Evaluation
The sun hadn’t quite risen yet, and a thin dusting of frost coated the grass and formed glistening crystals on the barbed wire lining the top of the fence. Two small towers of iron scaffolding stood at opposite corners of the holding pen, and the dark silhouettes of men carrying shotguns could be seen against the pale grey sky. The gates were still open, but the flashing clock mounted over the threshold warned that they would only stay that way for ten more minutes. Once they closed nobody could go in, or come within fifty yards of the fence. The tower guards’ shotguns were loaded with non-lethal beanbag rounds, but it was enough to keep any trespasser away.
Inside the pen, a large group of boys and girls stood shivering, clustered together for warmth. Nobody spoke out loud, but a few whispers were audible over the creak of the gates and the soft scream of the wind. One girl started to sit down, but found herself soaked in melting frost and quickly stood.
In the parking lot just outside the pen, a car was pulling up. Everyone looked surprised; it seemed an unnecessary risk to arrive now, with so little time left before the gates were sealed. As the car’s door opened, a dark-haired boy climbed out and pulled his jacket tight around his shoulders to block out the wind. He stared at the pen, looking from the towers to the crowd inside to the dark, imposing bulk of the Testing Facility building that made up one of the pen’s four walls. He pulled his jacket tighter, and looked back inside the car with fear in his eyes. One of the tower guards watched him expectantly.
The boy hesitated, but when he saw the clock he started to move. His father waved encouragingly from inside the car, and watched the boy enter the pen until one guard raised his shotgun and aimed it at the windshield. The time when parents would be allowed to loiter near the facility was drawing to a close.
He stood alone in the pen, apart from the main group and saw his father’s car recede into the distance until it was nothing but a speck. The clock on the wall began to flash red, faster and faster until he started to feel sick and had to look away. The humming of motors vibrated in the air, and the gates shook like animals waking from a long sleep and started to slowly swing inward. The boy’s body tensed up, and for a moment he felt the irrational urge to dash forward through the shrinking gap between the gates and just run. But he suppressed it and reminded himself what his father had told him. Nobody likes it, but it’s something everybody has to do. His mother did it, his father did it, and now he was doing it. They just wanted him to have a good life. He kept all that in his mind as the harsh clang echoed off the walls and as the gates slammed shut.
Everyone in the pen fell silent. A buzzing of static came from the ring of speakers mounted on the fence, and then woman’s voice began to speak, calm but clear.
“This is an official recording approved by the Department of Education. Greetings class-” the voice suddenly changed to the harsh, guttural sounds of an electronic synthesizer, “14F of Green Springs School District.” It then returned to the woman’s soothing tones.
“Welcome to the Regional Academic Placement Examination. As you know, the results of this exam will have a crucial impact on your lives, not only in education but in your careers as well. Because of this, it is of course very important that you follow the approved behavioral guidelines regarding examination procedure. Failure to do so will result in the voiding of test scores for either the dissident individual or possibly the entire class, depending on the given scenario.”
A movement in the distance caught the boy’s eye, and as he squinted at one of the doors farther on down the wall of the building he saw a large group of people moving out in single file. They were students who had completed the exam, he realized. He tried to make out their faces, but this town’s Testing Facility was easily a quarter mile long and they appeared as nothing but a blur. The voice on the recording continued, and he shook himself awake and listened.
“To prevent the spread of information that could cause unlawful knowledge of the exam’s content, a Department of Education panel has decreed that no student shall speak from the point at which you hear this recording, until the time at which the exam has been completed and you have been permitted to leave the facility. Failure to comply will result in the voiding of the entire class’s test scores.”
But the pen was already dead silent. The boy didn’t blame them; nobody wanted to be the one who held everyone else back. A student irresponsible enough to do that would have to leave town for his own safety. Nobody who ruined an entire class’s test could ever walk the school hallways again without constantly looking over his shoulder.
“You will notice the doors into the Testing Facility are opening at this time. Before taking the exam, students must be inspected to prevent unlawful information from being brought into the exam room. You may now enter the building, and begin the inspection process. The proctors will conduct the inspection. Keep in mind that proctors are not permitted to speak with students as a measure against skewed exam results, so do not ask them for assistance.”
Four men emerged from the darkness of the door. But he could only assume they were men; they wore loose black jumpsuits that concealed any detail of their body. But what sent a shiver through the boy’s body were their faces. Each proctor’s face was concealed by a cloth hood colored the same inky black as their suits. He wondered what they looked like underneath. Logic told him that they were just people like everyone else. But staring at the silent and faceless figures that surrounded the crowd, the boy couldn’t help but feel a faint, childish doubt in the dark corners of his mind.
