Rite of Rejection (Acceptance Book 1) (2 page)

My mother shakes her head without missing a step. “After all,” she says as we pass yet another tempting deli door, “how can the boys get a good look at you if you spend the whole day hidden away in the hotel?”

We all stop in front of a bustling eatery, both our mothers nodding their acceptance. Inside, a smiling greeter shows us to a small, round table. All around the café, tables are packed with other teens and their families here for Acceptance. Once again, my mother is right.

A small man with a pleasant smile arrives at our table to take our order. Cheryl’s stomach is unfazed by tomorrow’s importance. She orders an expensive steak in a voice loud enough to be heard across the crowded restaurant, giggling when our server says, “Excellent choice.” I stick with a salad. Despite my hunger, ordering a bigger meal would be pointless. The nerves flittering in my stomach about the ceremony happening in nineteen hours and twenty-seven minutes will probably keep me from doing much more than pick at my food.

The waiter gathers our menus and heads back to the kitchen, winding through the tightly packed tables like he’s dancing one of the waltzes from tomorrow’s ball. The back of his head bobs in time to silent music as he hurries away.

“What are you looking at?” My mother cranes her neck around to see what has captured my attention.

“The waiter. What did the Assignment see in him when it decided his optimal career would be food server? Does he have a naturally helpful disposition or strong arms for carrying heavy trays?” More importantly, is he happy?

My mother laughs, a short, terse noise making it clear I’ve said the wrong thing. “What does it matter why he’s a server? That’s his role; end of story.”

I’ve stuck my foot in it, now. Still, with the ball tomorrow night, this is information I need to know. “It’s just, if I can’t tell why a man was Assigned as a waiter, how can I tell which boys will be Assigned good jobs like doctor, lawyer, or accountant?”

“Oh.” My mother taps the tips of her fingers against the edge of the table.

Shortly after her own Acceptance Ceremony, my mother caught the eye of the bank manager’s son. She started planning for a life on the high side of society. There was every reason to believe a young man from such a prominent family would do well in life. My parents got engaged only a few short months before his Assignment came down as paper processor. No one was more disappointed than the future Mrs. Stanley Collins.

Mother could have broken off the engagement, but by then they were both already eighteen. If she didn’t marry my father she’d only have three years to find another husband before she’d be forced into a Compulsory marriage. In my opinion, nothing is more humiliating than being forced to marry a complete stranger because neither of you could find a partner on your own. My mother must have felt the same way.

“That’s why I tell Cheryl, make sure a young man’s family is present before he signs your dance card. Of course, we all know good lineage can only take a man so far.”

“Mother, you are so old-fashioned,” Cheryl says, laughing loud enough to draw the glances of several good-looking boys to our table. She’s oblivious to the sharp jab her mother shot at mine. That, or she pretends to be so we can both stay outside of our mothers’ squabbles.

Cheryl pulls out her new dance card and holds it up so all the boys glancing in our direction can get a good look. Apparently, she’s decided to tempt fate. It’s tradition for boys to wait until after the ceremony to ask for dances. It stems back to when the Acceptance was first put into place and a much higher percentage of teens were rejected.

That was what the people clamored for. An answer to the paralyzing crime rates that crippled the United Territories with fear. But that was a long time ago, back when the Territories were states and there was no way to tell if someone was a criminal until they committed a crime.

Things are better now, with the deviants removed from society and families able to raise their children without the constant threat of violence. When the Machine was invented, over eighty years ago, the Acceptance ceremony was tense with apprehension and fear. Now, it’s almost all formality. Everyone knows that the kids brought in on buses, with parents who spend their money on contraband liquor and tobacco instead of Acceptance dresses and transport tickets, are the ones most likely to end up in the Permanent Isolation Territory.

Despite the tradition of waiting until after the ceremony, it’s become a new tradition for the most eligible bachelors to ask for their first dance the day before. Clearly, Cheryl hopes to receive one of those coveted and rebellious invitations.

I look around the restaurant, watching the other families enjoying Acceptance weekend while I wait for my salad to arrive. Across the room, a young man sits with his parents, and I find myself drawn to their interactions.

He’s certainly handsome with his blond, wavy hair and angular jaw, but that’s not what catches my attention. It’s the way he holds himself, with his back straight and arms demanding a place of importance at the table that makes me want to know more about him. He has a rare air of confidence.

He pivots in his seat and meets my stare with clear, blue eyes. I turn back to my own table, head down, but not before I catch his warm smile that raises the hair on the back of my neck. Busying myself by refolding the napkin in my lap, I lean in and try to pay attention to Cheryl, who’s demonstrating the high-tech features of her flashy new dance card.

