Life Before Legend: Stories of the Criminal and the Prodigy

Keep at it, Junebug—someday, you’ll shake the Republic to its very core. You’ll be absolutely unforgettable. I know it.

When you’ve been poor all your life, you never really think it could be any other way. And sometimes you’re even happy, because at least you’ve got your family and your health and your arms and legs and a roof over your head.

The things that make you special will give you all kinds of advantages in life, but they will also hold you back and expose your weaknesses.

Everything good about me, I learned from you,” I whisper. “You’re giving me too much credit. We got it from our parents.” Metias chuckles a little. It’s a sad sound. There’s another long, ten-second pause before he goes on. “You’ll find your tribe,” he says. “We all do. Someday, someone out there will see you for the girl you really are. Someday, you’ll find someone who understands you.

At least you understand me.” He raises an eyebrow again. “Sometimes.

I bet the Republic hasn't seen the last of you.

Someday, someone out there will see you for the girl you really are. Someday, you’ll find someone who understands you.

Poor Metias. He’s not supposed to be a father. He’s supposed to be out on his own, independent and free to concentrate on his job as a young captain. But somebody has to take care of me, and I make his life so much harder than it needs to be. I wonder what things must have been like for him back when our parents were still alive, when I was a toddler and Metias was a teenager and he could focus on growing up instead of helping someone else grow up. Still, Metias hasn’t complained once. Not a single time. And even though I wish our parents were here, sometimes I’m really happy that this is our little family unit, just me and my brother, each watching out for no one but the other. We do the best we can.

My brother reaches out and taps my forehead gently. "Behind that brain of yours is a good heart, Junebug. I see it every day.

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the great Republic of America, to our Elector Primo, to our glorious states, to unity against the Colonies, to our impending victory!

Ugh,” I snort in disgust. No doubt that girl’s some goddy rich trot living the sweet life farther inland, in one of LA’s upper-class sectors. Who cares what she scored on her Trial? The whole test is rigged in favor of the wealthy kids, anyway, and she’s probably just someone with average smarts who bought her high score.

Thank you,” she says. “You’re a good kid. I bet the Republic hasn’t seen the last of you.

Love you too. Keep at it, Junebug—someday, you’ll shake the Republic to its very core. You’ll be absolutely unforgettable. I know it.

TWELVE-YEAR-OLD TRIAL PRODIGY JUNE IPARIS BECOMES YOUNGEST STUDENT EVER ADMITTED TO DRAKE UNIVERSITY, TO BE OFFICIALLY INDUCTED NEXT WEEK.

Your strengths might make you hard to approach, and might make your words sound uglier than what you actually mean, but they also make people look up to you.

WHAT’S WITH ALL THIS TRAFFIC?” I ASK MY BROTHER. Metias leans forward in the driver’s seat and cranes his neck.