Wasted - Andrea Smith

Part One

Prologue

Eighteen months earlier…

Emmett sat at the desk, his legs sprawled in front of him, waiting for the proctor to give out the test instructions he should’ve known by heart now. This was the third time he was taking the S.A.T. test. Why he was putting himself through it yet again was the obvious question.

Parental pressure. No, that wasn’t altogether true. It was actually ‘stepmother’ pressure. And he wasn’t at all convinced she really had his best interest at heart.

These tests were a bitch. He knew that from experience. But if you thought about it too much? Well, you just had to move on is all. Move on to the next question.

The ticking of the classroom clock seemed to increase in volume with each passing second. It was almost a distraction. A means of keeping the gears in his brain from churning out an answer. Whoever thought multiple-choice exams were the easiest types of tests? Nobody, that’s fucking who!

The muted sounds of a pencil dropping in the background, papers shuffling, erasers hard at work, fingers tapping, and knuckles cracking overwhelmed his mind. He ran a hand through his tousled mass of hair and willed himself to focus. The current question had him stumped. He’d been pondering it long enough to know he would simply have to guess, so he picked a circle and filled it in with his #2 regulation pencil.

He moved on to the next question in the test booklet. Jesus Christ, he could tell this one would be even worse if that were even possible. Some sort of algebraic formula with equations tossed in, and he was supposed to compare and decide which of the choices provided were correct.

Compare the quantities and fill in:

A) If the quantity is less than

B) If the quantity is greater than

C) If the quantities are equal to

D) The relationship cannot be determined

Fuck. Who cares?

His pencil filled in the circle in front of “D” on the answer sheet.

Move on. Got to keep movin’ on. The next question would be a killer; he just knew it.

Martina is traveling from New Preston to Washington depot and back. How many different ways can she make the round trip, going through Kent exactly once, Pauling exactly once, never traveling any section of the road more than once per trip?

(Note: This map is not drawn to scale.)

Are they fucking serious? Why the hell doesn’t Martina just stay the fuck at home and not worry about it?

Emmett dropped his pencil down on his desk and rubbed his fingers furiously over his closed eyes. He should get up and walk out. He wasn’t even sure he was going to finish high school. That being the case, why in the hell was he wasting a perfectly good Saturday afternoon sitting inside a cramped, stuffy classroom taking a test which would only prove he was NOT college material?

His stepmother had been coaching him, prodding him, hell she’d been nagging him. His only conclusion was that her motivation came from:

A) Having no children of her own to nag.

B) Hoping college would push him out of the crowded trailer next fall.

C) All of the above.

He chose “C.”

He realized he didn’t necessarily have to wait until graduation to leave home. He’d be happy to go now as long as he had the funds to support himself elsewhere. More paying gigs for the band might just do it. It very well could be his ticket out of Fort Wayne eventually. In fact, he was due to head over to Cooper’s once the test was over to practice in his garage.

The proctor’s voice broke into his distracted thoughts.

“Okay, pencils down. Close your test booklets, and turn your answer sheets over. You’ll now have a fifteen-minute break,” she announced.

Emmett followed her instructions, going out into the hall, opening his locker and pulling out his backpack. He had no intention of putting himself through any more S.A.T. torture. Emmett wasn’t going back into that classroom in fifteen minutes. Hell, he was nineteen now, he didn’t even have to step foot back into this school if he didn’t want to. And Emmett did not want to. At that moment, Emmett knew his plans had been made. The burden had been lifted, and the weight of indecision was gone.

He was going to devote his activities to Wasted, the garage band he’d formed with some of his buddies. They