Rite of Rejection (Acceptance Book 1) (3 page)

I envy that for her the waiting is over. She’ll probably stay at the ceremony for a while longer, especially if she has any close friends still in line. Besides, as my mother would be only too happy to explain to Ernestine, an early exit doesn’t allow enough time for potential dance partners to go through Acceptance and spot her in the crowd. For Ernestine, it’s now a delicate balance of waiting long enough to secure at least a few names on her dance card and leaving early enough to prepare for the ball.

Cheryl nudges me out of my thoughts, and I realize I’ve completely missed several Candidates moving through the Machine. I look up in time to see the next Candidate, a boy with bright-red hair and a face full of freckles, moving across the stage at a snail’s pace. His shuffling steps make it look like he’s attempting a soft dance to music only he can hear. His eyes are glued to the floor directly in front of his feet, giving the crowd a prime view of the top of his head. Eventually he reaches the Machine and trudges on to the small, round disc. He places his hands on the readers the way someone might attempt to pet a stray dog, uncertain if the animal will snap back and bite off a few fingers at the first contact.

The lights flash the second his palms make contact with the readers. I wonder if they’re a crucial part of the Machine’s process or just there to add to the show. I could ask my father after the ceremony, but he probably won’t know. The only people who really know how the Machine works are the experts who built it and the few assigned to keep it working. Important details about the Machine are a closely guarded secret in the government, although there are rumors of discussions with other countries interested in creating their own Machines.

The flashing lights stop and the bar across the front of the Machine flashes red. Without missing a beat, two large men in standard Cardinal uniforms step out of the shadows of the platform. I grab on to Cheryl’s arm and fight against the desire to run onto the platform to protect him. The crowd is indifferent. They are already looking to the next person in line.

On the stage, the Rejected boy braces against the guards’ approach, his wide eyes darting left and right, but there’s nowhere for him to go. His shouts of protest die off as the guards drag him off the platform and out of sight. The next name is called and the ceremony continues as if nothing happened.

Nothing to us, but not to the boy headed to the PIT, wherever that is. His life is over. Even if he’s not slaughtered by the deranged criminals inside, he’ll never go to Assignment or get married. He’s not a citizen and that means he doesn’t exist. I jerk my hand away from my pendant. My mother doesn’t need to be standing next to me for me to hear her telling me not to fidget.

Cheryl places a hand over mine and mouths “Are you okay?” I nod my head and pull my hand away to twirl the knot of my necklace. That boy looked so scared, and harmless, but that’s why we’re here. Because you can’t tell who’s bad just by looking.

Those poor people who live in a place where your next-door neighbor could be a criminal. How can they trust anyone? Sometimes, when my parents watch the news, reports come in from other countries of murders and violent attacks, especially on women and children. The people in those news stories always look so frightened and sad. They must spend their days in a constant state of fear. The Cardinal needs to share the technology behind the Machine with every country.

The line of Candidates moves quickly. I stopped counting after the first dozen rejections. The shock of the red lights wearing off a bit more with each one. The sun hasn’t yet reached the highest point in the sky when it’s Cheryl’s turn. She gives me a quick wink and squeezes my hand. “See you soon.” Before I can be nervous, it’s all over. Cheryl is at the Machine and the bar shines a bright green at the crowd.

The announcer asks for my name and Territory and punches it into his Noteboard. In seconds he nods his head and holds the microphone to his mouth.

“Rebecca Collins, MidWest Territory.”

I rush onto the platform, but remind myself to slow down after a few hurried steps. Tripping on stage would embarrass my mother to tears. Waiting in line, it was easy to forget about the cameras, but up on the platform, they are everywhere. I count out slow, waltz-like steps and pretend I’m dancing with Eric.

It doesn’t take long before the Machine looms in front of me. It’s so much bigger up close and the cold metal radiates judgment. I pause for only a second, a move I hope my mother doesn’t notice, and lay my hands on the readers. Colors flash to life under my clammy palms, but I force my eyes up to scan the crowd for my parents. I want to find them now so I don’t have to waste time later wandering through the thick crowd.