“Excuse me, ladies.” A deep voice falls across the table from over my shoulder. “I apologize for interrupting your lunch. My name is Dr. Harold Dunstan. I’d like to introduce my son, Eric.”

“No apologies needed,” Cheryl’s mom answers right away. “I’m Mrs. Thomas Pierce, and this is my daughter Cheryl.”

Cheryl stands, the picture of perfection in her stylish dress and smooth ponytail. The boy with the straight back shakes her hand and polite hellos are spoken. Eric turns his attention to me and his warm smile brings a flaring heat to my empty stomach.

“I’m Mrs. Stanley Collins, and this is my daughter Rebecca.”

Eric takes another step closer to me. I stand and lift my hand to shake his, but he takes my wrist and lifts it to his lips to kiss the back of my hand. “Rebecca, my name is Eric Dunstan. Very pleased to meet you.”

All the air rushes out of my chest and there’s nothing left in my lungs to say anything. It doesn’t matter, really, since I have no idea what I’m supposed to say when a boy I’ve just met kisses my hand.

Eric laughs, a light chuckle that makes his blue eyes twinkle, but doesn’t miss a beat. His eyes stay glued to mine. “I realize this is a little early, but I was hoping you’d allow me to sign your dance card for tomorrow.”

I suck in a quick gasp of air. Behind Eric, the bottom half of Cheryl’s face breaks into a huge grin. Clearly, she’s thrilled, but it’s my mother’s opinion I need now. Her eyes are wide and bright, but her bleached-white teeth bite her lower lip. I wait while her brain works at warp speed to calculate the risk of an early dance invitation against the prestige of the asker. She nods her head, reaches into the lacy bag and pushes the soft-leather book into my hand.

“Of course,” I say, handing over my card with a smile I hope doesn’t show my nerves. This is the exact scene I pictured in my head when I chose the light-blue book with the swooping silver scrollwork along the edges.

“A pretty card, for a pretty lady.” Eric pulls an old-fashioned fountain pen from a pocket inside his jacket and signs his name in the spot designated for the first dance, the traditional opening waltz. “I look forward to our dance.”

Eric and his father walk back to their table, and I sink into my chair. My mother is beaming next to me. She runs the tips of her fingers under Eric’s name, careful not to smear the wet ink, and slides the priceless book back into the bag. Tomorrow can’t get here soon enough.

Two

Bright and early Saturday morning, Cardinal City is plastered with people along all the streets and sidewalks. As far as the eye can see, sixteen-year-olds in formal gowns and suits of every shade of the rainbow cloud the landscape. In front of the bright-red Cardinal building a large platform is raised with several chairs sitting in judgment behind the Machine. I’ve only ever seen pictures of the Machine in our history books. The black-and-white pictures of the mechanical brain that weeds out future criminals always looked sinister to me. In person, there really isn’t much to it.

The round disc is only large enough for a single person to stand with their feet together. Two poles extend up from the base, topped with flat readers for our hands. That’s where the Machine gets its information, though how it works is a mystery. A small horizontal bar in the front that links the readers will display the green and red lights that indicate each person’s status. I’ve seen video games at the teen center that looked more sophisticated.

“Rebecca, Rebecca, over here!” Cheryl’s voice rings out above the din from where she stands next to a small shop. “Isn’t this exciting?” she asks when my parents and I finally wind our way through the crowd to join her. “Did you see the cameras?”

I stop moving and take in the square for the first time. I was so absorbed with the Machine I completely missed the video cameras positioned on high stands around the platform and throughout the crowd. Off to the side a raised booth towers over the crowd with more cameras. It reminds me of the booths used by the newsman when they show the Thanksgiving Day Parade every summer to commemorate the election of the Cardinal.

“Why are they there?” I ask.

“They’re going to film the ceremony, of course. Do you think they’ll show it to all the Territories?” Cheryl grabs my hands and pumps our arms up and down, nearly hitting several other people on the tightly packed sidewalk. “Just think, everyone back home will get to see us in our Acceptance gowns when it’s our turn at the Machine.”

Thanks to Cheryl’s speculation, my mother is now fussing with every part of me within arm’s reach. My dress is smoothed, my curls bounced and hairpins checked to make certain that no rogue strand of hair can mar my on-screen debut. “Stop twisting your necklace, Rebecca,” she says, batting at my fingers. “It makes you look nervous.” I am nervous.

I push my arms down to my sides, but it’s hard to keep them still. It would be nice to have everyone from home see me in something other than the plain, collared dresses that make up my normal wardrobe. But this isn’t a fashion show. Not everyone on that stage will make it to the ball tonight. Some among us will be Rejected and sent to the PIT. There isn’t any tolerance for heathens who threaten our peace. The PIT keeps them away from us where they can only hurt each other.

