The Testing

  The pitying smile she gives me makes my stomach roll. There is no question who she thinks should be the first to go.

  I’m relieved when the announcement for dinner is made. I barely pay attention to what I’m putting on my plate before taking my seat next to Tomas. Our other colony-mates have yet to put in an appearance. Tomas gives me a half smile. He looks tired. The same tiredness I saw in the reflector a few minutes ago.

  “How’d it go?” he asks.

  Silverware clanks against china. People are laughing and talking louder and louder to be heard above the din. Everyone is either bragging about their intellectual prowess or steeped in misery. No one is listening to us. I decide to be honest. “I didn’t answer all the questions. I ran out of time.”

  His smile grows wider as he runs a hand through his hair. “I thought I was the only one. I don’t know how they expect anyone to answer that many questions in four hours. I thought my brain was going to melt out of my head by the end of the math test.”

  I laugh and feel some of the tension leach out of my body. If someone as smart as Tomas didn’t complete the tests, I doubt many did. Tomas is that smart.

  Malachi, Zandri, and their roommates arrive. Worry and fatigue color their eyes, and I wonder if they too left pages blank. I think of how relieved Tomas was to know someone else didn’t finish the exams and weigh the reaction of those listening behind the cameras that no doubt are lurking nearby. After a moment, I come to a decision. “Well, I don’t know about all of you, but I didn’t finish either test.”

  They all look at me with wide eyes, forks halfway to their mouths. After several beats, Nicolette admits, “Neither did I.”

  “Me neither.” This from Malachi. He looks at his roommate Boyd. “Did you?”

  Boyd frowns at his mashed potatoes. “No. I left five pages of math unanswered.”

  “I still had five and a half.” This from Zandri.

  Two slender, fair-skinned male candidates sitting at the table behind Zandri turn to face us. Identical green eyes study our faces. Only their hair length distinguishes one from the other. One with long. The other with short. The one with hair pulled back at his nape asks, “Did you say you didn’t finish the test?”

  I see the others around the table stiffen, and I sigh. So much for thinking the noise covered our conversation. Lifting my chin, I answer, “There were just too many questions for me to finish them all. I got close on history, but I probably took too much time checking my work on math.”

  The green-eyed twins look at each other. Without a word they rise, gather their plates, and move to the empty seats at our table. The longhaired one says, “You have no idea how good it is to hear someone finally admit they didn’t finish the damn tests.” He sticks his hand out. “I’m Will. My brother Gill and I are from Madison Colony.”

  Madison. Only a few hours from Five Lakes. My father has traveled there a few times over the past two or three years. Something in the earth has been killing their crops. From the way the twins have piled their plates and the unhealthy cast to their skin, I’d guess there still isn’t enough food to go around. I’m glad they have food now because I can’t help but like them as they tease that they should have been allowed to take the tests together. They point out that everyone always says they share one brain. Gill excels in math and science. Will is strongest at history, English, and languages.

  Once we are done comparing thoughts on today’s tests, Will and Gill plow their way through three plates of food as they describe Madison Colony and their family. They live in the city the colony is named for. Their father works in the paper mill while their mother is employed at a dairy farm. Life is clearly difficult for some in Madison Colony, but the twins are optimistic and upbeat. They regale us with hilarious stories of their attempts to milk a cow and their own family’s difficulty in telling the two of them apart until Gill took pity and cut his hair. The rest of us share our own stories from home, and I can see more than one envious face turned toward our table as we laugh. The laughter feels so good. It brightens our moods, eases the tension in our bodies, and replenishes our spirits. When dinner ends, most of the other candidates disappear into their assigned rooms, but we ask if we can remain in the dining hall for a while longer. None of us wants to leave the comfort of friends.

  We sing favorite songs. Tomas and I perform a duet that we learned in school. The words speak of the hope of springtime and the world being born anew. Our two voices entwine and echo in the hall. The officials cleaning up after the meal stop and listen to us. When we go back to our rooms we all walk lighter. The lightness stays with me even as Ryme expresses relief that tomorrow’s exam will send people packing. And when I sleep with my bag tucked tight to my chest I spend the night free of dreams.

