Chapter 6 Three Years Before
3 years before Penny
We get herded down to the gym like cattle. Seniors packed shoulder to shoulder, backpacks thumping into each other, the whole hallway clogged with noise. Ryan groans the entire way, dragging his feet like we’re on death march duty.
“Career day,” he mutters. “Can’t wait to be inspired by folding pamphlets.”
“Bet they’ll give you a free pen,” Caleb says, smirking. “Your life will never be the same.”
I laugh under my breath, but the truth is I’m not excited either. The gym doors open and the smell of sweat, floor wax, and fresh printer ink hits me all at once.
Inside, the place looks like a carnival without the rides. Rows of tables with sagging banners. Posters taped crooked to the walls. People in suits or polo shirts smiling like they’ve been practicing in the mirror all morning. Piles of pamphlets stacked like bricks, waiting for kids like me to take them home and toss them into the trash.
We shuffle in, the crowd splitting into little rivers toward the booths. Teachers stand near the doors like guards, making sure no one bolts.
For the past year, everyone’s been asking the same damn thing: what are you doing after this? After graduation? Which school? What career?
And every time, I’ve given the same shrug.
It’s hard to plan a future when all I’m trying to do is survive the present.
On paper, I’m fine. Better than fine. A roof over my head, food on the table, parents who make enough money for clothes and tuition. A small job at the auto shop that pays for gas and the occasional slice of pizza. Friends who make me laugh until my stomach hurts. When I look at it that way, I’m lucky. Privileged.
But then there’s the other side. Parents who scream at each other every night like it’s a sport. Parents who probably don’t even know how old I am now. Or who I am. And me? I don’t know them either. Not since—
I shut the thought down before it finishes.
Ryan nudges me. “Let’s go collect some pens.”
So we dive in.
The first booth we hit is a university table. A woman with a nametag and a way-too-bright smile launches right into her pitch.
“We have one of the best journalism programs in the state,” she says, shoving a pamphlet into my hand. “Small class sizes, award-winning faculty, a student newspaper that’s nationally recognized—”
Ryan yawns so loud she actually pauses. “Sorry,” he says, grinning. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
She doesn’t even blink. “That’s alright! Long day?”
“Longest,” he says.
I thank her, pocket the pamphlet, and we move on.
The next booth is engineering. Two guys in matching polo shirts stand behind a table stacked with rulers, calculators, and something that looks suspiciously like free stress balls.
“Job security for life,” one of them says, tapping his pen against the pamphlets. “Engineering’s the backbone of society. You like problem-solving?”
“Depends on the problem,” I say.
Ryan grabs a stress ball, tosses it in the air. “I’ve got a problem. How do I survive another year of math?”
The guy frowns, already regretting talking to us.
Caleb picks up a pamphlet, scanning it. “This actually doesn’t sound bad.”
“Of course you’d like it,” Ryan says. “You’re basically married to math.”
They start bickering. I just smile, nod politely at the booth guys, and steer us to the next table.
Law enforcement has a booth, too. A man with a shaved head leans across the table, voice low like he’s telling us state secrets.
“Solid benefits,” he says. “Steady pay. You want to make a difference? This is it.”
Ryan smirks. “Do I get to carry a gun?”
The man doesn’t even blink. “With training, yes.”
Ryan grins wider. “Sign me up.”
I elbow him hard in the ribs. “Ignore him. He’s not serious.”
The guy’s eyes flick to me, then down to the pamphlets. “Maybe you are.” He slides one across the table.
I take it out of politeness, stuff it into my pocket, and walk away before Ryan can make another joke about tasers.
By now my backpack is starting to sag with papers. Psychology. Nursing. Business. Agriculture. Every booth has its own practiced speech, its own glossy promises of the future. I smile, nod, listen. I don’t want to waste their effort, even if I know half these pamphlets will end up in the trash by tonight.
Then I reach a booth that doesn’t have a smile waiting.
Two men sit behind the table. No posters, no cheerful flyers. Just a stack of plain papers. Their arms are folded, their backs straight, their gazes cutting through the crowd like they can see who’s worth stopping and who isn’t.
I pause in front of them, waiting for the pitch.
Nothing.
Finally, one of them looks at me. “Why are you here?”
I blink. “Because… it’s career day?”
The other shakes his head. “No. Why here? Why us?”
My throat goes dry. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I don’t know. I don’t have an answer.
The first man leans forward, sliding a single sheet of paper across the table. “The Army’s not for everyone. And the SEALs? Even less. But if it’s in you, it’s in you. You’ll know.”
His words land heavier than anything else I’ve heard all day.
I nod, fold the paper once, slip it into my pocket.
And then I move on, back to the booths with their banners and smiles, pretending I’m still just another senior collecting pamphlets.
After what feels like forever, Ryan sidles up beside me with a grin. “Alright, man. We’ve done our time. Thirty minutes of pamphlets and fake smiles. Feels like we’ve earned parole.”
Caleb checks the clock on the far wall. “Yeah, if I have to hear one more person say our program is nationally ranked, I’m gonna throw myself off the bleachers.”
Nate smirks. “There’s a back exit by the locker rooms. Teachers won’t even notice.”
Ryan claps me on the shoulder. “You in, Logan?”
“Absolutely,” I say without hesitation. My backpack’s heavy, my patience is gone, and the thought of fresh air sounds like heaven.
We weave through the tables one last time, slipping past a teacher who’s too busy yelling at a group of freshmen to notice us. The gym doors creak shut behind us, and the hallways are quiet — blessedly quiet.
By the time we push out the side exit into the afternoon light, it feels like we’ve escaped prison. The sky is clear, the air sharp with the smell of cut grass from the field out back. We head toward the street, laughing, the weight of career day falling off our shoulders.
I dig my phone out of my pocket to check the time. A new message lights up the screen.
Definitely Pizza Hut.
I stop walking, a grin spreading across my face.
Jemma.