I take a deep breath and release the fists knotted at my side. I can’t go into the ceremony expecting the worst. It doesn’t matter how horrible the PIT is. I won’t be going there. A strong, deep voice calling out from the loudspeaker brings me back to the present.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, would all those participating in today’s Acceptance ceremony please report to the right side of the stage. Our ceremony will begin momentarily.”

Sure enough, the banners all around the square show less than thirty minutes on their countdown.

“Oh, Rebecca. My little girl all grown up.” My mother gives me a quick peck on the cheek and a light hug, careful to avoid wrinkling my dress.

“We love you,” my father says, pulling me into a deeper hug despite the clicks of disapproval from my mother. My father is a man of few words, so the ones he does say count extra. I lean in and hug him back, tighter than I have in years.

Cheryl and I head off arm in arm toward the stage that will mark our true entrance into society.

Despite the need to corral close to one thousand teens into order, the waiting area is well organized. An official-looking man is collecting names of everyone as they join the line and entering them on the flat, rectangular screen of his Noteboard.

“Hurry, Rebecca. I don’t want to be at the end and have to wait all day to be called.” We slide into line behind another girl in a butter-yellow dress. Somewhere by the stage a band is playing, its trumpets and drums adding to the holiday-like atmosphere.

“Good morning, ladies.”

I turn around and stare straight into the pair of sky-blue eyes that held me captive yesterday at lunch.

“Becca, you are lovelier than I remember.” Eric takes my hand in his again, raising goose bumps along the bare skin of my arm. “Perhaps I should ask for a second dance now, before the other boys get a chance to fill your dance card.”

I want so badly to say something smart back to him, but my mouth is completely dry. My fingers twirl the knotted pendant of my grandmother’s necklace. The best I can manage is a tight smile, but it feels weak compared to the wide one he’s giving me.

“Your necklace is beautiful.”

I smile wider because this time we are in complete agreement, though most people don’t see the beauty in the chain’s simplicity.

“It’s a shame, but you won’t be able to wear your gloves on the Machine. May I?” he asks, holding the tips of my fingers.

Eric is completely in his element while I can’t manage to string together two words in a coherent sentence. I nod and hope he doesn’t think I’m a complete moron.

Eric turns his attention to removing my gloves. While his piercing eyes are concentrated on undoing my tiny pearl buttons, I take the opportunity to study him up close. His suit is cut to fit him perfectly, the black material shimmering in the rays of the early morning sun. I don’t know much about men’s fashion, or any fashion really, but even I can tell his suit must have cost a fortune. No one back home wears anything this nice, even someone with wealth like Cheryl’s father.

Eric removes one glove and hands it to me. Cheryl takes it for me and closes her eyes, the edges of her mouth lifted in a slight smile. No doubt she’s already planning our engagement party.

He bends his head to work on my other glove and a few strands of hair fall down in front of his eyes. His blond locks are slightly longer than what my mother would consider appropriate, but I don’t mind. I have a strong desire to sweep them back off his forehead, but manage to keep my hands to myself.

A booming voice from the speakers cuts over the chatter of a thousand excited teenagers. “Everyone in line, please.”

Eric hands me my second glove and brushes his lips against the knuckles of my right hand. “Until this evening, then.” Cheryl and I follow his movements toward the back of the line.

“Oh, Rebecca, he is absolutely divine. Promise to introduce me to his friends when he takes a break from wooing you.”

I tuck the gloves into my pocketbook and fight to control the butterflies conducting aerial maneuvers in the pit of my stomach. “I’ll introduce you to everyone he knows if you’ll teach me how to not act like a bumbling fool every time he comes within five feet of me.”

A hush settles over the crowd, silencing Cheryl’s response. The Cardinal and his council advisors parade on to the stage, and the spectators break out into applause. The Cardinal looks nicer than I pictured; plenty of wide smiles and energetic nods to the crowd and his faithful citizens. His height and wide girth only add to his larger-than-life presence as he clomps across the platform. Stepping to the podium, he waves to the crowd, and they show appreciation for the man who has done so much to bring peace to the Territories.

This is the Cardinal I think about when good things happen back home. The Cardinal watching over us, guiding our futures to the path we’re best suited, protecting us from those who would do us harm. He’s never smiling in any of the photographs I’ve seen of him. In his weekly radio address he’s all business, and his stern, clipped words leave me in awe of his power.