  We all gather again at breakfast looking rested but feeling tense. No amount of talk can take away the anxiety as we mentally prepare for our next test. Science.

  Periodic tables. Balancing chemical formulas. Physics equations. Those questions are first and easy compared to the ones that ask for scientific explanations for the mutated insects and animals that now populate the world. But the section on genetically altered plants is easy considering my hands-on experience. While my thumbs aren’t green, I understand the concepts behind creating hybrids and the factors that influence their success.

  Too soon time is up. Two pages left unanswered. Lunchtime, then part four: Reading and Language Skills. My eyes are sore and my body numb with fatigue when I finish and realize the clock is still ticking. Ten minutes remain in the testing period.

  Panic floods me. Did I answer the questions too fast? Did my hurrying cause me to give incorrect or incomplete answers? My fingers itch to open the cover so I can fix the mistakes I must have made. And yet, I hear my parents’ voices inside my head. The advice they gave me when sitting beside me at the kitchen table, quizzing me for a test. Take my time. Never second-guess myself. Almost always my first instinct will be the correct one.

  I put my pencil down. Fold my hands in front of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tomas do the same. He’s finished. Glancing over, he gives me one of his single-dimpled smiles.

  Five minutes remain. Four. Three. Two. Pencils scribble. Eyes flick up at the clock and back to the paper in front of them, the candidates desperate to finish one last answer. The buzzer sounds. Round one of The Testing is complete.

  We are escorted to the elevators. A few kids give one another high-fives and celebrate. I just feel tired and relieved. I did the best I could. Whatever happens now is out of my hands. Tomas gives my hand a quick squeeze as the elevator doors open. Then he disappears down the hall with the other guys. I head in the opposite direction and am disappointed to see Ryme has once again made it back to the room before me. She’s seated at the desk, bent over a silver figurine she must have brought from home. There are still nine corncakes on the plate. Her smile is bright, if a little manic, when she sees me walk in.

  “How did it go?”

  I shrug my bag off my shoulder and decide to give an honest answer. “I didn’t complete the science section.”

  Ryme’s eyes narrow. She bites her bottom lip and studies me for several moments. I guess she’s trying to determine whether I’m telling the truth. She’ll probably decide I’m attempting to get inside her head since it’s something she would do. Face it: anyone who brings a stack of corncakes with her and doesn’t eat a single one isn’t above screwing with someone’s mind.

  Finally she gives me a smug smile. “I guess Five Lakes Colony schools aren’t as good as the ones in Dixon. Too bad. One of us won’t be around much longer.”

  A flash of heat streaks through me. My nails bite into my palms as I fight for control of my anger. I can’t help myself from saying, “Our teachers did well enough. Tomas and I finished the reading section with time to spare. Did you?” I can see by the surprise on Ryme’s face that she didn’t, and I flash a mean smile. “I guess you’re right about one of us going home. Too bad. Don’t fo
rget to pack your corncakes when you leave.” My tone is snotty—the kind I use when my brothers are ganging up on me and I decide to get in a low blow. A different heat fills me. Embarrassment. I wait for Ryme to take another verbal shot. I deserve it. But she doesn’t. She just looks down at her hands.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  Her eyes come back up to meet mine. Her lips spread in a wide smile. “Whatever for?” she asks sweetly. “You were just trying to make yourself feel better after admitting you didn’t do well today. A lot of the inferior students at my school used to do the same thing, so I totally understand.”

  Ugh. The girl is asking to get slapped. To prevent myself from doing something else I’d just feel guilty about, I flop onto my bed, close my eyes, and keep my back to Ryme until dinner is announced. Before the announcement is complete, I am out the door.

  Dinner is an exuberant affair. Everyone is tired, but the stress of performing under pressure is lifted for the evening. The food also contributes to the happy atmosphere. Pizza. Warm and gooey and better than anything I’ve tasted before. I eat six slices. Zandri gets the twins telling jokes, and we are all laughing as the loudspeaker hisses and crackles to life.

