The Testing Guide
Page 6
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I give her another quick hug and say, “Every year there’s a rumor about a Tosu official coming to graduation.” Although a small part of me can’t help yearning for this year’s rumor to be true. To distract myself as much as Daileen, I add, “Now, I want to get some of that ice cream before it’s gone. Okay?”
I enlist other friends, many of them going into their final year of school, in our search for strawberry ice cream, hoping that one of them will take Daileen under their wing when classes begin again in a few weeks. If not, I will find a way to make things easier for Daileen.
My mother waves at me and frowns, so I leave a smiling Daileen with the other students and cross the square to the fountain where she waits. Almost everyone I pass waves or says hello. Our family moves to new dwellings almost every year—to whatever section of the colony the magistrate thinks needs Dad’s skill the most. All the moving makes it hard to feel attached to a home, but unlike most citizens, who know only their neighbors and former schoolmates, I know the majority of the people in our colony by sight.
Kids still too young for school, dressed in pale yellows and greens, dance around the twelve-foot-wide circular fountain, occasionally splashing each other with the water. But they avoid the area where my mother is seated. Her expression says that getting her wet will bring a scolding. Something I’m probably going to get no matter what.
My mother studies me. “Your hair is a mess. What have you been doing?”
My hair is always a mess between the curls and the frizz. I’ve suggested cutting it short, but my mother insists that long, cascading hair is a necessary asset for an unmarried young woman. If my hair came even close to cascading I might agree with her.
The sound of drums and trumpets compels my mother to stop her assault on my hair. My insides do a flip. Then another. It is time to take my place among the students. Graduation is about to begin.
My father and brothers appear out of the crowd and give me hugs before I head for the raised platform where my fellow graduates and I are expected to stand throughout the ceremony. It’s often said that getting through eleven years of school is easier than standing through the two or more hours it takes to leave it. I am hoping whoever said that was just joking.
We line up as directed across the back of the stage. Boys in back. Girls in front. Which I am thankful for, because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to see anything. My brothers inherited my mother’s and father’s height, whereas I am a throwback to another generation. At five feet, two inches, I am the shortest girl in my class.
Ms. Jorghen, our teacher, fusses with our positioning and reminds us at least a dozen times to smile, stand straight, and pay attention. This is her first Graduation Day in Five Lakes Colony so she is no doubt nervous. Once she is happy with our arrangement on the stage, she takes her place in the middle of the platform and the trumpets and drums sound again. Magistrate Owens appears in the doorway of her house—the only three-story structure on the square—and walks stiffly through the crowd. She is a robust, gray-haired woman with deep lines on her face. Her red dress is a darker color than most, more of a rust tone. The minute she reaches the podium at the front of the stage, she leans into the microphone that is set to amplify her voice across the square and announces, “Happy Graduation Day.”
We all say the words back to her and several citizens applaud. Magistrate Owens waits for the square to grow quiet again before saying, “Graduation Day is an exciting time for us all, but especially for the students behind me. After today, they will become a very welcome addition to our colony’s workforce. Twenty-five years ago, the United Commonwealth government decided to send 150 men, women, and children to this area. They created Five Lakes Colony in the hopes that our hard work could make the scarred earth that was once rich with farmland and forests thrive. The five lakes that we are named after were once called the Great Lakes. With the aid of our citizens, we are helping restore them to their original name. We have needed every member of our community to make this happen. Graduation Day adds fourteen of you to our cause and for that we are fortunate. Each step we take forward creates the need for more hands to help cultivate progress. Trust me when I say we can never have enough hands. I know many of you have not yet decided what careers you will embark upon, but all of us are grateful for whatever work you will do here in the years to come.”
The crowd applauds. My heart swoops with nerves and excitement as Magistrate Owens announces, “Let the Graduation Day parade begin.”
I bite my lip to keep it from trembling as the trumpets and drums take up a marching melody. My eyes blur with unshed tears, blinding me for a moment to the entrance of my soon-to-be former schoolmates. Every year the students from the school parade into the square one class at a time to great applause. Each class makes a banner that two students carry at the front to announce what lessons were learned this year. After the ceremony, the banners will be displayed in the square and the favorite one will be voted on. There is often friendly betting among the adults as to which class will win. For the first time, I am not among those parading, and it hits me that I never will be again.
The youngest class leads the parade, followed by the next oldest and so on. They march around the fountain to the beat of the drums and over to an area left of the stage that is roped off for them. When all ten classes are standing near the stage, Magistrate Owens talks about the new train system that has been developed between Tosu City and ten of the other colonies and the plans to continue construction until all colonies are reachable by rail. From my place on the stage I can see the crowd’s excitement at the news. When she is done relating news from the United Commonwealth, Magistrate Owens invites the citizens in charge of water, power, agriculture, and other revitalization projects to make announcements. These take more than an hour and range from reminders about proper water usage to requests for volunteers to help build dwellings for newly married couples. Even my father makes an announcement about a new, hardier breed of potato that his team developed.
