(Matteo's PoV)

I squeezed Emmy's hand. I needed to be strong for her sake, cuz if she knows I'm scared, then that just makes her more scared. But every word that the president spoke made me feel like I was going to vomit.

"The Children's Draft was proposed to the House and Senate last night and it passed this morning with a unanimous ruling--the first time in our country's history I might add. The draft consists of all males between the ages of 14 through 18 and it is taking effect as I speak. Those young males selected will receive their draft letters some time this week and they are required to attend an inspection in their hometown this Saturday, Feb-"

Emmy shook her head. "Turn it off," she pleaded.

I quickly grabbed the remote off the arm of the sofa and shut off the president's speech.

She wrapped her arms around me, and began to sob uncontrollably.

I stroked my fingers through her curly, red hair. "It'll be okay," I tried to soothe her nerves.

She tightened her grip. "I just don't wanna lose you." Her voice cracked on the last word. She wiped her eyes with the neon pink sleeve of her jacket. "What kind of cruel place do we live in that not one person voted against sending kids to war. I mean this country can never get anything passed, but suddenly now Congress agrees."

"It's bullshit," I said through gritted teeth.

Emmy suddenly put her hands up to her ears. "No, no, no," she whispered.

And that would be the worst thing if I got drafted. No one would protect Emmy. She and I are pretty sure she's got some sort of anxiety, or even schizophrenia, but we can't be sure since her parents won't take her to see a psychiatrist. It might ruin their "image".

She became even more fidgety and paranoid over the course of the week. "They keep saying you're gonna die," she told me.

"Don't listen to them," I advised, but I was having difficulty staying calm myself.

Three days later I was bombarded by the youngest two of my three brothers, Pedro and Pepe. "Matteo! Matteo!"

"Pablo took one of your letters." Pepe pointed at his brother.

Pablo held the note and open envelope closer to his chest. "He can't have it," he said defiantly.

It took me a couple moments to add up what was going on. To come to the awful conclusion based on the only people who seem to write letters anymore and why my only little brother who knew the circumstances of the war was trying to hide it from me.

My heart seemed to skip a beat as it fell into my stomach. "Pablo, I need to see that letter right now."

"No," he said, tearing up.

"Please." I extended my hand out to him. "It's important." As fragile as he was at the moment, I couldn't just take it out of his hands, but that didn't mean Pedro wouldn't.

"Here Matteo," His grin was smug just before he stuck his tongue out at Pablo.

One look at the Army seal at the top and my worries were confirmed.

Pepe tugged at my shirt. "What's going on?"

Pablo folded his arms and pouted. "The stupid government is making him go to war."

Feeling the need to talk to them, I sat down on the sofa and motioned for them to sit next to me. Pepe, being the smallest, was easily able to cradle into my lap, while Pablo and Pedro sat on either side of me.

"Okay guys," I sighed. "Pablo's right. The stupid government is forcing me to join the army. And it looks like I'm gonna be gone for a long time."

"You're gonna come back right?" Pedro asked.

I ruffled his hair to ease my nerves. "I hope so," I answered truthfully.

"It's not fair," Pepe tried to suppress his tears. "How come there's all these kids who don't like their big brother and those big brothers don't have to go to war, but you're my big brother and I like you, but you do have to go to war. That's not fair at all."

I knew Emmy would be in hysterics once she found out, and I didn't want more people to worry about me.

"Guys, " I began. All three of them stared intently at me. "You're gonna have to be able to function without me. I'm gonna need you to be big, strong men. Can you do that for me?"

Pedro seemed to puff up his chest a little. "Yeah, we can do that."

Pepe nodded. "Yeah, we'll be tough," he promised. "But we're still gonna miss you. Is that all right? Can big, strong men miss things too?"

I thought about how much it was gonna hurt me not to see them every day. I may not be the best example for "big strong man", but I sure was going to miss them, and everyone else I loved like crazy.

I wrapped all three of them in a tight hug. "Of course they can," I assured them.

(Tristan's PoV)

It's amazing--and by amazing I mean fucking bullshit (Sorry God)--how one piece of paper could change my life completely. At nearly 16, I had to fight in the frickin' army. Seriously, who in their right mind could honestly think sending children to war is a good idea?

Our president, that's who. How the hell he got elected (and for a second term at that) still makes no sense to me. And he doesn't even have to worry about the draft. I don't see him with any young sons at risk. All his kids are grown.

I had my letter in hand when I walked into school, desperately in need of someone to rant to.

I quickly spotted my short, female friend trying to open her locker by kicking it repeatedly.

"Kierra, I cannot believe the draft-"

"I know. It is so sexist," she interrupted while examining her shoe for any scuff marks.

I blinked several times in an attempt to comprehend, but I just couldn't.

"It's sexist," I muscled down the term, raising my eyebrow in the process.