Cheryl will want to stay at the ceremony until she has at least a few names on her dance card. I hope I can convince her potential dance partners have to eat lunch, too. I’m only halfway through scanning the crowd when the flashing lights on the readers stop. Strong hands grab my wrists and upper arms just as I find my parents; their looks of horror are the last thing I see as I’m whisked off the stage.

Three

My escorts pull me to a dark corner at the back of the stage where the video cameras can’t follow us. The unfamiliar faces on stage blur past us. I need to find my family. My feet fall out from under me and the red-suited guards carry me under my arms down a short set of stairs and through open metal doors. I crane my neck back toward the stage, but we’re moving too fast for my eyes to focus. My stomach reels; I’m going to be sick. I plant my feet, but lurch forward when the guards keep marching.

“Where are we going? Where are my parents?” Nothing but silence answers my pleas. The guards move forward without so much as a sideways glance my way. I squeeze my eyes shut. Bad idea. Behind my eyelids, the bright, flashing red lights of the Machine burn into my eyes.

I pull back again, using my limited body weight to stop our progress. The guards pause and loosen their grip on me. Yes, let’s go back. I shouldn’t be here. A heavy, gloved hand flies from my right and slaps my cheek. The crack of leather meeting skin echoes down the dimly lit hallway. I gasp out a choked cry. No one has ever slapped me before. Who would? The Cardinal’s guards would. The truth of it reverberates around my head like another slap. The full realization of the situation is like another slap. I failed Acceptance. Slap. I’ve been Rejected. Slap.

“Stop, please stop! There’s been a mistake.” My words tumble out between ragged, sobbing breaths, but there is no one except the guards to hear my cries. Hallways whiz by me, but I can’t make out any details through my heavy tears. I could disappear here and no one would ever know. I don’t exist.

The silent guards open a door and march me outside into a narrow alley. Most of the dingy space is taken up by a bright-orange Airbus, “PIT Transport” printed along the side in large, black, block lettering.

“Collins, Rebecca,” one of the guards barks out to a tall, wiry man standing next to the bus.

He gives a sharp nod, not even glancing up from his Noteboard.

My guards push me forward. I want to plead with the man with the Noteboard, explain to him there’s been a mistake, but I can’t talk through the thick sobs racking from deep in my chest. A hard shove from behind forces me up the stairs of the Airbus. I turn around, but the door slides shut in my face leaving me alone on a bus full of society’s Rejects.

Most of the seats are already filled. Dozens of bloodshot eyes stare back at me, only no one is actually looking at me. Some of the Rejected teens are crying. My own sobs silenced the minute I stepped on the bus, though wet drops still slide down my face. A paralyzing fear has replaced all the other emotions that were swirling through me. Who on this bus is a future murderer, thief, or rapist? I curl into a ball on an empty seat near the front and stare out the small, round window. I can’t look at the others who now share my fate.

The wiry man with the Noteboard steps inside and whispers to the Airbus controller. The packed bus powers to life and a soft hum fills the tense silence.

Noteboard man steps toward the first row, pushes his thick glasses farther up his nose and clears his throat. His eyes roam around the bus, pausing to look at each of us for a moment. His eyes meet mine and tell me everything I need to know. It doesn’t matter what kind of person I was before today. Nothing I’ve done matters. As of right now, I’m a criminal.

“You are departing now for the Permanent Isolation Territory. Anyone unable to control themselves for the short trip will spend their first week of the PIT in Quarantine. I don’t care what kind of misguided, barbaric lives you lived until today. The full strength of the Cardinal has its eye on you now.”

He pushes his glasses back up his nose, steps down the stairs, and off the bus. The Airbus slides forward and I sink down lower into the seat. Outside the window, scenes of the city and the plush residential district of the capital flash by. We cross over the Great Dividing River and the landscape turns to flat farms. The bus picks up speed and the farms disappear, leaving a great expanse of trees too deep to see through. I have no idea where the PIT is and it doesn’t really matter. None of the places flying past the Airbus exist for me anymore.

