As I walk down to the stage, I know that once I go through the door, I will have to make all the "correct" choices, even if they are morally wrong. My hands are clammy, and I can't stop sweating. I reach the top of the stage. I hear the mayor's voice. "Thank you 1024 of 3024." Yes, in my land, we don't get names until we have passed the test. If we pass the test.
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In all my 15 years, I have never been so nervous. The answers I give today will impact the rest of my life. My results will tell where I live, which part of town, my job, and what kind of husband I get. They play the theme music and memories I got to choose from when they stuck tubes to my skull.
I go watch the show one last time before going through the curtain. Old memories come back to me. Seeing my parents after 4-week camp during fall when I was 9.
A/N they don't go to school, they go to a series of camps for different things.
I see myself with my best friend, 1023 of 3024 playing dress-up in a mirror at age 6.
I see myself, a couple weeks ago, with 1023, picking out dresses together. A silky turquoise for me, a flouncy green for her. These are the dresses we are wearing today. The dresses that we will have forever. I was given the computer chip. I put it in a pocket of my bag intended for these things.
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I pull myself together. I prepare myself and do it. I see myself march through the door on a television screen out of the corner of my eye. Tears fill my eyes and blur my vision. I am not ready. But I have to be.