  “Malencia Vale. Please report to the hallway. Thank you.”

  The dining hall goes silent. My heart slams in my chest. Have the Testing officials already decided I failed? Everyone at my table looks at me with questioning eyes. I must look freaked because Tomas takes my hand and says, “I bet they want to ask you to teach classes instead of taking them. Make sure they offer you a lot of money before saying yes.”

  Sure. I give him a weak smile and stand. All eyes are on me as I stiffly walk up the aisle, past all the other tables, and through the side door. Everyone in the hall is probably jockeying for position so they can get a good view through the glass wall. I clutch my bag and stand in the hallway, waiting for whatever comes next.

  “Malencia Vale?”

  I spin to my right at the sound of the familiar voice. The kindly gray-haired man from yesterday morning’s assembly— Dr. Jedidiah Barnes. There are two officials behind him. All are in their ceremonial purple. “Everyone calls me Cia,” I say.

  He smiles. “Both are lovely.” I try to come up with a response, but fail. Thankfully, a response isn’t required because he says, “Please forgive me for pulling you out of dinner, but Ryme Reynald’s friends have expressed concern over her whereabouts. When was the last time you saw her?”

  I blink. This is about Ryme. Not me. Not my Testing scores. Relief fills me. Confusion follows. “Ryme was sitting at her desk when I left for dinner.”

  “And she was well?”

  Arrogant. Irritating. Irrationally confrontational. “I think she was stressed after finishing today’s tests.”

  “Eight hours of tests for two days straight is enough to stress anyone out.” Dr. Barnes’s smile is apologetic. “We debate every year about spreading out the tests over the first week, but we feel it is best to get the first section of Testing over with quickly. Too much time to think about the tests also causes stress.” He sighs. “Would you mind letting us take a look in your room? Ms. Reynald probably decided to skip dinner, but we would like to make sure.”

  “Sure.” I mean, it isn’t really my room. “Go ahead.”

  He smiles again. “You’ll have to come with us. The law states that Testing officials are not allowed into any candidate’s room unless the candidate is present or there is an obvious emergency.”

  I guess I’m glad they didn’t test us on the United Commonwealth laws or I would have failed for sure. Irritated that Ryme has stirred up such drama and sucked me in for the ride, I head down the hall. Dr. Barnes’s tread is soft, but the other two officials’ boots clomp down the corridor. If Ryme is inside, she has certainly heard us coming.

  Turning the knob, I push the door open and take a step inside. The smell, urine mixed with corncakes, hits me first. Then I see her. Dangling on a colorful rope. Hanging from the ceiling. Face red and blotchy. Eyes wide with horror. Neck gouged and bleeding where she fought from instinct or because she changed her mind.

  I scream as the reality of what I see hits me. Hard.

  Ryme is dead.

  Chapter 7

  HANDS HELP ME stand. Lead me into the hall. Someone asks me to wait and other people in jumpsuits come running from every direction. I clutch my bag to my chest like a security blanket as activity swirls around me. Ryme is cut down from the ceiling. A gurney appears. When she is whisked past me, I recognize the rope still around her neck: her dress, the one she looked so lovely in yesterday, tied to a bed sheet.

  I can’t help my stomach from emptying or the tears that flow hot and fast—for her, for me, for not seeing the desperation and depression under the arrogant façade. Did my taunting her with finishing the final written test push her over the edge? Could a kind word have saved her?

  “Cia?”

  I blink and realize Dr. Barnes is holding my shoulders. Looking into my eyes. I blink twice and swallow the bile building in the back of my throat. Mutely, I nod that I hear him.

  “They are going to assign you a different room.” He leans against the wall next to me. “Would you like to talk about it?”

  No. But I will. I have to. Softly, I tell him about Ryme’s arrogance and her taunts today. My reaction and the apology I eventually gave. Even the corncakes and what I suspected they might contain. He’s a good listener. His deep brown eyes meet mine without censorship. His head nods, encouraging me to say more—never once letting his eyes travel to the officials walking in and out of the room, cleaning the floor next to me, talking in hushed tones about removing her belongings.