I enlist other friends, many of them going into their final year of school, in our search for strawberry ice cream, hoping that one of them will take Daileen under their wing when classes begin again in a few weeks. If not, I will find a way to make things easier for Daileen.
My mother waves at me and frowns, so I leave a smiling Daileen with the other students and cross the square to the fountain where she waits. Almost everyone I pass waves or says hello. Our family moves to new dwellings almost every year—to whatever section of the colony the magistrate thinks needs Dad’s skill the most. All the moving makes it hard to feel attached to a home, but unlike most citizens, who know only their neighbors and former schoolmates, I know the majority of the people in our colony by sight.
Kids still too young for school, dressed in pale yellows and greens, dance around the twelve-foot-wide circular fountain, occasionally splashing each other with the water. But they avoid the area where my mother is seated. Her expression says that getting her wet will bring a scolding. Something I’m probably going to get no matter what.
My mother studies me. “Your hair is a mess. What have you been doing?”
My hair is always a mess between the curls and the frizz. I’ve suggested cutting it short, but my mother insists that long, cascading hair is a necessary asset for an unmarried young woman. If my hair came even close to cascading I might agree with her.
The sound of drums and trumpets compels my mother to stop her assault on my hair. My insides do a flip. Then another. It is time to take my place among the students. Graduation is about to begin.
My father and brothers appear out of the crowd and give me hugs before I head for the raised platform where my fellow graduates and I are expected to stand throughout the ceremony. It’s often said that getting through eleven years of school is easier than standing through the two or more hours it takes to leave it. I am hoping whoever said that was just joking.
We line up as directed across the back of the stage. Boys in back. Girls in front. Which I am thankful for, because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to see anything. My brothers inherited my mother’s and father’s height, whereas I am a throwback to another generation. At five feet, two inches, I am the shortest girl in my class.
Ms. Jorghen, our teacher, fusses with our positioning and reminds us at least a dozen times to smile, stand straight, and pay attention. This is her first Graduation Day in Five Lakes Colony so she is no doubt nervous. Once she is happy with our arrangement on the stage, she takes her place in the middle of the platform and the trumpets and drums sound again. Magistrate Owens appears in the doorway of her house—the only three-story structure on the square—and walks stiffly through the crowd. She is a robust, gray-haired woman with deep lines on her face. Her red dress is a darker color than most, more of a rust tone. The minute she reaches the podium at the front of the stage, she leans into the microphone that is set to amplify her voice across the square and announces, “Happy Graduation Day.”
We all say the words back to her and several citizens applaud. Magistrate Owens waits for the square to grow quiet again before saying, “Graduation Day is an exciting time for us all, but especially for the students behind me. After today, they will become a very welcome addition to our colony’s workforce. Twenty-five years ago, the United Commonwealth government decided to send 150 men, women, and children to this area. They created Five Lakes Colony in the hopes that our hard work could make the scarred earth that was once rich with farmland and forests thrive. The five lakes that we are named after were once called the Great Lakes. With the aid of our citizens, we are helping restore them to their original name. We have needed every member of our community to make this happen. Graduation Day adds fourteen of you to our cause and for that we are fortunate. Each step we take forward creates the need for more hands to help cultivate progress. Trust me when I say we can never have enough hands. I know many of you have not yet decided what careers you will embark upon, but all of us are grateful for whatever work you will do here in the years to come.”
The crowd applauds. My heart swoops with nerves and excitement as Magistrate Owens announces, “Let the Graduation Day parade begin.”
I bite my lip to keep it from trembling as the trumpets and drums take up a marching melody. My eyes blur with unshed tears, blinding me for a moment to the entrance of my soon-to-be former schoolmates. Every year the students from the school parade into the square one class at a time to great applause. Each class makes a banner that two students carry at the front to announce what lessons were learned this year. After the ceremony, the banners will be displayed in the square and the favorite one will be voted on. There is often friendly betting among the adults as to which class will win. For the first time, I am not among those parading, and it hits me that I never will be again.
The youngest class leads the parade, followed by the next oldest and so on. They march around the fountain to the beat of the drums and over to an area left of the stage that is roped off for them. When all ten classes are standing near the stage, Magistrate Owens talks about the new train system that has been developed between Tosu City and ten of the other colonies and the plans to continue construction until all colonies are reachable by rail. From my place on the stage I can see the crowd’s excitement at the news. When she is done relating news from the United Commonwealth, Magistrate Owens invites the citizens in charge of water, power, agriculture, and other revitalization projects to make announcements. These take more than an hour and range from reminders about proper water usage to requests for volunteers to help build dwellings for newly married couples. Even my father makes an announcement about a new, hardier breed of potato that his team developed.
