Great. She’s about to give me a treat, and I’m going to repay her by stabbing her in the chest.
Mr. Roberts sits in front of me in the driver’s seat. I can’t get used to Mom being with him. I want her to go back to how she was before she met him. Now she’s depressed and disconnected. Coasting through life. The two of them talk with the warmth of a forced business relationship. Perhaps it’s selfish, but I’m glad she seems miserable with him. It would be hard to stomach her acting affectionate with Mr. Roberts. Not sure why she needed to betray my dad by taking up with this other guy anyway.
Mr. Roberts glances over at me. His trademark frown hides nothing about his personality. “I remember my Elevation Day. I was nervous, much like you, but I fought through my fear.”
“I’m not scared.”
I don’t find it hard to lie to Mr. Roberts.
With the car on autopilot, he turns his seat around. “Sorry, I just wanted to—“
“I got all that GEMO stuff for hours yesterday. Can you lay off?”
Mom puts her hand on his to signal for him to stop talking. She glances back at me and I wonder if she realizes how torn I am. Probably assumes I’m ready to skip to my GEMO fate like the other kids in my class. Typical discussions of GEMO involve her falling to pieces at the mention of refusing the treatment. I long ago gave up talking to her about it.
Mr. Robert shuts up, which is fine by me. He has no business muscling in on this decision. He’s ruined my life quite enough already. Turning his seat around, he cranks up some heavy metal music. I snicker inside, imagining a rebellious teenager living within that wrinkle-free suit. Ignoring the music, I gaze out the window at the wildflowers growing on the side of the road. Wish I were out there picking them instead.
I’ve never been good at confrontations, but I’m going to tell her. Wish I knew how.
***
The surprise location is my favorite restaurant, Basic Cuisine. Stepping inside, I’m struck with the strong aroma of fresh oranges and skillet grease. I’m home. Something natural and normal about this place relaxes me. No modular chairs, designed to accommodate guests with multiple arms or wings. The tablecloths don’t shine with that disgusting sheen from chemical treatments designed to protect them from Inkers or other freak Elevateds. Some people want this place shut down. It’s discriminatory, they say. But anyone can eat here; management just doesn’t bend over for Elevateds like every place else. Here, you are required to harness your powers.
We sit down and Mr. Roberts scans the menu. Then he turns it around and lifts an eyebrow. I smile. It will be difficult to get a “healthy” option here. I silently thank Mom for strong-arming him into choosing this restaurant. Otherwise, I’d be enduring our daily breakfast of his bran muffins, with a texture somewhere between tree bark and cement mix, and a taste to match.
“It’s a shame Aaron couldn’t join us,” Mom says in a tone that almost sounds believable.
Aaron is still mad at me for not joining him. Of course, he wouldn’t ever speak to me again if he knew my inner turmoil over whether to get zapped.
Our waiter arrives. He’s only a few years older than me and there’s an instant bond. He chose to be a Basic, just like I will. We give our order and he heads off. I glance at Mom and back over at him. The fact he made the same decision gives me a surge of confidence. It’s now or never.
“Aaron’s not getting zapped,” I blurt out.
My mouth wasn’t as brave as I thought.
Mom shakes her head. “I knew it, such a shame. Throwing his life away.”
“He’s got reasons,” I say.
“And they are?” asks Mr. Roberts.
Our server returns and there’s an awkward silence as he places down our drinks. He begins to leave, but I call out to him before he does. “Excuse me, but, do you—I don’t know how to ask. You see, it’s my Elevation Day and I, do you—”
“Do I regret not getting zapped?” he responds.
Mom chokes on her cup of coffee. “Rose. What a rude thing to ask.”
“It’s fine,” the boy says as he brings himself down to eye level. “Nah. Not for a moment.”
I’m surprised at his lack of hesitation. “Never worry about what might have happened?”
“Curious? Perhaps. Worry? Never. Look, this is a big day for you, but I’ve got a piece of advice. Don’t forget that it’s your life. No one else’s.”