The Cardinal brings up his hands for silence. The last cheers disappear into the crowd and the band cuts off its peppy tune as every countdown on the square hits zero.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to this year’s Acceptance ceremony. Cardinal City always comes alive when the citizens of the Territories come to visit for this special occasion. As you can see, we made a slight modification to this year’s ceremony. The cameras here will broadcast back to the Territories so your friends and family at home can join in the celebration of welcoming new citizens into our fold.”

The crowd bursts into another smattering of applause, though I can’t tell if it’s for those of us waiting for our Acceptance or for the Cardinal’s decision to broadcast the ceremony. It doesn’t really matter.

“Yes. We are all so proud of our young people and it’s only right that we share our joy across the Territories.” The Cardinal leans into the podium and his broad smile is replaced by a serious look, the one from his pictures that makes me nervous. “But, in addition to sharing in our celebration, all citizens of the Territories will be a witness. Everyone will be able to see that while our world is safer today, we can never falter in our diligence to protect our way of life.

“We don’t have to look far into our past to see what happens when rule and order break down. But together we worked to a common goal of reshaping this great nation into a shining gem. We are the envy of the world and for good reason.”

The Cardinal holds out his left arm and as one, every man and woman in the crowd turns their attention to us. “In just a few minutes we will welcome a new generation of citizens into our fold, granting them the honor of acceptance into the United Territories. These young men will be given a purpose and function in a few years at Assignment. These young women will marry and bring new life into the world, carrying the great responsibility of raising the future. But not everyone deserves a place among us.”

The crowd shifts with the fidgeting movements of thousands of people. “Among these young hopefuls are those who do not honor our rules and laws. Hidden among the bright and happy faces of these Candidates are those who desire to subvert our ways and bring harm to your families. While today is first and foremost a celebration, it is also a cautionary tale to anyone who does not respect our laws.”

The Cardinal turns to face the line of us waiting to the side of the stage. His face is no longer just serious. It is alive with conviction. “You cannot hide. We will find you and you will be stopped.” He raises his hands toward the awed crowd of parents. “My commitment to all of you, as your Cardinal, is that you can live your lives and raise your families in a world free from crime.”

The roar is deafening as the streets of citizens erupt in cheers and applause. Cheryl and I clap right along. We respect the laws. We don’t want to disrupt our society or hurt anyone’s family. We have nothing to fear from the Machine.

“Thank you, thank you,” the Cardinal says, bringing the crowd down from its fever pitch with the wave of his hand and the return of his disarming smile. “And now, let us begin the festivities. Ladies and Gentlemen of the Territories, before you stands the future.”

In a whirl of activity and more deafening applause, the Cardinal takes his seat among the other diplomats, a team of red-uniformed Capital employees move the podium to the side, and another team places the Machine front and center on the stage. The crowd reaches a new fever pitch as the tower of steel and cables powers to life. What looked almost innocent with the crowd between us is now imposing, menacing. The flashing lights indicating different stages of readiness give the Machine an otherworldly appearance.

Up at the front of the line, the ceremony is starting, and the first girl steps up on the stage. The strong male voice booms over the speakers throughout the crowd. His prior announcements were all business, but now his voice has an air of excitement, like the commentators at the annual Inter-Territory Competition. “Ernestine Baker, WestCoast Territory.”

A girl with perfect brown curls and a dress the color of spring grass walks toward the Machine like someone who’s accustomed to being first. She holds her head high, meeting the eyes of everyone in the front row. Her steps are smooth and purposeful. Unlike my own quaking limbs, her arms don’t betray even the slightest hint of nervousness.

Ernestine Baker of the WestCoast Territory steps onto the small, circular disk and places her feet on the two outlines of a shoe indicating where to stand. Before she makes contact with the readers, she takes a minute to look back at the Cardinal. Bold as day she flashes him a brilliant smile and nods her head as if to say, “Yes, I am the future.” I want to be sick for her. No one should be that confident.

Ernestine turns back to the crowd and places her hands on the readers to her left and right. Immediately, the pads burst to life in flashes of color. A swirl of reds, blues, and greens pulse around her hands while she smiles out at the crowd. No one is watching Ernestine’s smiling face or steady hands. All eyes and every video camera I can see are focused on the arch that runs in front of her and connects the readers. The lights stop after what feels like half an hour, but is probably less than ten seconds. The blues and reds have disappeared, and all that remains is a bright green strip of light running across the newly Accepted.

A polite round of applause breaks out through the crowd. It’s a bit disappointing after the roars of celebration earlier. Ernestine steps down off the platform with the same proud smile on her face that she wore stepping on. She’s off to find her family who will welcome her with hugs and smiles as an official member of society.