I stared blankly at the desk I was leaning on. A timer went off, letting me know I had a half hour left. Not that I needed it, let alone wanted it. Around me, most of the kids were still staring intently at the lengthy test, scribbling down answers or tapping their pencils almost frantically, deep in thought.
I was the only one done. I sighed and closed my eyes and considered going back through the test to change the answers, I knew I'd have enough time. I couldn't, though, and I knew that.
Just this morning my Aunt Valarie had told me not to worry if I didn't get in, that it didn't matter, but I knew they both secretly wanted me to get in, so I had an excuse not to stay here and take over the family business.
The program was called INTEL, short for International Network To Extract the Largely intelligent. For the past hundred years, every child twelve and older has been required to take the test. They have different ones for each age group, they're very difficult, very harsh.
If you score high enough, your entered into some database or another- they don't particularly like giving information about this project- and your examined intellectually until you're officially old enough to leave for the base.
Sixteen, that's the age. The base? A large, circular-shaped community, orbiting the Earth, capable of housing one hundred thousand people. Currently, however, they say it only contains about five thousand.
It doesn't sound particularly appealing, being shipped off into space at age sixteen, definitely not to me, so they have lots, and lots of benefits.
You can return to Earth at any time if you want to quit, you get paid a boat ton, you get free, highly advanced medical and dental care, a free place to stay, and, of course, a readily available job. They also say it's just like life on earth; you can get married, have kids, etc.
For the last three years, I've been purposely messing up the test. I don't want to go, thank you very much. I'm very happy here on Earth, where I can watch the sun come up and go back down all I want, where I have all my friends and my remaining family.
I like the little things. Like chocolate, and beaches.
They don't have chocolate there. And they don't have beaches. Sure, they've got a pool, but I somehow know it won't be the same as the beach, where you can bury your toes in the heavenly warm sand.
"Micah Viano." A voice calls, interrupting my perfect beach daydream.
I frowned and stood up, handing the crooked from age teacher my test so she could stack it neatly on the top before flipping it over.
She dismissed us, reminding us that by tomorrow, we will have our results. Within the week, she says, we'll receive our letter if we have, indeed, been accepted.
On the way home I hoped silently that I was full of myself, that I wasn't nearly as smart as I thought I was. My brain didn't help, casually offering what it thought, what it's almost certain, I'll get.
98.5. The number rang bitterly around my head, and I angrily kicked the rock in front of my feet. I bit my tongue and scrunched up my nose at the pain. Okay, maybe that wasn't smart.
If I get in, there's no way I can just say no. It's supposed to be this huge honor, and my aunt and uncle aren't exactly rich. Quite the contrary, really. They're under threat of losing their house. Since my uncle lost his job a few months back, they've been extremely on edge. Of course, they wouldn't tell me, but I saw the letter, and I'm good at reading people.
This job will allow them to live into their ripe old age comfortably, with plenty enough for me to spend on what I need at the base. So, I decide, if I get in, I have to say yes.
It won't be so bad really, there'll be other people, and even kids my age.
Wow, I sounded like a parent trying to reassure a child a family reunion is going to be great fun. Pathetic.
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