As Victoria departed from the classroom, ridden with annoying children, of some who she tolerated, she quickly realized that, despite her short time, here, her familiarity with the school already shone through, easily navigating the twists and turns, up to the second floor, upon where the Art Bridge, was, towards the Art Building, hovering over a street, in translucent glass and pearly concrete. Keeping pace in order to reach her class, she sped towards the bridge, before meeting to the opening of the stairs. Once she reached one of the four lunchrooms, color coded with the unique colors of the primaries, with an addition of green, she turned a corner, upon where a board for advertising one’s clubs, a group made for a specific purpose, to do extracurricular activities, was found, with a spot empty, possibly indicating room for one more. Crossing the bridge, Victoria noted the fading of summer once more, as autumn breeze struck the city, violently, chilling the leaves off of trees, quite literally. She walked further ahead, into the Art Building’s second floor, of which was comprised of social science classrooms and math classrooms, with the Math Department at its end, and a single room for art; the fashion classroom, which was the first doorway, out of many, in a seemingly lengthy hallway, empty, if not for the paintings dotting the walls.

Victoria crossed the cold, blank corridor, with delicate paintings of various topics, stuck within dark frames, hanging upon the white, brick patterned walls of its surroundings. As the Geometry Class Victoria took was at the end of the hallway, she had a plentiful amount of time to marvel at the artistry that went into each artwork, and as she slowed to examine the details of each one, she looked towards her right, and saw, not only entrances to other classrooms, of which were other math classrooms, as well as one themed around fashion, but also of the other students, around her height and, seemingly, age, as well, that were moving towards the ending of the glossy, reflective hallways, which ended in glass panes that lined the walls, and containing an opening towards the other side of the Art Building’s second floor. Each painting had a different artists, all with imaginative names that she believed weren’t the real names of these expert painters, and it showed in their design; streaky paint marks and layers revealing; flat, even paint that made for a more sleek and geometrical painting, of which was fitting for the section of mathematics; and a flowingly watery painting that was likely made with specific watercolors and its procedures, as well as more, split up by a simplistic, metallic water fountain.

While surveying the premises, in front of her, Victoria saw a towering figure, continuously moving forward, indicating that they may have been headed towards the same class as her, or perhaps, they may have been heading there, for teaching purposes. They were amicable, enough, with draping, yellow hair that had been tied up long ago, and wearing a tight, striped sweater that kept their wrinkles from being as prominent, though Victoria could still spot the blemishes of age. Having the class everyday, she already knew who this was. Ms. Oni, who did, indeed, teach her Geometry Class. She also saw a few other people, who were likely more her age, wandering systematically towards her location of desire; the classroom, along with the aged teacher, who walked considerably guardedly and seemed to wobble slightly with each step they took. Despite having gone to the class for two days, at this point in time, she barely recognized anyone, except for one special individual, who she noted above the rest, and who she also saw in her peripheral vision, currently. A person with a similar stature, though darker complexion, Timothy was an outspoken person, comparatively to Victoria’s reservedness for most subjects, and was noticeably vocal about his, oftentimes, incorrect opinions, intriguing Victoria due to his confidence, of which she wanted to inherit some of. She also knew another person of interest attended her class at the same time; Eric, Andrew’s younger brother, who was about the same age as her, and appeared somewhat like Andrew, though somewhat more youthful, and perhaps, playful, as well, though with only two periods spent with him, she couldn’t quite decipher who he was like, and if he had any similarities with his older sibling; the one Victoria knew, at least.

Once she had stopped pondering about the people who she would soon sit with, in a room, for about an entire hour, she had approached the entrance, where she had seen that the room was noticeably empty, at least, until Victoria walked in. When she did, she took in the scenery, of curtain walls shrouded in rising sunlight, as the days dimmed towards winter, and glassy tables, made up of the simple colors of black and white, along with matching chairs, that were indented and gray, but she also made another discovery; there were people already in the room, though they were simply hiding from the preview of the open chamber. Gathered into a little group, there was a gathering of two people; both recognizable, from Victoria’s point of view, with not only their appearance, but their equally contrasting personalities, which made them the antithesis of Victoria, though she, too, was rather off, too. Despite their familiar and identifiable traits, however, she couldn’t quite grasp at their names, but, hopefully, she would soon remember such identifiers, for she would soon learn the thing that they would spend their time within this class working on, for a week.

