Graduation Day (The Testing 3)

Anger simmers below Tomas’s logic. One of his hands is clenched in a fist at his side. He who once wished to flee has found in Kerrick’s and Marin’s deaths the need to fight.

“Stacia is in. If everything goes according to plan, by tomorrow morning the others will be, too.” I entwine my fingers through his. “Then we make this right.”

I stand on tiptoe and place a kiss on Tomas’s jaw. Then, as much as I hate leaving him, I turn and walk toward the south. When I glance back to look for him, he’s gone. My leg aches as I hurry down the walkway. The pain reminds me that the bullet that ripped open my pants also left them stained with blood. I can’t go back to the residence looking like this.

I duck into one of the Science buildings at the edge of campus, locate the bathroom on the first floor, and change into the pair of gray pants I have in my bag. I wash the blood from my hands and then run my fingers through my hair in an effort to erase all evidence of my time at the stadium. In the past several days, three students have died on account of my actions. At any moment another might be injured or killed because of something I created. Somehow, remarkably, my image in the reflector looks unchanged. How wrong that seems and yet how lucky it’s true. Because there is still so much more to do before this ends. Maybe once it is over people will understand what I have become. Maybe I’ll understand as well.

Since classes have ended, I am not the only one hurrying to get back to the residence. That allows me to move quickly without worry that I will attract attention. Despite the dread that churns inside me, when I reach the Government Studies building I put a smile on my face and walk through the residence’s front door. The sound of laughter trickles down the hall. After everything that has happened, I long for the relative safety of my quarters upstairs. Instead, I head down the hall and glance into the main gathering room. Raffe isn’t there, so I head for the stairs.

When I reach the second-floor landing, I make a decision. Instead of going up to the third floor, I turn and walk toward the door marked with a coiled spring. Raffe’s symbol. For the first time I wonder which kind of spring Raffe’s symbol is meant to be: a tension coil that stretches and shifts to work with the machine it’s a part of or a compression coil that will not allow itself to be pushed down. Is Raffe the type who truly wishes to resist the current methods of selecting our leaders, or is he working with his father and Symon to prevent change? I raise my fist and pound on the door. The time has come to find out.

When the door opens, in spite of the monitor’s assurance, I let out a sigh of relief to see Raffe alive and whole.

As soon as I step over the threshold, Raffe closes the door and throws the lock. “I was starting to worry. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Not exactly.” I look around for signs of listening devices or cameras. The room is almost the same size as mine and contains the same table, chairs, and sofa, but Raffe has transformed the space. A blue and white quilt hangs over the top of the couch. A handwoven rug with a circular blue design lies in the middle of the floor. And hanging on the walls are paintings. Some framed, others affixed at the corners with adhesive strips. Abstract swirling colors. Beautiful renderings of flowers and trees. And in the center is the largest canvas. Deep brown wood frames the portrait of a girl with light blue eyes, dark blond hair, and a chin the same shape as the chin on the boy who stands in front of me. She isn’t what I would call beautiful, but there is something striking about her face, and the look in her eyes is haunting.

“I don’t normally let people in here.” Raffe stands next to the painting. Now that his face is beside the girl’s, the resemblance is even more pronounced. “I don’t think we have a lot of art lovers under this roof.”

I look at the slashes of vibrant colors next to muted earth tones and find myself wishing Zandri were here to explain why these paintings make me want to catch my breath. She’d understand the emotions on these canvases because she had this kind of talent. The talent to make someone feel without saying a word.

“They’re wonderful.”

“Thank you.”

The pride in his voice makes me turn. “You made these?”

“Only a couple of them. The rest belong to my sister.” He glances at the girl in the frame and I wonder—is she the sister he referred to long ago? If so, she is part of the reason he sought to ally himself with me. Raffe promised he would trust me with his secrets if I trusted him with mine. This painting and his having passed my test tell me the time for sharing those secrets has come.

“Do you have a piece of paper I can borrow?” I ask.

Raffe looks confused, but disappears into his bedroom and returns with a paper and pencil. Taking a seat at the table, I write a note and hand it to him. He reads it, shakes his head, and together we begin to search for signs that we are being recorded. Because Raffe has more possessions than I, our search takes longer than mine did, but when the two of us are done, we haven’t found anything. Whoever is listening to me has not found reason to be suspicious of Raffe.

Quickly, I tell him about what happened at the stadium. The ambush. The dead students Tomas disposed of. And finally, I tell him about my trip to see the president, what she asked of me, and what I now ask of him.

“I knew Kerrick,” he says, taking a seat across the table from me.

“I’m sorry.”

“You and Tomas did what you had to do to stay alive. Now we’re going to do what is necessary to end this. Right?”

“Before you agree to help,” I say, reaching into my bag, “you need to see this.” I slide the president’s list of names across the table and watch Raffe as he reads. When his hand tightens on the paper, I know he has reached his father’s name. If I saw my father’s name there, I would rip up the paper. Yell. Cry. Plead. And if that didn’t work, I’d find a way to warn him. I would do anything to keep him safe. Raffe just stares at the paper in his hand.

The silence stretches until he quietly says, “Some of these names don’t belong here.”

“Your father—”

“No. These names—” He grabs a pencil and puts stars next to five names on the list. “I’ve heard my father rant enough about them to know they don’t get along well with Dr. Barnes. I’ve even heard my father ask Dr. Barnes why he keeps them around instead of insisting on their transfers. Unless I’m mistaken, they don’t believe in The Testing any more than you do. The presid

ent or maybe Symon has reasons for wanting them dead, though I can’t tell you what they are. But my father . . .” Raffe’s anger-filled eyes meet mine. “My father belongs on this list. He’s a part of what needs to end. We both know my father’s aware of what happens to Testing candidates who don’t pass. There’s a penalty worse than simple failure for Tosu City students who fail even the entrance exam and my father not only knows this, he believes it is right.”

I blink. “I assumed Tosu students were allowed to go home after they were told they didn’t pass.” Otherwise, why would their parents let them risk failing the exam? Or does the chance to be one of the country’s leaders mean that much to those who live here in Tosu City?

Raffe stands and walks toward the portrait. “They don’t go home, but everyone in Tosu City believes the unsuccessful applicants are assigned to jobs outside the city. I believed that. It’s what we’ve all been told, so why would I think any different? There are even people who swear they’ve heard from family members who were assigned jobs in the colonies. Important jobs working with new solar power technology or on innovative communication systems. I’ve heard friends of my parents brag about their child who has succeeded despite failing to pass the University entrance exam. Some have even mentioned it to Dr. Barnes in order to point out that he made a mistake grading the tests.”

“I don’t understand. If people have heard from their family members who have been assigned to colony jobs, then maybe the students really were sent there.” I want that to be true.

Raffe shakes his head. “You asked why I insisted on helping you. It’s because I learned that those letters aren’t real. That nothing I grew up believing is as it seemed.” He reaches out and touches the girl’s portrait. “My sister Emilie created most of these paintings, including this one. I asked her to make a portrait of herself for me to have after her application to take the University entrance exam was approved.”