Matched

In some ways, I am ready for this. I expect it. No one can break as many rules as I have and not get caught somehow, sometime.

I gather my reader and scribe, dropping them into my bag with my tablet container. It seems very important, suddenly, to be ready for the Official.

For I have no doubt which Official wil come this time. The first one, the one from the greenspace near the game center, the one who told me everything would be al right and nothing would change with my Match.

Did she lie to me? Or did she tel the truth, and my choices made a lie of her words?

The teacher nods to me as I leave the room, and I appreciate this simple courtesy.

The hal is empty, long, the floor slick-surfaced from a recent cleaning. Yet another place where I cannot run.

I don’t wait for them to come for me. I walk down the hal , setting my feet precisely on the tile, careful, careful, not to slip, not to fal , not to run while they are watching.

She is there in the greenspace next to the school. I have to walk across the paths to sit on another bench under her eye. She waits. I walk.

She does not stand to greet me. When I come close to her, I do not sit down. It’s bright out here, and I squint my eyes against the white of her uniform and the metal of the bench, both dazzling, sharp, crisp in the sunlight. I wonder if she and I see things differently now that we don’t just see what we hope to see.

“Hel o, Cassia,” she says.

“Hel o.”

“Your name has come up lately in several Society departments.” She gestures for me to sit. “Why do you think that is?”

There could be any number of reasons, I think to myself. Where do I begin? I’ve hidden artifacts, read stolen poems, learned how to write. I’ve fallen in love with someone who’s not my Match and I’m keeping that fact from my Match.

“I’m not sure,” I say.

She laughs. “Oh, Cassia. You were so honest with me the last time we talked. I should have known it might not last.” She points at the spot on the bench next to her. “Sit down.”

I obey. The sun shines almost directly overhead, the light unflattering. Her skin looks papery and misted with sweat. Her edges seem blurred, her uniform and its insignia smal , less powerful than the last time we talked. I tel myself this so that I won’t panic, so that I won’t give anything away, especial y Ky.

“There’s no need to be modest,” she says. “Surely you have some idea of how wel you performed on your sorting test.”

Thank goodness. Is that why she’s here? But what about the Infraction?

“You have the highest score of the year. Of course, everyone is fighting to get you assigned to their department for your vocation. We in the Match Department are always looking for a good sorter.” She smiles at me. Like last time, she offers relief and comfort, reassurance about my place in the Society. I wonder why I hate her so much.

In a moment I know.

“Of course,” she says, her tone now touched with what sounds like regret, “I had to tel the testing Officials that, unless we see a change in some of your personal relationships, we would be averse to hiring you. And I had to mention to them that you might also be unfit for other sorting-related work if these things keep up.”

She doesn’t look at me as she says al of this; she watches the fountain in the center of this greenspace, which I suddenly notice has run dry. Then she turns her gaze on me and I feel my heart racing, my pulse pounding clear to my fingertips.

She knows. Something, at least, if not everything.

“Cassia,” she says kindly. “Teenagers are hot-blooded. Rebel ious. It’s part of growing up. In fact, when I checked your data, you were predicted to have some of these feelings.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do, Cassia. But it’s nothing to worry about. You might have certain feelings for Ky Markham now, but by the time you are twenty-one, there is a ninety-five percent chance that it wil al be over.”

“Ky and I are friends. We’re hiking partners.”

“Don’t you think this happens quite often?” the Official says, sounding amused. “Almost seventy-eight percent of teenagers who are Matched have some kind of youthful fling. And most of those occur within the year or so after the Matching. This is not unexpected.”

I hate the Officials the most when they do this: when they act as if they have seen it al before, as if they have seen me before. When real y they have never seen me at al . Just my data on a screen.

“Usual y, al we do in these situations is smile and let things work themselves out. But the stakes are higher for you because of Ky’s Aberration status. Having a fling with a member of Society in good standing is one thing. For the two of you, it’s different. If things continue, you could be declared an Aberration yourself. Ky Markham, of course, could be sent back to the Outer Provinces.” My blood runs cold, but she isn’t finished with me yet. She moistens her lips, which are as dry as the fountain behind her. “Do you understand?”