First

by Chanda Stafford

  “All your life you’ve prepared for this day. You’ve worked hard, studied, and learned everything your teachers have asked of you. We are confident that you can make your farm, your family, and your people proud, whether or not you’re chosen for this great opportunity. Are you ready to begin?” The children nod and answer in a chorus of yeses.

  “All right, then.” He claps his meaty hands in front of him. “Let’s see if you’re worthy of this honor.” Several of the children smile nervously, a few look bored, and the girl on the end looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.

  “Who can tell me what started the Immigration War?” A tiny hand shoots toward the sky. The girl, around six or seven, fairly bounces with excitement. Edward nods at her.

  “We did, sir,” she squeaks.

  “What is your name, girl?”

  “Analeise, sir.”

  “Thank you. You are correct. Your ancestors were unhappy with the New Patriot Act of 2297. Does anyone remember what was in that act?” The girl’s hand rockets skyward again, but he looks over her. No one else volunteers. He nods to a stick-thin boy about halfway down with tight blond curls. “You, over there. What’s your name?”

  “Hector, sir.”

  “Well? Do you know what was in that act?” Hector rolls his eyes before answering.

  “The New Patriot Act of 2297 made it illegal for anyone to be found without a V-chip, and only people with state issued I.D. could get one. Anyone caught without one was immediately deported to the nearest border checkpoint.”

  “Very good, Hector. Now why did Texas choose to betray our country and rebel?”

  “They thought that it was wrong to discriminate against people who didn’t have a V-chip. They also claimed that the government arrested people who disagreed with them and sent them to prisons in other countries.”

  “Was this true?”

  Hector shakes his head. “No, sir. Of course not. Our government would never arrest anyone without a good reason.”

  “Very good. During that war, your ancestors chose to become terrorists and attack innocent people. Can anyone tell me what happened?” Analeise raises her hand again, but he ignores her once more and points at a young boy on the end next to the girl who arrived late. “You there. What happened?”

  The young boy jumps. His newly bald head shines pale in the sunlight, and his arm still bears the redness of a new tattoo. “Th-they sent suicide bombers to attack the White House and the…” his brow furrows in concentration. The girl leans down and whispers something in his ear. “… Pentagon on the anniversary of the Immigration bill, sir.” He puffs out his chest and grins.

  “Very good,” Edward says. The girl next to the boy puts her arm around him and squeezes his shoulders. The boy beams up at her. “What’s your name?”

  “M-Max.”

  “Good. Thank you.” Edward gestures to the girl. “What happened after the war?”

  The girl straightens a bit before answering. “The government had no choice but to bomb most of Texas and the Southwest and move the leftover people to working farms for their own safety. Any remaining rebels were killed by bioengineered viruses released into the air.”

  “Thank you. And your name is?”

  “Mira.”

  “Excellent. What happened with the viruses?”

  The boy next to Mira raises his hand, and Edward nods at him. “The rebels used their own people to take the virus to big cities around the world, and it got everybody sick.”

  “Did a lot of people die?”

  Max nods. “Yes, millions and millions of people died.”

  “Good. Thank you, Max.” Mira smiles down at him and rubs her knuckles on the top of his head.

  “What does it mean to be Absolved?”

  Analeise raises her hand again, bouncing on the tips of her toes in excitement. Edward sighs and shakes his head before calling on her.

  “It’s the best thing in the world, sir. I… I would be so happy, and I know my momma and daddy would be so proud of me. I’d be the best Absolved there is.” Edward winces, and I chuckle.

  “Thank you, Analeise. That was very good.” He turns back to me, smiling tiredly and opening his arms to encompass all the children. “I present to you, the children of Chesaning Farms.”

  We all clap appropriately. The dull sound echoes across the open space.

  After the meager applause dies down, I limp toward the line of children, relying more than I would like on my old mesquite cane. My other hand lightly grazes the scruff of Ben’s neck. I try not to, but on every other step, I lean a bit into his canine strength. It’s harder, these days, to do things I used to take for granted, like walking.

