Type (2 page)

“Please!” I beg. “Your vacation’s going to be over soon and then you’ll be back at your Home School and I won’t be able to ask you anything for so long. Please!”

My sister looks at me and sighs. “It’s just that before graduation you’ll be given your Occupation Recommendations. Basically choices for jobs that are most suited to who you are, to what your Type is. Different Types often work at the same place, especially if it’s somewhere big, like a hospital or something. But the truth is that you and Aaron will probably go to different Academies after Secondary and then end up working in different parts of the country. That’s just what happens.”

“Is that what happened to James?” I ask, mentioning my brother for the second time tonight. His name feels strange on my tongue, like an unfamiliar flavour. As I watch my sister’s face I can feel my heart start to beat too fast. Part of me can’t believe I even mentioned him. I used to remember my brother really well, but now the only time I can see his face is in my dreams.

“You know you aren’t supposed to talk about him!” Hannah says. “You really upset Mom downstairs, you know!” Her eyes look hard, as if they are made of thick glass.

“Sorry,” I say. I think for a minute. “But how do they know what my Type is in the first place? It’s not like anyone at The Department even knows me, except as Daddy’s daughter.”

“They don’t have to know you to
know
you, dummy,” Hannah says, pulling off her socks and throwing them onto my bed. I kick them away. “They can figure out what you’re truly like with the Assessment.”

Suddenly I have an idea. I get up and close the door again, then sit down next to my sister on her bed. “What’s it like?” I whisper.

“What’s what like?”

“You know, the Assessment. What’s it like? What do they do?”

“You know I can’t tell you about that,” Hannah says. I watch as her face gets red. “You shouldn’t even be asking me! I could get in trouble!”

“What’s wrong with just telling me a little about it? How could that be so bad?’

“If I tell you any of the questions, it could influence your results. They make you take an oath not to tell. It’s against Regulations.”

I can feel my heart start to race again. “So they ask you
questions?
”

“I shouldn’t have told you that! Please don’t tell Daddy!”

“Why would I tell Daddy?” I stare at my sister’s face some more, trying to make her understand. “Please, please just tell me a little more. Please. I need to be with Aaron!”

Hannah stares back at me, her eyes softer-looking than before, but also scared.
Really, really scared
. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. For a few seconds we just look at each other.

“Do you girls have your door closed?” my father calls up the stairs.

Hannah quickly gets off her bed to open the door. She then turns back towards me. “You’ll get over Aaron,” she says. “Remember my best friend Julie from Primary? I thought I’d never stop missing her, but I did. It’ll be like that for you, too, you’ll see.” She pauses. “Once you get to Secondary and go to the parties every Saturday night, you’ll regret ever worrying about all of this. Parties and movie nights and dances, too, and some are with the other Extra Home Schools!” She smiles at me, then walks out of the room and down the hall. I can hear her footsteps on the stairs and then the sound of the TV being turned on in the den.

I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, which looks kind of different above my sister’s bed. I think about what I now know, which may not seem like a lot, but is like an ocean full of new information compared to what I knew before. I’d always pictured the Assessment to be like going to the doctor, with things like blood tests and your height and weight taken. Stuff you can’t change, no matter what. Stuff you can’t lie about, even if you try. I never expected it to be about questions. Questions are different; questions can be answered any way you want, any way at all. I close my eyes and try to picture my best friend’s face in my head. I can almost see him, sitting by a window somewhere, just waiting for me.
I’m coming, Aaron, I’m coming.

CHAPTER FOUR

A great deal of needless pain and friction would be saved to clever children if they were not compelled to associate intimately with stupid contemporaries.

