Introduction
My eighteenth birthday is close. Mother barely talks to me, and father comes out of his room so little that he has forgotten what I look like. He wants to know, I’m sure, but if Mother interacts with him at all, it’s to criticize him.
It is dark in my room. Mine is behind the third door down the hall, after my sister Caliah’s and my parents’. Caliah is three years younger than me and beautiful. When I see her pin-straight brown hair, dark, thoughtful, green eyes, and brilliant smile, I feel as though I’ve been robbed. Everybody likes her, the perfect, sweet little babygirl. Even Mother adores Caliah.
Today is five weeks to the Choosing, a ceremony in which I will be told how I will live. I’ve learned about this process all my life. I know I’m supposed to be ecstatic, but the people in charge never fail to boil my blood. I feel hatred, deep in my bones, so deep the many layers of wishful words can fool me into serenity. I’m high-strung, Mother says. And why wouldn’t I be?
The government has voiced so many promises, so many promises that have been broken. More than half of the population lives in poverty and is rocked to sleep by hunger pains. Lots of the children I know are starving. The one I most notice is a boy who is so thin he looks like he may collapse at any moment. He is not in my class, so I don’t see him often, but when I do notice his presence I try not to look at him.
I think about how terrible it is to live like this, how we should all have food, and swipe at my cheeks, but it doesn’t help. I am already crying.
