The Wednesday morning light streamed through the windows, reflecting off the shiny surface of the tablet in front of me as the other pilots filed in. There were thirty of us in this class. Statistically speaking, that many of us wouldn’t graduate.
“First rule in my class is to turn off your cell phones. I hear it go off, and you owe two dozen donuts the next morning. No exceptions, because it’s rude to distract your classmates”—he smiled, his graying eyebrows shooting up—“and because I really like donuts. You’ll all note that you have tablets in front of you that will serve as your pubs.”
“Hey, Masters,” Jagger whispered next to me.
I slid my eyes sideways at him.
“This”—he pointed to the power switch—“turns it on. You know, in case you wanted to have a prayer of beating me for top of the class.” He finished with a cocky grin.
“Funny, I remember kicking your ass in Primary,” I remarked without taking my eyes off the instructor.
Jagger laughed under his breath. “It’s a new ballgame.”
I swallowed. I needed to be top of the Order of Merit List for two reasons. The first was to get top choice of duty stations after we graduated. Fort Bragg was only five hours away from home. I could make the drive every weekend instead of the once or twice I made it home a month right now. What the hell was I going to do if I got stuck all the way across the country, somewhere like Lewis, or worse, Korea?
But what was my life going to look like if I succeeded and wound up at Bragg?
A sour taste filled my mouth. I washed it away with the Powerade I’d brought to class and tuned back in to the instructor. I wrote down the dates he listed, trying hard not to think about the second reason I needed to graduate at the top of the OML—so no one would look too closely at me.
But I could do this. I just had to study my ass off and use the gym to keep my brain focused. No distractions. No extras. I made it through Primary, and I could make it through the Apache course as long as I worked twice as hard as every other pilot here.
“As you know, on Friday you’ll take your first 5&9 test. If you don’t pass, it will also be your last.” He leveled us all with the I’m-not-fucking-around glare. “You. Will. Pass.”
“Good thing Gandalf isn’t teaching,” Jagger muttered. “You shall not pass!”
“Shut up, or trade seats,” I answered. “Unless you’re going to let me borrow that uncanny memory of yours.”
He raised his eyebrows at me. “Someone’s on her cycle.”
The instructor made it easy to ignore him.
“Once your academics are over this week, and your 5&9 test is perfect, you’ll head to the flight line on Monday to meet your instructor pilots.”
He walked us through our tablets and the general course requirements. Now death-by-Powerpoint was handheld, but it cut down on the amount of writing I needed to do, so I was all for it. My brain fumbled a few times, but I fought through it.
By two p.m. I felt like mush, trying to store the incredible amount of information that had been dumped on me.
“We’re going to end our day early here”—Thank God—“but there’s one last thing.” Fuck. “Turn to the man next to you and introduce yourself.”
I turned to Jagger, who had his hand thrust forward. “Nice to meet you, I’m Jagger Bateman.”
“Very funny.” I shook his hand.
“Everyone acquainted?” Mr. Wolfton asked. We all mumbled our assent, even though we hadn’t looked around much. “Good. You just met your stick buddy for the rest of the class.”
“Sweet!” Jagger fist-pumped.
Fuck. My. Life. If there was one person I’d look like shit next to academically, it was Mr. Photographic Memory. I could outfly him with my eyes shut, I wasn’t blind to that, but I couldn’t compete with him on any written exam.
“You don’t look nearly as enthused as you should be.” Jagger grinned.
“Yay,” I responded with jazz hands.