He gives a quick nod, stands up, and walks away. My insides glow warm. Across the table, Mr. Roberts gives me that look. As if judging my every move, down to the molecular level. I sink down in my seat.
“What did you expect him to say?” he asks. “That he hates his life? He has to cope with this. Working in this dump night after night, serving—”
“Lots of people don’t need GEMO to do what they want.” And I’m right. All I’ve ever wanted to do is work as a botanist somewhere, growing flowers and planting trees. While some abilities wouldn’t hurt, it’s not like anyone gets a magical green thumb or something.
“When you’re sixteen, how do you know what you want? You don’t even know your full potential.”
Full potential. There it is again. The carrot dangled in front of every would-be GEMO participant. Wish I could brush it off, but it keeps finding a way into my imagination and holding it hostage. Mr. Roberts tries to smirk, but the muscles in his face don’t seem to remember how to do that anymore. Bet he thinks my lack of a response comes from me not having an argument. But he’s wrong. Mom’s face remains frozen in shock. I wonder if she realizes that I might not go through with it. She refuses to talk, probably scared to find out her suspicions are correct.
The server returns with our food. A feast of goodies not seen in my house in ages: chocolate milk, maple syrup, and breakfast sausage. Mr. Roberts examines his plate as if it’s from outer space. Can’t wait to watch him handle all of this “toxic food.”
I plunge into my blueberry waffles and there’s a huge bite in my mouth when he decides to speak up again. “I’m not sure why Aaron’s worried. GEMO is perfectly safe.”
“No, Mr. Roberts. Sugar is safe.” I pour a huge glob of maple syrup on my waffles while Mr. Roberts shifts in discomfort. I enjoy the effect it’s having on him, so I dump out some more.
“It’s madness. That’s what it is. He’s a conspiracy theorist cuckoo.”
I drop my fork. “Aaron is not crazy. Choosing to be a Basic is not crazy. Living a normal life is not crazy.”
Mr. Roberts keeps slicing his breakfast sausage, then patting down the pieces with napkins to soak up the grease. “It’s absurd, giving up your future. Do you have any idea how hard it’s going to get for Basics? Businesses will require Elevated powers to get work. Accountants will need enhanced brain processing, chefs will need enhanced taste, and marine biologists will need to be able to breathe underwater. Those without will suffer. Is that what you what? Dependence on the government? Leeching off society?”
His rant begins to create a stir in the restaurant. Embarrassment flushes his face and I wonder if he finally realizes how insensitive he always sounds. He just insulted most of the people there. Their angry faces fuel my resolve. I don’t need these powers anymore than they do. He has no right to speak this way.
My hands dig into the booth, rubbing against the duct tape holding the cushion together. “You just can’t understand why anyone would make another choice, can you? That some people might be okay with being simple, living as a normal person.”
The tone in Mom’s voice breaks my heart. “But is that what you want, Rose? Working in a dive like this? Fooling yourself?”
Now I understand why she took me here this morning. It wasn’t only to get on my good side. She wanted to display my fate if I chose not to be zapped. Working in a greasy spoon and serving the Elevated. As if that's the only option.
I’m about to respond when a loud voice fills the restaurant. “You gave me no choice. I had to!”
A government official with wiry blond hair
marches in behind a pair of police officers. They handcuff an older man's third arm, which he had hidden under his coat.
“You’re under arrest for obtaining a GEMO treatment by a non-authorized administrator,” says the official.
It’s for our safety. That’s what they always say. People need to be inspected and researched before they are released to ensure their powers aren’t a threat.
“No one would hire me. Two-armed piano players are old news. I had to!”
“Sir, I’m going to ask you to come quietly,” says the police officer.
As the man passes by our table, I see the same horrified and depressed expression from the woman in the poster at school.
“Wish there was enough government funding for the elderly,” Mom says.
“I’ve been fighting to get more than five years prison sentences for these people. They’re dangerous. More and more people are getting desperate enough to use the black market.” Mr. Roberts says. “I saw a report today. Your generation is being dubbed Generation GEMO. The vast majority will choose the treatment. Soon, Basics won’t be able to compete.”