"Yeah dipshit," she replied. "Haven't you heard the news...how they're only drafting boys." She rolled her eyes. "It's like they don't think girls are capable of fighting."

"Do you want to get drafted or something," I asked, growing more irritated by the second.

"Well no," she explained, "but they're basically saying that girls are weak and that we're only good for the simple jobs back home."

I couldn't wrap my head around how unsympathetic she was being. She was literally complaining that she had no chance of being forced into war and possibly dying. Sure, the draft may be sexist, but it was sexist in her favor.

Then, like she always does at least six times a week, she went on one of her feminist rants.

"Men need to realize that we are just as capable as them. In fact sometimes we're even more capable, but some mediocre guy goes and steals all the credit. Like in science, some of the most important discoveries were actually made by women. I bet you've never even heard of Rosalind-"

"Kierra!" I finally snapped. I shoved the letter in her hands. That shut her up. She only needed to read the first sentence to figure out what was going on.

"Tristan...I...uh," she stammered.

But I had too much anger built up inside of me. "See, I have to go to war. I have an actual problem. I have inspection on Saturday, only then to leave the next day. I could very well die and all you care about is women's rights."

There was an awkward pause between us.

"First of all," she began. "I can care about your safety as well as women's rights, so jot that down. And secondly, don't automatically think you're not going to make it. I have a ton of survival books at my house that could help you, I'll bring them tomorrow."

"Thanks," I mumbled, starting to cool down my temper.

"I still think it's sexist though," she added.

(Clayton's Pov)

God, I hate math. It's gotta be like the worst thing ever invented. I'm gonna be going to war soon and that's gonna suck, but math is just not gonna be something I'm gonna miss when I'm gone.

"All right class, take out your assignment from last night," Mr. Justfine instructed. He's my Algebra teacher, and despite his last name, this class is not "just fine". It's horrible. And it doesn't help that he doesn't like me. I don't like him very much either though. He's strict, he hardly ever shows any emotion at all, and he likes math. I cannot appreciate a person who has chosen to pursue a career in the very thing that ruins my life daily.

My math partner, Audrey Dennison, eyed my empty desk with her noses upturned slightly. "Did you even do your math homework?" she asked.

"No," I responded.

She shook her head in dismay. "Tsk, tsk, Clayton."

"Hey," I retorted. "I tried doing it for like two whole minutes, but I couldn't figure it out. And then I realized it was pointless doing it cuz I'm gonna be gone before we even take the chapter 7 test."

She rolled her eyes behind her thick glasses. "He's not gonna let it slide."

Audrey can be such a know-it-all sometimes. And bossy. And annoying. On the plus side she's got small shoulders that are pretty easy to look over.

"Mr. Host, detention," I heard a deep, stoic voice from behind me.

"Seriously," I groaned, well I tried to groan, but I think it came out as whiny.

"You don't have your assignment done," Mr. Justfine explained. "You'll stay after school until you can finish it."

"Come on, it's my last day," I pleaded. "Cut me some slack. I just got drafted. You gotta respect the troops."

"You're not a soldier yet, Mr. Host," he pointed out.

"You know, I could die," I told him. "Then how would you feel?"

"That's precisely why I need you to do this assignment," he went on. "It's not like you could hand it in when you get back. You could die and I might never get that worksheet from you. After school."

Audrey smirked. "Told you so."

"Whatever," I scoffed. "Can I just copy your answers?"

"Clayton, a cheater never prospers," she quoted. I'm not sure who she was quoting, but they were probably a little bitch.

"I don't need to prosper, I just need to pass."

"No." She covered her paper with one of her notebooks.

"You're so mean to me," I told her. "One would think you'd have a little more sympathy for me."

"It's not that I don't," she began. "But you do realize you're not the only person I know that got drafted. Justin Mensinger received his letter last night."

"Oh, him." My lip curled in disgust.

"What about him?" Audrey asked, obviously offended.

"He's such a show off," I exclaimed quiet enough to not have Mr. Justfine yell at us.

"He's not a show off," she shot back. "He's just actually smart."

"Oh, whatever," I rolled my eyes. "Nobody needs to be that smart. I mean seriously, no 10th grader should be in Honors Pre-Calc."

Audrey huffed. "He happens to find that class very interesting."

"Oh my God," I nearly gagged. "I swear, he has got to be the most nerdy, arrogant-"

Something heavy hit my arm. I winced in pain and clutched my soon to be bruise.

Audrey held her textbook, ready to strike again. "Shut up about him," she hissed.

"Fine," I agreed, rather reluctantly.

Well this sucks. I'm in pain, I don't have any answers to copy, and I have detention--all before army inspection.

I blame math.

(Gavin's PoV)

It was weird knowing this was my last day of school, and yet everything seemed to go just like any other day. As we waited outside for our rides, Heather was reading, and Trixie was reapplying her makeup while complaining about superficial problems, and even though I usually couldn't care less about them, I still listened attentively.