  As I hobble down the line, I pass a tow-headed boy with scarred hands clenched in fists at his sides. His eyes are an earthy brown, and his nose has a crooked bend. I also pass the ones barely out of diapers. I need a Second with more presence. A five-year-old doesn’t command much attention, no matter how old the person’s soul is.

  I look over the heads of the younger children and focus on the older girl at the end, the one who got here last and congratulated the boy after he answered his questions correctly. What was her name again? Mira. Yes, that’s it. She is about as tall as I am—which isn’t saying much—slim, with short brown hair that’s barely within regulation guidelines and messily out of control. When her eyes meet mine, I see resentment, anger, and pride. Her chin tilts up, and she stiffens her spine as if preparing for an attack. Interesting.

  Her robe is clean, maybe a little wrinkled—she must have been in a hurry—and she appears to be at the age for graduating out of the system. I study her eyes. She has potential. I make my way over to her. Ben wags his tail and sniffs the hem of her pants. Hmm, what does he like about her?

  After studying her for a few seconds more, I walk down the line again, my sandals scuffing up little puffs of dust that cling to my robes. I stop at a boy around twelve with chocolaty-brown hair and big dark eyes. He glances up at me. I smile, and he ducks his head. Am I that terrifying? I’m just an old man, well past my expiration date.

  He sniffles, and when the boy looks up again, he’s trembling. I turn away. I don’t have the luxury of taking the time to reassure a weak Second, though I suppose it’s a lot to ask of any child, especially the younger ones, not to be afraid at a time like this. I walk back to Mr. Chesaning just as he’s joined by his wife.

  The woman wrings her hands. “I’m sorry, sir. We have a few more kids out in the field, but this is most of them.”

  I smile and shake my head. “It’s fine. Normally, I have an itinerary created months in advance, but I was unable to find the child I was looking for anywhere else.”

  They nod.

  “Well, there’s always the Anderson and Dawson farms.” Edward leans toward me, his bald pate shining in the sun.

  “Let me think for a moment.” I look back at the children fidgeting in the heat.

  The girl on the end stands silent, staring at me as if daring me to say or do anything, but then she looks down when the young boy, Max, tugs her sleeve. She gently touches his back, murmuring to him. Ben whines at my side, shifting from foot to foot as he looks at her. He’s never acted like this before. Is it a sign? He ignored the stocky youth at Lawrence farms and the young girl who bounced on her heels and reached out to pet Ben as we passed. He paid them no mind, so maybe this one is different. I glance back and see my advisor, the Chesanings, the guards, and the staff all eyeing me impatiently. Waiting for this old man to make a decision. So I do. Yes, I nod, this one’s as good a guess, better perhaps, than any of the others I’ve seen. “There’s no need for that. I believe I’ve made my decision.”

  I walk back to the line of children. As I reach the end, the girl looks up at me, meeting my gaze, and I let myself fall into her gr
ay eyes—my future eyes—and see myself reflected there. I turn away from her to face the Chesanings, my friend, and the assorted servants and guards.

  I point at the girl. “I choose this one.” My voice echoes as the children’s whispers and the quiet voices of the adults fall silent.

  The girl gasps. “No.”

  For a second, I think she’ll run. Then resilience returns to her gaze, and I know I’ve picked the right one.

  Smiling, I repeat the same words I’ve repeated six other times. “I choose you to be Absolved of the crimes of your ancestors. Do you accept?”

  Indecision flares in her eyes. After a second, she bows her head and whispers, “Yes.”

  Lucky

  Mira

  “I choose you,” echoes in my head, but I’m too numb to feel anything. Is this really happening? Only three months left until my birthday and now this? I don’t want to go. Never seeing Max again, or Tanner, it’ll kill me.

  I scowl all the way back to our cramped apartment and stomp my way into my closet-sized room with its sterile white walls and lumpy old mattress. I sigh. Looking around, even I have to admit that being some old man’s maid must be better than this. I rip off my tunic and sash, slip on a comfortable gray shirt and pants, and tighten a belt around my waist.

