Free ARC: Crushed by Eliza Crewe

joining her, and I have to jog a few steps to catch up.
    The bell rings and we pick up our pace to make it to S and C relatively on time. The ancient warehouse where class takes place was patched together so quickly you can still smell the sap in the new boards. One wall of the building had completely collapsed and was replaced with a large metal roller-door. It looks horribly out of place on the old brick-and-wood building but is a life-saver on hot days, like today, when it’s left open. Class is organized in circuits and, with the door open, I can see that our classmates have already started breaking up into their randomly assigned groups. As we walk up to the assignment sheet Jo groans, then makes a face at my happy grin. I love S and C.
    I’ve always been a badass, but thanks to the added strength and speed from the Inheritance ceremony, I impress even myself. Plus, after seven hours in hostile territory, I can’t help but delight in ninety minutes in which I get to remind everyone they shouldn’t mess with me. I’m Bruce Banner all day, but in S and C I get to remind everyone that I am, in fact, the Hulk. For ninety minutes I can turn it over to the beast. Footrace? Hulk, run! Hurdles? Hulk, jump! Punching bags? Hulk, smash! Weight-lifting! Hulk is the strongest there is!
    Actually, screw the Hulk. He only kicks ass when he’s pissed. I take names all day.
    Meda is the strongest there is!
    I’m sent to beat the boxing bags (Meda, smash!), while Jo’s off to weightlifting.
    I square off with my canvas-covered foe and kick its ass in a flurry of fists and dust. I pause and notice the circle of kids around me, their mouths hanging slightly open.
    It never gets old.
    We cycle through our circuit, until we’re on our last leg – wind sprints. Crusaders are fast, Olympic-record fast, but I usually lap them by one and a half. Or, if I’m really determined to sweat through a hideous pink shirt, two to one. Today it seems like it’s more three to one, as I zip past Mark, a tallish kid with nice shoulders, for the third time, then the guy ahead of him, Saul.
    Then I notice they’re not paying attention to where they’re going. Their heads are twisted away toward the other side of the gym. As I loop around the orange cone, I look for the distraction. My tiny heart makes a tiny splash as it sinks into my stomach.
    Jo.
    She’s a third of the way up the rope climb and struggling visibly. Even the kids who haven’t yet been granted the Inheritance can pull it off, but Jo hangs about eight feet up flailing, her legs swinging.
    I’m reminded of just this morning when she opted not to scale the brick wall with me.
    Jo tries to clamp her feet together on the rope, but her bad leg slips, jerking her down six more inches. She stares up the rope in fierce concentration, as if she can will her way to the top.
    Or maybe she’s trying hard not to hear the whispering going on below. I realize I’ve come to a stop, as have the other kids in my group. In fact all the kids in the room are now watching her humiliation.
    “Jo,” the professor says calmly but without any mercy. “This is basic conditioning.”
    As if Jo doesn’t know.
    “If you can’t even climb a rope, how can you keep your Beacon safe?”
    Where does her Beacon live? In a tree?
    “Miss Beauregard, if you cannot climb this rope, I cannot recommend your continuation on probation.”
    Ouch. Back before I knew her, Jo was the head of her class; until she was attacked by demons. Both her parents died and her leg was ripped to shreds. She spent the last two years mostly bedridden. She was deemed a non-combatant and condemned to a future as a desk-knight.
    I know. Jo the accountant. Or worse, Jo the school teacher. I just vomited a little in my mouth.
    But after our battle royal with the demons a few months ago, Jo decided she wasn’t going to accept her fate. After much arguing, the admin agreed to give her a trial period: if she could catch up before graduation,