Oakmont Preparatory School

Pittsburgh, PA

2010

Young Xander Whitt barreled down the hallway leaping in celebration of his last exam before graduation from Oakmont Preparatory School – a boarding school for the region's brightest students. Xander's blonde hair shuffled across his forehead into his pale blue eyes as he hurried toward the exit. With a smacking of the door, his vision retreated behind a squint as it hit the sunlight of the school grounds. The sun struck his high cheek bones, illuminating the few light freckles sprinkled over them. His lips were pencil thin and gentle, even as they cracked a wide smile at the realization of his completion of High School. His frame stood acute and underdeveloped, still small and smooth. His dimpling chin rounded out his cherubic features, giving him an air of youth, retained through his adolescence.

Despite not being able to remember his parents or anyone who ever loved him, Xander was able to keep his emotions controlled during his schooling and excelled in the rigorous academics that school offered. Xander was nothing short of a genius, being two years younger than anyone else in his graduating class. His skipping gait across the campus toward his dormitory accelerated to a full canter. He passed the girl's dormitory, where he and his friends would plant the occasional prank on its residents. He then passed the trail into the woods where he and his fellow students would sneak to after curfew, building fires in the neighboring woods and sharing stories, both poetic and comical. He ran across the baseball field toward the administration building remembering his time as the lead hitter in the clean-up spot of the school's batting order. He relished the feeling of the wind brushing across his face, as he emerged from the memories of his time at Oakmont Preparatory. He was now a young man ready for the world. He lifted his eyes and came to a dead halt as he made out a familiar figure in the distance watching him. Near the administration building was Dean Ellington who was beckoning his approach, and so he hurried past his dormitory toward him.

"Congratulations Xander! Our valedictorian! Well done!" Dean Ellington smiled as he shook Xander's hand tight. The Dean's comb over was usually far too tight, but today it hung with a slight wave, revealing the graying of his roots.

"Thank you sir..." Xander had picked up the proper manners of etiquette from his schoolmates and his foster mother. He followed the Dean into the building toward his office as the Dean began his soap box.

"Being a flagship branch of the Olympic Academy education network, we are proud that this institution continues to maintain an advanced curriculum steeped in intense classical Liberal Arts. Oakmont stands with the other nine Olympic Academies across the United States as the most prestigious high school of the region."

"Yes sir, I am very proud to becoming an alumnus of this academy," Xander offered, adopting a more formalized demeanor for the Dean.

"Now I know my students, Xander. I would be lying if I didn't admit that the majority of the student body are snobbish elitists..." Xander craned his head up toward the Dean in disbelief of the statement, as they came to his office door.

"However you are different, Xander. There is an incredible opportunity waiting for you behind this door. I want you to consider it and above all of I want you to follow your heart." Xander felt the heat rise from under his collar as he responded with a nod. Unsure of what was to come, Xander tugged at his sleeve to straighten his appearance.

"Yes sir," Xander exhaled, catching his breath from his jog across campus.

The office door opened.

The Dean's office was littered with pictures of the man golfing with famous people. He had a large photo poster of a basketball hoop, underneath it was written: "OPPROTUNITY: You Miss 100% of the Shots You Don't Take". Upon entry, Xander's eyes met the full framed man who was awaiting him. He wore a neatly pressed set of olive green military formals. His face was familiar. It was crevassed with age, but built with austerity. It was a face that was present on the most difficult day of his life – the day he woke up as an orphan in the hospital after the car crash. As his brain was erased of all memories prior to that day, the man before him served as Xander's earliest recollection, amongst the album of his photographic memory. But his eyes strayed from the man to another person in the room - his foster mother, Ms. Baker. He approached with outstretched arms, giving her a tight hug.

"I'm done, Ms. Baker!"

"Congratulations! I am so proud of you!" The moment was short lived as the presence of the other man loomed over their reunion.

"Thank you, Dean Ellington..." The military man embraced the Dean's hand as an old friend. The Dean then exited the office and closed the door behind him, leaving Xander with his two visitors. Ms. Baker found a seat, but Xander and the man stood facing each other, awaiting the first move.

"My name is Jackson Hardy..." His deep, gruff voice sounded from the back of his throat. He had a frankness about him that was often mistaken as charm.

"I know..." Xander responded lost in the memory of the man that could not be ignored. It shook him to the core, as the feelings of loss and loneliness returned.

"I'm Xander..." he continued through the unearthed sadness of his childhood.

"I know..." Hardy's eyebrows rose as he cracked a smile from the corner of his lips. Hardy extended his hand and Xander shook it, but shrank his eyes away from him to a bouquet of lilies atop a waist high table between them. There was a short stalemate that formed between them as Xander processed his presence, trying to understand why he was there and what he wanted with him.

Breaking the silence, Hardy popped his hip out to nudge the table, knocking the tall, crystal vase atop it off balance. The vase toppled to the ground, but before it was able to crash land, Xander's hand darted across the room to catch the vase. Xander beamed up at Hardy from the floor with the vase in his hands.

"You did that on purpose!" Xander accused, breaking from his timid approach.

"Yes I did."

"But why, why would you want to break something so fragile?" he asked, gathering himself to back up to his feet.

"I wanted to make sure you're the Xander Whitt everyone's talking about."

