Independent Study (2 page)

My fingers toy with the pencil, rolling it back and forth across the black desk surface. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Tomas watching me with a concerned expression. Suddenly, I’m in a different room. Eight students. A different male official dressed in ceremonial male purple. Eight black desks. Bright white walls instead of gray. Six boys. Only two girls in the room, one of whom is me. Tomas gives me the same worried look as I finger a pencil. The booklet in front of me is marked with the same lightning bolt, only this time, it is surrounded by an eight-pointed star. My symbol surrounded by the symbol of my group for The Testing.

The room in my memory disappears as Professor Lee’s deep voice announces, “Congratulations on completing the basic studies required for all University students. Today’s test, combined with evaluations from your professors, will determine which field of study your skills are best suited for. Tomorrow, a list will be posted with your test results, as well as which field of study you have been directed into: Education, Biological Engineering, Mechanical Engineering, Medicine, or Government. All five fields of study are necessary to continue the revitalization of our land, our technology, and our citizens. While each of you has a preferred choice, we ask you to trust us to slot you into the career path that best suits the needs of the country. Do not attempt to guess which questions on the examination affect direction into a specific field of study. Any students with questionable test results will be given a failing grade and Redirected from the University student roster.”

Professor Lee scans the room to make sure the impact of his words is felt. I can hear my heart hammer in the silence.

Finally, he continues. “Answer each question to the best of your ability. Do not give answers beyond the scope of the question. We are interested in learning not only how much you know but how well you comprehend the question being asked. Answers that go beyond the confines of the question will negatively affect your test results.”

I swallow hard and wonder what the negative effect might be. A lowered score or something more?

“You will have eight hours to complete this examination. If you need a break for food, water, or to relieve yourself, please raise your hand. A University official will escort you to the break room. If at any time you exit this room, you are not to leave the building or speak to anyone other than your escort. Either action will result in a failing grade and Redirection from the University. When you have completed the examination, raise the test booklet. I will collect the booklet and escort you to the door. What you do after that is up to you.” He gives us a knowing smile before pushing a button on the wall behind him.

A small screen descends from the ceiling. Red numbers are displayed on the screen. Professor Lee pushes another button and says, “The eight-hour testing period starts now.”

The numbers begin running backward, telling us how much time we have remaining to complete the examination. Paper rustles as test booklets are opened. Pencils are picked up. The examination to determine the direction of the rest of our lives has begun.

The first question makes me smile.
What is the Means Value Theorem? Please provide the formal statement and a proof in your explanation
.

Calculus. Something I’m good at. I answer the question quickly, give the formal equation for the theorem, and provide a proof as to how it works. Briefly I wonder if I should also explain how the theorem applies to vector-valued functions or how it is used for integration. But then I remember Professor Lee’s instructions. We are only supposed to provide the information requested. Nothing more. Nothing less. For a moment I wonder why, but then I decide it is because leaders must choose their words with care. In order to prevent conflicts, they must be certain their exact meaning is understood by the people who follow them. With that kind of responsibility facing those of us who make it to graduation, it is not surprising University officials wish to test that ability.

I reread the question, decide my answer is complete and within the scope, and then move on to the next. My pencil flies across the page as I explain the Four Stages of War various governments inflicted upon one another and on the earth. I describe the next Three Stages, in which the earth fought back against the chemicals and other destructive forces unleashed upon it. Earthquakes, windstorms, floods, hurricanes, and tornadoes swept across the globe, destroying in a matter of years what took humans centuries to create. The damage that for the past one hundred years the United Commonwealth has worked hard to repair.

My writing fills the pages. Chemistry. Geography. Physics. History. Music. Art. Reading comprehension. Biology. Each question brings a new subject. A different skill set. Most I can answer. My breath catches as I leave one blank. I am not certain what the question is asking for or what the answer might be. I hope I will have time to revisit it when I complete the rest. If not . . . My mind starts to drift to the words spoken on the Transit Communicator recording. The fate suffered by candidates of The Testing who dared answer a question wrong.

No. I pull my thoughts back. Worrying about the past won’t help. I can only deal with the present.

According to the clock, I have just shy of four hours to finish my test. I roll out my shoulders and realize how stiff I am. Between tension and inactivity, my muscles are beginning to protest. My empty stomach is adding its complaints. While fear of failure urges me to press on, I can hear my mother’s voice saying a brain and body need fuel to function at peak performance. I don’t want to run out of time, but running out of energy and focus would be even worse.

I glance around the room. Every desk is occupied. No one else has taken a break. Will leaving the room to refuel be considered a sign of weakness by University officials? I scan the room for signs of cameras and find none. But just because I can’t spot them doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

My stomach growls again. My throat is dry, and my eyes feel grainy. Regardless of how my actions might be perceived, I need a break. If I don’t take a moment to recharge, the rest of my answers will suffer for it.

Swallowing hard, I close my booklet, place my pencil next to the papers, and raise my hand. Professor Lee doesn’t notice me right away, but some of the other students do. Several give me smug looks, as though proud their stamina is greater than mine. Others, like Stacia, shake their heads. For a moment, I consider putting down my hand, but Tomas’s encouraging nod makes me raise it higher in the air.

Professor Lee spots me, smiles, and signals permission to leave my desk. My joints are stiff as I walk to the front of the class. A female official in ceremonial red is waiting for me outside the classroom door. She escorts me down the stairs to a room on the first floor where a table with food and water awaits. I fill a plate with chicken, slices of a sharp-smelling cheese, and salad made of fruits, greens, and nuts—all foods my parents encouraged my brothers and me to eat before important exams—and dig in.

I barely register the taste as I chew and swallow. This is not food to be savored. It is fuel to get me through the next four hours. I finish my meal quickly and then use the bathroom and splash water on my face. Less than fifteen minutes has elapsed when I slide into my desk feeling far more alert than when I left. Picking up my pencil, I open the booklet and once again begin to write.

