Everything can be planned for and expected. Road one becomes crowded from 19th to the 20th hour. The National Convention will release a statement on the economy every second Monday and every Thursday a war update is released. You will leave your current home at the age of eighteen, whether you pass your F.B.E’s or not. You will never see the people who raised you again, you will never see childhood friends, you will never see your siblings again. Your last name will no longer be valid, you will be relocated to where the population is lower.

There is no tripping up the system. There is no fooling the National Convention. There is no staying where you were born. There is no economic depression. There is no end to the war. There is nothing but the same gray, monotonous life.

The Bell tolls at exactly eight every day. Girls will change into a simple gray dress cut to fit any body type. Boys will change into gray straight pants and a simple starch, white button up. Both will wear the same wiry wool socks with worn, black leather loafers. Adults will ride to work in electronic scooters. Children will walk two by two down the sidewalks to their assigned schools. Block A walk to School 1, Block B to School 2. Each city contains 20 schools, each school contains three floors, each floor contains ten classrooms, each classroom holds fifteen students. These fifteen students will either be all female or all male, with no verbal interaction between the two sexes allowed. Teachers are the opposite gender of the students, and teach by the National Convention Curriculum. A system that is proven to help pupils pass the Final Benchmark Exams.

Your score on these will dictate your future profession. High scores in English and Writing allows you to apply for secretarial jobs, writing careers, or teaching careers. Mathematics sets you up to teach, calculate, or design future cities. Science is the most desired high score, as it opens up nearly every profitable career in the United Republic. Histories open jobs in politics, military, and teaching. Students who score high in more than one of these areas are often recruited by government agencies. Students who fail, disappear. Their names are wiped clean from phone books, photographs, and any government records.

No one talks of those who fail for the weeks leading up to the F.B.E’s, it is considered bad luck. As if speaking their name will compel you to fail as well.

The test always begins at nine. The sun’s first rays just reaching over the sky touchers as pencils hit paper. Thousands of eighteen year olds frantically bubble in what they believe to be the right answer. Four consecutive packets of bubbling for each subject. A short physical is performed after the exam, making sure each student is able bodied and did not fail already.

Four students in my class are removed at this point. Jessica who wore glasses, Jamie who walked with a slight limp, Erin who could never stand straight up, and Mary whose left hand never stopped twitching. Twelve of us remain, standing in a single file line with neutral expressions. Not even a look of sympathy cross our faces as the girls are dragged out. Their screams echo down the hallway, no doubt joining the chorus of screaming voices collecting at the end of the hallway. As soon as silence resumes, we sit. Gray dresses pooling around us as we await the results.

Did I fail?

Did I pass?

Slowly, the screen centered in my desk flickers to life. Pale blue slowly separating into five distinct columns. The first score to appear is from the physical, the fraction reading 100/100. Everyone remaining in their seats was reading the same thing. The next column to illuminate was writing, the fraction never appearing. The final three columns do the same. Their title’s stark white against blue, but the fractions below missing.

Desperately my eyes flicker to the girls surrounding me. Smiles light up some of their faces, some are holding back frowns, a few are even dancing silently in their seats. All of their screens glow with fractions, but where were mine?

“Ina, G-2764, please stand.”

My body obeyed, pushing me into a standing position before I recognized the voice. Or- recognized the fact I did not recognize the voice.

Too quickly, gloved hands were wrapped around my biceps. Dragging me from my seat towards the door, too stunned to react properly. Then the screaming began. I could hear each one rip its way from my throat, my loafers leaving streaks down the tiled hallway, and tears causing my face to become a blotchy mess.

I wasn’t screaming because I was being taken. I was screaming because of who was taking me.

School 1 had the same thirty guards since the day I started here, but the two dragging me I had never seen. Their eyes both blue, hair obviously dyed brown. Their roots showing that their hair was naturally black. Not one guard here had black hair and blue eyes, let alone two. The shorter glanced down at me, his grip loosening a barely a fraction. This insignificant amount was all I needed, wrenching my arm free and quickly slapping my palm across his face. His skin reddened quickly, and the unfamiliar words leaving his mouth defiantly were not compliments. Unfortunately, this seemed to encourage the other to tighten his grip. His hand coming down quickly on my head. The impact shocking me forward and forcing my eyes to roll up.

What was happening?

Why was this happening?

Why was this happening to me!