I turn away from the window; looking outside hurts too much. I close my eyes and lay my head on my arm. I want to sleep, let dreams take me away from this bus, but my brain won’t shut down.

I keep thinking about Constance Berger, even if the rest of the MidWest Territory erased her name from their memories. When Constance didn’t come back from Acceptance six years ago, everyone assumed she found a husband and went to live with a foster family in his Territory until the wedding. After all, Constance was a model teen. She got good grades in school, participated in the annual civic parade and never stepped a toe out of line as far as anyone knew.

When months went by without a visit, people began to talk. When a year went by and no one received a wedding invitation people stopped talking. It was a scandal for a middle-class teen in the MidWest Territory to fail Acceptance, but any word of it was spoken only in private homes in soft, shocked whispers.

Did Constance know going in that she would be Rejected? Did she have a feeling about it? Did my parents know this would happen? My father so rarely shows his affection and yet he hugged me like he might never see me again before the ceremony. Did he know that would be our last hug?

What are they going to do? I don’t have any siblings. My mother put all her hopes on me finding a good husband and pulling her up into social circles she felt she deserved to be in. With a daughter in the PIT she’ll be excluded from every ladies lunch and social tea for the next twenty years. I’ve ruined everything for her.

And my father. Cardinal save him, alone in that house with her.

The Airbus slows down, and the empty feeling in my stomach is more than just a missed lunch. My mother used tales about the Permanent Isolation Territory to scare me into obedience since I was a child. The PIT is where the criminals are sent so they can’t hurt anyone but themselves. Her stories revolved around evil, monster-like people who would kill you if they didn’t like the look of you. In the PIT, no one is safe and every day is a fight for survival.

All my life, I listened to her tales and made sure I never behaved in any way that would put me in jeopardy of landing here. I never argued with my parents, always made it back to the house hours before curfew and never tried to get contraband items, like tobacco, the way some of my classmates did. I was good. A good student, a good daughter, a good person. But none of that matters. The Machine knew the truth even if I didn’t.

The bus stops and I stare at the door, waiting for the skinny Noteboard man to come back to get us. I should know better. A man like that would never soil himself with an actual trip to the PIT. Instead a uniformed man with a chest as big around as a rain barrel enters the bus and barks out orders in a voice that cuts through the silence like a sharpened blade.

“Everyone up and on your feet, and I don’t want to hear any lip about it. When you step off the bus, boys to the left, girls to the right. Do not dawdle, do not talk to anyone, do not attempt to leave the line. Move. NOW!”

I don’t waste any time getting out of my seat. I hustle in line with the rest of the bus’s passengers and step off into the PIT. Sixteen-year-old girls in varying degrees of finery move with unfocused speed toward an uncertain future.

Up ahead, a small, barn-shaped building stands with its door open, beckoning us inside. I walk through the door behind a red-haired girl and another huge man issues out a new string of commands.

“Remove all shoes, belts, stockings, jewelry, hair accessories, bags and gloves. You are not permitted to take these items into the PIT. Smuggling contraband into the PIT is a fast way to earn a trip to Quarantine. When you have removed these items, move forward into the dress room and wait for additional instructions.”

Around the room, half a dozen girls methodically dismantle their carefully crafted Acceptance ensembles. Everyone keeps their head down, but lowered eyes can’t hide the whimper of soft cries. A small girl next to me is shaking so bad she can’t undo the buckle of her shiny white shoes. I should offer her some comforting words, but I don’t have any. Back at home I might have offered assurances, like “it’ll all be okay,” but in here, that would be a lie.

I slip off my new satin shoes, dyed perfectly to match my dress, and lay them on the rough wood table next to my beaded handbag. My hands shake, but I manage to use the back of one of them to wipe tears off my cheek. Heels are probably the most impractical shoes imaginable in the PIT, but at the moment I don’t care. I know exactly how many hours of stamping forms and sending them on to the next department those shoes cost my father.

I take a deep breath and prepare myself for what I need to do next. My grandmother gave me the delicate knotted pendant right before we left for the capital. It isn’t valuable. The plain silver metal is common in any jewelry store and it doesn’t have any precious gems in it. It was hers when she was my age and she’d held on to it all these years. I absolutely despise the idea of taking it off and leaving it here in this room. What will happen to it? Who will love it despite its lack of value?

