Prologue: YA Dystopian - The Underground
Posted: October 11th, 2012, 12:29 am
I wrote this prologue to introduce world and develop the conflict for the MC, Oliver. I worry it's not as eye-catching as a first page needs to be. Any feedback is welcome! Also, the rest of the novel is in first person; is it cheating to have a 3rd person prologue?
The Underground: Prologue
Principal Finch and Ms. Ross faced each other as they often did. Finch sat behind his desk, enveloped in a large maroon-colored chair. Ms. Ross stood across from him, fingertips pressed against the desk’s edge, leaning in a predatory crouch.
They’d had the argument before.
“You have not given me full access to Washington Academy’s students,” Ms. Ross said. “Every time I recommend an evaluation you refuse to comply.”
“And yet you insist on making recommendations,” Finch replied, his sagging lips pressed together in a permanent frown. He was old enough to be her grandfather.
“I am asking for your cooperation on just one student.”
He clasped his wrinkled, age-spotted hands together. “Who?”
“Oliver McCray, junior class.”
Finch shook his head. “Absolutely not. Juniors can’t be distracted right now. They don’t have time to waste on psychological evaluations. They are taking their FACTS-2 exam in three months.”
“Yes, but—”
“The exam will determine who will be approved for college and which Tier they will be branded with for life. There is no more important time in their life than now. You want to jeopardize that?”
“I want Oliver to play by the same rules as everyone else.”
“What rules is he breaking?”
“He draws.” Ross scowled at the thought. “He draws instead of paying attention in my class.”
“Could be nothing.”
“Could be. But Oliver shows all the textbook markers: obstinate behavior, indifference to social hierarchy, solitary tendencies, daydreaming. If he’s drawing, he’s likely doing other dangerous things. Possibly dabbling in music.”
At such a serious accusation, Finch seemed to reconsider. “McCray?” he asked, tapping his finger on the desk as if trying to tap into his memory. “I don’t recognize the name. Who are his parents?”
“I can’t imagine how that is relevant,” Ross said firmly, righteously.
Ignoring her disapproval, Finch turned to a filing cabinet, pulled open the drawer marker L-R, and withdrew a folder stamped PERMANENT RECORD. Scanning the contents, he decreed, “Oliver McCray goes untouched.”
“Why?”
“Does 1483 N. Manor Drive mean anything to you?”
Ross gave a tiny shake of the head.
“It is the address to the Biltmore Apartments. The director of FACTS lives there, along with some of the city’s most important people.” Finch threw the file on his desk. It splayed open, a photo of Oliver McCray visible. The boy’s dark eyes stared up at Ms. Ross. “Biltmore residents are off limits for evaluations. Do your research next time you want to anger one of Seattle's most affluent families.”
“That’s not how the system is supposed to work,” Ms. Ross answered. “School Administrator Tenet 35 clearly states, ‘Students who exhibit even the slightest hint of subversive activity should be immediately recommended for evaluation.’”
Finch didn’t answer. He put the folder back, and began to work on other things. “You can go,” he dismissed.
Ms. Ross had little choice but to comply with the direct order of a superior. Rising from her crouch, she headed for the door. When leaving Finch’s office, most people felt defeated. Ms. Ross walked to the door feeling something different: determination.
The Underground: Prologue
Principal Finch and Ms. Ross faced each other as they often did. Finch sat behind his desk, enveloped in a large maroon-colored chair. Ms. Ross stood across from him, fingertips pressed against the desk’s edge, leaning in a predatory crouch.
They’d had the argument before.
“You have not given me full access to Washington Academy’s students,” Ms. Ross said. “Every time I recommend an evaluation you refuse to comply.”
“And yet you insist on making recommendations,” Finch replied, his sagging lips pressed together in a permanent frown. He was old enough to be her grandfather.
“I am asking for your cooperation on just one student.”
He clasped his wrinkled, age-spotted hands together. “Who?”
“Oliver McCray, junior class.”
Finch shook his head. “Absolutely not. Juniors can’t be distracted right now. They don’t have time to waste on psychological evaluations. They are taking their FACTS-2 exam in three months.”
“Yes, but—”
“The exam will determine who will be approved for college and which Tier they will be branded with for life. There is no more important time in their life than now. You want to jeopardize that?”
“I want Oliver to play by the same rules as everyone else.”
“What rules is he breaking?”
“He draws.” Ross scowled at the thought. “He draws instead of paying attention in my class.”
“Could be nothing.”
“Could be. But Oliver shows all the textbook markers: obstinate behavior, indifference to social hierarchy, solitary tendencies, daydreaming. If he’s drawing, he’s likely doing other dangerous things. Possibly dabbling in music.”
At such a serious accusation, Finch seemed to reconsider. “McCray?” he asked, tapping his finger on the desk as if trying to tap into his memory. “I don’t recognize the name. Who are his parents?”
“I can’t imagine how that is relevant,” Ross said firmly, righteously.
Ignoring her disapproval, Finch turned to a filing cabinet, pulled open the drawer marker L-R, and withdrew a folder stamped PERMANENT RECORD. Scanning the contents, he decreed, “Oliver McCray goes untouched.”
“Why?”
“Does 1483 N. Manor Drive mean anything to you?”
Ross gave a tiny shake of the head.
“It is the address to the Biltmore Apartments. The director of FACTS lives there, along with some of the city’s most important people.” Finch threw the file on his desk. It splayed open, a photo of Oliver McCray visible. The boy’s dark eyes stared up at Ms. Ross. “Biltmore residents are off limits for evaluations. Do your research next time you want to anger one of Seattle's most affluent families.”
“That’s not how the system is supposed to work,” Ms. Ross answered. “School Administrator Tenet 35 clearly states, ‘Students who exhibit even the slightest hint of subversive activity should be immediately recommended for evaluation.’”
Finch didn’t answer. He put the folder back, and began to work on other things. “You can go,” he dismissed.
Ms. Ross had little choice but to comply with the direct order of a superior. Rising from her crouch, she headed for the door. When leaving Finch’s office, most people felt defeated. Ms. Ross walked to the door feeling something different: determination.