When the announcements ended, Miss McKinney informed us that the tests would go in alphabetical order by last name. That put me right in the middle of the line.
We all watched as Mara Adams was called, and she sat down to start the testing process. Her hands ran through her curly black hair over and over as she stared at the paper in front of her.
The yearly tests came at the end of every school year, as a way to figure out who would be enrolled where for the next year. In eleventh grade, my grade, it was pretty much pointless. If we had been in the advanced schools all our lives, we weren’t suddenly going to be sent to a basic school or flown off to a station.
Usually.
The test was made of three parts: factual, logical, and the brain scan. Factual testing meant sheet after sheet of questions on all the different subjects: math, English, history, science, geography, and so on. Since it was all multiple choice, we really just colored in bubbles, and it counted the least towards our final grade. Slightly more important was the logic exam. It posed brain teasers, number problems, and critical thinking exercises specifically crafted to test the ranges of our intelligence, which were usually a fun challenge. The last and most important portion of the test, though, was the brain scan. We supposedly had no control over our results for this part.
A tall, silvery machine scanned our heads and instantly counted up the number of neural connections in our brains. That was what really mattered to the system.
With the help of a certain spidery contraption, I managed to hide about a sixth of my connections from the machine each year. No one bothered to check for devices like that, because it was assumed that no one wanted to look like they had less brain than they did.
Having that thing on my head put me in the eighty-ninth percentile range, which let me stay home to take care of Amber. It also placed me in an average class where the work was easy enough that I could spend most of my time tutoring her.
“Rowan Miles!”
“Here,” I said quietly, and I sat down to take the factual exam. I breezed through it: basic algebra, a couple history dates, a little bit of biology and psychology, and some English. I didn't understand why I had to diagram more sentences, but the test was what it was.
When that was over, I moved on to the logic problems. Which word is always spelled wrong? I wrote “wrong” and moved down the list.
Then, I switched chairs for the brain scan. Sitting on my hand to keep it from shaking, I breathed heavily and braced myself, preparing for a commotion. Like I said before, it was virtually unheard of for an eleventh grader to switch schools, unless they were moving to a different city or something. I wasn't exactly looking forward to being the center of attention, but it would be totally worth it to get to the stations.
The machine buzzed next to my head, then spit out the results to the computer on Miss McKinney’s desk. I heard her gasp, and, sure enough, every head turned to look at her.
My teacher looked at me, eyes shifting back and forth from me to the screen a few times. “Excuse me for a minute, class. Let me go get one of the advisors." She walked out of the room with no further sound except the tapping of her shoes on the floor.
Then, all eyes were on me, with mixed expressions of open-mouthed wonder and concern; well, all except for the eyes of one theater kid who was fiddling with his glasses. “What did you do?” asked one of the gigglers, a short little blonde. I found myself repressing a grin as I shrugged nonchalantly, enjoying being the center of attention more than I had anticipated.
Making eye contact with Jenna, I couldn't hold back a smile as she gave me a double thumbs-up.
A few more minutes passed with everyone looking around awkwardly before Miss McKinney returned with one of the advisors, an average-looking, dark-haired guy with glasses.
The pair sat by Miss McKinney's computer, with the advisor at the keyboard. I inched along the wall, craning my neck to get my ear closer to them.
"No computer malfunctions . . . Just ran a self-diagnostic . . ." The advisor pressed a few more keys. "Doesn't look like the data was planted . . . Looks somewhat consistent with past scans."
"I don't think this student would falsify the scans." It made me feel warm inside to hear Miss McKinney’s confident tone.
"Well, then the scans are accurate. This student . . ." he mumbled the rest so quietly that I couldn't catch it.
After a moment, he rose, shook Miss McKinney's hand, and walked out of the room.
"Apologies for the interruption, class. Please resume your testing."
My teacher glanced at me a lot throughout the rest of the tests, eyes wide, sometimes even shaking her head.
I waited quietly as the other tests wore on. A punk with pink hair chewed on his pencil. A theater kid sighed loudly at the logic puzzles. One of the gigglers fretted over whether the scan would mess up her hair. Jenna looked quiet and focused, as always, which I admired. To pass the time, I wondered which of the stations I’d be assigned to. Omicron? Nu? Theta? I’d heard that Jada Breaker was born on Theta. The science and tech scene there was probably phenomenal.
As the last of the class results were compiled on Miss McKinney's computer, we waited quietly in our seats to hear the results. Our teacher seemed to hesitate before announcing them, which was unusual for her. For a minute or so, she just sat, staring at the screen, before beginning to read.
"Mara Adams: Manhattan Advanced High School. Thomas Alston: Manhattan Advanced High School. Lorraine Aubrey: Manhattan Advanced High School. . ." The refrain of "Manhattan Advanced High School" continued until she reached my name.
"Rowan Miles: Station Alpha."
When I was able to feel my limbs again, I felt pride blossoming in my chest. Alpha!
There was a moment of calm in the classroom before the gasps and murmurings began.
Chapter 2
I groaned, hearing the all-too-familiar melody of my alarm. Pushing my face and ears farther into my pillow, I tried to block out the sound. Once that failed, I got up, walked over to my dormitory control panel, and punched the OFF button.
Ah. Same routine as every morning.
I flung myself back onto the bed and wrapped myself in blankets, trying to warm the ice in my limbs.
I should have chided myself for acting so irrationally. But that morning, I allowed myself to grieve. It wasn't as if I had somewhere to be, having graduated from yet another year of school the previous day.
Another year, another heartbreak. In that instance, two.
Completing a year of school should not have been a sad occasion. It allowed summer hiatus to begin, and the pressure of exams to dissipate.
It wasn't that easy in the stations. Not for me.
I squeezed my eyes shut so hard they hurt, trying to quell the constant tide of memories.
"Alexander Green, you have failed to meet the requirements for continued residence in Station Alpha. Prepare to be deported." The headmaster's voice rang out clearly, matter-of-fact and authoritative.
I watched Alexander climb into the shuttle, his trademark orange backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked back at me and Dana, a brave expression etched into his face as he began to shut the shuttle door.
"Wait!" Dana's voice, high-pitched and full of panic, cut through the silence. She hurriedly shoved past the rope dividers and the teachers who tried to stop her, making her way to Alex.