—Bertrand Russell

I try to
fall asleep for a long time, doing all of the sleep hygiene strategies my teacher taught me. Calm breathing, progressive muscle relaxation, getting out of bed and staring at the walls until you feel tired enough to crawl back in bed and try again. By midnight I give up.
Nothing’s working
. It’s not my fault that I’m not tired. This always happens when I haven’t eaten enough for supper. It’s like my stomach needs to be full of food before it will let the rest of me relax already and get to sleep. Ever since I was a little girl, part of what I’ve done before bed is have a snack, and tonight I didn’t even have dinner! I look over at Hannah, who I can just make out in the shadows. She’s lying on her side with her mouth wide open. She should stick a sign on her face, telling all the disgusting bugs that hide in the corners to just crawl right in! I wish I could take a picture of her so she could see how dumb she looks when she’s sleeping, but she’d probably kill me. It doesn’t really matter if she can’t see herself, though, because at least I know that she isn’t always little Miss Perfect.

I get off my bed as quietly as possible and creep to the door. It’s already partway open, so I just have to pull it a bit more to make a space big enough for me to slip through. The thick carpet in the hall feels nice on my toes—I like the way my feet sink into it with each step. I pass by James’ old room. His door is closed, as always, but even without looking I know that my mother has kept his room the same as it was when he lived with us, as if he’s away at school and will be back for a visit very, very soon. I tiptoe down the stairs, feeling my way in the dark. Once I get to the kitchen I slowly open the cupboard and pull out the first box I touch. It’s not like my stomach is fussy or anything.
Corn Flakes
. Not my first choice, but not my last, either. I slide down onto my bum and sit cross-legged on the floor, then open up the box and dig in. After a few big handfuls of cereal, my stomach calms down and I start to notice other things. Like how there is a light on somewhere down the hall and how I can hear people talking from that direction.
My parents
. My mom always goes to bed by 10:30, so the fact that she’s awake right now is kind of weird. I’ll bet they’re talking about me.

Carrying the box of cereal with me, I walk as quietly as I can towards the light. It’s coming from underneath the study door. My father’s study. He often works late, talking on his computer with other Association Psychologists from around the world. As he always reminds me, when it’s five in the morning here, it’s already nine o’clock in England. I stop outside the closed door and try to listen. Hearing my father is easy. No matter what time it is, no matter where he is, he always talks with a loud, clear voice, each word said perfectly, like an actor on a stage. My mother’s voice is softer, quieter, with a lot of her words falling to the floor like snowflakes and then quickly melting away.

“Everything will be fine,” my mom murmurs. “Look at Hannah and Julie. Those two were inseparable in Primary and both have moved on. Sophie will, too.”

“Not without a lot of protest and drama,” my father says. “And it’s the drama that I could do without.”

“But still…”

“Now, Anne. While I hate to admit to mistakes, I do have to accept that I was wrong when I voted yes for inclusion in Primary…”

“But you and I both agreed that having children all schooled together until they are twelve is the best way for them to later be able to truly celebrate differences and to fully understand that there is no right or wrong when it comes to diversity.”

“Yes, yes, I know those were the ideals I was trying to uphold with my vote. But that was twenty years ago, Anne, twenty years! I was a wide-eyed young man, barely out of the Academy. I hadn’t lived, I hadn’t seen my children grow.”

“But surely having young children get to play and interact with all Types can only promote future harmony? Doesn’t it make it more natural when it comes to Matches?” My mother pauses. “Besides, hasn’t it been confirmed time and again that a child’s baseline personality isn’t truly set until the age of eleven or twelve?”

“True, true, but I can’t help but wonder what the expense of all of this Inclusion may have led too. We both know that mere proximity breeds familiarity, which can breed artificial bonding and intimacy that is then difficult to break.”

“But, Michael, why must Sophie and Aaron’s friendship be broken? They’re so lovely together. Sometimes I imagine them in the future, a committed couple.” She pauses. “When I see them together, it reminds me of you and me when we were younger. We may not have been meant as a perfect match, but that didn’t stop us.” She pauses again, and the next time she speaks her voice sounds even softer, more vulnerable. “Michael, do you ever think about what we were like back then?”

