Teasing

The training yard was a rectangle of gray asphalt surrounded by weathered brick buildings. The cold morning wind seeped through the loose parts of her uniform, making the fabric rub against her skin like a constant reminder of her displacement. About thirty cadets, all in the same uniform but one that fit them like a second skin of authority, formed impeccable lines. Magi placed herself at the back, trying to merge with the wall.

Her instructor, Officer Valeria Costa, the same woman from the locker room, walked in front of them with the precision of a metronome. Her voice, sharp and clear, didn't need to be raised to impose itself.

"Appearance is the first line of respect. For the institution, for the citizens, and for yourselves. A slovenly uniform betrays a slovenly mind. Laziness. Indiscipline."

Magi felt the words were aimed directly at her, like darts. She stood as tall as she could, trying to prevent the shirt from forming that embarrassing bulge at her waist.

The formation was dismissed for the first practical exercise: basic immobilization techniques. Magi was paired with a young man with a broad back and large hands named Rojas (they weren't related, he immediately clarified with a smile that didn't reach his eyes). He would be the officer, she the "resisting citizen."

"Don't worry, bookworm," Rojas told her as he roughly grabbed her to practice a hold, "I'll guide you. I heard you're the new brainiac. This isn't like solving a problem on a blackboard."

The nickname "bookworm" fell on her like a dull blow. Someone had talked. Someone had told her story, her books, her scholarship. Her academic past, of which she was so proud, was a cause for mockery here.

The exercise was an ordeal. Every one of Magi's movements was clumsy, overly calculated where it should have been instinctive. Rojas's strength made her feel fragile, like a bird trapped in a fist. He never missed an opportunity to "correct" her with a tone full of false patience.

"Not like that, bookworm. Don't you read the instructions? Here, you feel, you don't think."

The laughter of the closest classmates was like an annoying buzz. Not openly cruel, but complicit. The sound burned her ears.

The straw that broke the camel's back was when, after a poorly executed turn, the excess fabric of her pants got tangled in her own boots and Magi fell to her knees against the asphalt. The impact knocked the air out of her lungs and a pang of pain shot through her kneecap.

An abrupt silence fell, followed by a burst of laughter that was no longer hidden.

"Watch out, the procedure manual doesn't cover falls!" a voice from behind shouted.

"Should I order an infant-sized uniform for her, Rojas?" another added.

Rojas offered her a hand to help her up, but his smile was wide and mocking.

"Relax, bookworm. The asphalt doesn't have to be that interesting. Get up, there are no scholarships for the clumsy here."

Magi stood up on her own, ignoring his hand. The dust from the yard had stained her knees gray. She felt the heat of shame rising up her neck, reddening her cheeks under everyone's gaze. Her green eyes, usually so full of curiosity, clouded with a glimmer of humiliation. She lowered her gaze, focusing on the specks of dust on her new boots, wishing the ground would swallow her.

Officer Costa watched the scene without flinching.

"Cadet Rojas," she said, and for a second Magi thought she was addressing her to show sympathy. "Clean that uniform. Dirt on the uniform is a lack of respect. And you," she added, directing her cold gaze at the other Rojas, "if you have so much energy for humor, you'll use it for twenty extra push-ups. Now."

The order wasn't to defend her; it was to maintain discipline. Magi understood it perfectly. She wasn't a person, she was a slovenly cadet who was dirtying the protocol.

As she dusted herself off, she felt something break inside her. The fragile armor of pride with which she had arrived was shattered, exposing the raw flesh of her insecurity to the mockery and the cold morning wind. Humiliation wasn't an act, it was a physical sensation: a burning on her skin, a knot in her stomach, the bitter taste of **** exposure.

And she knew, with a terrifying certainty, that this was only the first day.