Independent Study

by Joelle Charbonneau

  My stomach growls again. My throat is dry, and my eyes feel grainy. Regardless of how my actions might be perceived, I need a break. If I don’t take a moment to recharge, the rest of my answers will suffer for it.

  Swallowing hard, I close my booklet, place my pencil next to the papers, and raise my hand. Professor Lee doesn’t notice me right away, but some of the other students do. Several give me smug looks, as though proud their stamina is greater than mine. Others, like Stacia, shake their heads. For a moment, I consider putting down my hand, but Tomas’s encouraging nod makes me raise it higher in the air.

  Professor Lee spots me, smiles, and signals permission to leave my desk. My joints are stiff as I walk to the front of the class. A female official in ceremonial red is waiting for me outside the classroom door. She escorts me down the stairs to a room on the first floor where a table with food and water awaits. I fill a plate with chicken, slices of a sharp-smelling cheese, and salad made of fruits, greens, and nuts—all foods my parents encouraged my brothers and me to eat before important exams—and dig in.

  I barely register the taste as I chew and swallow. This is not food to be savored. It is fuel to get me through the next four hours. I finish my meal quickly and then use the bathroom and splash water on my face. Less than fifteen minutes has elapsed when I slide into my desk feeling far more alert than when I left. Picking up my pencil, I open the booklet and once again begin to write.

  Questions on genetic code, historical figures, important breakthroughs in medicine and solar power collection are asked. My fingers cramp. The pages fill. I get to the last question and blink. Please tell us your preferred focus of study and why you feel you are best suited to be selected for that career path. This is my chance to convince the University administrators of my passion and ability to help develop our country’s technology.

  Taking a deep breath, I begin to write. All my hopes pour onto the page. My desire to help upgrade the communications system from our country’s limited use of pulse radios to a sophisticated network that would be available to every citizen. My excitement about new energy sources that would better power our lights and other devices. My absolute belief that I can make a difference in the technological future of the United Commonwealth.

  Time slips away as I write and rewrite my answer, worried that one wrong word will change the focus of my career. One by one, my fellow students raise their booklets over their heads, wait for them to be collected, and leave the room, until there are only five of us left. I am satisfied with my final answer and look up at the clock. Three minutes remain.

  My mouth goes dry as I remember. I skipped four questions with the intent of going back later. Only, I spent so much time constructing my final answer there isn’t enough time. My heart races as I flip back, hoping to answer just one of them. But I don’t. The clock expires as I finish reading the first unanswered question again. Pencils down. The examination is over. And I have not finished.

  None of the questions I failed to answer are math- or science-related—the subjects I believe are most important to Mechanical Engineering. I try to take solace in that as I hand my booklet to Professor Lee. But my failure to complete the exam makes it hard for me to hold my head up as I walk out of the room. All I can do now is hope for the best.

  Tomas is waiting for me on the steps outside. The smile on his face disappears as he looks into my eyes. “How did it go?”

  “I left four questions unanswered. If I hadn’t taken a break for food, I would have finished.”

  Tomas shakes his head. “Taking a break was smart. I wouldn’t have taken one if you hadn’t. I was losing focus. You reminded me that it’s important to step away and clear the mind. When I came back from my break, I reread my last answer and found two errors. I owe you for that.”

  The gentle kiss he gives me is more than payment enough.

  When Tomas steps back, he flashes a dimpled grin. “I also owe you for the entertainment. The looks on everyone’s faces when you walked out of the room were priceless. They didn’t know whether to be impressed or intimidated by your confidence.”

  I blink. Confidence was the last thing I’d been feeling when I left the examination room. But Tomas’s words make me stop and think. How would I have felt if someone else had raised her hand first? Had gone out for a snack while time ticked away on the clock? I would have assumed the student had no concern about finishing the test on time. In fact, the student’s departure would have made me assume she would not only finish the exam but have time to spare. Tomas’s words are a good reminder. Thinking something is true doesn’t make it so. Perception is almost as important as reality.

  The light starts to fade as Tomas and I walk hand in hand to the University’s dining facility. Older students tend to avoid the dining hall, since every designated field of study has its own residence and kitchen. Most days, the only people using this hall are a handful of low-ranking University administrators, one or two professors, and me and my fellow Early Studies students. The food provided is usually simple: sandwiches, fruit, rolls, raw vegetables. Nothing that requires great amounts of preparation or effort to keep warm. Despite the major milestone we have just completed, the food remains the same. No celebration for us. Not yet. Not until scores have been determined and fields of study assigned.

  During the last six months as University students, we’ve taken a number of tests. After each, the dining hall was filled with chatter comparing answers, lamenting mistakes, and celebrating correct responses. Today there is none of that. Most of my fellow students keep their eyes on their plates as they eat. Some don’t eat at all. They just push the food around, trying to look normal. Everyone feels fatigue from the test and anxiety over the results.

  I pick at the bread and fruit. Worry makes it impossible to eat much more than a few mouthfuls. Tomas has no problem cleaning his plate. I guess I don’t have to ask how he did on the exam.

