The Showcase

Chapter One

I closed my locker and listened to the sound of the lock clicking into place. The moment a small mechanical beep sounded and the light on my door turned green, I slid my code card back into my pocket and headed down the hallway to third period English.

An arm slung itself around my shoulders. I turned to face its owner, and my two best friends. Cara and Chastity smiled back at me.

"We should know any time now!" Cara said, beaming. She bounced on her toes with excitement.

I rolled my eyes as we continued down the hallway, swerving out of the way of the older Strength boys. "Are we still talking about this?"

"Of course we are!" Chastity agreed, smiling just as widely. "It's all just so exciting! The girls are always so pretty!"

"And funny!" Cara chimed in.

"When I was eight, I swore to myself that I would marry a Product, preferably one from Bravery," Chastity continued dreamily. I shook my head at them. If I wasn't hearing about it on TV or in the magazines, these two were blabbing about it. The Showcase was never silent.

"Oh my God, the guy from Charisma in the last Showcase was absolutely gorgeous! And so charming!"

"You don't say?" I said sarcastically. They laughed as we walked into the English room and sat down in the middle row.

"Maybe if I keep saying it," Cara said, tapping my forehead with her forefinger, "you'll get into the spirit of the tradition! We're finally sixteen, who knows? We might even be chosen this year!"

"She's right, Amia."

I opened my mouth to surrender when Mr. Collins walked in. He set his briefcase on the desk and folded his hands, our signal to settle down. Once everyone was quiet, he slid a book off of his desk and held it up to the class.

"'Of Mice and Men' by John Steinbeck," he sighed, beginning to pace the room. "Quite the controversial ending for such a simple book, wouldn't you agree? I mean, just when everything seems like it's winding down nicely, Lenny ruins everything again. And George, his actions weren't exactly admirable either. Or were they?"

He stopped in front of the board, lifting a red marker from the tray. He drew two puzzle pieces and labeled one 'murder' and another 'love'. He picked up a black marker and drew a giant question mark on top.

"It's been over 300 years since the story was written and still, no one's agreed on whether or not George's choices were right or wrong, a century old mystery. It's truly amazing--, yes?"

A tall girl in the back of the room had raised her hand. We all turned to face her, and she blushed slightly. "Well, sir, in a situation like this, I don't think there is a right or wrong. It's a moral debate. And since everyone has different values and beliefs, every person has a different opinion on how the book should've ended. Maybe it's not a mystery at all. Maybe it's just a story that people like to argue over."

He rubbed his chin, nodding slowly. "Well put, Shannon." He pointed at a boy across the room, whose hand was now up.

"Actually, sir, I have to disagree with her. Every story is written for a reason, usually to teach a lesson or get across a certain point. Steinbeck had to be trying to tell us something when he wrote this. He obviously wanted this book to raise questions, and questions always have answers. He must have his own opinion on the story, and since he's the author, his answer is probably the right one."

"Hmm, Tom here just raised another point that I wanted to discuss. Yes, every question has an answer, but how does one determine which answer is right? Who's to say that my opinions are better than yours?"