Once everyone had entered the room, class quickly started, as the bell chimed its hollowed tune as soon as Ms. Oni entered the room, and she soon began to turn on the class projector, of which would soon project what the class time was to be allotted towards, with Victoria sitting at her arranged seating placement, with the one person of the aforementioned duo, and Timothy, along with Eric. When the classroom’s projector finally finished heating, it displayed a slideshow upon a glowing whiteboard, taken from the professor’s computer, and, as the slow process of opening the computer to the correct document was taking place, Victoria spied on her other tablemates, though how secretively, was dependant on the perceptiveness of the others. She already had information on Eric, who she had made friends with in Biology, but not as much on Timothy and the one with hazel hair, who she only knew from a basic overview of their most remarkable attributes, and they, similarly, weren’t too sure of what to make of the crimson haired person who had been sat in front of them, either, though, despite having been in each other’s surroundings for awhile, it seemed the charm and allure of the hair still stuck on, especially after Victoria told them it was completely natural. The dwelling on this, however, would soon cease, when Ms. Oni finally managed to operate the slideshow to the correct slide for the correct class, and therefore, in sequence, began to speak, as well:

“Welcome back, class,” greeted Ms. Oni, though with a distant tone, “I don’t know how much time we have left until they issue another one of those mandatory, scheduled bomb drills, so we must go through this, fast,” she said, as she flicked through a few more slides, to perhaps get to the crucial info that she had been escribing to her listeners. “Okay, so, today, we are going to start on a project about irrational numbers! Like pi, which we will begin discussing, about, say, in early spring? Or the symbol of phi, or the golden ratio, which we will discuss in a brief unit in winter, to perhaps help you on the English architecture project, made mostly by Ms. Cwena, who I am sure all of you have met, already,” which was, indeed, a true statement, at least for Victoria. Ms. Cwena was an elder teacher that Victoria suspected might have been older than her grandparents, before they died, of course, and held a patchwork walker around her during her hourly walks around the premises of the high school, or within it, as well, but despite having spent many years, here, she seemed to be wayward in her ways, perhaps due to senility. “Anyways, today, you will begin this project, and, no, before you ask, your partners have already been decided. They’re your table partners!” she announced joyfully, straining her voice, as though an octave too high out of her vocal range. “You will decide on a fun irrational number to talk about, whether it be the two previously mentioned options, or any other that fits said description. Any questions?” Ms. Oni asked, and, near instantaneously, Timothy shook violently and hopped around in his seat confines, shaking his table as though an earthquake was occurring. Groaning, Ms. Oni asked him what the question was.

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“So, um, like, can we pick any number? I mean, an irrational number?” responded Timothy, blissfully unaware of the perturbation and waste of time this question had been, for if only he listened when she had been speaking. Disappointedly, Ms. Oni answered with a simple answer: yes, and though as an omen, a few seconds afterwards, there was an almost stereotypical sound of a siren, blaring at the highest volume, signaling for them to evacuate the room, though, unlike the ordinary panic that would ensue if this was a true alarm, people orderly got up, before leaving the room, for one of the bomb shelters that littered the school’s underground. Victoria, while moving about the school, had noted stairways that led downwards, upon the first floor, and with arrows pointing down and signs with the nuclear symbol stamped onto the plastic surfaces, it was clear what the intent or purpose of these shelters were. Using the school map, Victoria saw that, while the Art and Peace Building seemed to have none, the PE and Main Building had a few, to compensate, with three to four bunkers, each, amongst the two latter structures. These said bunkers were only small, reinforced rooms, packed with compact earth and strengthened steel, likely full of supplies of food and drink, and these small rooms were what made up the ‘basement’ area of the school; merely an archipelago of fortified, underground rooms, that were unconnected to each other, and only connect to the staircases, above. She wondered if there could’ve been more bunkers that were covered up when staircases were remodeled, leading to them becoming forgotten and hidden forever; the perfect bunker, unless the supple amenities ran out. As their class was making its way towards the Art Bridge, she was standing next to the unnamable person, who would work on the project with her.

