Interesting, the word “echelon” means a level of command, authority, or rank, but there is something else called ECHELON, which is a not-so-secret-anymore governmental code name and surveillance program. Coincidence? I THINK NOT. ಠ_ಠ Any connection to this, Con?
I literally just picked a cool word out.
Ok but does the meaning fit well with the storyline or no?
I creaked down the steps, feeling it in my joints. Them and their stupid evaluations. Hopefully they came to the realization I was physically incompetent.
I sat down at the table, slumping into my chair. “Hey, don’t mind me making an idiot of myself. I haven’t eaten a family dinner in four years.”
“Don’t worry about anything.” August said in a maternal tone.
I finally noticed the new guy at the table. “Hey Pops.” I said.
“Stroke…stroke…slap.” He didn’t acknowledge my greeting, making painting gestures instead.
I glanced at December. She shrugged, and ladled some stir fry onto her plate. “Hey Dad, that’s Nathan.”
He studied me, his eyebrows burrowed. “Strong chin.”
“Uh, thanks.”
“Says a lot about a man.” He nodded firmly.
Well, mine was prosthetic. Did that change anything? The geezer didn’t seem quite all there.
“December, would you like to say the thanks?” Her mother said pointedly.
She huffed out a breath. “If it means I get to eat food faster.”
We all bowed out heads. The religion was completely foreign to me, but the concept was familiar.
Immediately following grace, Mr. Tremblay addressed me, “Hey, you like chess?”
“Nope, hate it.”
“Oh, cool. I like the horsys.” He turned back to the supper.
I got my results back the next day. They were quick. I was summoned for a visit to the Game Master’s office. What a neat title. What a neat guy.
His office was OCD heaven. Everything was labelled. Everything was in ramrod piles, on painted squares on his desk. He looked up from his computer the second I walked in. “Mr. Piedstock?”
“Nate.” I said, holding out my hand. “Nice to meet you Mr. Piedstock.”
“No, my name is…you’re being mean, aren’t you?” He finally caught on. He didn’t shake my hand. I was kind of hoping he wouldn’t.
I shrugged, and retracted my hand. “Maybe. Are you going to be?”
“Yes.” He said flatly. “I have some of the worst test results ever on my desk, and a perfectly fit adolescent male sitting before me. The stats do not compute.”
“I’ve lived the last four years of my life in front of a computer screen.”
“That is no excuse for dropping a dumbbell on your foot.”
“Hey, if you guys didn’t wipe those down every time they wouldn’t be so dang slippery.”
“Mr. Piedstock.” He carefully scooped up a single piece of eraser dust and deposited in an exactly half-full trash can to the side of his desk. He shook his hand once, and then wiped it on a handkerchief he whipped out his pocket. “You are an unconvincing fraud.”
“Hey, I flunked the tests.” I said. “What else do I need to do to convince you I’m not going to be part of your stupid videogame Olympics?”
“So this is about not wanting to play?” He raised a superior eyebrow.
“I mean, I actually did drop a weight on my foot, but yeah, I had little motivation to excel at those tests.” I said. “I mean, can’t I just take a PE credit or something?”
“Government mandate.” He said, and slapped my folder closed. “Your group assignment will be processed shortly.”
I felt like yanking my glove off and waving it in his face. I really did. But I hadn’t seen a cyborg yet here. And I didn’t feel like getting booted, not just yet.
Or, y’know, he could go a step further and slap him with his glove after taking it off. He’d kill two birds with one stone, showing his cybernetics and giving him a slap or two.
I creaked down the steps, feeling it in my joints. Them and their stupid evaluations. Hopefully they came to the realization I was physically incompetent.
I sat down at the table, slumping into my chair. “Hey, don’t mind me making an idiot of myself. I haven’t eaten a family dinner in four years.”
“Don’t worry about anything.” August said in a maternal tone.
I finally noticed the new guy at the table. “Hey Pops.” I said.
“Stroke…stroke…slap.” He didn’t acknowledge my greeting, making painting gestures instead.
I glanced at December. She shrugged, and ladled some stir fry onto her plate. “Hey Dad, that’s Nathan.”
He studied me, his eyebrows burrowed. “Strong chin.”
“Uh, thanks.”
“Says a lot about a man.” He nodded firmly.
Well, mine was prosthetic. Did that change anything? The geezer didn’t seem quite all there.
“December, would you like to say the thanks?” Her mother said pointedly.
She huffed out a breath. “If it means I get to eat food faster.”
We all bowed out heads. The religion was completely foreign to me, but the concept was familiar.
Immediately following grace, Mr. Tremblay addressed me, “Hey, you like chess?”
“Nope, hate it.”
“Oh, cool. I like the horsys.” He turned back to the supper.
After all, who’s the mod?