Starbird Murphy and the World Outside (17 page)

After more questions, the woman led me down a hall to a room with a clock, desk, and chair.

“You don't have a cell phone, do you?” She motioned me toward the chair. “Can't have you looking up answers.”

“I don't have that,” I said.

“Thirty minutes per test.” She handed me a pencil. “Math, history, and writing. Have you ever filled in a multiple-choice test before? Nice, dark mark inside the oval.”

For an hour and a half, I sat in a windowless room turning tiny white ovals into tiny black ovals.
I could have collected and washed the eggs in this time. I could have weeded the herb garden.
Besides the clock ticking on the wall, it was impossible to feel the time passing. I had never been in a windowless room before. Even the root cellar at the farm had a window.

Periodically, the red-haired woman would poke her head in to check on me. Math was a breeze. I tripped on a few terms, but the problems were basic. The writing section wasn't bad, but history was a baffling slog through unintelligible muck. The test must have been written by a military general, because almost every question involved war. What event started this war? What event ended that one? If it wasn't Vietnam, I was lost. I ended up just filling in the ovals to make the shape of a wave.

The secretary came when my time was up and returned me to V, who was hiding her face in a book.

“I'll get the results, and then you can meet with our eleventh grade counselor.” She walked into an adjoining room, leaving us alone.

“Legal guardian?” I whispered. I had been thinking about it the whole time I was in the testing room.

“The Family should start a business forging documents, we're so good at it. I had to use Felicia's name for her Social Security number, and another Family member's address, because we're not in this school district. Beacon Hill is districted for Cleveland, but Roosevelt has a lower dropout rate,” she whispered back. “Do not tell Felicia.”

“Why is her hair red?”

V looked confused for a second, then collapsed the book onto her chest and laughed. “Oh. She thinks it makes her look younger.”

“Why would she want to look younger? Being an Elder commands respect.”

“Yeah, you're going to learn a lot here.”

The woman appeared again. “I'll take you to Ms. Harper, the junior guidance counselor.”

 
 

“Welcome to Roosevelt, Starbird.” Ms. Harper motioned us to two chairs across from her desk. She was pretty, about the same age as V, with brown hair piled on her head in a high bun. “You're joining us from homeschooling, right?”

Suddenly the room was full of frogs, like it was dusk at the pond near the road. I looked around in shock.

“Oops, excuse me.” Ms. Harper went to a metal cabinet and took out a leather bag. “I thought I silenced that.” She fished through it and pulled out a device the size of her palm, then pushed a few buttons before placing it on her desk. “So, Starbird, what's the reason for your transition?”

“I got my Calling.” I sat down.

Ms. Harper cocked her head. “Your calling?”

V cleared her throat.

“I, um, mean I just felt like it was time to go to a, um, bigger school.”

“Well, Roosevelt has over fifteen hundred students. What now?” That same device was making a soft buzzing noise and lighting up. “I'm super sorry. My dog is at the vet today.” She took the device and started tapping on it with her thumbs. “I'm just going to ask my husband to pick him up.” We sat waiting for her to finish.

“Okay.” Ms. Harper swiveled around in her chair and looked at the computer screen to her left. “Roosevelt. We're a diverse population, so there are lots of ways to fit in. It looks like you're sixteen at the start of the school year, so you should be a junior.” She swiveled back to the stack of papers with my name on them just as her computer started making a noise like a phone ringing. “No you don't, Skype meeting! They're trying to call me early. You can't call me now. I'm not answering,” she said to her computer screen, clicking her mouse until the ringing stopped.

I stole a look at V, who rolled her eyes. What was wrong with this woman?

“English comprehension score is solid, writing needs improvement. Math score exceptional, we'll try you in precalculus over geometry.” She was typing things into her computer as she talked, and she wasn't looking at us. “No test on science, but math scores show chemistry could work. Hmm. History's a problem. You don't like history?”

Another wall clock was ticking audibly.

“I . . . like it . . . sure.”

“This score barely puts you into ninth grade.” She tapped her nails on her desk and studied the screen. “One of our social studies teachers, Mr. Bell, runs an after-school history club two days a week. It's cool, not like another class, and it's helped a lot of kids improve their grades. I'll make you a deal: I will start you in junior social studies if you go to the club twice a week after school.”

“I have a job,” I said.

“It's Mondays and Wednesdays. Maybe you can work your schedule around it.”

“No problem,” said V. “I'm her manager, too.” She winked at Ms. Harper.

“Starbird, I don't want to scare you.” Ms. Harper finally made eye contact with me. “But sometimes homeschooled students have adjustment challenges joining a large public high school. This is a crisis pass.” She opened a drawer and withdrew a red laminated card. “It will let you leave class and come talk to me if you need to. Now, don't use it every time you have a challenge, but if you really need it, it's there.”

Ms. Harper's computer started ringing again. “I'm going to email your schedule right now before I forget.” She turned back around and started typing again. “Okay, Skype, yes, I hear you.”

 
 

The red-haired woman gave me a student handbook and locker assignment, as well as instructions for getting a bus pass. She said they had to finish my enrollment paperwork before I could attend classes, so she suggested I start the next morning. Then we went to the transit office and finally back home, where V could explain to me what email was and how a person could “check it.”

“Our connection is molasses-speed.” V held down a button on the computer in the basement of Beacon House. I had used a computer in our school on the Farm, but it was much older than this one and not connected to the Internet.

A second later, the screen lit up and boxes full of pictures and text opened one after another faster than I could see what was on them.

“Cham didn't log out again.” V ran the mouse over the tabletop. “Your attention deficit guidance counselor emailed it to me, but we need to set you up with your own account. Just click on this, save it to the desktop, and print.”

She might as well have said, “Buzz here, rescue the ax to the counter, and then high dive.”

Within two minutes, she handed me my schedule for school in Seattle, and we learned that there had just been an earthquake in Turkey.

“Isn't it kind of pointless to start school tomorrow if I'm just going to leave on Wednesday?” I said.

“If you leave, we'll just withdraw you and it's no big deal. But if you decide to stay, you will have started already and it will be easier to adjust.”

“Are you trying to trick me into staying?”

V took my hand. “I swear, I'm not trying to trick you into anything. I just want you to know your . . . options.”

“But you promise to let me leave on Wednesday if I want to?”

V kept hold of my hand. “I promise.”

“How was registration?” Europa came down the creaky basement stairs holding Eris. “Did they start the brainwashing today or is that tomorrow?”

“Europa grew up on the Outside,” V explained. “She went to public school.”

“So I know what kind of snakes slither the halls,” Europa said. “The only purpose of public school is to make you a good consumer.”

“That reminds me.” V stood. “Don't tell anyone at school about the Family—friends, teachers, especially guidance counselors. If the school finds out, it won't take them long to realize I'm not Felicia Hale, your legal guardian, and that would lead back to Beacon House and then to the café, to our undocumented workers, maybe even to the home school on the Farm. Fly under the radar. Nothing is more important than that.”