answer.
Mostly he was disappointed with the whole affair. How had the first day of the rest of his life turned out to be so dismal?
“Psst, Theo,” he heard behind him and turned to see Isaac Hunter at the end of the line.
Theo waved back at him.
Isaac, too, was taller than the others, his skin clear and his features carefully selected by a geneticist. Like most Scholars, his genetic advantages offered him a quiet confidence. He had no trouble passing the others in line and arriving to stand behind Theo.
“Is this the way they usually do it? I don’t remember anything about a card in the ecomm.”
“Not sure. Didn’t read it,” Theo admitted. He felt a twang of guilt. He probably should have paid more attention in the past few weeks.
“It’s all a bunch of feudalistic bullshit anyway,” Isaac said to himself.
“You going to defect?” Theo asked, his full attention on Isaac. The two had taken a half-dozen classes together, no surprise given their mirrored upbringing. Theo never would have thought him the type to change class, but then again, no one really thought that about anyone.
“Nah, it would kill my mom. She’s pretty set on me being the fifth generation of geneticist.”
“That’s what you want?” He knew from look on Isaac’s face it wasn’t.
Theo wondered how many were trapped in limbo between two classes. He looked around for Nate or Casey, the ones he really wanted to see, the ones he wanted to talk to one last time before it was all too late.
But all he had was Isaac.
Isaac was good enough not to notice him looking around. “I mean, I don’t know. Gens get paid enough, so that’s all right. And it’s what my parents want.”
“Same here.” Theo’s career in nanotechnology would never afford him the luxuries of a geneticist, but he would never hurt for money. While salaries varied in every field, in general, affluence was a part of a Scholar’s life.
“But it’s just all a bunch of archaic nonsense, you know? Like, why do we have to get dressed up and announce what we want to do with our lives? Why can’t we just do it?”
Theo didn’t have an answer. Rather, he was relieved to hear his same concerns aired in someone else’s voice. At least he wasn’t the only one.
The bald man at the table motioned him forward.
When he arrived at the table, the man handed him his card, some sort of transparent material with embossed letters that read:
KAUFMAN, THEODORE
1669423986
SEL CLA 14925
He turned and scanned the hallway again, desperate to see Nate or Casey, to apologize yet again for getting in the way, for what they were going through. But there was no one. No one that mattered.
“Hey, they’re just your parents,” Isaac called as he entered the Selection room.
Past the curtains, the emblems of each class were displayed above a narrow space—precisely the width of the card. Below each, a glass screen to scan fingerprints.
This was it.
On the left, the crossed paintbrush and music note of the Artisans shone in red. In the middle, a hammer and wrench in Craftsman green. The pen and quill of Scholar illuminated in blue on the right.
Theo lifted his card to the slot below the Scholar emblem and paused.
Was it really what he wanted?
Was he ready to give up his music?
Theo pulled back the card. He needed to think, to really think about it. Why hadn’t he done this earlier?
In the moment when he had to make the final choice, Theo was suddenly stuck. More so than he ever thought he would be.
His eyes scanned the three images again. Definitely not Craftsman, that much he knew. He would never make it there, could never resign himself to some menial task, day in and day out for the rest of his life.
The last kiss between Nate and Casey came to mind, their passion, the raw emotion he would surely never find in the Scholar class.
His parents were two people who happened to live in the same house and raise the same children. They never touched. It was the
Mostly he was disappointed with the whole affair. How had the first day of the rest of his life turned out to be so dismal?
“Psst, Theo,” he heard behind him and turned to see Isaac Hunter at the end of the line.
Theo waved back at him.
Isaac, too, was taller than the others, his skin clear and his features carefully selected by a geneticist. Like most Scholars, his genetic advantages offered him a quiet confidence. He had no trouble passing the others in line and arriving to stand behind Theo.
“Is this the way they usually do it? I don’t remember anything about a card in the ecomm.”
“Not sure. Didn’t read it,” Theo admitted. He felt a twang of guilt. He probably should have paid more attention in the past few weeks.
“It’s all a bunch of feudalistic bullshit anyway,” Isaac said to himself.
“You going to defect?” Theo asked, his full attention on Isaac. The two had taken a half-dozen classes together, no surprise given their mirrored upbringing. Theo never would have thought him the type to change class, but then again, no one really thought that about anyone.
“Nah, it would kill my mom. She’s pretty set on me being the fifth generation of geneticist.”
“That’s what you want?” He knew from look on Isaac’s face it wasn’t.
Theo wondered how many were trapped in limbo between two classes. He looked around for Nate or Casey, the ones he really wanted to see, the ones he wanted to talk to one last time before it was all too late.
But all he had was Isaac.
Isaac was good enough not to notice him looking around. “I mean, I don’t know. Gens get paid enough, so that’s all right. And it’s what my parents want.”
“Same here.” Theo’s career in nanotechnology would never afford him the luxuries of a geneticist, but he would never hurt for money. While salaries varied in every field, in general, affluence was a part of a Scholar’s life.
“But it’s just all a bunch of archaic nonsense, you know? Like, why do we have to get dressed up and announce what we want to do with our lives? Why can’t we just do it?”
Theo didn’t have an answer. Rather, he was relieved to hear his same concerns aired in someone else’s voice. At least he wasn’t the only one.
The bald man at the table motioned him forward.
When he arrived at the table, the man handed him his card, some sort of transparent material with embossed letters that read:
KAUFMAN, THEODORE
1669423986
SEL CLA 14925
He turned and scanned the hallway again, desperate to see Nate or Casey, to apologize yet again for getting in the way, for what they were going through. But there was no one. No one that mattered.
“Hey, they’re just your parents,” Isaac called as he entered the Selection room.
Past the curtains, the emblems of each class were displayed above a narrow space—precisely the width of the card. Below each, a glass screen to scan fingerprints.
This was it.
On the left, the crossed paintbrush and music note of the Artisans shone in red. In the middle, a hammer and wrench in Craftsman green. The pen and quill of Scholar illuminated in blue on the right.
Theo lifted his card to the slot below the Scholar emblem and paused.
Was it really what he wanted?
Was he ready to give up his music?
Theo pulled back the card. He needed to think, to really think about it. Why hadn’t he done this earlier?
In the moment when he had to make the final choice, Theo was suddenly stuck. More so than he ever thought he would be.
His eyes scanned the three images again. Definitely not Craftsman, that much he knew. He would never make it there, could never resign himself to some menial task, day in and day out for the rest of his life.
The last kiss between Nate and Casey came to mind, their passion, the raw emotion he would surely never find in the Scholar class.
His parents were two people who happened to live in the same house and raise the same children. They never touched. It was the
Similar Books
