Jennifer’s legs seized with another spasm, forcing her to lean against a concrete wall, scratching her hands on the rough and pitted surface. She had nowhere in particular in mind for a destination, just a vague sense that she wanted to see something new before she died. Unfortunately, the broken ruins of the buildings all looked the same, both inside and out. So instead, she retreated into her memories from before the slums.
Her eyes still saw the empty baking street in front of her, but in her mind she lay supine on the couch in her parents’ UBA one-room apartment, kneading her toes into the short soft bristles of the armrest while she read. The apartment always had that slightly musty but pleasant odor of old library books, and the TV gibbered in the background. Her parents didn’t like her to have the TV on while reading, but the drone of the news helped her concentrate. It had been just like that the day when–
No, she didn’t want to remember that now.
♦ ♦ ♦
Her mom, Lyra Brooks, was bringing up dinner from the communal cafeteria, filling the apartment with the scent of bland meatloaf. She went so that Jennifer could keep reading. Reading was something sacred in her family. “Education is everything. Education is a future.” Her parents repeated that like a mantra. That ideal had been the basis for all the sacrifices they had made.
When they couldn’t afford to keep her in school, reading was the only source of education. She went to school for 1st to 3rd grade, but then the savings ran out.
Her parents made lesson plans and exercises for her to do, and she did them. “Education was everything”, after all. No school meant no friends, so her parents became her whole world. She was a good girl, so she did all the lessons. She wanted to make them proud.
Those were memories that sucked when you were living them, but that you could look back fondly on. Her parents stayed up late, putting together the materials under a dim study lamp while she slept on the floor, and then she did them after they went to work together in the morning. It was lonely, but the lessons were her parents' love made manifest into sentence diagrams and math problems.
When she could go back to school, the principal wanted to put her into 4th grade, but her parents went to plead her case. She had sat in one of those plastic blue stackable chairs, swinging her feet back and forth and staring at the clock while the adults decided her fate. After an hour of arguing, her butt ached, but the principal agreed to let her try to test into the 5th grade. Even as a 10 year old, she had seen that tight, forced smile and knew he just wanted to get rid of them, not thinking she had a chance.
She did pass, because how could she not? Education was everything. She had studied like her life depended on it. The principal did a good job of hiding his disappointment when he offered his congratulations later.
Going back to school was like coming back to life. Her friend Annie greeted her with wide-eyed wonder. “My daddy said when kids drop out, they never come back!” Jennifer answered with pride: “I tested out!”
Her parents were right; education was everything. It was friends, it was a playground just for kids. It was class projects and art and music, and even games.
She never neglected a single lesson and finished the year top of her class. When they all took the national placement exam, she learned a new phrase:
Merit-based scholarship
She remembered standing in the middle of their living room after they got the letter. Dad knelt on her left and mom on her right, and they hugged each other with her in the middle, everybody crying. It was like being embraced by love itself. Education really was a future. Now hers was assured (at least through middle school), and all she had to do was keep her grades up.
♦ ♦ ♦
Back in reality, Jennifer hobbled down McKenzie Street on her useless stiff legs and cried too. It had all been a lie. Education was bullshit. Education meant fuck-all if you couldn’t afford it.
With no shade, heat baked off the black asphalt, turning the gently sloping road into a quivering mirage. She set her sights on the only goal that mattered anymore: finding some shade. Down the road, there was some kind of overpass that crossed her road, and maybe she could rest there. It was a small goal, but she was a goal-oriented go-getter.
Fuck.
They should have known their place and stuck to it. Now, the thought of those soggy, machine-stamped cafeteria burgers made her mouth water in agony. She hadn’t appreciated how good they had it. But back then even that cramped one-room apartment had felt like the starting line before infinite possibilities. They had gotten their first reality check when–
♦ ♦ ♦
Dad started talking about high school. They had to start saving now, he said. It had been a pipe dream before, but with a scholarship they only had to pay half tuition and could save the rest, for three whole years.
Merit-based. She repeated those words into her pillow at night like a magic spell. It meant she was a good girl. It meant she had a future. She even allowed herself to think that maybe she was a little bit special. All kids are special, of course. The teachers said that. Everyone has their own unique value. She wasn’t going to look down on her friends. But she was different. She was going places.
There was one high school that served the entire state: Hunter-Townsend High School. Hearing that there was only one for the whole state made her parents murmur something about ‘population collapse’, but that didn’t mean much to her– that was all ancient history from before she was born. It was a beautiful place, with manicured trees and a sprawling campus that sported huge modern glass buildings next to classical stone and brick buildings from the 1800’s. Best of all, it was associated with a university. Graduate here, and you are guaranteed a spot. The employment rate for this university’s graduates was 95%. And not the charity government employment her parents were on, but real jobs that mattered.