"It's not fair," she pouted, partially because she was mad, and partially to put on lip gloss. "All the hot guys are getting drafted."

"Trixie!" Heather actually looked up from her book to scold her.

Trixie turned a light shade of pink. "Oh yeah," she turned to me. "Gavin, it sucks that you got drafted too." She paused for a moment while she examined herself in the mirror. "But you should be fine. I mean you're good at hunting, which is sort of like the military. I mean, they're both just shooting things."

Heather's eyes went wide. "Trixie, the military is more than just shooting things," she corrected. "It involves a lot of strategy and-"

"Yeah, uh-huh." Trixie had already lost interest. "All I know is this "children's draft" is keeping me from going on dates. I asked Max Holden out, and he told me he couldn't because he had inspection tomorrow."

Before Heather could reply, she spotted her mom's green SUV in the drive through lane. "Good luck, Gavin," she said before leaving.

I was now alone with Trixie.

She sighed as she twirled her wavy blonde hair.

"Hey, cheer up," I told her. "Maybe Max isn't good for you anyway."

"Well if he isn't then who is?" she asked.

Just tell her, I urged myself. You've had a crush on her since the fifth grade. Tell her how you feel.

"Um...Trixie..." I began.

"Yeah," she replied.

I tried to explain myself, but I just ended up fidgeting with my hands and stammering like an idiot. "Well...I...uh"

"Are you okay," she questioned.

"Yeah," I responded, trying to hide my nerves.

"Okay good." she smiled. "Cuz if you don't have anything else to say, then I better get going. I think I see my parent's mini van and they hate to be kept waiting."

"Right of course," I said quietly.

"Oh and Gavin." She turned around.

My hopes shot up. This was it. Our love confession.

"I hope you survive, so I can see you again."

I gave her an awkward thumbs up as she left.

I hope you don't die. Wow, I really am a failure at girls.

(Will's PoV)

A strange man who I had never seen before stumbled down the hallway, half-dressed. I backed myself up against the wall, trying to avoid him. Drunk people terrified me. As I inched away, my twin sister Rose, just eyed him in disgust.

It was obvious that he came from our mother's room cuz he smelled like a mixture of smoke and vodka.

From the opening in the doorway, we could see the bed sheets sprawled out across the floor, while our mother fanned herself with her newfound stack of money with one hand and drank from a bottle labeled "Smirnoff" in the other.

Rose gritted her teeth. "That fucking whore," she muttered, already making her way to our mother's room. Though scared, I still followed.

She smirked upon seeing her children. "Oh, did Robert make it out okay? He's a great client. Generous tipper."

"You can't keep doing this," Rose said, her voice managing to stay unwavering.

Our mother just laughed. "I don't see why not," she challenged. "Your father's okay with it. He's an agreeable man, very willing to compromise. I say, 'you get your income, and I'll get mine'."

I attempted to swallow my disgust.

"It's easy money," she went on. "The only work involved is taking a pill the next day to prevent another batch of mistakes." She eyed us as she spoke.

I honestly couldn't fathom why anyone would ever want to pay to have sex with her. I mean I really couldn't understand why anyone would want to pay to have sex with anyone, but especially my mother. My mother with her bleached hair, wrinkled skin, and yellow teeth.

"I don't see you two making any money," she continued, setting the wad of cash down to pick up the stack of mail from her dresser. "Newsflash. You need money to pay the bills."

"Since when are drugs and alcohol bills?" Rose scoffed.

Our mother took another swig from her bottle, then laughed. "You keep judging as if you, yourself aren't gonna someday join the family business."

Rose shifted uncomfortably and our mother's glance shifted to me. "You too, boy. There's a lot of homos out there."

"I could call the police," Rose threatened.

Our mother let out a vicious cackle. "Can you now? I suppose I'll go to jail, but where will that put you two? In some orphanage? Maybe even Boystown."

I shuddered at the thought.

"Nobody would ever want you," she snarled, then singled in on Rose, "especially with your condition."

Rose took a deep breath. She seemed to be shaking when I put a hand on her arm, which she immediately shook off.

I should have known better. Rose hates me. Especially after what I did.

But Rose was born with chronic dehydration. It's a rare disease that affects the way she retains water. It causes her to always be needing extra water and to go unconscious if she doesn't get it. The main cause for it is prenatal smoking.

"You two brats are so ungrateful-"

"What on earth do we have to be grateful for?" I muttered.

She raised an eyebrow at me. "What was that boy? Speak up. I dare you."

"You give us nothing to be grateful for and I wish more than anything that I didn't have to live here." I spoke as clearly as I could.

I expected her to yell, or throw the empty bottle at me, but she just smiled. As if she knew something I didn't. She sifted through the mail until she pulled out a letter with an army seal on it.

"Careful what you wish for."