Pass/Fail (2012)

by David Wellington

  It was what Jake had been waiting for. “Thanks, Brent,” Jake said. Then he slipped the mask over his face. It gripped his cheeks and temples with a weird suction, as if it were alive and it was trying to swallow his head. It felt weird, and wrong. He could see through it just fine, though the colors he saw were muted.

  If it possessed some kind of machinery to deaden emotions, Jake couldn’t tell. He still felt scared. Especially when he touched the yellow door.

  When his “mother” had worn her Proctor’s mask, she had been completely protected from poison gas. Jake tried not to breathe too much anyway but his heart was racing too fast for him to hold his breath for long. The room beyond seemed perfectly harmless. This maze wasn’t just for testing purposes, he’d decided. This really was where the Proctors came from before the tests—a kind of waiting room, as well as a supply dump. It was quite possible that it wasn’t a maze at all, but that Brent was merely leading him around from door to door for no reason, just following false information provided to him by the three TV screens.

  Or, potentially, the room was full of poison and even taking a breath in there would kill him. He supposed there was no way to tell—either the mask was protecting him, or it wasn’t. He wasn’t about to take it off just to check.

  At the far end of the room was a door, a quite normal door with a doorknob and everything, and over it buzzed a red sign marked EXIT.

  The exit door was unlocked. Behind it a flight of stairs rose straight ahead of Jake. He took them two at a time.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “Hey, McCartney,” Brent called, his voice far away and small. Jake had lowered his hand that held the phone. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

  At the top of the stairs was a trap door. Jake pushed up on it with his shoulder and it creaked open, spilling sand all around its edges. Jake climbed up into bright sunlight. The mask shielded his eyes from the glare. He looked around and saw unfinished walls covered in graffiti, with bare holes where windows or doors should be. He was in the ruins. A pale blue envelope lay in the sand next to him. Inside was a PASS.

  Jake closed the phone with a click. He had escaped. He had passed. He never wanted to hear Brent’s voice again.

  Besides, he had something else to focus on. On the wall directly in front of him someone had spray-painted the words D WAS HERE, right where anyone emerging from the trap door would see it clearly.

  Jake had seen that message before, carved into the surface of a desk. At the time he’d thought it was meaningless, just a tag left behind by someone whose name began with the letter D. Now, though, he wondered. He thought of the dossier file on Mr. Zuraw’s computer—

  Jake had climbed all the way out of the trap door. Behind him it slammed shut, raising a cloud of dust that quickly settled, obscuring the place where the door had been. Jake thought of all the offices and storage rooms down there. There might be all kinds of useful things down there. In his rush to escape and pass the test, he’d barely begun to explore. He dropped to his knees and felt in the sand, looking for some edge of the trap door, or maybe some hidden catch that would make it open again.

  “Where is he?” someone demanded. At first Jake thought it must be Brent again. He looked up and saw Cody standing before him with a baseball bat. “What did you do to Jake this time, you son of a bitch?” Cody demanded, and swung.

  Jake tried to roll away but the bat caught him in the side. Pain exploded across his ribs and he groaned as he fell over, clutching at his bruised abdomen. “Cody, stop,” he cried, and heard his own voice come out in a buzzing tone like he was speaking through an electric fan.

  He reached up to pull off the mask but Cody stepped forward and raised the bat as if he was ready to swing again—this time for the head. Jake held up his hands in surrender. “Cody, it’s me. Take the mask off me!”

  Cody looked confused, but angry enough to swing anyway. Instead, though, he reached down and pulled the mask off Jake’s face. It came free with an unpleasant tearing feeling, like a band-aid, maybe. Like it was reluctant to come off.

  “Oh, man,” Cody said. “Oh, Jake. Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “You didn’t know. Help me up?” Jake asked, raising one hand. Cody pulled him to his feet. Jake tried to stand upright and found that his body really, really wanted to stay hunched over. “What are you doing here?” Jake asked.