The four proctors moved inward, extending their arms to herd the students into the doorway. Not once did they need to push or shove; anyone who they walked towards instantly drew back. Silently they all entered the door, and the boy looked around in awe. The concrete walls alone must be at least ten feet thick; the entrance was more of a short tunnel than a doorway with not a single corridor branching out. Just thousands or even millions of tons of solid, reinforced cement. The Testing Facility was more than secure; it was invincible.
The tunnel opened up into a dimly lit room about sixty feet long, and the proctors ushered them toward the center. He tried to take a look around, but from the center of the group his view was blocked by heads and shoulders on all sides. All he could make out was bare cinderblock walls, floor, and ceiling with a single buzzing fluorescent bulb that gave out pathetically weak light. The students were gathered directly under the beam, and everything else was hidden in shadows.
There was another proctor visible here, holding a small device that looked like a TV remote in his hand. He pressed a button, and the woman’s voice emanated from an unseen speaker, grotesquely distorted by the echo of the bare walls.
“We are about to begin the first steps of the inspection process. Pay close attention, because requesting a second playing of this recording will of course violate the speaking restrictions. You must all register with the facility’s computers to verify your presence. Take out your Student ID cards at this time, and as you pass through the door into the next room, swipe them through the scanner on the wall. If the light turns green, proceed to the next room. If it turns red, proctors will escort you to the detention center for further investigation and your test score will be voided.”
Each of the four proctors reached behind them and withdrew long, black rods from their belts. Nobody knew what they were, but when they began gesturing towards a door on the far side, everyone obeyed. Suddenly there was a skittering sound of claws on concrete, and an enormous dog emerged from the shadows and stood by the door, growling and dripping long strings of saliva on the floor. It was a German Sheppard, easily four feet tall, and the chain around his neck that shackled him to the wall looked far too thin to restrain him for long. His eyes and teeth gleamed in the meager light, and the group shrank back. Trapped between the proctors and the dog there was a moment of hesitation. But then the proctor pushed another button on his remote, and the voice filled the room once more.
“Upon recent investigation, the Department of Education and the police have found disturbing evidence of mental enhancement drug use among students undergoing the exam. As you know, these substances are forbidden and must be detected before the exam takes place to prevent an unfair advantage. Fortunately, the department now uses specially trained police dogs for accurate detection. Please follow the green line on the floor into the next room, and if the dog alerts the proctor to the presence of illegal substances, you will be escorted to the detention center for further investigation and your test score will be voided.”
A proctor opened the door and stood to the side opposite the dog, and waved his arm for the nearest student to go through. A tense moment later, a little blond girl stepped up to the line of peeling green paint on the floor and walked along it carefully, one foot in front of the other. When she reached the dog it sniffed her briefly and she squeezed her eyes shut, but it showed no signs of catching a scent and she continued, swiping her card though the box bolted to the wall and disappearing into the darkness of the next room.
This seemed to comfort many of the others, and following her lead the other students stepped forward one by one, walking the line that led them just out of reach of the dog’s jaws, swiping their cards, and moving into the next room. As the initial shock wore off, the process grew faster and more efficient, until soon a continuous line had formed that moved along steadily. The dog even appeared to have gotten bored, and was lying calmly on the floor and barely looking at each passing student. The boy was feeling slightly more at ease, and gripped his card confidently as the one in front of him, a redheaded girl about in inch taller, reached the beginning of the green line.
But as she walked past, the dog suddenly surged up from the floor and exploded into a frenzy of barking and growling, snapping its jaws at the hem of the girl’s skirt and sending saliva flying onto her face. She jumped back and fell onto the ground, clenching her jaw shut so as not to let out a cry or whimper that would void the class’s test results. The proctor by the door looked down silently at her, and as she stared up the boy saw realization dawn on her face about what had just happened, and what it meant. She couldn’t speak, but shook her head desperately with her hands clasped over her mouth. Tears were forming in her eyes, but under the hood the proctor’s reaction was impossible to read. He simply reached out with his baton, and a small blue flash of light appeared where the tip touched her shoulder. Her body went limp and she slumped onto the floor, her head thudding against the concrete. Another proctor approached and grabbed her roughly by the arm. He hoisted her up, dragging her unconscious figure through the door until the squeal of her sneakers on the cinderblocks faded into the distance.