  “Mira!” Max rushes in, tears leaving wet tracks down his chubby baby cheeks. He grabs me around the hips and buries his head in my side. “You can’t go!”

  I totter backward. “Whoa, Max. It’s going to be all right.” I pat him awkwardly on the back. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. Tommy said you’re gonna die. He said that’s what happens when you get picked.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” I sit down on my bed. “You know that’s just a story they tell to get us to behave. You know what our teachers said; it’ll be a great opportunity.”

  “You can’t go.”

  “I have to.” Anger rushes through my veins, and it’s all I can do to keep from smashing a fist through the wall. What example am I setting for Max? Gritting my teeth, I fight for calm. “I don’t have a choice. It’s not that bad, right? I’ll see all sorts of places, meet different people. Besides, since they picked me, you don’t have to stand anymore.” My hands shake, so I fist them in my pockets so he doesn’t see. “It’s a good thing, Max. Trust me.”

  He shakes his head, eyes red and bottom lip trembling. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “I’m sorry, Max. I have to.”

  His eyes widen. “Did you tell Tanner?”

  Damn. “No. It just happened. I haven’t had time to tell anyone.” I close my eyes and see Tanner as I did yesterday, leaning against a tree at the edge of the clearing, our secret place, sun shining off his reddish-brown hair, laughter sparkling in his eyes. Dread fills me. He should have been the first stop after being chosen. I bunch up my uniform and throw it into the corner.

  Max lets go of me just as suddenly as he latched on and rushes for the door. “I’ll go tell him.”

  “No, don’t. It’s all right, I’ll do it.” But I’m speaking to an empty doorway. “Max?” Nothing. Little brat. The door slams.

  Just as I’m about to follow him, my mother rushes in and envelops me in a tight hug. No one else is around, so I’m not sure why she’s bothering to act as if she cares. The last time my mother hugged me was right after Rosie died. Right after she said it wasn’t my fault.

  “This is so wonderful.” She kisses my cheeks and clutches me to her chest again. Wow, she’s really putting on an act. “I can’t believe it. Someone from our family was chosen! I never would have thought. I always knew you were destined for great things.” Wait, didn’t she say this morning that there was a slim to none chance? I raise my eyebrows, but she doesn’t see it, she’s hugging me so tightly. Her heaving breaths and the dampness of her tears almost make me believe she’s genuine. Almost.

  I push myself away. “What if I don’t want to go?”

  “Nonsense, Mira. This is a great opportunity for you and for our family. You know what happens to Absolved Texans. It’s the closest any of us ever get to being free.”

  “I don’t want that. I just want to stay here. Tanner and I—”

  “That’s enough. That part of your life is over.” Her eyes narrow, and her mouth sets into a firm line. “You’re not a child anymore.”

  “What if I want to stay here?”

  “Stop it. Socrates chose you for a reason.” She smoothes my hair, a gesture that would have been downright maternal coming from anyone else’s mother. With her, it’s just another way to criticize my shortcomings. In this case, my unruly hair.

  I pull farther away from her. “You and I both know that if Socrates knew about me, he never would have picked me.”

  “Mira, you are the most amazing daughter a mother could ask for. Of course your First knew what he was doing.”

  “Right. You’re just saying that because you’re finally getting rid of me. We both know I’ll be a terrible Second. I skip visits like the Chesaning girls skip their chores. I even had to spend three days in the box. I’ve been written up so many times it’s a wonder I haven’t been kicked out or shipped off to another farm.”

  She shakes her head. “We all make mistakes, sweetheart, but we can be Absolved of our sins. Your father would be so proud of you.”

  “I thought he hated the Firsts.”

  “Of course he didn’t. You wouldn’t know, Mira. You were so young when he died.”

  “Five years isn’t that long.” But I’m arguing to her back as she walks out of my bedroom. Once again, I’m alone.