  Cody bit his lip. “You weren’t in homeroom this morning. I got—worried. So I came here hoping to find you. I figured if you were cutting class for some reason, you might be here.”

  “And the bat?” Jake asked. “What was that for?”

  Cody looked sheepish. “That’s the weirdest thing. It was lying in the sand when I got here. I guess somebody just forgot it here.”

  Or Mr. Zuraw had left it there on purpose, knowing what Cody would think when he saw a Proctor—or what he thought was a Proctor—emerging from the trap door. What Cody would do, thinking he was being ambushed by an enemy.

  He took the bat out of Cody’s hands and examined it. He was not particularly surprised to find the letters AFC burned into the shaft. Things had changed. Originally Mr. Zuraw had wanted Jake to pass the tests. To pass the whole Curriculum. Now… Jake was more than willing to believe that Mr. Zuraw simply wanted him dead.

  “When I saw—a Proctor—come out of that hole, I just grabbed the bat and started swinging. I thought maybe they’d killed you already. I guess I was a little on edge,” Cody said, with a sad little laugh.

  Jake nodded, understanding. He was still having trouble standing up straight. The pain in his side had spread outward, becoming a general ache. He wondered if he had any broken ribs. He hurt enough.

  Speaking quickly he filled Cody in on everything that had happened to him since the last time he’d seen him, since just after he failed the heavy dodgeball test. Cody was flabbergasted to hear that Jake’s mother was a Proctor.

  “But—I’ve known her all my life!” He pulled off his glasses and rubbed them furiously with the end of his shirt. “I’ve known her for all of both our lives. How could you—”

  “How could I threaten my own mother? I didn’t, really. She expected me to, so she just went along. Of course, she knew she was leading me into a trap.”

  “I was going to say how could you learn something like that and still be functional,” Cody told him.

  Jake laughed. “By not thinking about it. I’m still in heavy denial. If I start thinking about it I’ll be in serious trouble. I’ll start asking questions. Like, does my father know? Is my father in on this, too? Or, like, if I went home right now, would she be there? Or would my dad have some weird story about her suddenly being forced to move out of town? Or—”

  Cody held up his hands in surrender. “Stop already. I can see why denial is the better option.”

  Jake put it out of his head—not without difficulty—and considered his next move.

  “Mr. Zuraw is going to have another test for me today,” Jake said. “Probably more than one.”

  “So soon? But you just passed one!”

  “Cody, he’s going to keep testing me until I fail again. Until the rules let him execute me. He’s decided I have to die. But he has to follow his own rules, I think. The only way he’s allowed to kill me is if I fail another test.”

  Cody’s face went pale. “Then you’re going to have to pass everything he throws at you. He can’t kill you if you pass.”

  “Maybe not, but he can make the tests impossible. He’s manipulated my whole life to this point. He created my whole life. As far as he’s concerned the rules only exist to let him do what he wants. No, Cody, it’s not going to be enough to pass the tests. From now on I have to do more than pass. I have to win. I have to beat this. And I’m not even sure yet what that would mean.”

  Jake had never seen Cody look so serious. Always before, no matter how bad things got, his friend had at least part of a grin on his face. Now he looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Okay,” he said. “Well, I’m in. Whatever
you need.”

  “Right now,” Jake told him, “I need Megan. Can you go and find her?”

  Cody didn’t even look jealous as he ran off to do as he was asked. He must have seen in Jake’s face just how serious things had gotten.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Jake sat down on the slope of a hill facing the school, between the playing fields and the road. He could keep an eye on the whole school from there. He felt like the next threat was going to come at any second, and though he doubted he would see it that easily he didn’t want to take any chances.

  While he waited for Megan he studied the mask he’d taken out of the underground maze. He’d always assumed that they were hard shells, that if he had ever reached up and knocked on a Proctor’s face his knuckles would clank off a cold metallic surface. Instead it was rubbery and warm. The inside was as smooth as the front. He knew it had to contain some way to filter air and some way to alter the wearer’s voice, but he couldn’t see any machinery built into its thin material.