A notorious perfectionist, Victoria seemed to watch as the person walked nearly flawlessly, though, perhaps, with a little bit of ‘preppiness’, as described by Raina, while attempting to explain her use of these words, though the source was clear. They were slender yet plump; like a distorted eggplant, and fingers creeping forward like stalks of a vine, and rose-like ears protruding from both sides, displaying an interesting repertoire of traits that Victoria had never seen, before, at least, in such a collection. Piercing, dark eyes that seem to see the depths of Victoria, they were upon a wide nose, upon yet another ornamental piece that seemed useless, though its appearance was misleading; her mouth was perfectly functional, seen from the talkativeness of the person. She was wearing distracting, iridescent woolen clothing, with reflective pinpricks studded upon the wool, and dark navy jeans that had small, intentional tears on its folded fabrics, tightened by a leather belt.

Trying to make small talk, Victoria asked, “Hey!”

“Yeah?” replied the stranger.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Uh . . . Nop-”

“What’s your name?”

“Oh, uh . . . I am Rose. Rose Flores,” she shyly said, as though she was uncomfortable, talking with Victoria, even though she ran her mouth constantly at their table, which made Victoria wonder what the purpose behind this behavior was, or perhaps it was habitual, though Victoria did notice her antsy attitude after befriending Eric, after Biology Class.

“Cool. I am Victoria,” responded Victoria, though it was somewhat stunted by the lack of confidence from Victoria, and the increased anxiety, from the increased traffic from the flow of people during the bridge crossing. “So, like, uh . . . what is your favorite flower?”

“Oh, uh, my favorite flower is the morning glory.”

“Huh. That’s surprising.”

“How so?” asked Rose, making Victoria gulp a bit.

“Oh, it’s just pretty, and looks sort of like a trombone,” she responded, adding, “Did you know I play the trombone?”

“That’s cool, I guess!” Victoria shouted, as they neared yet another siren, blasting out powerful, irritating sound waves across the school, as they neared the ending of the bridge, where the Art Building connected to the Main Building, and also where Victoria and Rose’s English Class was located at, along with the other two.

“So, Victoria,” stated Rose, as she scratched her skin as though to relieve pressure from the cacophony of noises; a mix of an alarm and other students chattering and their loud steps. “Why is your hair red?”

“Oh, sorry,” apologized Victoria, apathetically, considering how nearly everyone she meets eventually asked the question of how she got her hair, with most assuming that it was dyed, which equally bothered Victoria, due to knowing the truth, but not the full extent of its creation. “I kinda don’t know why? All I know is that it is natural.” I bet she’ll ask something else dumb, like ‘how do you not know?” The audacity of some of thes-

“Oh, okay, that’s fine.” Huh. As they turned around a corner, with the walls plastered with posters of club activities and achievements of the school, with one oddly empty area, without anything, they neared a stairwell, and with that, the hordes of children clambered down the stairs to the nearest bunker, as though an actual raid was occurring. There’s no way they would attack Onaxago, right? Aside from the lack of concern, it seemed that their minute minute of talking amongst themselves was over, as they rushed to the shelters that Victoria was already familiar with, from elementary school. Crawling down into a stairway, there was a small, rusted elevator that seemed rather hazardous, were it not for its seeming condition of recent use, even before the drill had begun. As the teachers rallied up the students to take turns descending downwards, and others leading their population away to a different bunker to avoid crowding, it was greatly chaotic, to a degree.

And as Victoria boarded the elevator, it was ridden downwards, covered with a pattern of snails, like the golden rectangle, made using the golden ratio. It got darker, and darker still, until Victoria suddenly felt as though the elevator had bumped onto a crevice, and then the door opened. With this, Victoria saw a large, subterranean bunker, with metal shelves lining the walls, full of daily essentials, such as stockpiles of food, water bottles, and most importantly of all, makeup products. But they weren’t alone; for with not only her group, she saw a mass of people, and finally understood the reasoning behind the herding away of the other attendees of this building.

As she surveyed the area, the elevator door closed behind them, and didn’t come back, and with that, she saw a whole array of people of whom she knew. It seemed as though they had locked eyes with her, too. Staring at her, or at the golden ratio behind her.