The Petersons’ car pulled into the parking lot in front of the school. Eric quickly hopped out, waved to his mom and dad, and headed toward the main entrance. Streams of kids and teens of all ages from across their Class C District 245 were funneling in, like ants swarming into an anthill. The school was standard-issue—a sprawling four-story building of glass and concrete. Nearby stood workshops for vocational training, a large sports field, and an indoor pool. Neatly trimmed trees and shrubs lined the perimeter, while colorful roses bloomed in the flowerbeds.
Identical schools—twins inside and out—towered over every district in the city. The state fully funded all educational facilities, providing materials, equipment, and textbooks. Students received free meals twice a day and medical insurance. The only real difference between schools was the curriculum; institutions for different social classes had varying specializations. But the core mandatory subjects were the same everywhere, and upon graduation, students—regardless of class or residence—took the same standardized test known as the TOM, or Test of Opportunity Measurement.
Students dreaded the TOM like it was the plague. From first grade, teachers drilled into them that this test would determine their entire future. Fail the TOM, and you’d never land a decent job. Admission to college or university was only possible with a certificate proving that your TOM results matched your chosen career path.
Eric was a senior, and the TOM was just around the corner. He only had one more exam left out of the four mandatory tests required to qualify for the opportunity assessment. He’d aced the first three exams and was currently ranked second out of his twenty-five classmates. Taking the top spot was impossible—that position had been held for all twelve years by Ronnie, the insufferable teacher’s pet. But Eric wasn’t gunning to overtake him. He’d never been particularly ambitious. He studied hard not to prove anything to anyone, but simply because he had a knack for academics and loved learning new things.
“Hey!” called out Mark, Eric’s desk neighbor, as Eric checked in with the security guard at the entrance and headed up to the second floor where the exam was being held. “Why are you late? The test has already started!”
“Hey, Mark! Some commission from city hall showed up to celebrate Grandma’s retirement. Didn’t even get to finish breakfast, man!”
As if on cue, Eric’s stomach growled loudly. He stopped at a vending machine in the hallway, grabbing a cup of coffee and a pastry. Mark followed suit, and they continued on, munching as they walked.
“Oh, yeah, it’s their big visitation day,” Mark said. “My sister just had a baby girl, and they came by too, dropped off some kind of gift package.”
He took his last sip, crumpled the paper cup, and tossed it onto the floor. Instantly, a light blinked on the ceiling-mounted surveillance system, and a flat, emotionless voice echoed from the speaker—a teacher on duty: “Mark Andrews, please pick up your trash and place it in the bin!”
Mark bent down reluctantly, picked up the cup, and stopped at the nearest trash can to toss it in. Eric did the same. Above the bin was a neatly designed sign that read: “Our School: A Model of Order and Discipline.” A camera hung there too, and Mark couldn’t resist sticking out his tongue at it.
“Minus three points from your ranking for disrespectful behavior,” the voice from the speaker snapped immediately.
Eric tugged at his friend’s arm.
“Dude, come on, why do you do this? Just hold off until after the TOM. Don’t stir up trouble now…”
“I’m just so over all of this!” Mark grumbled angrily. “Feels like we’re dealing with robots, not real people. You know, they say back in the day…”
Eric didn’t get to hear what it was like back in the day. They’d already reached the classroom where the sociology exam was taking place. A crowd of anxious seniors milled around the tall wooden doors. Some were frantically flipping through textbooks and notes, trying to cram last-minute, but most had given up on studying—their heads were already too full. Instead, they clustered in a tight circle around lanky Rudolph, who’d been lucky (or unlucky) enough to take the exam first. Having already finished, he was now sharing his experience with the group.
“Man, they’re brutal!” Rudy said, his eyes wide.
“What’d you get?” one of the girls asked nervously.
“Demographic policy.”
“Ugh,” the seniors groaned in unison.
At that moment, the classroom doors swung open, and Mr. Donalds, the teacher’s assistant, poked his head out into the hallway.
“Is Peterson here?” he asked.
“I’m here,” Eric said, stepping forward. His heart skipped a beat, an uneasy flutter in his chest.
“Come on in, please.”