  One more mystery he supposed he would never get a chance to solve.

  What was taking Cody so long? Jake dropped the mask beside him and pulled at a few blades of yellow, spiky grass that had managed to grow long in the desert sun. Things survived, he thought, in places where they shouldn’t. Where it didn’t seem possible. They survived.

  The portable telephone in his pocket buzzed. Jake’s arms twitched as if he was expecting a blow. He forced himself to breathe, then reached for the phone and checked the small screen. It was Mr. Zuraw calling.

  Did he even dare answer it? This could be another test. If he opened the phone it might explode against his ear, killing him instantly. But that wasn’t how it worked, of course. He had to be notified in advance of automatic failure conditions. Nothing on the telephone’s little screen told him this was a test. “Hello?” he asked.

  “Hi, Jake. Glad to see you’re still with us. Are you planning on coming to class today?”

  “Not really,” Jake said.

  “I’d strongly advise you to come inside. You should be aware that if the Proctors can’t find you when it’s time for your next test, it will count as a fail.”

  Jake rubbed at his forehead. “They know where I am. They can come find me.”

  “That’s not their job, Jake. Give my regards to Megan.”

  Jake looked up and saw her coming toward him, walking a few steps behind Cody. They were waiting for the traffic light before they crossed the road.

  “Leave her alone. Even after I’m gone—just leave her alone,” Jake said.

  Mr. Zuraw sounded apologetic. “Jake, you’re not the only students who requires my guidance. For instance, there’s the question of that false fire alarm we had the other day. When I find out who pulled the alarm I’ll be forced to give them long term suspension. My hands are tied—it’s one of the principal’s strictest policies. It’s even in the student handbook.”

  “You know what? Fine. If—that person—has to stay home from school for a couple weeks, then—they—will miss what’s about to happen. They won’t have to watch me get shot. So you go right ahead.”

  Mr. Zuraw laughed. “We do things a little differently at Fulton High than at other schools you may have heard of. That’s not what suspension means here.”

  “What does it mean?” Jake asked, watching Megan come across the street and start up the hill. She was so beautiful, even when she looked angry.

  “Believe me, the student we’re talking about doesn’t want to find out.”

  Jake snapped the phone shut. Mr. Zuraw was taunting him. Trying to make him uneasy—as if he needed help with that. If he was going to bust Megan he would have already done it.

  As she walked toward him, watching his face as intently as he watched hers, he considered the fact that she might be a mole. Cody had put forth a pretty good case for that. She might also be a distraction. Thinking about her, spending even a few minutes talking to her now and trying to work things out, might get him killed.

  He didn’t care. If she hated him, what did he have to live for?

  “Okay,” she said, standing in front of him. Staring down at him with hard eyes. “I’m here. Cody told me what’s been going on. I agree it sounds bad. It sounds awful, frankly. But I’m still pissed. You called me stupid the last time I saw you. I’m not stupid. I have a 3.95 GPA and I have a real talent for painting. Did you even know that? Maybe you didn’t mean to call me stupid. Are you going to tell me now that was just a mistake? That you’re really, really sorry and you never meant anything by your little comment?”

  He found himself smiling at her. He couldn’t help it.

  “I’d be willing to buy that, Jake. As dumb as it might sound, I actually would believe you if you apologized to me right now. I mean, it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t make me suddenly turn into your girlfriend. That would take a lot more work. Work I know you don’t have time to do. So maybe it would be better if I turned around and just left you here. Maybe I should say, hey, no hard feelings, everything’s fine. Come look me up when you pass all your tests. Maybe that would be the right thing to say.”

  Very slowly Jake started to stand up. He was tired, so tired, and his ribs hurt, but he wanted to look at her eye to eye.