"Who's talking about me?" he asked, perplexed by his apparent popularity.

"A lot of people who are very interested in having you come to our program. Xander, you have tested off the charts in every category."

Hardy helped himself to a glass of scotch at the Dean's wet bar. After pouring a few fingers worth, he settled down in the ornate armchair. Xander took the other seat across from Hardy and Miss Baker. By her posture, he knew Baker was unaware of the contents of the impending conversation.

"How do you remember me, Xander?" Hardy asked, broaching the elephant in the room.

"You came to see me in the hospital eight years ago, after my mother and father died." A quick knot formed in his throat, choked down by a dry swallow.

"What do you remember about that day?" Hardy further inquired, testing the depths of his recollection.

"You wore a different set of military formals, not nearly as pressed as these. You introduced yourself as Jackson Hardy, a man who was interested in performing some tests. You had me put together puzzles and solve word jumbles."

"Do you remember the answers to the word jumbles?" Xander gave a bashful nod, not taking his eyes off of the space on the floor six inches from his toes. Hardy stood struck, but had to focus on carrying out his purpose.

"Xander, you are something of a rarity. You have so many natural abilities and you excel at.... well everything. We think your mind could make this country be a better and safer place. You could help solve our country's biggest problems... disease, the economy, famine, war... There is no telling what else you could do if you were just directed... I know you are planning to attend Harvard, but I am proposing a different form of direction..." Xander's eyes lifted from the ground to see Hardy shift from side to side in his chair and take a deep breath.

"We have developed the most rigorous programs to ensure you reach your fullest potential. You could serve this country better than most. And you won't be the only adolescent there either. One student is being recruited from the graduating class of each boarding school in the Olympic Academy network. So, nine others from all over the country, have also been recruited, all of which are between the ages of sixteen and eighteen. You wouldn't be alone..."

Xander turned to Ms. Baker, who sat forward trying to understand the implications of what the Colonel was saying.

"We have been observing these schools and we have been watching you in particular for some time now. Everything from your testing, athletics and even social life. You're the top of your class, two years younger than the rest of your graduating class, identified as the brightest and most well rounded of the student body. Oh and you don't have a stick up your ass either..." Xander cracked a smile for he knew if he had really been monitoring him, he had also observed his fellow classmates. At this, Xander's cold, shy exterior warmed to a more natural temperature.

"You, Xander, are the one we want..." Hardy finished on this piercing note.

"But... I'm just a teenager... what am I supposed to do?..." His humility blinded him from his greatness, but Hardy persisted, in an effort to show Xander his own brilliance. Xander watched as Hardy lifted his hand and covered the computer chip-sized medals over his left breast.

"How many medals do I have?" Hardy asked plainly.

"Twenty-three... why?" Ms. Baker beamed in pride at her foster-child's remarkable abilities. Hardy leaned down to Xander's left with a comforting presence. He squared him up, looked into his eyes and began to explain.

"Xander, you can do things that very few people in this world can, sixteen years old or not. You caught the vase, not only displaying remarkable reflexes and agility but also displayed a natural concern for the fragile and defenseless. You knew after looking at me for thirty seconds that I am wearing twenty-three medals. It took me over thirty years to earn these medals. We need your abilities, we need your mind. Come with me and the world that all your classmates, your foster mother and even Dean Ellington live in will be much safer. We just need to match those abilities with a particular set of skills." The sales pitch became a plea.

"What kind of skills are you referring to?"

"Espionage." Xander leaned back at hearing this.

"What? You want me to be a spy?" Xander shook his head and chuckled under his breath in disbelief.

"Yes... but this training program is not like any other."

Well I don't know what the hell any other spy training program is like...

"So you're CIA?" Xander postulated.

"No. Better. I'm with Project Sparta. We contract with the government. We do the stuff the government doesn't want to even know about." Hardy's voice lowered to a grave note.

"I've never heard of them." Xander responded, still suspended in skepticism.

"You wouldn't, because it doesn't exist. And neither would you if you joined." Hardy's presentation of the facts remained composed. Xander leaned back in his chair, wiping the disbelief from his brow. At a loss of words, Xander looked over at his foster mother who spoke up for the first time.

"When will he have to leave?" It was obvious from Ms. Baker's tone that she was already entertaining the idea for Xander.

"The program starts in one week. Review the information in this file, take it home, let it marinate. And I hope to see you for orientation." Hardy handed over a red file and ascended to his feet.

"Xander you truly are like nothing I have ever seen before. I hope you consider my offer, because lumping you in with the norm would be a disservice to you and to your country." Xander elevated his eyes to meet the Colonel's. They locked in a moment of profound understanding. And then Hardy spun on his heel and exited the Dean's office.

Xander consulted Ms. Baker as the two of them tried to make sense of what the Colonel's offer entailed. After finding no answers in his foster mother's eyes, his search fell to the red file in hand. He flipped the file open and found the first page. His mouth dropped slightly as his racing eyes scanned the words before him.

I am a Spartan.

I am a Spartan who does not exist.

I am a Spartan who safeguards our country from enemies both foreign and domestic.

I am a Spartan who preserves the virtuous state through true Justice.

I am a Spartan for life, death is the only discharge.

I am a Spartan who fights for the Common Good of all.

I am a Spartan and nothing is as it seems.

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