Until ten years ago, GEMO was only available through private funding. Some saved up for years for the treatment, while others relied on charities or special government programs. After much debate and political arm wrestling, the Elevation Day bill passed. Adults under 30 years old were offered the treatment and future generations would have a chance to discover their unknown potential when they turned seventeen.
Words whirl around like a tornado in my brain. Unknown potential. Can’t compete. I pretend I’m strong, but it’s clear why I haven’t told Mom. I’m not sure what I want to do. I think about calling Aaron, but that would be pointless. Talking to him is as helpful as trying to reason with Mom. No, this is a decision I must make on my own. And I will make it.
As soon as I get to the treatment center.
***
We approach the center faster than seems possible. The building appears quite ordinary from the outside. To call it a grey box wouldn’t be an understatement. But as we reach the parking space, I notice the walls shift color. As if by magic, an enormous mural of a phoenix appears on the surface. The phoenix is the symbol of GEMO and represents rebirth, the new life that waits beyond those doors. But am I ready for it?
Mom must sense my apprehension. She places her arms around me. I can’t move.
“You alright?” she asks.
Over her shoulder, I watch teenagers run to enter the building, bursting with energy, as if entering an amusement park. I envy them. I wish I felt half as excited.
Full potential.
I want to be strong in my resolve, but curiosity keeps getting the better of me. What could my power be? Instinct takes over, leading me towards the building. Mom says some sort of goodbye, but I’m too focused on what lies ahead to process it. Before it hits me, the doors close and I’m inside. The front room is a long hallway with metallic arches extending high above my head. In the center of the room, a pool of rushing water shimmers with a radiant blue light. The entrance leads to a grand atrium where large sculptures of GEMO Laser Emitters, or ‘blasters’ as most call them, sit atop three white cylinders arranged like a triangle. They shoot jets of luminous water towards a tall statue of a teenage boy. His muscular arms stretch outwards, embracing the rushing blast with confidence.
“Inspiring, isn’t it?” Shelly says, noticing my gaze on the sculpture. “Gives me chills every time.”
A chill of my own sweeps my body as I stare at it. This is the closest I’ve come to seeing blasters in person. Based on the large size of the boy, it’s not to scale, but it must be terrifying to sit in a room and face one of them in person.
“Are we really doing this?” asks Lillia behind me.
Am I? I don’t know.
“Of course we are,” says a handsome boy next to me. He wears a chocolate-colored fedora.
A digital display pops up in front of the statue, projected on a mist screen of water. It’s a phoenix holding a sign.
A525-A555 — East Hallway
The boy leans over and startles me. “What’s your number? Just curious. I woke up first thing and still got A537.”
I can’t seem to find the number in my head. Thankfully, Mom remembered to print out my paperwork, which I’m holding.
“A536.”
“Nice, right before me,” he says as we head down the East hallway.
Just like Mom. Obsessed with being first, another Elevation Day zombie.
Everything in the East Hallway is white. The walls, ceiling, carpet, furniture, all glow with a pristine shine. Too pristine. The radiant sheen coming from everywhere is a marvel of technology, but to me it’s a sign of the government rejoicing at the purge of imperfection. It gives me the creeps.
We reach a row of chairs facing a large screen. Currently, the screen shows A529. I notice Zach, Shelly, and Lillia sitting down next to us. I take a seat on the far end, hoping to get away from everyone, but the boy follows me over. Fantastic.
The screen flashes and a phoenix flies by, transforming the number to “A530.” A mechanical voice blasts from the overhead speakers. “Now serving A530, that’s A530, thank you.”
“So what do you think you’ll get?” the boy asks. “Dad got the ability of breathing underwater and Mom got amazing agility.”
“How should I know? Genetics can’t—”
“Genetics can’t predict abilities. Right. Had an uncle whose father could regenerate limbs. All he got was the ability to spit really far. Took him years to figure out too. Not something that would come up in testing.” The boy flashes a detestable smirk. Is he mocking his poor uncle? “Elevation Day. Finally here. Always dreamed of it, Rose.”
