Chapter 15 | Athena Hailway

  The constant clicking of keyboards is no help when I’m trying to think of titles.

  Today is the 20th of December, the due date for the military intelligence girls to turn in their project submission forms. While most have chosen to do their projects over their usual subjects, a few other students and I have taken on the task of finding a harder subject.

  Mine is quite simple. My project is over the terrorists that have already ruined my life.

  Not only did I make a friend that night, but now I have to live in a world where every person I see asks if the event is “getting to me” or if I’m going to “be alright.” I would appreciate the sentiments much more if they didn’t interfere with my schoolwork.

  I sit at my desk, tapping away my pencil trying to come up with a title for the submission form that will catch the instructor’s eye and give me funding to do the project.

  This is easier said than done.

  Each title must follow a few rules:

  1.  It must detail who’s intel is being gathered.

  2.  It must not explicitly state “I am gathering intel on ____.”

  3.  It must make the instructor enjoy reading it.

  4.  It must sound nice.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  It’s usually the last rule that causes me to restart. “How Terrorists Ruined My Life” was my working title for a while, until Mrs. Saspur sat me down in her office.

  “Athena,” she began, “I feel as though you’re taking your personal struggles into this project.”

  I look at my feet, “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  She nods, “I applaud the honesty, usually girls don’t admit it until we threaten to fail them for gathering over their old friends or secret admirers.”

  I chuckle, a classmate last year had tried to do a project over her own mother just to find out what she was getting for Christmas.

  “However, Athena,” Mrs. Sasupr continues, “Your personal struggles don’t interest me.”

  I nod, “Yes, ma’am, I understand.”

  She reaches over to her desk and grabs a clipboard with a few pieces of paper on it. She puts them in her lap and looks back up at me.

  “So, make me interested.”

  * * *

  Mrs. Saspur nods, her papers now full of notes. “I see. Well, Athena, I can tell you one thing. I sure am interested!”

  She hands me a piece of paper with a single sentence written on it, ‘I approve your project.’

  My eyes bolt to her face. I’m ecstatic. I can do my project!

  “But Athena, I have two conditions.” She grabs another piece of paper and writes down what she dictates. “First, you must participate in the multi-colonial Military Intel Fellowship.”

  I groan, this fellowship is something I’ve been trying to dodge since I got into this academy. The academy, each year, brings girls from the secret academies in the other eight colonies and has them tour our school and lets them shadow us for the day. They get to see our subjects, tell us about theirs, and we work together to finish a project over a subject at the end of the day.

  This may sound fun, intriguing, or even helpful, but I have learned one thing about it during my research over it. It’s horrible.

  Don’t get me wrong, Everyone learns a lot, practices a lot, and meets new people.

  But I do not like meeting new people, and I certainly don’t like working with other people.

  “I guess,” I begin, “I guess I can do it this year. But know I’m just doing it for the funding.”

  Mrs. Saspur laughs, “Yes. I know, but it’s always helpful to have another person there so we can bring in another colonial girl.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then, the second condition,” I listen in closely, “You have to change that title!”