"I don't know. I'm just in a higher percentile!"
"Since when, Rowan? What other year have you gotten a new result? I know as well as you do seventeen-year-old kids don't just suddenly move up the percentiles. How did you do it?"
I considered telling her the truth, how I've fooled the test every year just to stick around because I couldn't bring myself to leave Amber with her and my Dad!
That explanation was quickly reconsidered. "I didn't cheat, Mom. I didn't tamper with the results and I didn't use someone else's scans. I spent a lot of time this past year tutoring Amber, and I guess it helped me too."
That answer wasn't exactly convincing, but it seemed to satisfy my parents for the moment, since Mom didn't bother to continue the interrogation.
“Well, where exactly is your new assignment?”
I rubbed my hand along the back of my neck, feeling all the little hairs standing up. I’d been hoping they would forget to ask that question.
Steve always told me that honesty was the best policy. It was time to put that cliché to the test.
“Station Alpha,” I mumbled.
There was a silence, thick with tension as my Mom glared at me distrustfully. My Dad finally spoke up, looking back and forth between us.
“What about Dusk?”
I sighed. “I’m more of a books and grades kind of guy. I don’t want loot and grenades to be my future.”
“There’s more to Dusk than loot and grenades, Rowan,” said Mom, her eyes narrowed. “It’s about taking control of our own lives. Don’t you want that?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s what I’m doing.”
My Dad looked at the floor, his eyes shining with disappointment. Since I could crawl, he’d been grooming me to be a Dusk leader.
I studied the light purple cracks running through our grey floor tiles. Interestingly, if I chose the right paths, I could follow the purple line all the way to the end of the room.
Fascinating.
My Dad slapped his knees briskly. "Well, I guess this is our last night together as a family. What should we do?"
He looked at me expectantly.
I thought of all the times that, as a kid, I had wanted their full attention, their time, and their care. They were always too busy planning raids or watching TV, or playing on the computer, or looting neighborhoods across the wall. They were never there for us.
"Sorry, no time," I told him. "I need to go pack."
A wisp of guilt floated through me when my Dad's face fell. But that guilt quickly vanished as Mom got up abruptly and left me sitting there with Dad. Anger shot through me at her attitude, so after that I walked straight to my room.
I was given three suitcases that day before leaving school. A jovial man with salt-and-pepper hair -- Ralph, I remembered -- told me that I was allowed to pack those bags, plus one bag of my choice to take to Alpha.
So there I was, rooting through my things, deciding what to bring and what to leave. It didn't take long for me to work through all my clothes, since my closet had been empty for years anyway. Everything I was bringing was folded and organized on my bed; everything I was leaving went back in the drawers. I knew my parents would donate it all to Dusk the moment I left.
I didn't pack much for personal items, other than clothes. Although I was sad to leave it behind, I didn't want to bring the laptop I'd cobbled together from various parts in the dumpster out back. I figured I'd get a better one at the station, maybe even one that I wouldn't have to assemble myself. I made sure to pack every picture of Amber I owned, but I decided to leave my books: as much as I treasured them, they'd surely all be in the station library.
Except one. I picked it up, staring at the book. Nothing special: The Art of Cooking.
I opened the front cover. There was a short paragraph, in Amber's writing.
To Row-
Thank you so much. You've taught me everything. Here's one thing I have left to teach you.
The day she'd given the book to me, I'd wrinkled my nose at her. All she did was laugh. Later, I realized that she’d spent all the coins she picked up off the street just to buy it for me.
Looking at her handwriting, I felt a lump in my throat. That had been almost two years ago, and I never did get any better at cooking. I always thought that we'd have time to work on it together, but . . . Well, we didn't.
I looked at the book again, reading the last few words Amber had written.
Love you.
Am
I fought to keep the tears away. I missed my sister so much already, and I didn't know how to find her. I couldn't look up her name in a directory; those were classified, and even if I could have located her it's not like I could have afforded a flight. I touched the two letters she used to sign her name before closing the book and carefully packing it in between piles of clothes.
My three bags were soon full, along with my guitar case that counted as the fourth bag of my choice. I double-checked them all, not wanting to leave anything important.
Minutes later, I lay in my bed for the last time, on the last night that I would spend in my room, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. Tacky? Maybe, yeah. But I found them relaxing. Amber loved them, too. She was the one who made me put them up.
I knew I would miss my room, but as I thought of Amber, and how memories of her were in every corner of that house, I also knew it was time for me to leave.
∆∆∆
I woke up the next morning and practically jumped out of bed. Today was the day I never thought would come: the day I could escape my parents, my school, my planet, and make a new life for myself on the stations. Slinging my guitar case on my back, I secured all three of the compact, Alpha-provided bags in my hand.
Grabbing a sandwich out of the fridge, I checked my hair in the mirror beside it like I did every morning. I poked my head into the living room to say goodbye to my parents.
"Good morning, Rowan," said a voice from behind me. I wheeled around, almost colliding with my Mom in the process.
"Whoa, you scared me, Mom. Thought you'd be in the living room."
"Son, this might be the last time we ever see you." My Dad's voice came from behind my mother, his body invisible until he stepped to the side. "We wanted to make sure and give you a proper goodbye."
"You're coming to school to see me off?"
"Well, no," started my mother.
"You know we have to work," said my father, not quite meeting my eyes.
"Okay . . ." I trailed off, raising an eyebrow.
No one said anything for the next few moments, and the two of them just stared at me.
"Well," I started, backing away. "I have to go, so. . ."
"Of course," said my Mom. She quickly hugged me, then pulled away.
My Dad's hug lasted longer, although the gesture was kind of awkward around all my bags. "We love you, son. Remember that."
"I will."
He let go, and I opened the front door. I had already started walking out when I heard my Mom's voice calling out behind me.
"Be careful!"
My dad chimed in. "Stay safe! You can always come back!"
"Okay!"
I waved, giving them one last look before I turned away from our house.