The boy stood paralyzed, staring at the dog. It was still standing, and held its head low like it was preparing to attack. He knew he hadn’t used any drugs, but there had been stories of students whose normal medications or even the food they ate for breakfast showed up by mistake as something illegal. He had no choice of course; as the proctor waved him towards the door he took back control of his legs and forced himself to walk down the line step by step, until he could smell the dog’s saliva pooling on the ground. He kept expected it to bark, to bite and claw at his body just like it had the girl’s, and every time the dog so much as twitched its ear he felt his heart race. But nothing happened; it just took a sniff and let out a soft growl of contentment. Trying not to look at the proctor’s face and feeling the unseen eyes staring down at him, he swiped the sweaty plastic card through the slot and felt weak with relief as the light turned green. The proctor prodded him in the arm with the butt end of his baton, and he quickly stepped forward through the door.
The next room was even bigger than the one he had just left, and only slightly better lit. Instead of a dim fluorescent bulb there were several glass circles embedded in the ceiling, sending focused beams of harsh incandescent light onto the floor. Everything was bare cinderblock here as well, except for one wall that looked as though it were made from large metal tiles. But as he looked closer, he saw that they were lockers similar to the ones he had seen in the gym, except that each had a small green screen instead of a latch, like the display of a calculator. There were two other doors, thick steel ones lined with heavy bolts and combination locks. He shivered for reasons other than the cold stone and metal all around him; the girl who had alerted the dog must have been dragged through one of them, the one that led to the detention center.
A minute or so later the last of the students entered, and the proctor with the remote stepped through and slammed the door shut. He could see the speaker this time, hanging from the ceiling alongside the black half-sphere of a security camera.
“At this time, it must be confirmed that no student is capable of bringing unlawful information into the examination chamber. For this purpose, you must place all clothing and belongings into the locker whose screen shows your student identification number. Swipe your card over the screen, and the locker will open.”
They moved together over to the wall, and for a minute there was some confusion as students tried to find their numbers on the lockers’ tiny screens. But once they began to realize the order, it became easier. He scanned each one until he noticed the number 07564, and held his card up to the glowing display and waved it back and forth. Nothing happened at first and he felt a twinge of panic in his stomach, but after a second wave there was a buzz and the door swung open.
Inside, he saw a pile of white cloth. Confused, he picked it up and realized it was a folded white jumpsuit made from a material so light it was almost see-through. There were no seams or marks on it except a small pocket the exact size of his ID card. Looking down the wall, he saw that everyone else’s lockers contained the same thing.
“When you have placed all clothing and belongings in your designated lockers, remove the Department of Education-approved examination suits, but do not put them on. Students must be inspected and cavity searched for any physical markings which could contain unlawful information into the testing chamber. Proctors will conduct the search. If you have any birthmarks, tattoos, or markings that serve a medical purpose, be sure to show them to the proctors immediately. Any attempt to conceal markings, or potentially marked body parts will result in the student being escorted to the detention center, and the voiding of test scores.”
He dropped the white jumpsuit on the ground and began to undress, and saw others starting to do the same. There was a girl next to him and he stared straight at the floor, making sure not to do anything that might embarrass her. When he had taken off all his clothes, he bunched them up and put them in the locker, still looking directly ahead and nowhere else. Soon everyone was naked, and they spread out into the room to make the situation less uncomfortable.
Out of nowhere, ten proctors appeared and approached the nearest cluster of students. Each carried a flashlight and something that looked like a spray can, and began looking over each boy or girl’s body. He didn’t want to stare, so instead he glanced over himself. As far as he knew he had nothing written on his skin that would help him on the test, but he couldn’t take any chances. Not with the proctors poring over every visible inch. At one point he saw another boy point towards a small zigzag birthmark on his arm, and the proctor pushed a button on the strange device and a jet of white paint shot out onto the boy’s skin and covered it up. He didn’t like the idea of the search, but he knew he had no choice and told himself it would be no different than going to the doctor.
About five minutes later they reached him, and the proctor grabbed him tightly and made him turn around. He turned on the flashlight and began shining it over his chest, then his arms, even his armpits. The proctor was wearing white rubber gloves, and he winced in pain as they pulled at his hair when his scalp was scanned for any writing or symbols. He was made to open his mouth and the proctor stuck two fingers inside and felt around, so deep that he gagged and almost bit down before they were finally withdrawn. For an instant he could feel the proctor’s breath on his face, warm and putrid through the cloth hood. This wasn’t anything like going to the doctor. At least the doctor talked to him and explained what he was going to do. These men treated him like an animal, as if they were considering buying a new pet.
