by B.J. Keeton
Chapter Two
The next thing Ceril knew, sunlight gleamed through the wall-sized window at the head of his bed. Only one of Erlon’s twin suns had risen so far, which meant it was early. He sat up and grunted; his neck ached, and so did his shoulders. He grimaced as he tried to work the stiffness out.
Ceril was bent double over the side of his bed, stretching his back when Swarley came back into the room, already fully dressed. He opened the closet door, stood in front of the mirror, and attempted to get the slightly snug dress uniform to fit correctly over his summer growth.
His dress uniform. Oh, no.
Ceril threw himself out of bed, ignoring his aching muscles, and rushed to his bags and began digging through them for his own uniform. Swarley was already dressed, and that had to mean there was less than ten minutes before they had to be in the Library for Presentation. Ceril had known Swarley for long enough to know that he was notoriously last minute; punctuality meant nothing to him. If he was already up and about, then there was no way Ceril would have time to shower and groom himself for Presentation.
“Why didn’t you get me up?” he asked Swarley, as he found the last piece of his uniform and headed for the door.
“Eh, you were sleeping,” Swarley said. “Finally. I knew you’d get up when you heard me come back in.” Swarley tugged at his collar. “Relax. We still have over half an hour before we have to be in the Library for Presentation.”
“What?” Ceril said, stopping and turning back toward his friend. “You’re never early for anything.”
“Phase II means more responsibility, Ceril. My dad said that if he hears about me losing any marks for tardiness this year, he’ll pull me out of Ennd’s and make me go to that military school my uncle teaches at. I’m a lot of things, Ceril, but a soldier I ain’t.”
“Me either,” Ceril agreed. Nothing in the world sounded worse to him than being a soldier.
Ceril’s alarm began to scream and ended their conversation. The noise validated Swarley’s claim they still had plenty of time.
“See?” Swarley said. “Not going to be late for Presentation. Now, does this collar look okay?”
Ceril grunted as he pushed past his roommate to head to the showers. How was it that Swarley had become the responsible one? He had always been the responsible one, waking Swarley up every day for years. He had even thought at one point that the boy couldn’t understand how alarm clocks worked. His friend’s newfound initiative unnerved him a little, but he didn’t know why.
Thankfully, Ceril was able to find the showers quickly. Every student at Ennd’s had to be immaculate for Presentation. Hair, teeth, breath, nails, clothes—everything about them had to be perfect. Or at least that’s the way it was during Phase I. Ceril assumed nothing had changed for Phase II.