  “I’m sure Cody would think that was for the best. And Cody’s a smart guy. Me, I don’t know what to think. It would really, really help if you would say something. I feel like every since I met you I’ve done all the talking, and it really gets on my nerves, sometimes.” She blinked rapidly. Her hair was falling across her face and the breeze was blowing it into her eyes. “It would help if you would—”

  She started to reach up, to move her hair out of the way. He touched her hand, then pushed the hair out of her eyes himself. Her eyes—they were so blue. Just looking into them calmed him down. Made him feel better.

  “I love you,” he said.

  She wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back, and pressed his cheek against hers. They just stood there, like that, for a very long time. “You need to know that now,” Jake whispered in her ear, “because I don’t know how much longer I’ll have.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  During Civics III, the Proctors put the school to sleep. One of them came for Jake and led him to his next test. It took place in the lighting room of the auditorium. Jake was led up a narrow flight of metal stairs to the cramped little room, a place he had only seen once before. That had been when he’d joined the drama club, in his sophomore year, and been shown all around the stage, from the props room full of painted cardboard cut-outs to the orchestra pit to the catwalks hidden in the proscenium arch.

  The lighting room was painted all in black and its walls were lined with bunches of cables that headed off in every direction. It just had room for two stools—Jake took one and the Proctor took the other—and a lighting board containing hundreds of rocker switches and rheostats and countless silver toggle switches. From that board you could control every spotlight and scoop light in the auditorium as well as run any number of basic lighting effects. You could simulate a flash of thunder from the board, or switch on a strobe light hidden at the back of the rows of seats.

  There were only two switches involved in the test, however, and Jake didn’t recognize either of them. They were toggle switches marked A and B, and underneath the pair of them was a strip of masking tape labeled DRESSING ROOMS.

  “One of these switches,” the Proctor explained, “turns on a light in the boy’s dressing room. The other turns on a light in the girl’s dressing room. These lights are usually flashed to warn the actors their cues are coming up. You cannot see either light from here, because they are not meant to be seen by the audience. Please tell me which switch turns on the light in the boy’s dressing room.”

  Jake studied the switches. There was nothing to make one look more likely than the other. “So, um,” he said, trying to stall for time to think, “what are the automatic failure conditions for this test?”r />
  The Proctor’s voice was flat and emotionless as he listed them. “If you flip more than one switch, it will count as an automatic failure condition. If you flip either switch more than once, it will count as an automatic failure condition. If you leave this room with either switch flipped on, it will count as an—”

  “I get it,” Jake said. Mr. Zuraw was going to make this as hard as possible. He thought about how it would work. Presumably he could flip a switch and then go down to the boy’s dressing room and see if the light was on. But first he would have to flip the switch off, which meant the light would be off when he got there. But—

  “Ah,” he said, and flipped the switch marked A. Then he sat back on his stool and waited.

  After a full minute had passed the Proctor said, “If you do not make a choice within five minutes, it will count as an automatic failure condition.”

  “Okay,” Jake said. He flipped the switch to the off position. “Can I leave the room now, or is that an AFC, too?”

  “It is permitted.”

  “Thanks.” Jake dashed down the spiral stairs again and across the stage to the dressing rooms. He found the boy’s dressing room and went inside. The light was mounted on one wall, just a bare light bulb in a plastic fixture. Jake touched the bulb and yanked his fingers away quickly—it was burning hot to the touch.

  He headed back up to the lighting room quickly, anxious not to run over the five minute deadline. “It’s switch A,” he said.

  It had to be. Light bulbs got very warm when they were turned on, especially if you let them burn for a minute before you turned them off again. If it had been switch B, the light bulb would have been cold to the touch.

  The Proctor took an envelope out of his jacket pocket.

  Jake reached for the envelope but the Proctor held it out of reach. “Before giving this to you I must request that you return the piece of Curriculum property you removed from the underground offices.”

  Jake was more confused by the request than he had been by the test, at first. Then he realized what the Proctor wanted and he reached into his pocket and took out the silver mask he’d been carrying around. He looked at it carefully, knowing it might come in useful sometime, but also knowing the envelope was far more important. He handed the mask over and the Proctor gave him the envelope in return.