I can’t worry about that now. Not standing here in only my dress, my bare feet on the cold, concrete floor. Not while guards stand around in their bright-red Cardinal uniforms, watching my every move like I’m some kind of street rat. I can’t mourn the pendant when I’m losing so much more. I take the necklace off and leave it with the rest of my worldly possessions. There’s nothing left for me here.

“Do you think I’m stupid, scum?” A rough, callused hand grabs my arm while another tears through my carefully sculpted curls pulling out bobby pins and clumps of hair. “Think I won’t notice you trying to sneak in weapons? Think because you’re a girl, I’ll forget the evil you carry inside?”

“Ow, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I forgot, I promise. I wasn’t trying to sneak anything. I’m sorry.”

Another round of tears stings my cheeks, and I fight the urge to sink to the concrete floor and sob. My scalp burns from the patches of hair torn out by the bullish man directing our group. We’ve been in the PIT less than ten minutes and already I’ve had enough.

“I have my eye on you, girly. Now move it.”

I sprint into the dress room, my bare feet slapping against the ground and echoing through the small room. I want as much distance as possible between me and that guard. In this room, the beefy guard is replaced by an older woman. Her grey hair tufts out of her head like weeds, drawing attention to the deep lines carved into her face. Her small frame isn’t physically intimidating, but the snarl stretched across the bottom half of her sagging face makes me give her a wide berth.

All around us, tables are piled with some of the saddest dresses I’ve ever seen.

“Take off your dresses,” the older woman croaks out, revealing a few yellowed teeth surrounded by black empty gaps. “You won’t be attending any dinner parties where you’re going.” She cackles at her own joke and flecks of spit fly between her cracked lips. “Throw them in the corner here and find something to wear from the tables. And be quick about it. The next group won’t be long, and they’ll beat me blue if you fall behind schedule.”

She isn’t wearing the Cardinal’s uniform like the other guards. I doubt they even make uniforms for women. Women stay home, raise the children, and prepare the meals. What is she doing? A wave of nausea sweeps through me, my head spinning. She isn’t a guard. This bitter old woman is one of us, a fellow Reject sent to the girls dress room to keep an eye on us while we change. I bite my lip to keep from screaming. I look at her and see myself fifty years from now, a rail-thin shadow of who I used to be.

My fingers fumble with the buttons on the back of my dress. Only hours ago, my mother lovingly fastened each of these buttons, fussed with my hair, and cooed about her little girl being all grown up. That was a lifetime ago. I step out of the most expensive dress I’ve ever owned. I should be sad about losing it, but I’m actually glad to be rid of it. The sharp swish of satin with my every movement was a constant reminder of where I should be right now.

I’m not at the Acceptance ball, giggling behind gloved hands with Cheryl. Dancing with Eric. A stabbing pain pushes on my chest. Eric is back in Cardinal City sharing the first waltz with someone else. It should be me there, dancing in time to the music. Instead I’m here, sorting through threadbare cotton shifts to find something that doesn’t have any holes and isn’t missing a zipper.

All those hours wasted trying on dress after dress. Hours of freedom I didn’t know were numbered. The hours here don’t matter. I can waste all the time they’ll let me trying to find something that isn’t falling apart.

“What did I say about staying on schedule?” The old woman’s voice hisses into the room and a chill runs down my back that has nothing to do with my lack of clothing. “Get dressed and keep moving. You’ve got lots more to do and they won’t hold dinner for a bunch of lazy, no-goods like you.”

I grab a green, striped dress and shove it down over my still tender head. The bottom hem is frayed and it’s at least three sizes too big, but it isn’t missing any buttons and a yellowed ribbon lets me cinch it around the waist. Looking around the room at the other girls, I could have done worse.

We move as a sad-looking group down another hall into yet another room. I blink in the blinding bright lights after the dimness of the hallway. Plain metal chairs sit around the perimeter of the whitewashed hall with small, draped stands next to each one.