The Unfavorable Read online

  Shytas gestures for me to follow her, and I oblige without comment. There’s no telling what would happen if I don’t do as I’m told at this point. Any wrong move or outburst could have me dragged out like Alec.

  I slip off the gurney and skip to catch up to her. We exit through a door opposite the one Alec was dragged through. I don’t recognize anything from the halls we walk down until we reach the entrance to Central Hall again.

  Even if there had been exit signs helping to guide me, I never would have made it out of this place without getting turned around and lost several times. I focus on following Shytas and getting out of this place rather than what I had witnessed only moments ago.

  She leaves me to fend for myself at this point – the entrance hall of the building. I know where to go from here, so I thank her for all her kindness and make my way home in a haze.

  It takes me longer to get home than it did walking to Central Hall, once I’m able to get myself moving. I stand frozen outside for several minutes before my feet allow me to take steps away from Central Hall. My thoughts are so focused on what happened to Alec that it is difficult to keep a brisk pace.

  Several minutes pass before I realize that my body is shaking. Not from finally getting the results of my Rite, but from the shock of witnessing exactly what happens to those teenagers who receive an ‘Unfavorable’ grade. Someone I have known and attended school with for several years is now gone. Vanished from my life because he didn’t quite make the cut. Just like Micah.

  The longer I walk, the clearer my mind becomes. I realize that the only way I’m going to get answers is by asking my parents. They’ve been through this themselves, so they know much more about the process than I do. Especially Mom, since she’s a Healer. I allow myself to hope knowing I might actually get some answers, and it helps me pick up my pace.

  Within moments I’m running home as fast as I can so that I can ask my questions. I don’t stop or slow down until I see my house again. My breathing isn’t much labored, but I hesitate to think about the answers I might get. What will they tell me, and will they tell me lies to placate my curiosity? The responses may not be what I want to hear, but I need justification.

  My hand freezes just before I touch the door handle. More hesitation. I take a deep breath and think of Micah. He’s always been my strength and still is. Remembering that I need to do this for him, I open the door to face my parents.

  I shut the door behind me and call to them as I walk towards the dining room. I’m halfway there when I see them coming to meet me. They must not have moved very far after I left this morning.

  “Alora,” Mom cries. “Oh, thank Geha…Any longer and I was going to storm Central Hall looking for you.”

  “I’m okay, Mother,” I sooth, trying to release myself from her vice grip of a hug. I don’t get any reprieve, either. As soon as she let’s go, Dad takes her place. I’m also not in the mood for their antics right now. I have questions.

  “Al, I’m so glad to see you,” he chimes in. He doesn’t hold me for nearly as long as Mom had, though. He grabs my shoulders and pulls me away. His expression is completely wiped of cheer and exchanged with determination. “What were the results?”

  “Oh, uh…” I hesitate again. Will they be disappointed I wasn’t placed into one of their fields, or put pressure on me to choose? “Apparently, I am proficient in everything.”

  “What?” Dad says, surprised. His hands lower to his sides, staring at me in disbelief over the news. “You’re joking.”

  “Really?” Mom says, incredulously.

  “Yes,” I insist. “I wouldn’t lie about this.”

  “That’s fantastic, sweet pea!” Dad cheers. “What happens now? Does the Main Frame pick something for you or what?”

  “Oh, she gets three days to choose her career!” Mom answers for me.

  It’s good she knows this already, being a Healer. I don’t feel like trying to explain it to him. I just want my answers and I will be happy. Well, at least try to move on.

  “She can either shadow someone in any given profession to get a feel for it,” she continues, “or take this time to reflect and meditate.”

  “Well then, it’s time to celebrate!” He announces.

  I don’t even have time to stop their commemorative exploits to ask my questions. I’m pulled into the kitchen to start making a big dinner with them for tonight. I have a strange, nagging feeling that something is wrong. That it doesn’t feel right to celebrate. Yeah, I didn’t receive an Unfavorable grade, but Micah is still missing. It doesn’t make up for him being gone. Not for me, at least.

  My parents don’t seem to be burdened by his disappearance now. My results overshadow the years of anxiety and depression for them. It must not matter to them as long as they have one child who made the grade. It gives me indigestion, but I do my best not to show it. It’s been a long time since my parents were able to relax and enjoy themselves rather than worry.

  Knowing now that it only took my Bleeding Rite proficiency grade to essentially erase their memories of Micah, I’m not sure that my parents are the right ones to ask. I resign myself for now, to enjoy the evening with my parents.

  After all, I have three whole days to figure out what I’m going to do with my future. I know the one person I can ask my questions to without any judgement, but that will have to wait until tomorrow.

  My parents and I cook dinner as a family. Which is something we’ve never done before, so it is interesting trying to weave around each other to help. They allow me to pick the dish, so I go for a basic chicken and noodle soup. While it simmers, we play rounds of chess and badminton until dinner is fully cooked.

  Mom and Dad chat excitedly amongst themselves, so they don’t notice I haven’t said a word since I gave them my results. I smile when they refer to me, and it’s enough to sate their momentary interest. Clean up is quick, since we continue every event as a group.

