by Rebecca Rode
“Watch and see if I’m right,” Taliyah whispered into my ear. Luckily, her anger at me seemed to have dissipated. She was focused on her latest conspiracy theory—something about the government purposefully creating more yellows and reds than in years past. “It’s like the foundation of a pyramid,” she had explained. “You need more people at the bottom to support the few on top.”
Tali refused to believe the truth. People earned the Ratings they got, and that was that. I shrugged. “Sure.”
She gave me a sharp look. “Don’t ‘sure’ me, Treena. I’m right.” When I didn’t answer, she turned away, crossing her legs in complete confidence. Her face faded into the darkness as the lights dimmed. The room quieted and we settled back in our seats.
Suddenly the auditorium doors slammed open. Dozens of blond-headed monitors in silver uniforms streamed in and lined up along the walls and down each aisle. The audience murmured. There was usually high security at an event like this, but there had to be over a hundred of them. Were they looking for someone?
“Wow,” Tali breathed. “Check him out, Treen.”
A dark-haired guy with broad shoulders had just taken his place at the end of our row and now scanned the audience with his stunner raised. I blinked. He wore black, not silver. Military, maybe? But I caught my breath at the sight of his Rating. Bright red.
A red soldier? I didn’t know that was possible.
“Fates,” Tali said. “Look at his shoulders. I’d love to uncover those rippling biceps.”
“Tali!” I hissed.
His dark eyes narrowed. “Keep talking, ladies, so I can arrest you. Didn’t want to stand here for two hours anyway.”
“Anything for you, baby,” Tali muttered.
“My friend says she’s very sorry,” I told him. “She prefers to look at you rather than Professor Bold, for some reason.”
Our gazes locked. The hardened mask slipped for a split second, and there was a hint of amusement. My face grew hot, but I couldn’t look away. He watched me for a moment more before breaking eye contact.
Fate’s sake, Treena. You have a boyfriend. I focused on the stage.
The shuffling noises died down and the auditorium went still. Professor Bold looked uneasy, but none of the monitors approached him. He cleared his throat.
“Here we go,” Tali whispered. “My favorite history lesson again.”
That got a half smile from me. Professor Bold was known to ramble on about NORA’s proud past. He’d done it at every school event since we had entered Level Three. I almost had it memorized. Taliyah did. She began mouthing the words as he spoke.
“The New Order Republic of America, or NORA, has a ninety-year history—one that began after the old America broke apart, when Richard Peak stepped forward with the Rating system.” Professor Bold glanced at the monitors and ran his hand over his head again. “While previous civilizations—and even the outlands today—have continually fought for order and peace, it is only we who have succeeded.”
He paused, and the audience applauded politely. It was the same every year. If we didn’t read his cues, the speech would become unbearably long.
“Peak’s Rating system solved the ultimate human problem: greed. As long as human beings think first of themselves as individuals, their society will fail every time. When we see ourselves as a thread in the tapestry of a nation, we find happiness as citizens and individuals. It is only through aligning ourselves to our ideals and striving for the very best that is within us that a society like ours can thrive. And thrive, we do.”
More applause.
“Right, like the Rating system took away greed,” Tali grumbled.
“Shh,” I whispered.
Bold continued. “Today we enjoy a society of peace, filled with citizens who contribute to the well-being of society cheerfully, peacefully, and productively; citizens who strive diligently for the Ratings that truly encompass them, their passions, and their potential. Citizens who follow the Standards of Excellence.” He paused as if about to recite the Standards, but he continued. “Today, as in past years, I certainly hope to see many strong greens created. And now we will watch as our graduating students receive their hard-earned and well-deserved Ratings.”
The audience applauded. Taliyah and I looked at each other in relief. This speech was shorter than usual. A favorite topic of Bold’s was how it was the individual’s responsibility to earn their place in the family and society, how we weren’t worth the nutrition pills we consumed unless we contributed more than we took. It always reminded me of my stepdad, Konnor—addition and subtraction, contributions and mistakes.
