Injection 1.3

"Meat? Are we sure I should be eating this?" I asked, eyeing the chicken 'biryani' set on the table in front of me. An Indian dish that the kid had fallen in love with.

"The doctor said that it is fine, your days of semisolids are behind you," Father said as he sat down beside Mother with a spoon set into the rice part of the dish.

"In that case," I dug in and as the first bit of the rice went into my mouth I had to admit, not bad.

Maybe they could tell that too since Father commented, "See? You like it."

I confirmed his words with a small nod.

Mother whose lips were pursed till then finally decided to speak her mind, "Mira, there is something important we have to discuss with you."

"Yeah?" I asked, shifting my face to her.

She began, "It's about your studies—" Father cut in, "No need to talk about that. She has been out for hours."

"No," I said, "Let's talk about it, it's the most important thing."

A sigh leapt off his lips at my words. Maybe he didn't think studies were too pressing a topic. Well if he did, he was wrong.

People have screamed atop the bluebird that you don't need schooling to be successful. Maybe they are right. But having a degree sure as fuck helps.

"See? She still has her senses," Mother's lips diffused into a faint grin as she looked at Father, to which he only sighed before going back to his meal. But judging by her smile, Mother didn't intend to let him go, so, before she could drag it on I butt in, "Which grade am I in?"

Mother froze, "Right," she mumbled, "You won't even remember that…Eight grade. The eighth grade is where you're at. Do you remember your studies?"

I didn't know, but I lied, "I think I should. Remember it's retrograde amnesia."

"Hopefully, you do. Otherwise, you might have to repeat a year, and your tests begin next week," A scoff almost left my throat, it was eighth-grader stuff, and if second-hand pop culture was anything to go by, US school academics are a joke compared to the Asian standard.

Hopefully, pop culture was true.

Still, "Next week? I will have to pour over my books," I said to her.

Nodding, she smiled at me, "I guess the abduction put some diligence in you too."

"Was I a bad student before?"

"Not really," She shook her head, "Yeah, you were a lazy bum though. You got the grades but you never tried to go…above and beyond."

"Are my marks important for high school?"

"Oh yes dear," Her ruby-red eyes reflected a seriousness I had yet to see, "Next year is your high school."

"That's," Father cut in as he started her down, "If she wants to go to a 'prestigious' school."

Almost offended, she bit back, "My daughter will clear the entrance test and will go to a better place than some public school. Got it?" The last part was more directed at me than him but he still bore the brunt of it.

"And what's the point? A 'prestigious' school as you call it will only burden her," Father folded his arms after pushing a piece of chicken into his mouth.

They were about to spiral head-first into an argument, so I interceded, "Mother, I don't think I am going to do well in a tough school," I could, but why make life harder for yourself?

Not that Mother agreed, she slammed the table with her right hand and stared at me, "Young lady do you hear yours—" Not letting her dominate the conversation I stated, "Yes I do, I hear myself."

Stroking down her anger she commanded, "Explain." She didn't have to tell me twice, "What is the requirement for getting into a good uni?"

"The SAT? And if there are separate entrance tests…" Her eyes got sharper as she answered.

"And does the school teach those?"

"No," She bit her lips and continued, "Fine, but every month you will have a mock test and I better see you doing well on those."

I smiled at her, she wanted to educate me a bit too hard, didn't she? Not that I had a problem with it. If I didn't have the system, I wouldn't have had a single complaint. But as it was, I had a way of gaining power.

And that required a certain time investment.

"Now, since that's taken care of," Father said with a wide smile and pulled up the remote from somewhere and switched on the LCD TV bolted onto the wall in front of us.

"In recent events, the group of Superheroes that came together to defeat the alien—"

The T.V it started on a news channel…? Really? You are joking. No way. No Telecom? Why are the pieces of shit not trying to sell me useless dumb crap?

Why…fucking get over it. Different world, different rules.

———

——

—

Andrew didn't think he would be here. Holding a bouquet and a basket of well-wishing goods.

And if he had to say why? Because Mira was not just any girl, she was the queen bitch of his school, the popular girl.

And not just by title either, her personality was beyond garbage. The most superficial girl he had ever known.

If there was one plus point to her other than her appearance and grades it was probably that she was not a slut. Well, at least she didn't behave like one.

Well, regardless he was correct about one thing, her entire group was made up of superficial friends. After all, they pushed all of this on him—the resident pushover—and fucked off.

And so, here he was standing in front of her apartment and knocking on her door.

A second later a sound rang up from the intercom, "Who?"

It was a clear and singsong voice, the sort that made him unintentionally straighten his back, "Andrew Aster, I am Mira Smith's classmate. Our class has set up a get-well-soon present for her."

"Ah, one second please."

The door clicked open, and standing in front of him was a face too similar to her to not have been related. And As she opened her lips it was confirmed, "Hello, I am Mira's mother…"