“Come on…Five more minutes…”

 

“I gave you five more minutes ten minutes ago!”

 

Henry’s first meal of the day was a soft pillow born of Flaffy wool. Percy slammed it on his face with the force of a Hammer Arm. “If we’re late Henry–so help you heavens! This is a minus fifteen, easily!”

 

Henry groaned. Falling asleep had been such a monolithic task, he felt he needed rest from resting. “Alright, alright…I’m moving…”

 

“Move faster! I can already hear everyone else stampeding through the halls–come on!”

 

And yet another Pillow Attack.

 

An early sunbeam danced through the window, and it sounded like a Beedrill was just beyond its glass. Henry rose from his sloth, his head heavy with late-night thoughts. He had spent most of that period between the waking and dreaming worlds racking his brain over just what it was he wanted to accomplish with his day–the first day of his new tomorrow.

 

Percy waved a twin pair of papers in the air. The handwriting on them was sharp and perfect. “I already took the liberty of filling out both of our dormmate papers. You’re welcome.”

 

“Tha-anks~” Henry stretched, feeling his hamstring pull and tighten. All that running around yesterday was taking its toll.

 

“If we can get these to the Main Office upstairs in the next five minutes, we might just make it yet! Come on–get amped!”

 

And it looked like there’d be no respite today.

 

Luckily, the Gymnasium–where the main task of Forge Week was well underway–was only a skip from the Main Office; the locker rooms twisted off the corner to the Office’s right. Henry could already hear the roar of a hundred conversations spilling free from the stuffy basketball court.

 

But, in case you didn’t have ears–or maybe just got lost easily–there were plenty of tiny flyers screaming “Track Fair! Gymnasium! From 7:00 A.M. to 4:00 P.M. Tuesday through Saturday! Grab hold of your destiny!”

 

“So, have you mulled over your options?” Percy asked, peeling a tangerine as he walked, stuffing the peels into his pocket.

 

Henry watched his feet, wondering if they knew more than he. Why else would they move with such purpose? “I definitely spent a lot of time debating…In the end, I still couldn’t come up with any one thing.”

Percy ripped his tangerine in half, squirting a bit of the citrusy juice on Henry’s cheek. “All you really need to do is narrow it down to four and choose one to go after this year. You know that, right?”

 

Henry shook his head. This was the first he ever heard of picking “four” different options.

 

Percy slurped half of the tangerine in one go. “Mmm, seriously? Did nobody tell you about the curriculum here? Did you read up at all?”

 

Henry shrugged, his cheeks stinging a bit–and not from the fruit juice. “I mean, I did, but…I’m beginning to think a lot of my sources were…‘outdated.’ What’s all this about narrowing it down to four? You mean, like, four different tracks?”

 

Percy licked his fingers clean and tossed the other half of his breakfast to Henry, who caught it after a few near fumbles. 

 

“That is precisely what I am saying–yes. The way things work around here is a bit different from your more ‘traditional’ education. Here at St.Leonora’s, we the students get a choice of one track per academic year to pursue with heart and vigor. At the end of said year, we are awarded a plaque dedicated to the track we chose. We repeat this little dance all the way up until graduation–which by then, should see us with four plaques under our belts. Think of it as their way of encouraging our individual growths. We make the choices, and we reap the benefits. It’s quite liberating–if you ask me–but it can be a crutch, particularly for indecisive types such as yourself.”

 

“I’m not indecisive,” Henry rebutted.

 

Percy gave him a sassy side-eye, one that screamed “A stranger knows you better than you know yourself.”

 

“Henry, you couldn’t even decide if you wanted to grab breakfast or not this morning. And when I convinced you in favor of fueling your brain, you got stuck on which piece of fruit to grab–hence a tangerine feast for two–you’re welcome by the way.”

 

And what a  juicy tangerine it was. “Tha-anks~”

 

“Just pick the top four off your list and give the one you’re most excited about right now a whirl. Worst thing comes to pass–you can just drop it and pick something else. Though that wouldn’t be aligned with our optimal plan, so at least exercise some caution.”

 

Stepping into the Gymnasium was like entering the rim of a raging typhoon. Tables dressed in cloths of every color–every spectrum and subdivision of the spectrum, from burgundy to teal–littered the squeaky floor. 

 

Students clustered around, some groups larger than others. They shook hands with smiling professors and chatted with friends and potential classmates.

 

Percy placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Remember, you only have to pick one from four.”

 

“Wait. We’re not going in together?”

 

Percy slid his glasses flush against the bridge of his nose, giving a wicked smirk. “Sorry, my friend, but I’ve had my course charted out from the moment I set my sights on this place! I’m heading straight to the Ochre Track!”

 

Before Henry could inquire about the track, from the curiosity of maybe wanting to consider it himself, Percy sped off; he disappeared into the sea of coats and bags.

 

Philosopher Gary Muthiano once said “A sailor adrift at sea is perhaps the bravest of all men. For how could one hope, when being tossed about by the waves beneath? How could one hold courage, when at the mercy of wooden planks? I think we could all benefit from being a little more like the sailor.”

 

Henry swallowed hard his last slice of tangerine. Its sweetness grew bitter as it slugged down his throat. Four options? He could do it. Four was a definitive number; a limit. Once he met it, that was it.

 

And yet, the rainbow called to him: a woman with a bottle of MooMoo Milk stationed beside a stack of pamphlets showcasing a modest farm setting–she must have been promoting Agriculture Operations. Too close to home; Henry kept his eyes moving.