  I can’t stay anymore. The walls close in, and I feel like any moment my mom will come back, or Max, or Tanner. Oh yeah, Tanner. Guilt hits me hard, and I shove my feet into shoes. I should see him. Really, I need to see him, talk to him, beg him for forgiveness. But from what? It’s not like I asked for this. It’s not like I wanted this. It’s not my fault, right? But there’s no answer, only the echo from the empty walls. I have to get out of here.

  Sneaking out is pretty easy—there’s no one home—but somehow, it still feels wrong, like I should be working or at school or something. Passing around the edge of the courtyard, I notice that it’s recess, and Max is out playing.

  “Mira!” he shrieks and runs toward me, grabbing me in another hug. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I’m going for a walk.” I gently break free and smile as I scrub my hand on the top of his head. He ducks, just like he always does.

  “Going to see Tanner? You looove him, don’t you?” He bounces up and down on his heels in that excited, hyper way only little kids have.

  “No! I don’t love him.” Right? My cheeks burn red hot. “He’s my best friend, all right?” I chew on my bottom lip and look out toward the field where Tanner works.

  “But you have to! Tanner said he’d come over after work.”

  “Umm, just… just tell him I can’t see him. That I’m tired or something.”

  Max’s eyes get huge. “But you’re leaving! You want me to lie?”

  I wince at the message I’m sending. Some role model I am. “Please Max. If you tell him I’m gone, he’ll come looking for me, and I, I need some time alone right now.”

  He sticks the tip of his tongue out the corner of his mouth as he thinks. “But Mom said—”

  I pull him to me, and he squirms. “I know, I know. It’s wrong to lie. But just this once, can you do it for me?”

  Max thinks for another long stretch of seconds, still with concentration.

  “Please?”

  Finally he nods, and I feel a relieved grin stretch across my face. “But it’s your fault, right? If Mom catches me, I’m gonna say it’s your fault.” He narrows his eyes at me, so I know he’s serious.

  “That’s fin
e.” I chuckle. “I deserve it if she gets mad at me.”

  After Max leaves, I head out past the edge of the fields and cross over a small hill.

  Nestled between the shadows of that hill and the edge of the forest is a sacred place. Little wooden houses rise above the ground on spindly stilts. Dolls have tea at the edge of a little tiny sandbox. Stuffed animals romp with each other, their weather-beaten hides gray from the elements. My eyes linger on the little brown teddy leaning against the swing set. I placed it there after Rosie died. The creature’s lopsided bow droops, once bright red, now pale silver. The rusty swings clank against each other in the lazy summer breeze, and if I concentrate, I can hear laughter and nursery rhymes, and see tiny hands making hopscotch squares on the rough-hewn boards. Little invisible feet climb the ladder, and ghostly children shriek as they speed toward the earth on the slide.

  The playground had been a paradise for the little ones until the Chesanings banned it many years ago. They said it was too dangerous having children that close to the forest, but there was nowhere closer to the apartments to put it. I think Mrs. Chesaning just didn’t like the sound of the kids laughing and playing. She sends her own brats out often enough with their nannies.

  But no matter how much she tries, Mrs. Chesaning can’t banish the ghosts. Everywhere I look—behind the slide, underneath the tire swing, sitting next to the doll drinking tea, and nestled between teddy bears and ragdolls—are tiny handmade wooden crosses. Where the playground was once filled with laughter, it’s now a place no mother ever wants her child to visit.

  Living on the edge of the wilderness, we have more than our share of losses. But we’re Texans, the losers of a long-ago war, so it doesn’t really matter what happens to us, as long as there are enough workers in the fields and kids in the Second pool to fill the lineup whenever a First comes to call. It seems as though a kid dies at least once a year. Sometimes, it’s because they get lost in the woods, like my sister; other times, it’s a farming accident, like getting kicked by a horse. Then, there’s the plague. My family’s been lucky. We’ve been spared the coughing, bloody vomit, and the bone-jarring seizures. Others, not so much. The last time disease hit our farm, it was pretty bad. Twenty-eight people died. Nineteen of them were kids.