  When I am done, I feel empty, which is better in a way than feeling smothered by guilt. Dr. Barnes assures me Ryme’s death is not my fault. As we discussed earlier, stress is difficult. Some students handle stress better than others. Some can’t eat. Some never sleep. Ryme took her own life. While this is a tragedy, it is better for the entire Commonwealth population to learn now that she is not capable of dealing with the kinds of pressure she would be forced to deal with in the future. This event is unfortunate, but The Testing served its purpose. He hopes Ryme’s choice to end her candidacy will not impact the results of mine.

  End her candidacy? Inside I am icy cold. An official in purple informs us my room is ready, and Dr. Barnes gives my shoulders a squeeze. I smile and tell him I’ll be fine and that talking to him made me feel better. I hope he can’t see the lie. Because while his tone was kind, I heard the indifference in his words. To him, this was just another test. One Ryme failed. If I am not careful, I will fail too.

  I am shown my new room at the very end of the hall. The walls are painted yellow. They remind me of the dress Ryme was wearing when I first met her. The official asks me if I’m okay not having a roommate. If I don’t want to be alone he is certain a female official would be happy to sleep in the spare bed.

  No, I do not want to be alone. Awake, I am having trouble keeping Ryme’s lifeless eyes out of my head. Asleep, I will be defenseless to stop her from haunting me. Knowing I will be alone through the ordeal makes me want to curl up in a ball.

  But Dr. Barnes’s words ring loud in my head. The Testing is about more than what happens in the classrooms. Asking for help through the night will be seen as a weakness. Leaders are not weak. The Testing is looking for leaders.

  So I thank the official and tell him, “I’m fine being alone.” He tells me to let the official at the desk know if I change my mind. They can even give me drugs if I need help sleeping. Then he shuts the door behind him.

  I look around the room. Aside from the color it is an exact replica of the one I previously occupied. I hear muted voices and the sound of footsteps. Other candidates returning to their rooms from dinner. For a moment, I consider opening my door and going in search of my friends. A smile from Zandri, a hand squeeze from Tomas, or even one of Malachi’s quiet looks would help ease the sadness. But I don’t
open the door because that, too, could be considered a weakness. Instead I shower, change into my nightclothes, wash the daytime ones, and hang them to dry.

  Lying on the bed, I stare up at the ceiling, trying to conjure happy memories. Anything to ward off images of Ryme hanging from the light fixture. I can’t help but wonder whether my father witnessed something similar. Whether his brain had made up an even worse memory of The Testing to compensate for the horrific one he used to have. At this very moment, I believe it is more than possible.

  Everything is quiet. The others have taken to their beds and are sleeping in preparation for whatever is to come tomorrow. I am still awake. I keep the lights blazing bright and fight against the heaviness of my eyes. I am losing the battle when something catches my eye. A small circular glint in the ceiling. One that matches the one I saw in the skimmer.

  A camera.

  It is all I can do to keep the discovery off my face. I don’t know why it should surprise me that there is a camera watching even when we are doing the most mundane chores like sleeping and getting dressed. But it does. Is this room alone being watched? Because I found Ryme? Immediately, I reject the idea. If they are watching one room, I am certain they are watching them all. The implication of that sucks the air out of my lungs. If there are cameras in every room, someone watched Ryme as she stripped her bed of the sheet. Tied it to her dress. Reasoned out the best place to affix it to the light fixture on the ceiling. They watched as she stepped off the chair. Saw her struggle against the rope, claw her throat in an attempt to free herself, and go limp as her body shut down.

  They could have saved her. Instead, they let her die.

  I force myself to appear calm as I walk over to the light switch and cast the room into shadows. Whoever is watching, I don’t want them to see the horror I feel. I bury my head under the covers and out of habit clutch my bag to my chest. I wonder if the people behind the screen are reliving Ryme’s death while they sleep tonight. It is mean of me, but I hope they are because I am even before sleep pulls me under.