The proctor looked over his legs and crouched down so to look in his groin. The hands underneath the thin gloves were cold, but of course he said nothing. Then he was forced to turn around again, and felt a sharp pain in his behind. He almost cried out when he realized what the proctor was doing, and his body tensed up as tears formed in his eyes. He replayed the conversation with his parents over and over again in his mind. Nobody likes it, but it’s just something everybody has to do. His mother did it, his father did it, and now he was doing it. They just wanted him to have a good life. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, trying to imagine himself as part of that long line of people leaving the Testing Facility having finished the exam, free to go back home for the rest of the day.
Once the proctor was finished, he stood up and moved on to the girl standing next to him. At one point he heard her gasp, but didn’t dare look. He just concentrated on stepping into the white suit. It was far too big, and hung off him so loosely that he was afraid it might slip off with any sudden movement. It tied up in the back like a hospital gown, and he had to feel around behind himself to get it fastened. He had to look back, and caught a glimpse of the girl. They had finished searching her, and he saw a tear rolling down her cheek.
“At this point in time you may proceed into the examination chamber. Inside you will find desks containing screens similar to those on your lockers. Find the desk which shows the same student identification number as your card, and take a seat. Stay within the red square around your desk, and wait for further instructions. There is absolutely no speaking, communication, or unnecessary movement within the examination chamber; any action that could be categorized as unauthorized communication between individuals will result in the voiding of test scores for the entire class. Follow the proctors through the door into the examination chamber.”
A proctor went up to one of the heavy steel doors and typed in a number on a keypad. Unseen motors began to hum and vibrate behind the wall, and there was a hiss of escaping air as the seal broke and the door started to open. The other proctors formed two lines up the sides of the room and held out their batons, so that they only direction the students could move was through the door.
They filed through quickly; the door was wide enough so that three could enter at the same time. It was brighter in here, and once his eyes had adjusted to the change in light the boy looked around and drew a sharp breath. The exam room was unlike anything he’d ever seen.
The room was enormous, dwarfing any of the others they’d gone through. At least three times as big as a gymnasium and over one hundred feet tall, it felt more like walking into a cathedral than anything else. Instead of bare cinderblock, the walls here were covered in iron panels and lined with six stories of steel scaffolding. At least fifty proctors were pacing back and forth along these catwalks, and instead of batons they carried long, scoped rifles. At ground level five massive fans pumped air into the room from outside, and he saw little flurries of dust blown up into the beams from the spotlights mounted on the wall. In the center of the room was a large square platform raised about eight feet of the floor like a stage. On top of it were hundreds of desks, bolted down perfectly in long, precise rows marked out with a grid of red paint. The proctors waved at a small staircase leading up to the platform, and the crowd of students followed quickly.
The floor of the platform was a mirror, and the reflection of the high ceiling at his feet creating a momentary sensation of dizziness. He looked up and started searching the desks, looking for 07564. There seemed to be so many that it would be impossible to locate his in time, and he started to worry. But then he saw the girl who had stood next to him in the locker room sit down, and if her locker had been close to his then it was probably the same here. With this in mind, he found his easily and sat down with relief. Once everyone was seated, they looked around. None of the proctors patrolling the walls showed any signs of changing their movements, and the ones who had followed them in through the door disappeared underneath the platform. When the recording finally began to play, the voice sounded like it came from every angle at once.
“Before you begin the test, keep in mind that the restrictions regarding disruptive behavior will be strictly enforced during the examination. Any student who appears to be utilizing unlawful information or sharing it with another student will be escorted to the detention center and the entire class’s test scores will be voided. At this time it is not permitted for any student to leave their desks until given instruction to do so. Any student who passes beyond the red square around their desk will be recognized as a threat to the security and fairness of this exam, and to prevent said student from passing unlawful information to other individuals taking the exam, the student will be administered a sedative by the proctors and will be escorted to the detention center, along with the voiding of his or her test scores. If you require special assistance or require a restroom during the exam, press the red button located on the side of your desk. A proctor will assist you, and your test scores will be voided.”
He looked up at the rifles carried by the proctors. They must be loaded with darts, he realized. That was the sedative; a student who tried to cheat would get shot from the wall. He looked down at the desk and tried hard not to picture someone staring at him through a scope, positioning the crosshairs right on his neck and examining every move he made for signs of misbehavior.