Questions on genetic code, historical figures, important breakthroughs in medicine and solar power collection are asked. My fingers cramp. The pages fill. I get to the last question and blink.
Please tell us your preferred focus of study and why you feel you are best suited to be selected for that career path
. This is my chance to convince the University administrators of my passion and ability to help develop our country’s technology.

Taking a deep breath, I begin to write. All my hopes pour onto the page. My desire to help upgrade the communications system from our country’s limited use of pulse radios to a sophisticated network that would be available to every citizen. My excitement about new energy sources that would better power our lights and other devices. My absolute belief that I can make a difference in the technological future of the United Commonwealth.

Time slips away as I write and rewrite my answer, worried that one wrong word will change the focus of my career. One by one, my fellow students raise their booklets over their heads, wait for them to be collected, and leave the room, until there are only five of us left. I am satisfied with my final answer and look up at the clock. Three minutes remain.

My mouth goes dry as I remember. I skipped four questions with the intent of going back later. Only, I spent so much time constructing my final answer there isn’t enough time. My heart races as I flip back, hoping to answer just one of them. But I don’t. The clock expires as I finish reading the first unanswered question again. Pencils down. The examination is over. And I have not finished.

None of the questions I failed to answer are math- or science-related—the subjects I believe are most important to Mechanical Engineering. I try to take solace in that as I hand my booklet to Professor Lee. But my failure to complete the exam makes it hard for me to hold my head up as I walk out of the room. All I can do now is hope for the best.

Tomas is waiting for me on the steps outside. The smile on his face disappears as he looks into my eyes. “How did it go?”

“I left four questions unanswered. If I hadn’t taken a break for food, I would have finished.”

Tomas shakes his head. “Taking a break was smart. I wouldn’t have taken one if you hadn’t. I was losing focus. You reminded me that it’s important to step away and clear the mind. When I came back from my break, I reread my last answer and found two errors. I owe you for that.”

The gentle kiss he gives me is more than payment enough.

When Tomas steps back, he flashes a dimpled grin. “I also owe you for the entertainment. The looks on everyone’s faces when you walked out of the room were priceless. They didn’t know whether to be impressed or intimidated by your confidence.”

I blink. Confidence was the last thing I’d been feeling when I left the examination room. But Tomas’s words make me stop and think. How would I have felt if someone else had raised her hand first? Had gone out for a snack while time ticked away on the clock? I would have assumed the student had no concern about finishing the test on time. In fact, the student’s departure would have made me assume she would not only finish the exam but have time to spare. Tomas’s words are a good reminder. Thinking something is true doesn’t make it so. Perception is almost as important as reality.

The light starts to fade as Tomas and I walk hand in hand to the University’s dining facility. Older students tend to avoid the dining hall, since every designated field of study has its own residence and kitchen. Most days, the only people using this hall are a handful of low-ranking University administrators, one or two professors, and me and my fellow Early Studies students. The food provided is usually simple: sandwiches, fruit, rolls, raw vegetables. Nothing that requires great amounts of preparation or effort to keep warm. Despite the major milestone we have just completed, the food remains the same. No celebration for us. Not yet. Not until scores have been determined and fields of study assigned.

During the last six months as University students, we’ve taken a number of tests. After each, the dining hall was filled with chatter comparing answers, lamenting mistakes, and celebrating correct responses. Today there is none of that. Most of my fellow students keep their eyes on their plates as they eat. Some don’t eat at all. They just push the food around, trying to look normal. Everyone feels fatigue from the test and anxiety over the results.

I pick at the bread and fruit. Worry makes it impossible to eat much more than a few mouthfuls. Tomas has no problem cleaning his plate. I guess I don’t have to ask how he did on the exam.

Pushing away the remains of my meal, I ask, “Do you think they’ll give us the results first thing in the morning or make us wait until later in the day?”

Before Tomas can speculate, a tenor voice says, “It’ll happen first thing.”

Tomas stiffens as our fellow Early Studies student Will grins and slides his lanky body into the empty seat next to me. Inside I flinch. Outwardly, I smile. “You sound pretty confident.”

“That’s because I am.” His eyes gleam. “I overheard a couple of administrators talking. Pulling an all-nighter to make sure examination results are ready first thing in the morning wasn’t on their top ten list of favorite things to do.” His smile widens. “They were seriously annoyed. They don’t mind making us lose sleep, but they don’t like doing it themselves. So how did you guys do today?”

Tomas shrugs and looks down at his plate. For some reason Tomas won’t explain, he doesn’t like Will. Not that Tomas is ever rude. He’s not. But the way he gives minimal responses speaks volumes, as does the look in his eyes. There is a wariness. A distrust.

“How about you, Cia?” Will asks. “I’m guessing you aced this like you do everything else. Right?”

I wish. “There were too many questions to ace them all.”

“I know I flunked the questions on art history. I thought they wanted leaders who could help revitalize the country. How is knowing about a sculpture of a naked guy going to help? A naked girl . . .” He grins again. “Now, that’s a different story.”

I can’t help but laugh and half listen as Will jokes about the various test questions and speculates on whether he’ll be assigned his desired field of study—Education.

Will has a quick wit that I enjoy. He also has a great love for his family, especially his twin brother, Gill, who came to Tosu City for The Testing but did not pass through to the University. Not long after we began as University students, Will showed me a picture of him and his brother. Two identical faces with amused grins. Tall, thin bodies and ashen skin that speaks of a lack of healthy food in their home colony. Other than the length of their hair—Will’s to his shoulders, and his brother’s cropped short—the two were carbon copies right down to the love and happiness shining out of their deep green eyes.