  Pushing away the remains of my meal, I ask, “Do you think they’ll give us the results first thing in the morning or make us wait until later in the day?”

  Before Tomas can speculate, a tenor voice says, “It’ll happen first thing.”

  Tomas stiffens as our fellow Early Studies student Will grins and slides his lanky body into the empty seat next to me. Inside I flinch. Outwardly, I smile. “You sound pretty confident.”

  “That’s because I am.” His eyes gleam. “I overheard a couple of administrators talking. Pulling an all-nighter to make sure examination results are ready first thing in the morning wasn’t on their top ten list of favorite things to do.” His smile widens. “They were seriously annoyed. They don’t mind making us lose sleep, but they don’t like doing it themselves. So how did you guys do today?”

  Tomas shrugs and looks down at his plate. For some reason Tomas won’t explain, he doesn’t like Will. Not that Tomas is ever rude. He’s not. But the way he gives minimal responses speaks volumes, as does the look in his eyes. There is a wariness. A distrust.

  “How about you, Cia?” Will asks. “I’m guessing you aced this like you do everything else. Right?”

  I wish. “There were too many questions to ace them all.”

  “I know I flunked the questions on art history. I thought they wanted leaders who could help revitalize the country. How is knowing about a sculpture of a naked guy going to help? A naked girl . . .” He grins again. “Now, that’s a different story.”

  I can’t help but laugh and half listen as Will jokes about the various test questions and speculates on whether he’ll be assigned his desired field of study—Education.

  Will has a quick wit that I enjoy. He also has a great love for his family, especially his twin brother, Gill, who came to Tosu City for The Testing but did not pass through to the University. Not long after we began as University students, Will showed me a picture of him and his brother. Two identical faces with amused grins. Tall, thin bodies and ashen skin that speaks of a lack of healthy food in their home colony. Other than the length of
their hair—Will’s to his shoulders, and his brother’s cropped short—the two were carbon copies right down to the love and happiness shining out of their deep green eyes.

  It’s the longing and love I see in his eyes that draw me to Will even as the accusations on the Transit Communicator warn me to stay away. I find it hard to believe someone who tried to kill both Tomas and me lurks under the friendly smile. But my recorded voice tells me that this is exactly who Will is. Which is why I keep close to him. I am determined to find out if that voice is right. About Will. About Tomas. About everything.

  Chapter 2

  WE SIT IN the same classroom we were tested in yesterday. Waiting. Twenty students selected from the eighteen United Commonwealth colonies. Ready to learn how we will help rebuild our country.

  I glance around the room. Most of my fellow students I’ve come to know. Will, who wants to teach. Stacia, who hopes to study government and law. Vic, a large redheaded boy from Stacia’s colony, whose ambition lies with healing broken bones. A willowy brunette with waist-length hair, Kit, who flirts relentlessly with Tomas even as she tries to edge him out of the top spot for Biological Engineering. A boy called Brick claims he’s happy to study whatever the United Commonwealth finds he is best suited for. Over half the students in this room are interested in being a part of the government in order to shape our country’s laws. The one thing we have in common is our realization that we control nothing.

  I hold my breath as Professor Lee walks to the front of the class holding a clipboard. My heart hammers and I try not to squirm as he says, “In my hand are the test results for your examination. Your name will appear in alphabetical order on this sheet. Next to your name will be an indicator as to whether you have passed and been assigned a field of study or have failed and are therefore Redirected to a field outside the University’s scope. All students who did not receive a passing grade will meet a United Commonwealth official outside their residence at noon. That official will escort you to a location where you will discuss the next step in your career.”

  My pulse quickens. Is this part of the script every year, or has someone in our class failed this test?

  There isn’t time to ask as Professor Lee continues. “For those who passed, your designated field of study will be listed after your name. Tomorrow, you will be met by your course of study’s academic adviser. You will be assigned to a student guide, who will help you move into your designated field of study’s residence hall. You will have a week to settle into your space and get to know the people sharing your career path before your studies begin. I look forward to seeing many of you in my classes.”

  Professor Lee turns, hangs the clipboard on the wall behind him, and walks to the exit. When he reaches the door, he looks back. “I congratulate you all on your achievements thus far. I know you will do great things in the future.” After one last smile, he walks out.

  I’m not surprised that Stacia is the first one out of her seat. Chairs are pushed back, several of them overturned, as my classmates rush to the front to see what fate has in store. Someone gives a whoop of excitement. Anticipation laced with fear tingles up my spine. Slowly, I rise and walk toward the list.

  At five foot two, I am the shortest girl in the class. Since I was the last to leave my desk, I find myself in the back of the group. Though I stand on tiptoe and crane my neck, the list remains hidden from view. But I can see the other students’ faces clearly. Will getting slapped on the back by a short, dark-skinned boy named Rawson. Kit giving Tomas a big hug and keeping her arms around him even as he tries to pull away. Stacia stalking to the door. The tears glittering in her eyes send cold fear up my spine. Did she not get the area of study she wanted, or did the unthinkable happen?

  Weaving in between bodies and finally pushing a grinning Will out of the way, I come face-to-face with the list. It is organized in alphabetical order by last name. I shift my eyes to the bottom, look for my name, and find it.