  Thankfully, we spend a quiet evening playing cribbage until it’s time for the power to be turned off. Mom and Dad trade turns winning on every game, not once noticing my lack of interest.

  They hug me goodnight before skipping off to their bedroom for the evening. It’s so strange hearing them chatter for hours like teenagers. It’s good that they’re so happy now, but how can they be so forgetful about their firstborn son?

  I listen to them for several hours after the electricity has been turned off before they finally rest. Even then, it takes me over an hour to fall asleep myself. I don’t even get the comfort of a restful night’s sleep. I toss and turn with the same nightmare that’s been plaguing me for a week now: Micah reaching out to me like when we were younger.

  The smell of pancakes awakens me. After waking up so early the day before, it surprises me that the power is on when I open my eyes. Mom and Dad are chatting again in the kitchen about something or other. All I here is mumbling from my room, but I can deduce that it’s me they’re discussing again.

  I’m getting quickly annoyed with their complete lack of feeling towards my brother – their only son. Still, I decide the best course of action at this time is to not act out of the ordinary. I force myself out of bed and go into the dining area to eat breakfast with them before they leave for work. There must be some sort of explanation for their behavior.

  The experience is similar to dinner the night before. They both talk and discuss my future while I sit quietly. I’m beginning to feel the pressure of what my results mean. They keep mentioning all the possibilities for improvement for the community with me testing so well.

  No matter what career path I choose, I’ll be expected to do great things. I’ll be expected to create advancements to make our lives here easier. All eyes will be on me, and I already feel like they are with my grade. This isn’t what I want out of my life.

  Mom and Dad clean up before they leave for work, refusing to allow me to help them. They say it’s so that I can focus on what path I want to take, but I have other things on my mind. I ca
n’t get the image of Alec being pulled away by Loyals out of my head. He’s out there somewhere scared and alone…

  As they leave, I remain seated at the dining room table, frozen with the knowledge of my destiny. Flustered, I shove my chair away from the table and rush to dress myself. I can’t wait any longer to get answers. I quickly clean myself and put on a navy-blue dress, gray sweater, long gray socks, and navy shoes. Dull and muted, just like everything else in this city.

  I leave the house, headed towards the nearest art studio. I’ve always liked art, but Micah had a friend there that he trusted with everything he had. Kayan. If I’m going to get any answers, it’ll be from him. They probably wouldn’t have met if it weren’t for the studio being so close to the house.

  Still, I’m glad that I have someone in this city that I can trust. It’ll be awkward starting the conversation, but I know he’ll be straight with me.

  Within ten minutes, I reach the studio. The building is large, with several small rooms inside it for artists to share. I enter through the front door, and make my way down the long hallway, searching for my companion. I haven’t seen him since Micah disappeared, so it’ll be good to see him even if it is awkward.

  He must have changed spaces within the last six years, though. I pass his old studio room to find a different, younger artist sculpting something out of clay. It’s interesting walking through the building. Each room is separated by clear walls, so that anyone visiting can look in on the newest creations without disturbing the artist. It’s like a live action museum, almost.

  I’m beginning to worry I won’t find him as I grow closer to the end of the hall. It is a large place, but there are only so many rooms. Losing faith with each step, I begin debating whether I should ask someone for help or give up entirely.

  It isn’t until I reach the end of the hall that I find Kayan’s room on the left-hand side. His back is to me, and he’s working hard on his latest, colorful painting.

  If I remember right, he calls his style ‘Afremov-esque’, but I have no idea what that means since I haven’t studied much in the way of art or art history. I just see beautiful colors depicting rainy days and bright lights. I have always enjoyed his work. Seeing it again is like a blast from the past. It fills me with nostalgia and a little bit of sorrow.

  He turns around when I knock on the glass door. A smile adorns his lips seeing a familiar face, and, without hesitation, he waves for me to enter. His dark skin is just as shocking now as it was the last time I saw him. He isn’t the only black individual in town, but there are few who can match his skin tone. It’s a strange contrast to my porcelain skin.

  His hair is long and braided into dreadlocks, with gray strands weaving within them. It makes him seem wise beyond his years to see the slight change in his hair color. He’s wearing a dull brown outfit, vest and pants, which match his skin wonderfully, giving him a glow. His eyes are a light brown that feels like they hold the world in their irises.

  I do as directed and make my entrance, unable to stop a grin from spreading across my cheeks. It’s good to see him again after so long – I really should have visited him sooner. I shut the door behind me and take a seat in the corner to my right as he greets me.

  “Well look who it is,” he teases.

  He doesn’t get up from his stool when he talks. Rather, he looks me up and down, noticing how I’ve changed over the years. I’m amazed he’s able to recognize me at all.

  “Little Al, long time no see!” he greats me. “What brings you around these parts?”

  “Kayan,” I acknowledge with a nod.

  I’ve always found him a bit too emotive, but I used to ignore it for Micah’s sake. Now I’m doing so again, but for answers.

  “It’s good to see you again,” I fib. I want it to be true, but it brings up too many painful memories seeing him after all these years.

  “I haven’t gone anywhere,” he jests with a chuckle. I know it’s a jab at my lack of visits, but I dismiss it. He continues talking to me but goes back to his panting while we converse.

