Prologue
The Loop of Petra
"This is a joke." I laughed at the scenario I was in; if it was somebody else, they wouldn't. I was sitting at the back of my car, twisting one of the strands of my curls that I forced on my hair, which was straight. It was raining outside, heavy...like heavy. I waited for Dad to reply on the other end of the line as my dashboard just shone out the blue light that he was on the call. I only expect silence when I command, not when I question—speak.
"Marlena..." Dad whispered my name; he might have thought it was intimidating on me...well, it wasn't.
"That's my name. Yes." My eyes were fixed on the steering wheel, which was automated on its own. The rain made it a little hard to figure out some things Dad said.
"Do you understand how prestigious 'Petra' is? ...it is a ruthless competition for the ordinaries; it is your luck, and it is not a joke."
"Luck!?" I crossed my legs and leaned against the seat. "It is my potential, my work...and I never heard this 'Petra' before...except for the Petra in...Jordan. It is not even listed in the list of Ivy Leagues."
"That is, 'Petra' is not an institution for whoever to join...it measures...it measures what a person is, their data. Yours did not fit; it is upon my request and...the money."
I was furious at his words. My mouth was opened, but I couldn't let out the words instantly. I looked at the window...each droplet of water was flowing down in streams, and the steering wheel...whenever it turned, whenever it spun, I felt it in my brain, as if it was turned and twisted in ways that I did not want it to go.
"Your potential did not even get you into 'Trisenlake,' Marlena. I want obedience and academic concentration on your behalf. Once you're done with this... you're free to do what your heart sings."
"You've been saying that forever... 'Trisenlake' would not take me because it specializes in law... it's funny. "'Granwood' took me in, and that is where I want to go; this sophistication is not my th..."
"Enough of that. Enough, Marlena. I don't want to see you ending up in a theater playing a clown. You get that? ...you have no option, say yes and it is done, say no and it is done...you're going to 'Petra.' You will become an analyst or scientist specializing in...if you wish for biology or computer...whatever, but you're going to Petra."
I exhaled, but it was not a sigh; it was a breaking point...my throat was hardening inside as a lump, and I breathed to ease my mind from any thought of screaming. I was indeed surprised that my eyes had not started to blur.
"That is all? ...shall we end this call here..." I asked, almost cracking through my sentence.
"Anything...you may call us; you will like it there." With that, the call was over. I will not like it there; I don't want to be what they expect.
But there is no point in struggling now; the statement has been said.
