There was a rule in the Jedi Order. They said that if a Youngling wasn't accepted as a Padawan by the time they reached thirteen, that was it. Like, totally it. They killed you, or something. Or maybe they just sent you to the Exploration Corps, or the Agri Corps, or something lame and boring like that. To be honest, Lúka couldn't remember, but it sounded bad. And sure, it was still a few years before he reached the big one-three, but damn it -

His hand clapped to his mouth in panic, frightened that one of the powerful Jedi Masters might suddenly appear to yell at him for even so much as thinking such a naughty word. He looked around him frantically, checking just in case there were any grown ups in earshot, or mindshot, or whatever word you were supposed to use to describe psychic spying range. There wasn't. He risked a sigh of relief. Then more panic ensued, as he slowly, cautiously crouched to peer underneath the caf table that graced the centre of the room. Fortunately, Master Yoda wasn't lurking there. His pounding heart slowed a few Hertz.

He wasn't sure why he looked at the clock at that moment. He wasn't sure either why his eyes grew wide at the realisation of the time. It wasn't like he had to be anywhere. He didn't have classes, or anything like that. But if there was one thing that Lúka was - aside from astoundingly cool, and pretty much awesome at everything - he was organised, to the point of obsession. Grown ups were organised like that: they had appointments, and schedules, and diaries and things. Lúka knew that in order to impress a Knight or a Master enough to have them pick him as their Padawan, he'd have to demonstrate to them that he was capable of being mature and grown up like that. So he'd made himself a schedule.

And if he didn't do something fast, he was going to be late for the library.

His mind ran through his options. He knew he could walk to the library in about ten minutes; but he needed to be there in five. That meant going at least twice as fast, and he doubted they'd let him take a speeder down the hall. They wouldn't even let him drive a speeder around one of the open court yards because he was too young even though he'd make a totally awesome pilot and it was stupid that they wouldn't let him and that Anakin Skywalker Padawan guy had got to fly a starfighter and no one told him that he was too young and it wasn't fair.

He took a deep breath. Fair or not, the speeder garage was too far away. That meant one thing. There were rules against running in the Temple; well, for the Younglings there were unfair rules like that. Which meant that Lúka wouldn't just have to be fast. He'd have to be super-fast. So fast they couldn't catch him.

* * *

Hurtling down the corridor, boots tucked under his arm, Lúka fought the urge to giggle with glee at the sensation of air rushing into his face, and the way his slightly too big robes wafted about his skinny frame. He reached a junction, but instead of the panic he'd felt earlier, this time he merely experienced elation.

Jamming a mental spanner into the fast-pumping workings of his legs, his running came to a rapid halt, cotton-socked feet sliding out of control across the polished stone floor. He leaned, feet slipping sideways as he swerved around the corner. The wall came up on him fast: No problem! he thought, pushing out with the Force and slowing his collision velocity.

He came to a halt just as his fingertips made contact with the wall; his lean turned into a crouch, another set of fingertips balancing him gently via contact with the floor. He grinned and, spying the open entranceway to the library in the difference, pounced into one final charge.

It was about twenty seconds later when he comprehended the floor in his plan: an instant after he passed through those entrance doors themselves. The stone floor in the library was different; even more slick than out in the corridor. And unfortunately, the nearest wall was quite some distance away. Immediately before it was a long bank of workstations that dominated the central space: a bank of workstations at least partly occupied by Jedi, who he was about to plough headlong into. His legs ground to a halt but he continued to slide. back-pedalling furiously, he lost his balance. Pain errupted through him, but at least he slowed; by the time he reached the workstations, his collision was more of a bump than a crash.

He looked up into the face of the person he would have otherwise bowled over, and flashed a sheepish smile. "Hi there?" he offered, bracing himself for a reprimand.