The man from before comes back.  “Here’s your result.”  He hands me a stack of papers.  “Turn to page three.  If, at the top, your score is above seventy, you may request to join the STK committee.”  His voice is as dull as ever.

  I turn to page three.  At the top, in bold, is the number 98.  The rest of the page is filled with words in smaller print.

  “Would you like to register?” He asked it as a question, but the answer was obvious.

  “Uh, yes, please.”

  He pulls the packet out of my hands and turns to leave, then lazily looks back and asks, “Would you like your scores to remain private or public?”

  “Um, public, I think?”

  He leaves then, no clarifications needed.

  The room slowly clears out.  Parents come and pick up both the children and their results.  The man doesn’t come back for what seems like ages, long enough for me to fall asleep in the chair.

  He shakes me awake.  “Miss.  Miss.”

  “Ugh. . .oh!  Sorry!”  I sit up.

  “Your results.”  He hands me the packet again, “And your STK committee membership card.”

  Ah?  I was accepted?  “I was accepted?!”

  “Clearly.”  He hands me a small, rectangular card.  “This is your proof of membership.  Stealing one is a capital offense, and they can be traced if reported stolen.  Nevertheless I suggest keeping it hidden.”

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Check into STK headquarters to pick up advanced payment as soon as possible.”

  The man shows me out.