Page 10 of Galaxy Between Us

Yeah, I’m not joining that club.

With a scoff, I toss it in a nearby bin, ready to give up and tell my mom that I’m just going to be a loner at school. But something catches my eye beside the trash bin. Another flyer is stuck on the side of it as if someone tossed it without caring where it landed.

My wristwatch intercepts my vision.

Fourteen minutes until class starts. Good timing.

Bending down, I pick up the litter. The first thing I see is the illustrated design of a broken chain behind bold letters.

“Omega empowerment.” I have chills just reading it out loud. It’s just as intriguing as it was a week ago, but I probably won’t join. I just want to get through school as quickly as possible and make a name for myself. Something simple like ceramics or painting would be the easiest clubs to participate in, although neither of those really sparks any passion or curiosity within me.

Each club is so mature. So clean. There is no play outside and get dirty aspect. No sports or activities that get your blood rushing. Except for this activism club.

My eyes leave the paper to settle on my watch again. Twelve minutes.

Exhaling dramatically, I fold the page and stuff it in my bookbag before rushing to class. I’ll think about it. Maybe. I wonder if I’m allowed to start my own club. If I did, it would have to be Omega-centered like the rest of them, but I don’t know if I can tie that into astronomy. And I don’t know if anyone else would join. How embarrassing would that be?

Walking fast and efficient, I stroll into the science building which is a generous name for it. No nitty gritty science actually occurs here, but once I begin post-Omega studies, I can sign up for a lab cleaning class.

Sweat pours from my hairline as I march up the classy, wooden steps. Thirty seconds to be ten minutes early. Luckily, it’s the first room on my right. I make it just in time, stepping through the classroom door as the first one here per usual.

The professor glares at me as she sets things up at the front. She doesn’t like that I get here early, but whatever. I’m not bothering her. I take my usual seat on the first level of the tiered tables, willing my racing heart to cool down. I made it just on time, no need to freak out, though it was anxiously a close call. Not that anyone would care other than myself.

Five minutes later, more Omegas filter in. I’ve already got my notebook open, the syllabus tucked behind it, a spare pencil, and a pen in my hand as the rest of the class takes their precious time finding a seat.

Not many Omegas sit up front with me, aiming for the back rows instead. Some chat quietly while I wait politely and attentive. The professor greets us two minutes late, silencing everyone as she holds a stack of papers in her hands.

Ah, yes. Our first exam of the year. I’m eager to see how I did. We haven’t learned anything yet, but science is my forte. The questions on the test are supposed to show the professor what we know and what we need to learn, setting the agenda for the course. Still, I gave it my all, thinking hard about each answer and aiming for a perfect score.

“Now, don’t feel bad about any low scores as I hand these back to you,” she warns while passing out the graded papers around the room. Everyone waits tensely for theirs, holding their breaths as they assess the red score at the top. “These are only going in the gradebook for participation, so if you didn’t finish, or weren’t here that day, you’ll find yourself at a low grade for my class.”

Thank goodness. I should have one hundred percent in the gradebook then, but I’m still itching to see if my score is perfect. I sit up straight as she comes closer to me. A test is handed to the Omega beside me, and I glance at the harsh red mark that bloodies the white paper. Eighty-nine out of one hundred. Yikes.

I avert my gaze for their privacy, not trying to shame them for such a low score.

Finally, it’s my turn and my heart drops as the crisp packet of paper is laid gently before me. I reach for it, jaw hung slack as I read the score at the top. The professor swiftly moves away, handing out the rest of the exams before returning to the front to begin while I’m stuck frozen in shock.

There is no number at the top of my test. Just bright red words telling me to see her after class.

Deeply distracted by what this could be about, I barely pay attention to the lecture, hyper focusing on each question and answer from the exam. I double-check and then triple-check my work, but it all looks accurate. None of them appear to be incorrect to my knowledge.

When the hour finally ends, I’m locked to my seat with anxiety. I wait for each student to leave before collecting my things and venturing to my professor’s desk with my exam. My clammy hands tremble where they clutch the paper.

“You wanted to see me?” I whisper.

She looks up at me, directly into my soul, and her painted lips drop into a frown as she folds her arms.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to be honest with me.” Her tone is dangerous. My mouth goes dry as I teeter where I stand.

“Of course,” I nod sharply. I would never lie about anything. I have no reason to.

“Did you cheat on this test?” she asks quietly, nodding to the paper in my hands.

My heart palpitates at the accusation.

“No, ma’am. I would never,” I mumble honestly.

The professor regards me without blinking for a moment, an uncomfortable, heavy silence growing between us. I swallow hard.