“To prevent students from viewing other students’ answers, the containment grid will be lowered at this time. Keep your feet and arms inside the red squares to prevent injury, as any obstruction to the procedure will result in voiding of the class’s test scores.”
There was a loud screech of machinery, and a sudden movement from above caught his eye. He looked up and saw a massive apparatus which he had thought was part of the ceiling detach itself and begin to drop slowly on four spools of heavy black chain. It was made from a mirrored material like the platform they were sitting on, but the side that faced them was attached to a grid of small cubicles, each one corresponding to one of the red squares around a desk. It descended on them like a waffle iron, and he realized that it would simultaneously enclose every desk and every student inside a box. He looked back and forth at the boys and girls sitting around him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see them until the end. One boy had his eyes shut and was gripping the legs of the desk so hard his knuckles were a ghostly white, trying not to cry out in panic. He felt sorry for him, but reminded himself that the test was most important and if this other boy made a noise, they would all have their scores voided. He shot the terrified boy a warning look, but before he saw his response the walls of the containment grid dropped into place around him, and he was alone inside the cube.
“You are about to begin. You will have only five hours to complete the examination, so use your time wisely. Push the green button on your desk to view a clock.”
The surface of his desk lit up, and he realized that there was a computer screen hidden beneath the polished plastic. It showed his name, address, school district, and Student ID number with a large Department of Education logo over the title Exam 3: Mathematics. He didn’t know anyone who wasn’t taking it; tests for other subjects existed but most schools didn’t encourage them. They were too subjective, and it would be far too easy for parents to challenge unsatisfactory results based on their personal opinions. Only a good score on the math test would guarantee your future.
“This exam contains 400 multiple-choice questions. For each question, touch the square next to the correct answer, and then touch the green arrow at the bottom of the screen. Each question has only one correct answer. If at any point you need to use scratch work, simply draw with your finger in the light blue box in the bottom right corner of the screen. Anything written there will be deleted upon selecting the next question and will not be scored.”
He took a deep breath and tried to remember everything he had learned.
“At this time you may begin.”
The title screen vanished, and in its place appeared a complicated-looking equation. Find x, it said. Below were four numbers next to boxes. He looked it over for a few minutes, then began.
The claustrophobia and dulled noise inside the cubicle didn’t surprise him. What he hadn’t expected was the strange effect it seemed to have on time. Things felt slow but also paradoxically sped up; the test was tedious and went so agonizingly slowly that at times he was sure the world was standing still. But then he would take a look at the timer and see with a shock that much more precious time had passed than he thought. He tried not to worry about that and just do each question, one at a time, pretending that the rest of the test didn’t even exist. It was a futile effort and he knew it, so much depended on the results of this exam that it was impossible to put out of his mind. If his score wasn’t good enough, facing his parents would be just the beginning of his problems. This would follow him for the rest of his life, determining whether or not he was worthy of taking the next step into the world.
As hopeless as it was, he still tried not to think about it. Take it one step at a time. He hit the button to check the clock again, and it showed two hours and twenty-three minutes left. That was cutting it close; more than half his time was gone and he still hadn’t reached the midway point in the test. But he had heard a rumor that the second half was easier and managed to breathe easy. The mirrored ceiling above him gave a creak, and he felt a cold sweat on his forehead as he understood its purpose. It had to be a one-way mirror, with proctors walking along on top to look into students’ cubicles at random for any signs of cheating. That explained the height of the platform too; other proctors must be underneath inspecting him from below. There was no way of knowing whether they were watching him at the moment, but he couldn’t shake the sensation of hundreds of eyes fixed on him from all around. He felt like an insect trapped in the slide of a microscope, crawling around aimlessly while his every movement was studied and recorded. He should not have been thinking about rumors regarding the test; for all he knew they had a way to see into his mind.
After what seemed like forever, the clock finally showed the time drawing to a close. He should have felt relieved, but in fact it was just the opposite. The computers that processed the tests would have his score almost instantaneously, and very soon he would see what direction his life would take. Everything from the first day he could remember had been leading up to this moment, and soon the difference all the after-school review sessions and sleepless nights studying with his parents had made would be shown in clear, unforgiving detail. His finger shaking, he entered the last answer on the last question. He went to push the end button, feeling like the President in some old movie, preparing to launch nuclear missiles across the face of the Earth. If he failed this test, he might as well be blown up himself.
“Attention, you have five minutes remaining to complete the examination. Repeat, five minutes.”