Professor Bold lifted his hand to touch his hair again but stopped in midair and thrust it into his pocket instead. “What do you say, students? Are you ready?”
Louder applause. A twinge of nervousness fluttered in my stomach. Since our nation’s leader, the empress, was female, the guys would go first. Tradition and all. I just wanted to get my Rating and be done with it. Luckily, Dresden had already turned seventeen, making him one of the oldest, so he’d be close to the beginning of the list. My heart raced in my chest.
“Let us begin.” Professor Bold reached for the first card.
Taliyah suddenly glanced at me with a knowing smile, and I realized that I was gripping her leg. “Sorry.”
“No worries.” She leaned over. “You have nothing to stress about, you know. There’s no way you guys won’t come within a hundred points of one another. You’re”—she batted her eyelashes and swatted a dainty hand dramatically—“made for each other.”
I bit back a smile. She couldn’t stand Dresden, but she knew exactly how to cheer me up.
“Shh!” someone behind us whispered, and I noticed that the auditorium had become deathly silent.
“Lile Demenger.”
Lile stood and joined the professor, blinking in the spotlight. By the looks of his rust-colored hair, he’d tried to dye his black hair the appropriate shade of blond. Cheap dye, most likely. I fingered my own hair. I’d been dying it for so long I couldn’t even remember what my true color was.
“Your score is . . .” Professor Bold read the card. “739. Congratulations.”
Lile’s head bobbed as he accepted his card and stepped back. His parents stood in the crowd and applauded wildly. His score was probably higher than either of theirs.
“Chan Norwell.”
Chan hesitated before standing. When he joined the professor, he stared at the floor. He’d been in several of my classes, but I’d never heard the guy speak before.
“Your score is . . .” Bold paused. “636. Congratulations.”
The crowd gently applauded. 636 was high-yellow range. Chan accepted his card and stepped back, head down. No one stood to cheer for him.
“Poor guy,” Tali whispered, and I knew what she meant. Kids who scored less than their parents were what adults called “at-risk,” or the type to jump off the tower. I’d never quite understood their motivation, but today it made a little more sense. What could be worse than becoming a yellow, branded as mediocre, for everyone to see?
Jumping off the tower. That was definitely worse.
“Dresden Wynn.”
My breath caught. He stood and strode to the front, his lanky frame seeming shorter from this far away. A silly grin was pasted on his face. I could tell it wasn’t entirely natural. The rustling movements in the audience stopped as every ear perked up.
A figure behind the guys’ side leaned forward in anticipation. Dresden’s dad, tall and regal, just like his son. The Wynns wore some of the highest Ratings in the city, and they lived in the most expensive corner of Olympus.
“Your score is . . . uh . . .”
Professor Bold looked at his assistant and showed her the card. Her eyes widened, and she glanced at Dresden, shrugging her shoulders.
My teeth began to grind. Tali put a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“Your score is . . . 942.”
There was a collective g
asp from the audience. My stomach fell to the floor. What?
Everyone around me exploded to their feet, screaming and jumping in their excitement. The applause was deafening. Someone grabbed my shoulders and yelled something in my ear. I just sat, staring numbly at the back of the student in front of me. The number echoed in my head.
942.
Professor Bold’s desperate voice came over the speakers. “Students, please. Give me your attention.”
“Dresden! Woohoo!” someone yelled behind me. A girl.
The chant started to rise over the noise. “Dres-den. Dres-den.”
“Students!”
“Dres-den. Dres-den.”
942. Olympus’s previous record was 936, by a near genius. His assignment had been to the Leadership Academy. Some said he was training to become tribune, second only to the empress.
Dresden, what have you done?
One hundred points. My score would have to be at least 842, or the law said we couldn’t be together. The numbers ran through my head. Only 5 percent of the NORA’s population had scores that high, and I doubted any of them were freshly Rated graduates.
“Dres-den. Dres-den.”
The monitors moved then, turning to face the audience and raising their stunners. The chanting broke down into confused conversation as everyone lowered themselves into their seats. Cheering and standing had never been against the rules in the past. Of course, we’d never had this many monitors in the audience before, either. Maybe they’d anticipated Dresden’s score and sent in extra security.
