. How many more mysteries and conspiracies were in this test? The more I thought about it, the more I realized I was simply being illogical. There was probably none. But I was dying to know what ETP stood for.

[Arrow]

Journette's POV Mrs. Landlock had been grumpy and bitter in the mornings, as usual. She never, well, hardly ever, smiled at us when we came into the classroom. Only, today, Mrs. Landlock seemed extra grumpy. I had no idea why. Until I noticed that ominous warning in the back of the class on the counters- a stack of thick test booklets, twenty six in total, though we only had twenty five students, which a majority of we retards? What can I say? The boys were obviously gay or bi, or secretly girls, and most of the girls were more worried about their boobs than their grades. Judyanna, Emile, and I were probably the only ones who wanted to succeed in life. Though, I was a bit too distracted sometimes. Now, I was stuck at my desk, staring at a test I had no idea about. Mrs. Landlock just slammed them on our desks and stalked off. One of the booklets was for her. What was up with this? I hadn't eaten anything this morning. I had been in a rush to be to school on time for once, and was still half asleep when I came downstairs. I tried to grab a donut from the kitchen counter, but with my eyes foggy with sleep, I missed. Now, I was pretty much on an empty when it came to brain juice. Brain juice was a funny word. I looked at the person next to me. Frankie wasn't even trying to work on her test. She was writing a love note to yet another one of her boyfriends. There was only a few guys in this class who didn't make you want to vomit or call them girls, and Frankie always liked the low end scumbags (girls, as they should be called) so, technically, she was a lesbian. Our class had a unattractive amount of these immature things. Not wanting to look at Frankie and her long blond ponytail and end up jealous of her beautiful hair compared to my shabby brown straightjacket, I started drawing pandas on my desk. Mrs. Landlock had been an iron fist once again and taken everything away but a sharp pencil, and eraser, and of course, the huge test booklet, which to my dismay, was just for Communication Arts. Though that subject was my strong suit, I wanted to sleep. Or maybe jump up on my desk, do a hobo jig, flip of Mrs. Landlock, and run into Mrs. Staller's classroom, where Skye and Loganna, by two best friends, would be waiting. Unless they were taking this test, too. After looking over the first few questions and breezing through them, I looked at Frankie again. She had finished her love note to who knows what shemale, and was now reading a stupid vampire love story. You'd think that those would have died out like twelve years ago when they were really big, but, they didn't. Well, they just made a comeback a year ago. Frankie, however, has been reading the novels from twelve years ago. Sometimes, she acts like a vampire and chases around shemales... I would start playing tether ball before I saw if she actually did bite them. I wouldn't want to know, because she'd just look like a lesbo, which she's not. Frankie is actually really nice, she just likes the shemales (or in her mind males) because she thinks they're easier to hook up with. I would know. In second grade, I "dated" a really creepy guy named Zac. He's weird on every level, and a shemale (confirmed by Skye and Loganna, because their in his class) but I for some twisted reason, liked him anyways. He was just a nerd, nobody liked him, and well, I wasn't that high on the face rank ether. Plus, our weights were total opposite. He looks like a pudgy panda (now, at least) and I'm still looking like I'm anorexic, even though I never have been. Stupid genetics. I started writing the word MR. PUDGERS over the images of pandas that had been etched into my desk. Thankfully, Mrs. Landlock was absorbed in her test, so she wouldn't notice me drawing on my desk. if she wasn't, she'd criticize and punish me in front of the whole class. I stopped on the second page of my test. The booklet was thick, but maybe we'd get a writing assignment. Then I could write about a panda! That would be totally awesome. At the bottom of the page in black letters was "ETP". What was that? I hadn't seen it anywhere else in the booklet, so far at least. My initials weren't ETP. It was JMF. So why would they be there? Wondering if Frankie had the same thing on her test, I stupidly looked over at her again. She looked like she was dreaming. I didn't want to know what disgusting thing she was dreaming about her and one of the shemales now. Once her last dream "Le Songo" (Songo is dream in Italian) got out, nobody looked at her the same way again. I tried to focus on her test booklet. She had gone through three pages already. I knew she was a bit smarter in communication arts than the majority of the appearance obsessed girls in the class, but three pages in just about three minutes? That was how much time had passed since I saw her reading the vampire love novel... I didn't see the black letters anywhere on any of her pages. Looking around the classroom, I didn't see anything else like it. Had there been a mistake on my quiz? After I had shaded in the panda, who for some reason appeared to be extra fat in the poor light that was cast on my dark wood desk, I looked at the next question. This one sent me a yellow flag. Not a red flag. Yellow means red to me, but yellow is a cooler color, to me. Red is... let's just say I've started hating red ever since I learned red was Miarose's favorite color. How many people, on average, could a large space shuttle hold? Why would they ask that question on a communication arts test? That question had nothing to do with the basis subject of the thick test booklet. I wanted to draw a panda sitting above the print of the question, because it seemed like a dumb one to ask. I didn't know squat about space shuttles anyways. A. 20 B. 20,000 C. 4 D. 100 B seemed insane. 4 seemed too small for a large space shuttle. Even though I didn't know a thing about this, I just circled A. That was when i noticed how quite the test was. Nobody talked, which was a little weird, due to the almost never ending pointless chatter of the stupid girls in the back. The air felt heavy with stress. it was weighing down even my shoulders. The pressure in the air was even choking me down, ever so goofy Journette. I guess, for once, everybody was taking this seriously. Was this test this big of a deal? Mrs. Landlock seemed pretty bitter about it, though sometimes she could just be that way. She was a very sophisticated woman, however, and it took a lot to unhinge her. And seeing her twirl her locks of brown her in her fingers made me wonder if even she was unhinged by this test. And if she was, this was really a big deal. And for once, I decided to be serious about it, too, which was a big deal for an intelligent but doesn't act like it goofball like me.