The square is quite large, but the space feels small with so many people dressed in their ceremonial finery. Shops for candles, baked goods, shoes, and all sorts of household items line the outside edge of the square. The shops will close when graduation begins, but now they are doing a brisk business as citizens who don’t often get into town purchase or trade for necessary items. The United Commonwealth coin is rare in our colony, but the few people on the government payroll, like Dad, use it.
“Cia!” The waving hand catches my attention as my best friend Daileen comes barreling toward me. Her blond hair and pink dress flutter as she dodges groups of chatting citizens to reach me. She clutches a cone with rapidly melting pink ice cream in her hand. Squeezing me in a tight hug, she says, “Can you believe you’re graduating? This is so exciting. They’re even giving away free ice cream.”
I hug her back, careful to avoid the melting cone. My mother will have a fit if I get a stain on my new dress before graduation begins. “Exciting and scary. Don’t forget the scary part.”
Daileen is the only one I’ve talked to about my fears of the future if I don’t get chosen for The Testing. She looks around to make sure no one is listening and says, “My father heard there’s a special guest who’s supposed to speak today.”
Graduation Day has a lot of speakers. Our teachers will speak, as will the magistrate and a number of other Five Lakes leaders. When the entire colony gets together there is never a lack of things to talk about. So the special guest doesn’t sound all that special until Daileen adds, “My father says the guest is from Tosu City.”
That gets my attention. “Someone from Tosu is here?” The last time an official from Tosu came to Five Lakes Colony was three years ago when our old magistrate died. Two men and a woman came to the colony to select the new colony leader. Mostly Tosu City communicates with us through proclamations or radio communications with our magistrate.
“That’s what my father heard.” Daileen licks the melted ice cream streaking the back of her hand. “Dad thinks he’s here to escort a candidate for The Testing. That could be you.” For a minute her smile falters. “I’ll really miss you.”
Daileen and I are only two weeks apart in age and have been best friends since the age of three. Her parents enrolled her in school at the mandatory age of six. My parents decided to send me at five, which is why we are not in the same class. She is the shyer, smarter, and gentler of the two of us. She is also the one less likely to make new friends unless someone else is there to get the conversation going. Without me pushing her to engage others in conversation during lunch and hang out after classes, she will probably eat alone and go home to an empty, sad house long before everyone else leaves the school grounds. Her mother died two years ago in an accident and her father, while nice, isn’t home much, leaving Daileen alone to deal with the chores and the memories. I try to keep her in good spirits while we’re at school, but some days the shadows overwhelm her. I worry one day those shadows will swallow her whole without someone to chase them away.
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, heartier breed of potato that his team developed.
I blink and try not to show my surprise. Not at the new potato. That I knew about. The old strain of potato had a half-inch hard skin that turned black when exposed to air. Something to do with whatever genetic enhancement Dad gave it to survive in the blighted soil in the first place. For the most part no one cared about the black skin. Once you cut away the outside, the potato was safe to eat. But Zeen decided to try his hand at a new version and succeeded brilliantly. So, no, it is not the potatoes that have caught me off-guard, but the words Dad uses to announce them. Last week he told us that Zeen was going to get full credit for the project.
But he doesn’t. Zeen’s name is never mentioned.
I crane my neck, trying to see Zeen in the crowd. Does he look disappointed? This was supposed to be a moment of triumph for him. Is he as confused as I am? I find him leaning against a tree in the middle of the applauding crowd. Several people are slapping him on the back because he is a member of Dad’s team. But his smile doesn’t fool me. The set of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes tell me better than words that he has felt the slight.
Dad leaves the stage to more applause and our teacher takes his place. My stomach clenches and my breathing quickens. This is it. I am about to graduate.
Ms. Jorghen smiles back at us. Then she says into the microphone, “I am very proud to read the roster of graduates who today pass from their studies into adulthood.”
One by one she announces the names of our graduating class. One by one my classmates walk to the center of the stage, shake Magistrate Owens’s hand, and then take their place back in line. The names are read in alphabetical order, so mine isn’t called until the end.
“Malencia Vale.”
My legs are unsteady from nerves and stiff from standing. I walk over to the podium and shake both Ms. Jorghen’s and the magistrate’s hands while the crowd applauds. Daileen’s cheers can be heard above all others, and her smile makes me respond with one of my own. My heart soars. I’m officially an adult. I did it.
Still grinning, I return to my place with my class as Magistrate Owens takes the podium. The crowd goes silent. A ripple of anticipation makes my stomach churn. My hands clench and unclench in anticipation. If any students have been selected for The Testing, this is when it will be announced. I crane my neck, trying to spot an unknown face in the crowd—the rumored Tosu City official.
Only there is no Tosu City official. Magistrate Owens gives us all a big smile and says, “Congratulations to all of this year’s students and especially to our graduates. I can’t wait to see what your futures hold.”
The crowd cheers again and my lips curl into an automatic smile even as disappointment and tears lodge in my throat. I have been preparing for this day for years and now it is over. As are my dreams for the future. No matter how hard I worked, I wasn’t good enough to be chosen for The Testing.
As I leave the stage and am given hugs of congratulations by my friends, I can only wonder, What will I do now?
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About the Author
JOELLE CHARBONNEAU began telling stories as an opera singer, but these days she finds her voice through writing. She lives near Chicago with her husband and son, and when she isn’t writing, she works as an acting and vocal coach. She is also the author of the best-selling Testing series.
Visit www.joellecharbonneau.com.
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