“Students,” a younger voice came over the speaker. It was Dresden. Interesting how a number changed things. We were his friends one minute and students the next. “Students, thank you for your support, but please listen to Professor Bold. Thank you.”
The tall girl in front of me sat down, and I could finally see Dresden’s face. Flushed. Triumphant. Very, very happy. He searched the crowd, looking for me. I sank lower in my seat. What was wrong with me? I should have been clapping enthusiastically, like everyone else. No, I should have been more excited than everyone else. Instead, I felt sick inside.
Professor Bold took the mic back. “That is an Olympus city record, Dresden. Congratulations. We will watch you with interest.”
Dresden’s beautiful voice replied, “Thank you, sir. I’m very excited for the future.”
Tali turned to me with an enthusiasm I hadn’t expected and began to whisper. “That record will last what, fifteen minutes? You’ve got to be at least ten points above him.”
My voice sounded mechanical. “As long as we’re within range of each other, it doesn’t matter.”
The rest of the names blurred together. Before I was ready, it was the girls’ turn. Professor Bold seemed calmer now, his voice more confident. “Lorena Conway.”
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Dresden. He wore a brilliant smile as he watched the stand.
“Your Rating is . . . 822. Congratulations.”
The next four students received their Ratings, three in the eight hundreds and one in the seven hundreds. Then Professor Bold called Tali’s name. She stood slowly, eyes fixed on the stage. When she got to the front, she simply glared at the crowd.
Professor Bold didn’t even look at her. He squinted at the card and said in a monotone voice, “Taliyah Fairbanks. Your score is 651. Congratulations.”
A gasp ripped from my chest as the audience politely applauded. Yellow. High yellow, yes, but yellow. Tali’s expression was hard. She turned to the professor, who soberly handed her the card. Anger flashed in her eyes as she uttered a quick thank-you before walking stiffly down to the aisle. There was murmuring in the audience.
“It’s a mistake,” I muttered. “She should be in the eight hundreds at least!”
The girl to my left, Rena, pursed her lips. “Eight hundreds? Look at her hair. She didn’t even try to dye it blonde.”
The girl next to Rena shook her head. “It wasn’t that. I heard her mom is a yellow, and nobody knows where her dad is. Besides, her uniform is always so . . . frumpy.” She shrugged, a cute, petite gesture, as Tali reached our row. “Seems like she fits the yellow mold pretty well.”
The anger welled up inside me like fire. I wanted to slap Rena. She hadn’t even tried to lower her voice. Tali stiffly lowered herself into her seat, head held high.
How could Dresden and Tali, my two best friends, have scores so vastly different? How well did the Raters, strangers we’d never met, really know us?
“Ametrine Dowell.”
My body stiffened and time seemed to stop. The whisperings in the room came to a halt. Students turned in their seats to stare at me until I felt like everyone in the city was watching me. They probably were.
Somehow my feet knew what to do, and soon I was standing next to Professor Bold. It was the closest I’d ever been to the man. He smelled like sweat and heavy cologne. A genuine smile spread across his face, his teeth bright in the dull light. In his hand was a card. I had a sudden urge to grab it and run away. But I forced my hands to my side and stood tall, facing the silent crowd. The spotlight was too bright to see Lanah, my mom, but I knew she’d be clasping her hands like she always did when she was nervous.
“Ametrine Dowell,” he said too slowly. “It gives me great pleasure to tell you that your score is . . .”
My gaze was fixed on the card as he squinted at it and then rubbed his eye with one slim finger. Someone coughed, and I nearly jumped. Every muscle and tendon in my body was taut. I found Dresden’s still-grinning face in the audience.
Except that this was taking too long. Something was wrong. I tried to lean over and see the card myself, but he turned and held it up to his assistant behind us. She stepped forward and stared at the card, raising an eyebrow. Professor Bold cleared his throat and ran a shaky hand over his sweaty head. The dramatic pause before another record-breaking score? My heart felt like it would leap out of my chest.
