Prism Days

Toby’s clammy hand gripped mine, drawing my attention. The negative shake was recognizable as our eyes met. I bumped his shoulder and gripped his hand back, drawing in the encouragement. It gave some comfort, but the bitterness of stomach acid pooled at the back of my throat. Toby, my best friend, and future blue card hacker, failed to change my vocational scores.

The boisterous chatter and banter of our fellow students served as a reminder of the new pathway my life is to take. My fate is now set as a purple card. Today is prism day, the day where upcoming seniors are assigned a color in the rainbow spectrum and with that our future. What kind of future could I have?

Prism days, or how most of us call it prison days, was introduced a year into the great North American War. Senior year is now an intense year of specialization. Some power-hungry politician in a back room came up with the idea. Thousands of our nation’s youth now enter the workforce faster and better trained. They cataloged the most important career fields into five colors of the rainbow. The last two colors, hues of indigo, were known as undesirable. They used to mean something else, but I never knew what it was. I never quite knew why or what that undesirable meant until I heard the whispers of my parents. Some of the more vocal purple cards disappeared.

Purple has always played an important role in my life. Before the war, my world revolved around rainbows and unicorns. Violet was my favorite color, and just about every item of clothing I owned was that shade of purple. Today even the thought of the color clutches at my heart and sends tremors down to my belly.

I braced my hands against the coolness of the underside of the bleacher, trying to slow the cadence of my breathing to the nursery rhyme I learned as a child. Last year’s senior class president and number one future red card leader Amber Porter walked to the center of the stage. She waved to the audience as if she were a superstar. The ceremony was about to begin.

My hands slid on some powdery residue on the underside of the bench. I released the tension in my fingers and rubbed my fingers together, testing the texture of the substance. The distraction lessened the pressure on my chest.

Some students like Toby already have solid skills. Blues are the science, technology, and medical field; the reds are the leaders and politicians. Our orange cards are in the military or law enforcement. Two squads arrived a week ago and patrolled the halls of our humble high school in full force. This year security was stronger than normal.

All of our teachers, the yellow card educators, line the walkway to the podium, ready to cheer on each student as they walk to the front to get their color. Banners line the gymnasium walls, each one trying to outdo the other advertising banks or financial planning. The green card sharks working at their best.

Evan Robles was the resident urban legend of our school. Two years ago, he was the last purple cardholder from Walnut Hills High. The snapshot of the horror on his face went viral for two minutes until the image was scrubbed from existence. Almost as fast as he disappeared. There are no reports of what happened to him. Suddenly, he was gone. The rumors appear to be true.

Trying my best to appear carefree, I laughed at a joke told by one of my friends. Something about a yellow card and an orange card going into a bar. My upper thigh vibrated from the phone in my pocket. I read the mysterious text in surprise. All communications were monitored. The message was vague enough to be interesting.

“Jazzy, I’m sorry that your stomach hasn’t been feeling so good today. Maybe take a quick bathroom break before the first names get called.”

My stomach grumbled in response, and that bitterness from earlier rose fast. I jumped up and raced down the steps, covering my mouth, trying to keep everything in.

I was too busy throwing up to notice two things, the man that crawled in from the stall next to mine, and the yellow card educator that followed behind me.

The bold knock startled me first. The little girl’s voice, which only could be Ms. Hathaway, echoed in the empty restroom. “Jazzy, are you alright in there?”

I sat back on my heels, but before I could respond, Evan Robles pressed his finger against my lips. “Say you‘re feeling better and will be out in a minute.”

Stuttering at first, startled at the ghost in front of me. I stared into the chocolate eyes of Evan Robles and repeated what I was told.

The door groaned as it opened, but halted. Ms. Hathaway called out. “Come get me if you end up needing help.” A swish and thud signaled the exit of the teacher.

I wiped my face with the cool cloth Evan handed me before he stepped out of the stall. Sustained by a small measure, I was ready to continue.

Evan slid a bag under the stall. “Change into this uniform and meet me and the end of the hall on the left.” The restroom door creaked out a groan again. “Act like you own the place and leave everything in the trash.”

In a few quick motions, I changed into the security uniform that matched the one that Evan wore. After dumping almost everything in the trash and covering it with paper towels, I stared at the girl in the mirror. I gripped the heart-shaped locket in my right hand and kissed it before tucking it under the crisp dress shirt. Evan must not see it. The locket was the last thing my father gave me before he died. I inhaled deeply and opened the door to exit.

Pretending to stare at my non-existent watch as if I was in a hurry, I turned left. I set a brisk pace as I strode down the hall. Evan stood to attention, blocking the exit.

With a slight hesitation, I stopped and hunched my shoulders with a cringe when I heard the voice behind me.

“Hey, you!”

Evan tilted his head upward as if to say, “Keep coming.”

I stepped forward, trying to maintain the illusion of confidence, but it was too late. Thuds of the footfalls from whoever was behind me rushed at me while Evan threw something past me.

The whoosh of air surrounded me, along with thick smoke. I launched myself over towards the doors, but a man grabbed my arm and yanking me backward.

The smoke from the bombs blocked my vision, but I could still hear the surrounding movement around me. I couldn’t tell one grunt from the other, but I knew there was a victor when I heard the crunches of several broken bones.

“Let’s go.”

The voice was recognizable and for the first time today; I felt hope.

I grasped Evan’s hand, and running together, we escaped from the building.

A beat-up truck that was more rust than blue waited for us with a driver and the engine running. Evan shoved me into the truck and pushed me towards the middle as he leaped in behind me.

The metallic clang of the building door rang out as it slammed into the wall behind it. That same voice shouted out, “Stop them.”

I had a much better look at the guy chasing me. He held his right arm close to his body. However, I could still make out the odd angle of broken bones. The face was familiar in the light of the day. Roderick Rogers, also known as Double R, and Evans’ best friend.

I snapped my neck back to focus my gaze back on Evan.

“We’re on opposite sides now.”

I settled back into my seat and nudged him. “That’s rotten luck. I’m sorry.”

It only took one bullet to hit the truck, for the instincts of the driver to kick in. The engine revved, shooting us forward while Security was still scrambling to their vehicles. We turned left without stopping at the stop sign and dashed forward again this time.

I looked behind us and saw the familiar bright orange vehicles behind us. Securing myself as best I could, I leaned back against the seat and secured myself with my foot on the dashboard. We took about a dozen more turns enough after driving varying lengths of time. I still slammed into Evan from time to time. This truck might look like a rust bucket, but under that hood, it has guts.

“I’m not able to lose them.” Peter, as I now know, our driver grimaced as he downshifted. “Get Ready.” He parked the truck vertically across the way we had come.

Evan grabbed my arms and yanked me out of the truck. “We’re switching vehicles.”

This time I snapped my seatbelt in. I could see an orange vehicle gaining on us. We took off at a bang literally. The truck exploded into flames, blocking the roadway.

We sped off again, making a few quick turns. Eventually, we slowed down to drive at a more reserved and legal clip. We backtracked several more times before we set a pace on backroads, taking our path away from the city.

The sun had set long before we pulled off paved roads and onto gravel and then dirt roads that teased the edge of a forest. A saw a light in the distance further into the forest.

Pete pointed at the lights. “We’re almost home.” A few minutes later, we parked to the side of a large clearing, all lit up. Crowds of people gathered in the open space. Evan grabbed the handle and tilted his head to where I could make out his face from the shadows.

His boyish grin accompanied a wink. “Welcome to the resistance.”