Chapter two
991 Words
The next morning, Annie woke to the sound of faraway traffic and sunlight slipping through the thin curtains of her small hostel room. The building wasn’t luxurious thin walls, shared bathrooms, squeaky bunk beds but the owner was kind, and the price fit her savings. Annie didn’t care about comfort; she cared about her future.
She brushed her hair, tied it into a ponytail, and checked her folder even though she had already submitted most of her documents. Today was the day the Academy released the first list of interview candidates. Not everyone got called, but an interview was a hopeful sign.
Annie needed that sign.
The walk to the academy felt longer than it had the day before. Maybe it was her anxiety, or maybe it was the city fully awake now, horns blaring, students rushing, and vendors calling out morning prices. She bought a small pastry from a stall but barely tasted it as she hurried toward the campus gates.
When she arrived, she froze.
The courtyard was crowded. Twice as many applicants had arrived, some hugging forms, others dragging suitcases, and many pacing with nervous parents. An enormous announcement board stood near the admissions steps, surrounded by a tense crowd. Everyone stretched and struggled to read the first list.
Annie rushed forward.
She squeezed between her shoulders, murmuring apologies, until she reached the board. Dozens of names were printed in tidy columns beside interview times. Annie scanned quickly. Row one, no Annie. Row two still nothing. Row three no. Row four nothing.
She inhaled and went through the list again, slower.
Her name was nowhere.
A cold heaviness settled in her stomach. She had the grades and the exam scores. Why wasn’t she considered?
She stepped back as another student took her place.
The boy with thick glasses the one she’d met yesterday appeared beside her. Hey again, he said, scanning the list. Did you find your name?
No, Annie said softly. Did you?
He nodded. Yeah. Ten thirty interviews. He lookedapologetic. They release more lists sometimes. Maybe later.
“I hope so, she said, though doubt tugged at her.
Then she noticed something strange.
A staff member stood near a side door, clipboard in hand. Every few minutes, he ushered certain students inside students in expensive clothes or those accompanied by confident adults. No waiting. No checking names. They simply walked in as if the rules were different for them.
Annie frowned.
She walked to a female staff member arranging files. Excuse me, Annie said politely. My name isn’t on the interview list. Does that mean I’m not considered?
What’s your name? The woman asked without looking up.
Annie Korah.
She flipped open a folder labeled Pending, tapped her pen on a paper, and said, Your file is here. Processing is ongoing.
“Is there a reason some students get interview slots early? Annie asked.
The woman paused. Different applicants are evaluated differently.
Based on what?”
Academy procedures. The woman closed the folder and walked away.
Annie exhaled, frustration curling inside her. Why was everything so vague? If the Academy valued fairness, why did it feel like there were two systems, one public, one hidden?
She sat on a bench under a tall palm tree, her folder on her lap. Worry prickled her chest. What if all her effort was not enough?
Across the courtyard, she noticed a girl her age sitting on the steps, hugging her backpack. She looked upset. Annie rose and walked over.
Hi, Annie said gently. Apply too?
The girl looked up with red eyes. Yeah. I tried.
What happened?
They rejected my documents, the girl whispered. They said one certificate was not valid. But it was I just collected it last week. When I asked questions, they told me to come back next year.
That is not fair, Annie said.
The girl nodded miserably. I saw something else. A boy came with almost nothing, no proper forms, and they let him through that side door immediately.
A chill slid through Annie.
Before she could respond, someone shouted, Korah! Annie Korah!
Annie jumped to her feet.
A staff member waved a yellow slip. Come collect your notice!
Annie rushed to him. He handed her the slip and moved on.
She unfolded it.
Your application requires additional verification. Report to Office 3B at 2:00 p.m.
Not an interview.
Not a rejection.
Something between.
The girl watched anxiously. Is that good?”
I’m not sure, Annie admitted.
Office 3B was near the administrative wing an area she’d seen only staff and certain students enter. As she walked toward the building, she passed the side door again. Another student was being escorted inside. Annie’s eyes followed.
That door wasn’t a shortcut.
It was a gate.
Inside, the building was cooler and quieter. The deeper she walked, the more polished everything looked. Photos of donors and board members lined the walls, giving people the power to shape futures.
She stopped at Office 3B.
Something twisted in her chest. Not fear. Instinct.
She knocked.
Come in, a calm voice said.
She entered. A man in a dark suit sat behind a polished desk. He studied her, then gestured. Sit.
Annie sat, gripping the slip.
Miss Korah, she began; you show strong potential. But first, I must confirm some details.
Okay.
You come from a rural area. First-generation applicant. His tone was neutral, but something in his eyes sharpened. Students in your situation sometimes need guidance.
Guidance how? She asked.
Opportunities come in many forms, he said. Some students are willing to make certain commitments.
Annie didn’t know what he meant, but she didn’t like it.
I only want admission based on my work, she said firmly.
His eyes narrowed. Very well. Your file will continue through the standard process.
Dismissed, she stood and left the room.
Stepping into the sunlight, one thought pulsed in her mind:
Something is wrong here. And she needed to find out what.
- Writer