  Vale, Malencia—Pass—Government

  I close my eyes, take three deep breaths, and open them again. The words haven’t changed. For some reason I can’t comprehend, I have been assigned to the field of study I least want to pursue.

  There must be a mistake. I fight the urge to run after Professor Lee and beg for an explanation. Did I not choose the correct words in my final answer? My skill lies in mathematics and in manipulating metal and wires, not in doublespeak and carefully constructed phrases. Why would the University administrators assign me to the area where I am most certain to fail?

  Tears lodge in my throat but go no farther. I will not let them fall. Not here. No one will see my disappointment. Not the administration. Not my fellow students. I refuse to let anyone know how hard I am fighting to keep my breath even and my hands unclenched. They will only see joy that I passed.

  Curving my lips into a smile, I read the rest of the results and look for the names of my friends. I find Tomas first and grin for real. Biological Engineering. Pride and happiness shimmer through me. I look for him in the crowd and find him standing two feet away. I throw my arms around him and squeeze tight. The professors have made the correct choice. He will not disappoint.

  Holding Tomas’s hand, I find Stacia’s and Will’s names back to back. Medicine for Stacia. Government for Will. Like me, neither received their preferred course of study, which explains Stacia’s unhappiness. But they have both passed. Which is not true for all of my classmates. My personal disappointment fades. Beside Obidiah Martinez’s name is one word: Redirected. I cannot help but wonder what consequences that word will bring.

  It’s the first question I ask Tomas after we leave the classroom and go to a spot outside where we are least likely to be disturbed. I can tell Tomas would rather talk about how I feel about my own test results. Once I assure him I’m fine, he says, “I’m guessing he’ll get assigned to a tech team here in the city or sent to one of the colonies to help with construction. Don’t you think?”

  I’m not sure what I think. Obidiah isn’t a friend. In fact, I don’t think he could claim that standing with anyone here. A few have tried to engage him in conversation, including me. A week after arriving on campus, I saw him sitting by a tree, looking off into the distance. While his powerful build, fierce expression, and exotic-looking braided hair would normally intimidate me into keeping my distance, the sadness I saw in his eyes had me walking toward him. The moment I said his name, his expression changed. Sadness was replaced by anger. He demanded I leave. I did. The experience was enough to keep me from repeating the overture. Now I wish I had.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Tomas asks as we walk back to my residence. He stops and looks down into my eyes. I feel the shield I’ve built against my emotions start to crack, and I bite my lip. Tomas touches my cheek and says, “If it’s any consolation, I think they made the right choice.”

  The words punch the air from my lungs. “You don’t think I’m good enough for Mechanical Engineering.”

  Tomas’s hand touches my shoulder. I try to shake him off, but he holds fast. “I think there’s no one I’d trust with the direction of our country more. Government isn’t always just, and it isn’t always fair. But it should be. I trust you to try and make ours both.”

  His words and kiss chase the doubts into the shadows, but they return when he leaves to pack for tomorrow’s move. Tomas has faith in me, but I am not certain I can return his trust. Not in myself. Not in him. Not in anything.

  Standing in my Early Studies quarters, I try to decide what to pack first. Since The Testing, I’ve acquired very little. Barely enough to warrant taking one of the additional bags they provided for the move to our new quarters. Just a few extra clothes, a couple of books, and a small vase of dried flowers. The flowers were a birthday gift from home, although everyone thinks they came from Michal, the Tosu City official who escorted me to The Testing. Not even Tomas knows the truth, since I don’t want to risk trouble for the official or my family.

  Today, the vase makes
me think of my father. As I hold it, tears begin to fall. What would he think of the field I’ve been assigned? Would he be as confused as I? University administrators directed him into genetically manipulating plants. The evidence that their judgment was correct is cradled in my hands. My father is a genius at making growing things thrive. The passion he feels for his work is one of the qualities I most admire about him. I always assumed he’d made the choice to help revitalize the earth. I hadn’t realized the decision had been made for him, and I have to wonder—if he had been the one doing the choosing, what would his choice have been? Was he, like Tomas, directed into the field of his passion, or was he like me?

  Wiping away my tears, I dig into the mattress and pull the Transit Communicator from its hiding place. Bile rises in my throat. The stories recorded on the Communicator speak of a testing process run by the United Commonwealth Government that is far from fair and just. Can I be an active part of a system that encourages Testing candidates to kill and be killed? Does the end result—my father’s amazing work with plants and the hundreds of breakthroughs created by University graduates—justify the means? These are questions I cannot begin to answer until I learn whether the words I recorded are real or imagined.

  Since all successful Testing candidates have their memories of The Testing removed, it is impossible for me to determine what really occurred during that time. But if I am clever, I can find a way.

  I glance at the clock on my nightstand—11:04 a.m. According to Professor Lee’s instructions, Obidiah will meet a University official outside this building at noon to embark on his new career path. While learning Obidiah’s fate will not tell me if the recorder’s stories are true, it will give me an idea of what the University believes is an appropriate punishment for failure. If it is anything like the stories on the recorder, I will have the answer I’m seeking.