Police Academy #1
“I can’t find my keys!” I say out loud. I look under the piling mail and newspapers on the side table by the front door. “I swear, I put them here!” I sigh frustratingly.
I see my sister Mary open the refrigerator door in the kitchen. “Well, it looks like I found them,” she says, reaching in to grab my car keys. “Why are they in here?” She then asks face looking quizzical.
I shrug a shoulder and walk over to snatch the keys out of her grasp, “thanks kid, I have to leave. I’m already late,” I rush out the last words before fleeting the front door.
Today is the day I start training at Clarksville Police Academy.
I never thought I would be on this career path let alone be in one in the first place. My sister and I have been through the foster home to foster home over the years after our parents passed away from a plane crash. I was only 5 and my sister 2 years old staying at home with the babysitter.
Thankfully, the social services workers never split the two of us apart. That I am truly thankful for.
I never exactly had a big interest in this career path only because I never liked exercising. But things have changed.
We just moved out of our foster parent’s house. Because now I am old enough to fend for myself. Social Services gave me time to earn some money from a small gas station I worked for, for about six months. I bought a small dingy apartment just for the two of us. I signed papers agreeing I will care for my little sister who is three years younger than me. I am only nineteen, so it is the first big responsibility I have taken in my life.
But now I need to better myself for her.
Be able to not stress over bills and worry her if she felt like she could not ask for my help. Like paying for her first prom dress or paying for her tuition. I only want the best for her.
So here I am. Driving towards the police academy in the city called Clarksville. They pay you on day one to passing the final test days. So, I will get paid for six weeks.
I pull into the parking lot and park my car. I walk out of my car with a black duffel bag in hand carrying it with me. It is filled with my sweats and gray T-shirts in it for training.
Walking in the doubles door I immediately feel bombarded with testosterone. So many men in the gym, many pushing weights, and lifting benches. I gulp.
You can do this Hailee. You are a bad bitch. You can and you will show no fear.
I see a guy with short blonde hair coming my way. His gray t-shirt is like mine in my duffel bag and all the others pressing weights. He smirks down at me, “hey baby cakes, what are you doing here? You lost?” He chuckles, a cheeky smile plastered his face.
I roll my eyes, baby cakes, really?
“No, I’m not a lost pussy cat,” I say, annoyed. He stares down at my lips in a fine line.
I see his jaws working, ”whatever,” he huffs then finally leaves my sight walking over to a couple of men stretching their legs.
I need to get changed into my PT clothes before the Chief arrives.
I follow the hallway down towards the locker rooms. Walking in I quickly put down my bag and start opening it. Stripping off my jeans and blouse I toss on my black sweats and a gray shirt. The shirt seems too small feeling my lower belly button show a bit. Dammit.
Putting on my shoes I drop everything in my bag closing the zipper then head out to the gym area.
“Alright, everyone, line up!” I hear a man shout and blow a very loud whistle.
Here goes nothing.