  “I know,” I admit. “I am sorry I haven’t visited. It’s been really painful and difficult since Micah disappeared…”

  “I understand,” he comforts, focused on his work. “It still would have been nice to see how you were doing every once in a while. Now then, I know you didn’t come here just to see me, what’s bothering you?”

  “I don’t want to be rude,” I start. I realize my folly right away. Of course, he would know I want something by coming here.

  “It’s alright. I may be old but I’m not senile yet. Out with it!”

  “Okay,” I hesitate.

  It’s been six years since I’ve seen him. I know I can trust him, but that doesn’t stop doubt from clogging my throat. I clear it before asking my first question.

  “What does it mean to receive an ‘Unfavorable’ grade?”

  Chapter 4

  Alora

  “Now, why in the world would you want to know about that?” Kayan asks, eyeing me suspiciously. Almost as if I’m sprouting extra limbs from my ears. There’s a hint of amusement in the glint of his gaze, too.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I insist, attempting to keep calm but a little impatience flows into my voice as I speak. I’m hoping he’ll attribute it to Micah missing, which is mostly true. It’s definitely one of the reasons I’m asking and agitated.

  “Not exactly,” he answers, seeing through me with his hypnotic eyes. “You clearly didn’t receive that grade, or you wouldn’t be sitting here with me.”

  “Honestly, there are a couple reasons,” I admit. No use lying. He’ll just see right through me no matter what I say and he’s the only person I can ask. “That’s what we were told Micah received when he disappeared. I never really understood what it meant back then but didn’t really question it because my parents were already so torn up about the situation.”

  “Today, one of my classmates received the grade it brought back all those memories from when Micah received it,” I continue, a bit anxious. “I want to know what it is and why it meant he had to be taken away from us. My friend, too. Right in front of my eyes, I saw him dragged away by Loyals like a criminal. The Healer barely had time to remove his needle before they grabbed him and practically threw him off the gurney he had been laying on.”

  “Why does receiving an Unfavorable grade mean you get carried away?” I query. “Is that what happened to Micah? What happens when someone is taken away like that?”

  I want to ask more questions, but I can see in Kayan’s expression that I’m throwing too much at him at once. He’s a bit overwhelmed by my enthusiasm. I bite my lower lip to keep my mouth shut while he takes it all in. He continues to eye me as if I’m questioning reality itself. It takes him several moments of silent staring before he takes a deep breath and decides to talk to me.

  “Why aren’t you asking your parents about this?” he questions. That isn’t what I was hoping he would say, but I don’t blame him for asking. They were my first choice, too.

  “I want to,” I say, begrudgingly and a little annoyed.

  And that is true. I would love to talk to my parents about this, but they are too distracted by my results to even care about Micah. They would simply push the topic aside for something else, such as preparing to celebrate my Rite scores some more.

  “However, now that they’ve heard my score, they won’t even acknowledge that Micah even existed, or could still possibly exist,” I explain.

  My voice cracks slightly from the heartbreak climbing up my throat and threatening to let a tear escape my eyes.

  “Even after how devastated they’ve been all these years,” I continue, “it’s like it never happened with my results. For that reason alone, I can’t trust my parents with the question, nor do I think they would even acknowledge it. You’re the only person I could think of that I trust enough with this.”

  “Even after all this time?” he asks, pausing his painting momentarily to watch
me respond and make sure I’m telling the truth.

  “Even after all this time,” I confirm, my gaze never wavering from his.

  “Alright,” he sighs. Rubbing the thick stubble at his chin before pointing his paintbrush at me as he talks. “Don’t tell your parents I told you, though, or they’ll send Loyals after me for giving you ideas.”

  “I promise,” I say earnestly. Excited, I scoot to the edge of my seat, ready and waiting to hear anything he’ll tell me.

  “You know why someone would receive that grade, yes?”

  I nod. Every child is told before their test that if you have average skills or lower you will receive a less than desirable grade. We just aren’t told what happens after that.

  “Good,” he acknowledges. He seems to relax a bit, too, as he resumes his painting. “This is common knowledge to adults, so I hope I don’t upset you. You would have learned this given time, anyway.”

  “I’m ready to learn, now,” I reaffirm. I’m getting impatient with his stalling tactics. He will give me the answers I seek.

  “Fine,” he agrees, waving his paintbrush in my direction again before returning to his easel to work. “When an individual receives the Unfavorable grade from their Bleeding Rite, they are forcibly removed from the colony. They would never leave if Loyals did not. As the city sits on top of a large hill, below it there is a large room with huge boilers that help run the colony and keep us warm. Those who have been given the ‘Unfavorable’ result are taken there to begin a new life helping to sustain our way of living or left to die.”

  “Siblings of those that are removed from the colony are normally told that their brother or sister is being taken to a specialized area that can better help them with their unexceptional qualities,” he continues. “Those of us still living within Geha assume they have created villages and civilizations to help themselves survive, but it’s not information discussed within the city. It isn’t knowledge that would assist in the advancement of evolution. Only the Loyals and our current leader, Arbiter Cloudore, knows those sorts of details.”