No choice now. He touched the screen, and the test disappeared as a flashing blue sign announced that his results were being uploaded to the servers, and told him to please wait silently until further instructions. When the next five minutes were finally over, he felt sick.
“Attention, this examination is now over. Wait silently for further instructions. Once the containment grid is removed, proctors will escort you back to the inspection room to recover your clothing and belongings. On your way out, you will receive a printed report of your personal results as well as a general overview of the impact it will have on your transcript. A separate copy will be sent to your parents, as well as to the district’s Permanent Record Database. Do not leave any markings on the desk or walls that could provide unlawful information to the next class entering. The restrictions on communication and disruptive behavior will be enforced until you are at least fifty yards from the Testing Facility. Any violation will result in voiding of the class’s test scores.”
The walls around him shuddered violently, and he heard the gears and chains squeal again as the cubicle began to rise up over his head. A sudden breeze from the larger room outside chilled the sweat that had gathered on his back. He hadn’t even noticed the heat inside the small box; he had been too preoccupied with the test. Once the giant structure had returned to its original place hanging from the ceiling, he looked around the room. The pulsing blue glow on the underside of everyone’s chin told him that they all had the same message on their desks, and as a few people met his eye he saw the apprehension in their faces.
A group of proctors with batons lined along the sides of the platform, and the vault-like door opened once again. They all sat awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. There were too many dart rifles aimed at them from the catwalks to risk any questionable move.
“You may now leave your desks and exit the examination chamber.”
Everyone rose at the same time, and he felt a burning pain in his legs from sitting for so long. But he knew better than to stretch; body motions could be used to send messages between students as well as talking. They stumbled on tingling muscles down the staircase and followed two proctors into the locker room, where he swiped his card to open the door and gratefully changed back into his old clothes. The door to the detention center was still sealed shut, and he wondered when the students who were caught would be let out. Maybe it would be soon, once they had all left. But most likely it wouldn’t be for days, until the computers had put together a new version of the test.
A proctor pointed his baton at the smaller door, and not wanting to hold up the next class they quickly went through. The dog was still there, chained to the wall, muzzled, and apparently asleep. Still, it drew many anxious looks from the boys and girls who walked past. Another proctor was waiting by the door, visible only from the waist up in the flickering light. He was standing next to a large black box that the boy hadn’t noticed on the way in.
“As you exit the building, swipe your Student ID card through the printer and you will receive your score. Remain silent until you are fifty yards away from the facility.”
He opened the door, and sunlight poured into the room and evaporated the shadows in an instant. The boy blinked and narrowed his eyes, like a mole coming out of the ground after living in a dark tunnel for days on end. The fuzzy outline of the proctor motioned for the first student to come forward, and as she swiped her card the machine hummed and a half sheet of paper slid out from an invisible slot. The boy tried to see her face, but she looked straight ahead as she disappeared into the wall of light outside the door.
When his turn finally came, he could feel the blood pounding inside his ears like a war drum. He had to close his eyes and steady himself, and the proctor waved impatiently to approach. He walked up to the door, resisting the impulse to bolt through like he had felt in the holding pen that morning. His hand missed the card slot the first time and his face reddened, but on the second try he heard the hum from inside the box, and the paper was pushed out into his hand. He started to read it, but the proctor shoved him forward with his baton’s handle and he ran out the door. The paper seemed to glow painfully bright under the midday sun, but he could just make out the words.
Raw score: 328/400. Percentage correct: 82% Percentile: 80th.
No, he thought. That can’t be right. His fingers had lost all feeling as he looked further down the paper at the words below.
Student 07564 of Green Springs School District 14F Kindergarten Class 6 shows severely inadequate mathematical ability, and is not qualified for Advanced Placement First Grade classes this following school year. Psychiatric evaluation recommended for diagnosis of possible learning disability and necessary treatment. Remedial education will be required.
The letters stretched and distorted in front of him as tears ran freely down his face. He sat down on the grass and tore the paper into as many tiny shreds as he could and threw them violently into the ground. Other students walked around him, reading their own scores as they went. The guards in the watchtowers were screaming at him through their megaphones, telling him to move and threatening to shoot. The new group of boys and girls in the holding pen were all staring. He didn’t care about them. He didn’t care about anything. His parents would be arriving any minute and he would have to face them. He hadn’t just failed the test, he had failed everything.
I think Buenaventura Durruti is a pretty cool guy. eh kills fascists and doesnt afraid of ruins.
The quickest way to kill a revolution is to wait for it.
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