Rose? I recoil at the sound of my name from a complete stranger.
“It’s on your paperwork,” he says and reaches his hand out. “I’m Elliott.”
I force my hand out and shake. His firm hand tries to steady my trembling fingers. “You okay? You don’t seem excited,” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
An electronic voice interrupts us. “Now serving A531, that’s A531, thank you.”
Another boy stands up and marches towards the doors to the treatment room. I sit there, swinging my feet, trying not to think about what lies beyond those doors.
“I can’t do this.”
Elliott smiles. “You’re just nervous.”
“No, I really can’t go through with it.”
His voice deepens. “What are you saying?”
“I just—I just don’t understand. Why are we doing this?” I stumble.
“We’re unlocking—”
“Our full potential,” I say, shuddering over the words now haunting me. “Yeah. I’ve seen the videos. They’re ridiculous. ‘Humanity going further than ever before.’ Blah blah blah. What’s so bad about plain old humanity? People reaching their full potential without becoming mutants!”
“Excuse me?”
I cover my mouth. I always smacked Aaron when he used that term. Here I am blurting it to a complete stranger.
“Sorry, Elevateds.”
The electronic voice interrupts us again. “Now serving A532, that’s A532, thank you.”
At the end of the row, Lillia’s legs wobble and it takes a moment for her to stand up. Breathing hard, she steps towards the door. She looks back one more time with a terrified expression.
I turn towards Elliott. “What happened to your uncle?”
“My uncle?
“The one that spits far.”
He pauses for a moment. “I think he seems happy.”
I wonder what his uncle does. A Spitter would live mocked as a Lesser for sure, a small step up from a Basic. Probably watches over burger flipping drones or files papers somewhere. “It’s unfair. One spin at the GEMO wheel decides your fate.”
“It unlocks who we are. Like genetics. Some people are tall, some are beautiful some are—”
“Butt u
gly,” I say as I turn towards him.
His face is shocked. “I was going to say smart.”
He must think I implied he’s ugly. My mouth tries to form the words to say that I don't think he's unattractive. That he’s actually quite striking. Or he would be if he weren’t so brainwashed. He speaks up before I have a chance. “You've got nothing to worry about anyway. You have green eyes.”
“That's an old wives’ tale. ‘ Stand on one leg while they zap you,’ ‘Only eat white bread an hour before.’ Makes me sick.”
He chuckles.
“A533, please see attendant. That’s A533. Thank you.”
Shelly stands up, with a confused expression on her face. She giggles, shakes her head, and strolls to a man holding a device in his hand. They stand there talking. Then, they start arguing about something. Shelly’s eyes twitch and her arms tremble like an animal on the verge of being attacked.
“CHECK AGAIN!” Shelly says, shaking violently.
“What’s going on?” asks Elliott.
“Not sure,” I say.
By now, everyone is watching. The man shakes his head again. She snatches the device and her eyes race down the screen. The attendant points at it and her hands shiver. The device slips through her fingers and the man grabs it.
She begins to cry. “I’m healthy! I am!” she says as tears soak her shirt. “Isn’t there anything—”
The attendant gazes sternly at her and shakes his head again.
For a few minutes, we endure intolerable pleading that keeps increasing in pitch. After what must be the millionth beg, her body slumps. She storms out with her head facing forward, avoiding eye contact. As she passes by, the status screen updates behind her.
A533 – Cancelled
Shelly pauses for a moment at the exit doorway. She breathes a heavy sigh and then is gone. After spending her life building to this moment, Shelly Steele will never be a Flier.
“We shouldn’t be required to do this,” I say.
“No one is required.”
“How can anyone compete if they don’t get zapped?”
I’m using the same arguments Mom and Mr. Roberts used in the restaurant and I hate myself for it. I’m slipping. I reach for my phone to call Aaron, but he won’t ever forgive me if he finds out I'm in line right now.
Elevated (Book 1): Elevated Page 2