The Joker's War

Chapter Two

Along the wall of the main floor are large picture frames of the most successful people that have attended my high school in the past. I stop in front of a photo of a blonde woman, with dark brown eyes. Her skin is wrinkled, showing off her crows feet beside her eyes, and her laugh lines are prominent. But the light in her eyes is what makes her noticeable, what makes me stop for a moment. It is clear that whatever she does in her line of work, she has a true passion for.

I look at the inscription in the marble beneath her picture frame.

Marina Locke, Heart- Lawyer.

My mother graduated from the same school as I. She was born as a Spade, and her parents both settled for what life handed them. But my mother, she worked as hard as she could to receive a better class despite the lack of support she received from my grandparents. Later she moved on to become one of the most successful lawyers of her time. Most would say that I have a lot to live up to and based on the way my mother looks upon me with such pride, yet so much criticism, some might say that she agrees.

I shake my hands out and turn away from my mother's portrait and towards the stairwell leading to the basement. The technology room is the first door on the right of the dim narrow hallway, made of cement walls. The air is cold and goosebumps appear on my arms the instant my toe leaves the last step.

I focus on the click, click, click of my shoes against the flooring while I approach the door at the back of the long corridor. I push on the heavy door and it opens with a gust of air in my direction. The room smells of age and decay, and the cobwebs in the corner of the room are evidence of the lack of attention this room has gotten in the last couple of years. Granted, our technology program has decreased drastically within the last few years. 

"Hello. Please, take a seat," the short, rotund woman behind the wooden desk tells me, gesturing towards the desk across from her. I do as she says and gingerly take the seat. "My name is Mildred, I will be administering your test today. There will be no trick questions, I will not try to alter your response. Anything you say will be assessed, you cannot retrace your steps and reword your replies, anything you say is definite, so really think through your answers before replying. Do not look to me for help, I cannot help you, and you will not find anything in my expressions that will aid you. Do you understand?"

Her voice is clear, soothing, and demanding. I do not hesitate when I nod.

"Okay then, if you are ready, we can begin."

I nod once again. Stop doing that, Xandu. We need to break that habit. Shoulders back. I recall my mother's words when we would train for this day and instinctively straighten my posture, folding my hands in my lap. 

She places a device in the center of the table, equidistant between the two of us. "Please state your full name and your age."

"My name is Xandu Penelope Locke, and I am seventeen years old."

"Xandu, do you mind telling me about the achievements you have made while undergoing your secondary education?"

"No, I don't mind in the slightest. From the beginning of my freshman year to present, I have upwards of 150 community service hours. I have implemented a club that allows the incoming freshmen to become more familiar with the campus. It also allows for those freshmen to become more acquainted with each other and begin building new friendships. It has been very successful in the two years it has been running."

"So you began this program as a sophomore, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am, I did."

"That must have been very difficult for you. I mean, getting all those community service hours and creating a new club, as well as your grades. And based on my records here, it seems like you've done really well in school and continue to be involved in many clubs and organizations. Some might say that what you are doing is impossible. Tell me, how do you do it?"

I tilt my head and ponder her question for only a moment. I take a deep breath before replying. I understand that the assessment is designed to test our critical thinking skills as well as our ability to contribute to society. "If I didn't know any better, I would say you were implying that my skills are not my own, which is certainly not the case. My whole life, especially these last four years, I have been working very hard to make sure I get into a good life. That requires me to discipline myself to the point where I don't have much free time and I don't allow myself the luxury of going out every other day and slacking off. I do well, because my mother has instilled into me many skills such as time management, stress relief, and knowing when you have good ideas so I can become half the woman that she is."

My administrator raises her eyebrows at me and purses her full lips. "Your response is that you have observed time management and stress relieving techniques as well as how to recognize your good ideas from the bad ones. Correct?"

My face heats up, and I know a deep shade of crimson is flooding my cheeks. "Yes," I tell her quietly.

"Speaking of your family, the whole city knows who your mother is and what she does, but I'm looking in your file and I'm not seeing anything about your father. What does he do?"

I clear my throat and speak through the tightness in my throat. "I'm unsure," I tell her, my voice barely audible. "He left me and my mom when I was three and we never heard from him again."

"Okay. Is there anything else you would like to tell us before we finish up here?" She crosses her arms when she finishes speaking and I can't help but go through our conversation and wonder if there was any indication of how I did. The unknowing, I've decided is worse than the anticipation.

I shake my head and a strand of hair escapes my bun. I tuck it behind my ear. "No, I do not have anything else to add, but I would like to thank you for your time. I'm aware that you don't get paid for this and it's on a strictly voluntary basis, so thank you."

"There's just one more thing. Please roll up your sleeve." She pulls out a strip of rubber and a vial with a needle attached to it from within her desk. I feel myself pale, and she seems to notice my discomfort. "Please do not worry. We just need to get your DNA into the database to ensure a successful transfer if you are chosen to go away from home. Your arm?" 

I hold my arm out to her and she inserts the needle into the vein in the crook of my elbow. I turn away as the vial begins to fill the tube. She corks the tube and places it in a machine that shakes my blood, I'm assuming to keep it moving and warm. The system beeps repeatedly and I am about to ask why the device is making such an obnoxious noise as she connects the device to her tablet with a USB cord. She presses the button on her tablet. "You are dismissed. You will get your results before midnight. If the clock strikes 12:15, please contact city hall and they will redirect you and from there you will get your results."

Mildred's device ceases to beep and she unplugs her cord. She starts to walk around me, tablet and recording device in hand, but I move in front of her. "Why would my results be late?" I inquire.

She rolls her eyes and hugs her tablet to her chest. "Sometimes, our assessment reporters have a difficult time contacting all of the families, as they have a lot of people to go through. Some people may get their results immediately, but some take precise deliberation but the decision is usually made and reported via projection before midnight. Our reporters are human after all, it does happen. If you'll excuse me, I have another examinee to get to." I step around her and pass through the door, not waiting for it to shut behind me. 

I exit the hallway quickly, eager to see how Ezra's assessment went. I had assumed that I would leave the room at the end of the corridor more confident compared to when I had entered, but that is certainly not the case. My palms are damp and I am alarmingly aware of the weight of the note from my mother weighing down my pocket. As well as that went, it definitely could have gone better. I'm just overthinking, I remind myself. I shake my hands out and stride up the steps, letting the confidence fuel me.