“Ametrine,” he repeated, his voice somber. “Your score is 440. Uh . . . congratulations.”
My expression must have been one of utter shock, because Professor Bold looked very serious as he handed me the card. There it was, clear and in black:
Ametrine Dowell: 440
Implant Level: Red
The auditorium was deathly silent. The squeaking of chairs and low whispering had stopped, and it seemed as though nobody dared breathe.
I was frozen in place. I stared dumbly at the audience, my neighbors and friends and people who had come to celebrate with us. Someone cleared their throat.
This was a nightmare. It wasn’t really happening. Sixteen years of work couldn’t end this way. My dreams, my relationship with Dresden, and my future—all shattered by one number. 440. It couldn’t be real. No Olympus graduate had ever gotten a Rating below five hundred. Especially not a student who had consistently been at the top of her class. This was dreadfully, horrifyingly wrong.
The audience began to murmur.
A stern-faced female with a tight bun stepped out of the shadows beside me. The woman wore the standard purple NORA uniform, but her right arm had three golden stripes. The Ratings Department. She gestured for Professor Bold to give her the mic and turned to the crowd.
“Students, I am a Ratings official. I ask you to remain quietly seated.”
The whispering decreased, but it didn’t disappear. A lone figure stood in the back, hands covering her mouth, and I didn’t need to see her face to know it was Lanah. She was too shocked to process the official’s order. A monitor headed in her direction.
“Young lady, give me the card.” The official stood next to me, her hand out expectantly. My eyes burned, but I pushed the emotions back. Maybe it really was a mistake. Perhaps she was about to say so. She’d fix it, and I’d go home and celebrate with my classmates, and everything would go on as planned. 440? It was nearly impossible to be that useless. I quickly handed her the card, as if it were smoldering.
“Students, let me explain so
mething to you.” The official paused. “Your parents already know this, but it’s important that you understand something. The Rating Department regulates the data that determines your score through a massive interconnected network. The data is sent and stored from the moment you’re born. The Raters know more about you than you could possibly imagine. The Raters analyze the data, assign your scores, and finalize the numbers by printing these cards and affixing their signatures.” She finally turned, but she looked past me. “Young lady, will you tell us what is written in the bottom right-hand corner?”
I stared at it, numb. There it was, scribbled in ink: RMR
“Out loud, please.” She held the mic up to my lips.
I tried to speak, but I knew I’d lose control if I did. I just shook my head.
“It’s a signature,” the official said, her voice hardening. “That makes it a valid Rating. NORA doesn’t make mistakes. Enjoy the rest of the ceremony.” She handed the mic to Professor Bold, who stared at it, red-faced.
The audience was quiet. I looked out at the faces of students I knew well and professors I’d studied under. Their collective shock and confusion slowly dissipated but was replaced by something else. Disgust. I could see it in their downturned mouths and sour expressions. They assumed I had done something horrible to deserve this. And why not? That’s what I would have thought.
I caught a glimpse of the soldier in black. He stood at attention like the others, but instead of watching the audience, his gaze was locked on me. He frowned, eyebrows creased in something that looked a lot like concern, maybe even pity.
I pulled myself together. I didn’t need the pity of a red, because this was all a terrible mistake.
A hand touched my back, and a square-faced monitor eased me gently toward the steps. “Come. I’ve been instructed to stay by your side until implantation.”
I just nodded. Of course. They were afraid I’d run away. Too bad I hadn’t thought about it before now. When I started back toward my seat, he shook his head and pointed to the exit. “For your protection,” he whispered.
Protection? From whom? The words swirled in my mind, fading in and out like everything else. I felt thousands of eyes on my back as I shuffled down the aisle toward the doors. But the image that would haunt me forever was the expression on Dresden’s face. His eyes were dark, his mouth set into a hard line, his jaw tight. He leaned forward in his seat as if he wanted to leap up and run. I had a million questions, but only one mattered as I left the auditorium.
