The Sorting (Part Two)

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The Dealer is nondescript, and in an odd way almost forgettable, with a crisp black suit and salt and pepper hair receding away from his face. He could be a pit boss at a casino or a villain in a movie. Although his appearance is predictable and bland, he carries a weight about him that seniors carry in the halls, the kind of invisible forcefield that make people get out of his way fast. Under one arm, he holds a thick gray folder, sealed at one end with wax. That's someone's files: brain, personality, and life analysis, all the information of what makes them who they are. And somewhere in there is the little card that will tell them what Suit they've been Sorted into. A few people gasp, staring at the Dealer or the all so important folder in his hand, but I get quickly distracted by the four teenagers standing behind the him. The Reps. 

The first one I notice is Jessica McGuire. I knew that something important happened with her. I just assumed she got a Government job, because her parents would appear looking very smug at the neighborhood barbecues, but she was never around. She had been Sorted into the Diamond sector, but she was just never around. Most people know that means you either committed a major crime, or you got a Government job. Government officials still live in their Suit, but they're sworn to secrecy and they don't live with the normal residents. I don't know if I would ever want to be a Government official. But I would want to be a Rep. Jessica flips her blonde and brown hair over her shoulder, smiling widely. She has a little insignia of a diamond pinned to her sweater, a privilege of being the Representative for the entire Diamond sector, ready to welcome kids to their new life on their own in the Diamond sector. She would live in a big apartment building with all of them, helping them adjust to their new routine. 

The next Rep to enter is a boy who looks much younger than Jess, but is probably about the same age. He wears a rumpled polo shirt and khakis, and reminds me of some of Alexa's middle school friends: trying to have decorum, but coming up just a little short. He trips on the doorstop on the way in, and I cringe, thinking it's going to be awkward, but he pulls himself up easily, with a wide, welcoming smile. He has a heart pinned to his chest, and even though he looks like he would fit in in the Diamond sector, I can't stop gawking at him. I've never seen someone from another sector. The girl that follows him is even less remarkable, even more scary. She has long black hair, a bleached denim jacket (with a club pinned to it), a white tank top, and black skinny jeans. Her eyes are heavy with eyeliner, and not the fancy kind, but she holds the door behind her. She looks like she's trying to be edgy and scary, but she's actually more like the heart Rep. 

It takes a second for the fourth Rep to enter, and I try to just stare at the white tile floor so I don't have to look at him. I don't want to think about the Spade sector. But the boy has the kind of energy of class clowns or gossips, the kid of people who your eyes are just drawn to, without being conscious of it. The first thing I notice is that he's shirtless, the only thing vaguely covering his body is a thick leather jacket worn open at the front. I can't imagine walking around like that. He's well built, with rippling muscles under his tan skin, but I can almost see the outline of his ribs. I wonder if they even have regular meals in the Spade sector. How long do people even last if those are the conditions? The boy shoves his hands into the pockets of his black cargo pants, making his waistband dip a bit, and a thin tattooed line becomes visible right near his hip. I feel a blush fill my cheeks, and I jerk my gaze up, towards his face. To my shock, he's staring right at me, and he winks. I tear my eyes away and try to go back to staring at Jessica, but I can't help feeling like his eyes are trained on me. I feel like the deer in the forest behind my house, and he's the coyotes we used to see sometimes at night. 

I'm pulled out of my reverie by the Dealer, who lifts the folder in his hand and reads out a name. Ava Fagelman. I'm safe. For now. I figure that they'll be sorted by last name. Luckily for me, the Reps follow the Dealer back into the room. I know there's more important things to be doing right now, but I can't stop thinking about the Spade Rep who winked at me. I hate people like that, casually cool and believing everyone cares only about them. I wonder if he was still the Rep when my sister was Sorted. I wonder what she thought of him. I stare at my Mary Janes with the silver buckles instead, trying to slow the racing of my heart. I feel like I'm going to vomit, but I don't know what to do. I stand up, planning to head for the door I came in, to try to find a bathroom, but before I can, the silver door clicks open, and the Dealer comes out again, holding another file. He gives me an odd look, and calls out another name that sounds vaguely familiar, but that I don't recognize. 

I'm one of only three kids in the room by the time he gets to me. I've been carefully calculating where we are in the alphabet. Strongman, Stropp, and Sanders have all already been called. I have to be next, right? This is about to be it for me. One of the other boys is standing up and pacing, but I just sit in my chair, shaking slightly. I hear the click of a doorknob, and I physically jump a few inches in the air. The Dealer comes out, with the same casual attitude he had every single time. He reads off my name, but I barely hear it. I feel like I can't move. He looks at me. 
"Nova Tatum," he says again, sounding more than a little annoyed. I stand up, pick up my bag, and follow him inside. 

The Sorting room is exactly like a smaller version of the waiting room I was just in. The Government likes things to be regulation grade, easily replicable. The Dealer leads me to a black unpadded chair at a silver desk. The four Reps stand behind the desk, all training their eyes on my. Even though most of them are smiling, I feel intimidated. The Dealer sets my file on the desk. I'm hit with the gravity of the fact that my entire personality, my entire life, is inside that folder. The Dealer slides a simple silver letter opener into the wax seal, flipping the folder open. In the first pocket, on the left side, there's a simple black envelope, about the size of my palm. The Dealer pulls it out and hands it to me expectantly. I know that in some cases, the Dealer opens the envelope for people, if they're not able to do it themselves. But I want to be the first to know what Suit I am. I pull the envelope towards me, and slide my finger under the flap. I pull the card out and take a deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut before opening them again. I flip the car over and stare at the simple symbol printed on the card. A sharp point, two curves, another triangle, all printed in black. A spade. 

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