(Ned's PoV)

It took me forever to ditch my tour group. The lady in charge would not stop talking. Honestly, I had no intention of learning about White House history and trivia. I was here to meet the president.

It was crucial that I see him. Ever since the children's draft began, I knew I needed to be in the army. Naturally I went straight down to my local enlisting station, but they turned me down cuz I was "too young". I soon realized if I wanted something done my way, I'd have to bring it up to the guy in charge.

As I navigated my way to the oval office, I was never questioned as to why I wasn't with a group. This place has got to get better security, I thought to myself. Especially since we're in a war. I dismissed my ponderings and figured somebody else would mention it. I had bigger things to care about.

Standing at the president's door were two male guards. A black guy and a white guy. Both over six feet tall with some pretty sweet shades.

"I'm here to see the president," I informed them.

"He doesn't do autographs, kid," the white guy smirked.

"I don't think you understand the severity of this situation," I told them. "I am not here to meet the president. I am here so the president can meet me. I have a secret weapon that will help us win the war in China."

Both guards shrugged. "Seems legit," the black guy said before they each opened one of the double doors, revealing the oval office.

Mr. President was sitting in a large rolling chair and next to him was some skittish lady who looked like she hadn't slept in a week.

"Can we help you, little boy?" she asked.

I stepped in front of her. "I'm not here for you." I stood directly in front of Mr. President. "I'd like to enlist in the army."

"What?" the annoying lady exclaimed. "How old are you?"

"Twelve."

Her mouth was gaping open as she turned to Mr. President. "A twelve year old cannot possibly be in the army."

Geez, didn't this lady realize that important people were trying to converse.

Mr. President stuck out his hand. "Wait, Ms. Secretary, let's not dismiss the idea yet."

Ms. Secretary sighed in exasperation. "You're completely safe from the draft, and we don't offer any of the military benefits to our child soldiers."

"I'm not interested in your benefits," I responded.

"Well then why would you want to be in the army at your age?" she asked.

"For the glory."

She was speechless. (Finally. I hated hearing her voice.)

"Do you realize how famous I would be if I were the youngest soldier ever," I explained. "The ladies would be all over me when I get back."

"But this is war," she cut in. "There's no guarantee you'll make it back."

"Don't worry. I won't die. I'm awesome," I rationalized.

As Ms. Secretary put her head in her hands, her boss studied me for a moment. "What's your name, son?"

"Ned Brugeman," I replied.

"Well Ned," he began to shake my hand. "Way to show the American spirit. You're in!"

Ms. Secretary opened her mouth to object, but Mr. President cut her off cuz no one really cares what she has to say anyway.

"Come on," he told me. "I'll take you to the inspection right now, let's see the recruiter try to say no to me."

(Landon's PoV)

Why did inspection have to be on a Saturday? The timing was terrible. I could've had a date. I mean, I didn't, but I could've.

Since the draft was making everything rushed, the inspections were supposed to be much less detailed and shorter, yet for some reason this was still taking up almost my entire day.

"Next," a man at a desk full of papers called. I looked up to see that no one was in front of me. Let the torture begin, I thought as I walked forward.

"Name?" he demanded.

"Landon Price," I answered automatically.

He took out a new sheet of paper and began writing with a black ink pen.

"Hair..." he looked up and scanned my physical appearance. "Black...eyes...hazel...skin..." he made no effort to suppress his laughter. "Extremely pale."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Does that mean I get a deferment?" I asked even though I already knew the answer.

It took him a moment to catch his breath. "No, it's just hilarious. You've gotta be the pastiest person I've ever seen--and I've been through gingers today-"

"I get it, I'm pale," I said, agitated.

"Okay fine," he regained his composure to finish writing on the sheet. "Are your hearing and vision good?"

"Can't you tell that my vision sucks based on the fact that I have glasses?" I questioned.

"How bad?" he prompted.

"Sixty/sixty," I replied. I couldn't see worth a damn without my glasses.

The man scribbled the numbers in "Give me your hand," he ordered.

"What, why?" I tried to ask, but instead the man just grabbed my left hand and jabbed a small device into my finger. It didn't really hurt, but a warning might have been nice.

"What was that for?" I asked as he squeezed my finger.

"Blood typing," he responded without looking up. He was too busy splitting my blood drops up and placing chemicals in them. After a minute or so he declared. "B negative.'

"And..."

"It's kinda rare," he commented. "If you end up losing a lot of blood, you're pretty fucked."

"Joyous," I said flatly.

He handed me a clipboard with several sheets of paper. "Fill the rest of these out on your own, turn them in at the other table when you're done."

I stared at the sheet full of medical questions. I wondered how many of them could get you a deferment if you answered "yes". With the state that the war was in, my guess was not many. Seeing some of the boys around here was living proof of that.

A gangly blond boy was complaining about how the amount of physical labor might trigger his asthma. A short, stocky brunette was arguing with another inspector.

"But I have flat feet! That's supposed to get you out of the military."

"Not anymore," the inspector told him. "We've lowered our standards."

My questions were relatively easy to answer. Other than crappy vision, I had no real physical problems. I'd never had any diseases. I'd never drank or smoked. Most of the questions seemed pretty pointless anyway

But then I came across a section about burns. Do you have any burn scars, the question read.

I spun the pen between my fingers as I debated whether or not to be honest.

My scar wasn't terribly huge, but it was right on the palm of my hand. I didn't want to get caught in a lie, but I wasn't exactly thrilled about having to fill out the box that said: If yes, how did this happen?

I racked my brain, trying to find a good cover story. Ovens, boiling water, electrical cords. I eventually decided on "firework accident". It still sounded like a stupid mistake, but at least it sounded like a manly, stupid mistake.