With every part of me I hope that my father will answer her in just as a soft voice, that he will come to her and just let himself be for once.
You weren’t a Psychologist when you met her! You were just you, like I’m just me
! But even before my father speaks, I know this will never happen.

“Are you questioning the whole basis of our Secondary school system, a system founded on two generations of systematic research and theory?” My father’s voice has changed from firm but calm to loud and angry.
His Association voice
. My stomach tightens. For a few seconds the study is silent, except for the steady tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall. Then, very, very softly, I can make out a sound. It’s like the quiet squeak of a mouse after Mustard our cat has pounced on it. It’s the sound of my mother crying.

“I just miss James. I’m so afraid of losing Sophie, too!”

I hear my father move across the room and then some silent whispering. I can no longer hear what my mother is saying or even if she’s saying anything. What I can hear is my father’s voice, firm but calm again, saying words not meant for me.
Why can he only be gentle with her after he’s made her cry
? Still holding the cereal box, I tiptoe down the hall and up the stairs, knowing that snack or no snack, I still have a sleepless night ahead of me.

CHAPTER FIVE

No one can tell me, nobody knows, where the wind comes from,where the wind goes.

—A. A. Milne

It takes two
weeks until I have the house to myself, or at least until I have the house without my parents in it. Hannah is home for the weekend and is upstairs in our room, talking on the phone to a friend. I could probably blow up the house and she wouldn’t notice. My parents have gone for a walk around the block, something they used to do every night until my father was promoted at The Department and everything changed. I figure that my parents will be gone for at least fifteen minutes, twenty if I’m lucky.

I sneak into my father’s office and shut the door behind me. I’ve never been in here without him before, and the room kind of scares me when it’s empty. Against each wall is a huge bookcase filled with textbooks and research journals.
How will I find what I need in time
? Lucky for me, my father is super-organized, because the books are in alphabetical order, according to title. I skip A to S and head over to the T section. I find what looks like the biggest book on Type and pull it down. I flip through the index section, trying to get my fingers to stop shaking. I finally find the pages on ISTJ and turn to them.
Only ten more minutes
! I go to the end of the chapter, remembering what James once told me when I was having trouble studying for tests—
if you don’t have time for anything else, at least read the summary
. After turning a few more pages, I find it and scan it through a few times.
ISTJers value honesty and integrity. They put duty before pleasure. They are dependable and loyal citizens who uphold tradition and value punctuality. Perseverance is considered of vital importance. Family is essential to the typical ISTJ, as are facts and concrete information.
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Sounds like a perfect description of Aaron, if I was to take away all that is great and unique about him and make him into some two-dimensional bore.

I keep repeating the main points over and over, until I hear voices outside. I quickly shut the book and stuff it back into its exact place on the shelf, then leave the room. When my parents open the front door, I’m lying on the den sofa, flipping through TV channels.

“Hi, honey,” my mom says, poking her head into the room. “We’re back!”

I press the mute button and turn to look at her. “Did you have a good walk?”

“It was lovely,” she smiles. “Hopefully this will be a regular thing, if I convince your Dad.”

“Let’s take one day at a time, shall we?” my father calls from the hallway. I hear his footsteps moving towards his office, then stopping. “Sophie? Will you come here, please?”

I stay frozen on the sofa for a moment, clutching the TV remote.
He knows. Of course he knows. He knows everything
.

“Sophie?” my mother says. “Your father is calling you.”

“Sorry.” I stand up and walk quickly to my father. “Yes, Daddy?”

“Why is my office light on?” he asks, standing outside the door.

“Um…”

“I certainly hope that you weren’t in there without my permission. I assume that you follow the rules of the house when I’m gone.”

“Of course I do,” I say. I kick at the carpet with my foot.

“Please stop fidgeting and answer me.”

“Um, I was looking for some…markers…for a project for school. I really wanted to finish it tonight. I thought maybe you’d have some.”

“A project for school?” he says, his voice filled with doubt.

“Yes, sir. For Social Studies.”