 

A man playing with a model train for a group of Freshmen. It looked to be a replica of the very first steam engine to grace the fresh tracks of the Steelix & Stern Rail Co. His Track must have been Transportation and Materials Moving–a vital job to the financial ecosystem of Nouveau, and a sound future for any who pursue it. Plus, it gets you closer to a different kind of “track” and Henry loved the steam engines.

 

Come to think of it, surely there would be an engineering track? But which table was its home? Going by colors was difficult when one lacked legend or translation for the context they represented. Henry kept his eyes peeled for something “engineery.” A stack of steel beams? Miniature, of course–only for show. Perhaps a bundle of gears and cogs?

 

Or maybe, maybe an early schematic of the Flying Grumpig, hanging from a rolling board beside a table with a familiar face at its side. She twirled her ponytail like a lazy propeller; her goggles idled on the table.

 

“Hey!” She perked up upon seeing Henry, a sentiment they shared. “Look who it is, walking around like a student now!”

 

Henry waved a hello to the engineer. He felt a little embarrassed having forgotten her name. “It’s comforting to see a familiar face at a time like this! Umm…”

 

“Hermes,” Hermes grinned, reading his face like a manual for his brain’s mechanisms.

 

Henry chuckled. “Right, I’m sorry. Yesterday was just so eventful.”

 

“Mm-hmm, don’t sweat it! You interested in the Marmalade Track?”

 

Henry adjusted his satchel’s strap. The damn thing was digging into his shoulder. Or perhaps that was uncertainty weighing down his blades?

 

“Do you teach this Track?”

 

“Why? Would that help convince you~”

 

“Well…let’s just say I’ve been having a hard time making up my mind this morning…And last night.”

 

“Woof. I get’cha there. No, I’m not the professor–wouldn’t be even if I was old enough and qualified. The person who does teach put me on tablesitting duty, though. So I can help you work out your decision if questions are what’s holding ya back?” 

 

Henry admired the schematics for the FG–black and white print on brown paper. In the past, it was just a dream; now, it was a glimpse into the moment a dream became an idea.

 

“Would you recommend this track for First Years like me?”

 

“Hard to say. How much experience ya got?”

 

“Aside from nerding out over gadgets like this, not much.”

 

“Then you’re probably better off starting with a track like purple–for Physics, or blue–for Mathematics. You can always minor in some Marmalade Track subsections throughout your years. Then, take it year three or year four.”

 

Henry sighed. “So I’d have to do all that first, huh…?”

 

Hermes placed her goggles atop her head, giving them a firm tug. “Unless you’re some natural-born prodigy at it!”

 

Henry grimaced even further. He seriously doubted–with every farm town fiber comprising his being–that he had any hidden talents or a natural knack for anything. “You look like you’re around my age…What was it like getting into the field so young?”

 

Hermes leaned back in her rusty chair, sliding it ever so slightly against the reflective floor. “Well, I’m probably a bit of an odd case. I grew up around stuff like old Proto over there, so I guess this was always in the cards for me. Couple that with my parents, and I guess you could say engineering is in my blood. Or, at the very least, the ability to grasp its concepts.”

 

Henry dropped his shoulders. “Right…I guess that would help…”

 

“Circumstance doesn’t have everything to do with it,” Hermes offered in the way of wisdom, “But it can help you figure out what you‘re good at. I’m sorry you’re having a tough time. If you care to hear some words from a wrench Mankey like me: look back to your childhood, your youth; see what’s there. If you can find even one thing that might have fascinated you back then, I’m positive St.Leonora’s has a path for it.”

 

Something from childhood? What else could be found swimming in that ethereal soup of memories other than haybales, Miltank udders, and corn? If Henry wanted a destiny filled with all that and more, he would have stayed home.

 

“Hermes!” A stout man waddled up to the table, panting for breath. The skin around his silver goggles was red-raw, and his forehead glistened like he got caught in a Rain Dance. “I’m sorry dear–I ran back as fast as I could!” He distributed all his weight between the back of Hermes’s chair and the table. “You can go see your mom now–thank you so so much–I simply would have burst!”

 

Hermes pulled a golden pocketwatch from her brown, baggy, grease-covered factory pants; she gave it a gander. “Well, looks like you owe me, Mr.Ripple. Now I’ve gotta run off to Urün to pick up an order of parts! I hope you can break the news to my poor mother about why she won’t be seeing her daughter again.”

 

Mr.Ripple bobbed his oily head. “I’ll owe it to you–I swear, I swear! You have my word!”

 

Hermes rose from the chair, letting Mr.Ripple’s weight take it to the ground. “Consider us even with that little lesson in gravity~” She sauntered up to Henry and smiled in his face. It must have been nice to be so certain of your future; oh, how he wished he could feel as free as she. 

 

“Hopefully we bump into each other again on my next visit! I never did finish explaining the Flying Grumpig to you!” 

 

Henry fought for a smile. “Yeah, hopefully. I’ll keep my eyes out, definitely!”

 

Hermes left with a wink.

 

Mr.Ripple strained his way back to the table from the floor. “Sorry—about that, young man!” he panted, “Are you—interested in the—the, umm—the Marmalade Track?”

 

Henry took in the schematics one last time. To his ignorant, bright eyes of yesteryear, they showcased a marvelous machine. Now, all he could see were numbers and dimensions he never hoped to understand. Not yet, anyways…

 

“No, sorry…” Not for a long, long time. Four years never seemed so far away, and yet, all too soon in a simultaneous twist of cruelty. “I don’t think this Track is for me…”