The Elite Trials

You Think You Have a Choice?

I was in the middle of helping my little brother with his homework when the knock came. The kind of knock that makes the whole house go quiet. Momma was stirring beans on the stove, the spoon scraping the bottom of the pot. Dad was laughing at something my brother said, his chair tilted back on two legs like he always did when he was relaxed. The table was covered in crayons and crumpled paper. My brother was drawing a picture of me with big gold eyes and braids, the way he always drew me. I was teasing him about his terrible spelling when the knock came. Loud. Sharp. The kind of knock that stops everything.

The room went quiet. Mom's spoon stopped stirring. Dad's laugh cut off. My brother looked up at me with big eyes like he knew something was wrong. I stood up first, wiping my hands on my jeans. My heart was already beating too fast.

I opened it, and two Republic officers were standing there. Clipboards. Cold faces. Matching uniforms pressed so perfectly that they made my stomach hurt just looking at them.

They didn't say good morning. Didn't ask if this was a good time. One of them just looked down at his clipboard and said my name like it was a number he was checking off a list.

"Jada."

That was it. That was all.

"What is this?" Dad stood up so fast his chair scraped back against the floor. "What's going on?"

"Your daughter is being drafted for the Elite Trials," the officer said. Flat. No feeling behind it at all. "She'll be coming with us."

"Coming with you?" My mom's voice came out small. She was still holding the spoon. A drop of bean broth hit the floor, and nobody moved to clean it up. "Right now? She can't — you can't just —"

"The agreement was signed," the second officer said. "She goes today."

I didn't even have time to think. One of them stepped forward and grabbed my arm. Not rough exactly, but firm enough that I knew there was no asking him to let go. I yanked back anyway.

"Don't touch me —"

"Jada." Dad moved toward me, and the second officer blocked him. Just stepped right in front of him like Dad was nothing. Like he wasn't even a person worth addressing.

That's when everything broke open.

"No!" I dug my heels into the floor, pulling against the officer's grip with everything I had. "Get off me — let go — "

"Jada, stop," the officer said, like I was being dramatic. This was embarrassing behavior. Like I was the problem.

"Jada!" My brother's voice cracked straight through me. He was standing up on his chair now, his little drawing still in his hand, eyes wide and glassy. "Jada, where are they taking you?"

"Ciro, stay there," I said, but my voice came out broken and wrong. "It's okay, just stay —"

"It is not okay!" He threw himself off the chair and ran at the officer, grabbing me, hitting him in the side with both fists. He was nine years old and small for his age, and it didn't do anything except make my chest feel like it was caving in. "Let her go! Let my sister go!"

"Hey —" The officer grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back, not hard, but enough. My brother stumbled. That was it. That was what made me completely lose it.

"Do not put your hands on him!" I screamed. I twisted so hard I almost got free. Almost. The officer tightened his grip and grabbed my other arm too, and now I was being steered toward the door whether I wanted to go or not.

Momma was crying. I heard her before I saw her, that quiet kind of crying that's almost worse than loud because it means she already knows there's nothing she can do. Dad had his arm around my brother now, holding him back, and my brother was screaming my name over and over, his voice getting higher every time, and I kept trying to turn around and look at them even as the officers pushed me through the door.