Cuz nothing says manly like getting tackled by your sisters and having your hair curled, my mind mocked me. I tried to shake the memory from my head.

I filled out the rest of the sheet rather absent-mindedly. When I went to turn it in, some short, nerdy kid in dress clothes cut in ahead of me. I would've told him off if I hadn't been so taken aback by the fact that he was wearing a tie to an army inspection.

"Hello sir," he greeted the man at the desk. His voice was snobby and pompous. It seemed like he was trying to whisper the rest of his sentence, but he wasn't very good at it. "Now I know you're not supposed to go handing out deferments for no reason," the guy proceeded to pull a one hundred dollar bill out of his pocket and slid it across the table, "but I thought ol' Benjamin Franklin might change your mind."

Who carried that much cash on them? I'm lucky if I have 7 dollars on my debit card.

"You can't just bribe--" I tried to cut in, but he waved his hand at me to stop.

"Silence member of the lower class."

Member of the lower class? Who the hell did this guy think he was?

"Not gonna happen," the man at the desk looked at this guy's sheet, "Mr. Isaac Goldberg."

A rich person. That's who. I should have known. Aside from Warren Buffet himself, the Goldbergs were the richest family in Nebraska. I never knew they had a son my age though.

"Bribes won't get you out of the army," the man explained. "I'm already being paid to make sure all healthy people are sent to combat. Just accept it like a man...er...boy"

The look on Rich Kid's face was priceless. A concept I'm sure he knew nothing of.

"Go to room 3 for your physical examination," he ordered.

The man standing outside of room 3 was tall and lean. He was wearing an unbuttoned lab coat with khakis and a lavender argyle sweater-vest underneath. He had a pink bandana tied around his neck and above it was the most sick and twisted smile I had ever seen. Everything about him screamed gay pedophile. I would've felt bad for rich kid if he hadn't been such a douche. Instead I laughed.

One look at the pedo, and rich kid slammed 300 dollars onto the desk. "I'll give you all this if I can be inspected by literally anyone else."

The man at the desk eyed the cash. He shrugged. "I'm still doing my job as long as you get inspected by someone. You'll go to room four. You, next in line. You'll be in room 3."

My smirk quickly faded. "That's not right."

"Are you being homophobic?" he accused. "This man happens to be gay, but he is one of our finest inspectors. He even cares so much about the war that he volunteered to do this without pay--"

"Whoa, whoa, wait!" I interrupted. "He volunteered to do this." Not only did this man look like a gay pedophile, he was a gay pedophile.

"Move along," the man at the desk called.

I stammered and could feel my hands shaking. Normally I was so good at talking, but quite honestly, I was terrified. "Will...there be anyone else in the room...like how they do with doctors...to make sure I don't get...you know...raped or something?"

The man at the desk was growing more and more impatient as I held up the line. "No, People who used to do that are now working as inspectors too, so we can get through more people faster."

"But that's not fair," I complained. "Or legal."

Pissed at rich kid, I made my way over to room 3, feeling as though I'd rather be heading to room 101.

"Let's be as thorough as possible," the pedo guy said, smiling. I wasn't sure how long this was supposed to take, but this felt like it was dragging on forever. To make matters worse, I was stripped down to only my navy boxers. I hated rich kid for making me go through this.

After that complete misery, and for the first time in my life feeling thankful that I was still a virgin, I was sent to the front desk.

The lady working there seemed nicer and much more organized than the two men I had met earlier today."

"Landon Price," I told her.

She searched through her alphabetized files until she found my name. She scanned the sheets and ticket before handing them to me. "It looks like you're in the 63rd platoon. Oh and your flight leaves tomorrow at 7am sharp. Thank you for serving our country."

As if I had a choice.

(Matteo's PoV)

Emmy rode with my family and I on the way to the airport. My brothers fell asleep on the way there. I didn't blame them. It was six in the morning. If I hadn't been so nervous I would've been out like a light too.

I didn't want to wake them. We had said our goodbyes last night and I was afraid I'd start bawling if I had to do that again. I ruffled Pepe's hair. "Bye guys," I choked out.

"We should probably stay out here, so we can watch your brothers," my mom offered. "Emmy why don't you walk Matteo inside."

I knew it was just an excuse to let me say goodbye to Emmy alone, but I was grateful for it.

The Omaha airport was much bigger than the one back in Lincoln, yet I had heard that as far as airports go, it was on the smaller side.

"I'm gonna miss you so much," she said once we could see the security lines.

"Me too," I told her.

"I'll write you all the time," she promised, her eyes starting to go glossy.

I pushed her hair out of her face. "We'll tell each other everything," I assured her.

"Yeah everything," she agreed. "Oh yeah, and I got you something." She reached into her zebra print purse and pulled out a ziploc bag full of an assortment of 3 ounce bottles of toothpaste. "In case you get nervous."

That's one thing I love about Emmy. She can remember little things--stupid things--about me. Like the fact that I eat toothpaste when I'm stressed isn't very important, but nevertheless, she knows it.

I wrapped her in a tight hug and at that moment she completely lost it. She had managed to stay pretty calm and collected earlier this morning, but all of that was gone now. "They keep telling me you're gonna die," she sobbed. "I don't know what I'm gonna do without you. Please be careful," she begged.

"It's gonna be okay," but neither of us believed me.

As she kept getting choked up on her words, it hit me harder than ever that I didn't want to leave her. It terrified me, thinking that this could be our last moment together. But I couldn't let that happen. I had to come back to her.

I planted a soft kiss on her cheek. "I love you."

She gave a small smile through her tears and hugged me tighter. "I love you too."