Her father went to check it out, but returned home dire and downcast. “They don’t dress like us. People stared at me like I was an animal that had wandered in from the jungle.” Everyone there wore stylish patterned clothes, even some that shimmered and changed color based on the light. In his plain, solid color UBA clothes, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Only employed people could afford clothes like theirs– employed with real jobs.
The tuition? Astronomical. Did they have any of those magical merit-based scholarships? Every year about 5,000 students compete for 3 spots. The top student receives a full ride, and the other 2 receive a 50% tuition credit. But 5,000 was not the number of students, only the number of who were confident enough to attempt the test. You had to pay just to try.
Her parents wore looks of hopelessness as they did the calculations. There were just too many zeros on that number. Even cutting it in half wouldn’t make a difference.
At that moment, something awoke deep in her heart. All the raw naive optimism of youth swelled up and filled her with overflowing confidence. She stood before her parents with arms akimbo and wearing a pure smile. Her fate had been revealed.
“You won’t have to cut it in half. You won’t have to pay anything. I’ll take the top spot! I’ll do it! I know I can!”
Her hope ignited theirs and they had another round of hugging and crying. What parent could see their child like that and not be convinced? She was special. She was going to have an education. She was going to have a future.
She never even got the chance to try.
After Elementary, her class merged with several others when entering middle school. The 5 students from her elementary class combined with the others to make 30 kids in total. Annie attended graduation, but didn’t show up for the first day of middle school.
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Things became much more competitive. Teachers didn’t talk about everyone’s ‘unique value’ any more. Recess, art and music disappeared. Gym class focused on ‘healthy body, healthy mind’. The classes that mattered were STEM, Humanities and a new class on ‘social graces’. Kids who used to play together started to eye each other as rivals. The coursework came fast and the teachers made it clear- keep up, or drop out.
She got a rude awakening in 6th grade finals, where she ranked 3rd out of 27. Not good enough when she needed to be 1st out of 5000. She redoubled her efforts. She studied on the train to school and back, even when walking home, which earned her a bruised shin more than once. In 7th grade she moved up to top of her class of 23 students, but only 4th in her grade level of 135. She started to panic.
That’s where everything had gone wrong. If she had accepted the limits of her ability, then her parents would still be alive. If she hadn’t needed it so bad, she could have lived a quiet, albeit aimless life on UBI. But she was just so goddamn special, wasn’t she? She couldn’t accept the idea of failure, even in the face of such overwhelming odds.
She cut into her already tight sleeping schedule with more studying. She found an online forum with other kids like herself. They had lots of good advice there. Caffeine– coffee and pep pills for one– and some of them swore by nicotine for attention and memory. Her parents wouldn’t buy that stuff for her, but she found a supplier at her school. She negotiated a modest supply in exchange for the whole of the meager allowance her parents could provide her.
Nicotine really did work wonders for memory and concentration, though she made herself horribly nauseous on a couple of occasions. ‘Nic-sick’ as the kids called it. She opted for the lozenges, trying to avoid addiction, and got caffeine from drip coffee since it was free. She switched to pep pills because drinking so much coffee meant too many bathroom breaks, cutting into her study time. She was practical like that.
It worked– for a while. When her class (now of 20) reconvened for the final year, she was brimming with confidence. The stimulants let her study and retain more material, even if they did turn her already borderline anxiety up to eleven. So what if she bit her nails? She just had to get into high school and then- and then everything would be perfect. She would be set.
When her downfall came, it was from an unexpected source. Halfway through the semester, her class shrank again, and the teachers combined it with another, bringing the student total back up to 32. This was good. She needed to be top dog in the largest pack possible. Except she wasn’t anymore.
Enter Tim Pratt, a small, pasty-white, bespectacled bean-pole of a kid, who nonetheless carried himself with an air of cool confidence. While semester final grades were posted publicly, individual tests and quizzes were not. Students were free to share their grades or not, but her classmates had given up on competing with her.
Tim strolled up to her desk one day and asked, “You’re Jenny, right? What did you get on the math test?”, flashing her a braces-lined grin. She proudly laid out her test paper for him, 102% written across the top. His grin broadened into a smile. “You’re smart!”
You’re not supposed to be happy about that, she thought.
Tim showed her his paper, which was 106%, the max score possible. Every test had 3 bonus questions worth 2 points each. They ranged in difficulty from ‘extremely advanced’ to ‘completely incomprehensible’. She usually got 1 or 2 of these right, but the last one was always ridiculous. On this test about polynomials, it was integral calculus. It didn’t belong there. It was years ahead of them, but Tim got it right.
“I’ll get you next time.” she said with a forced smile.
“I hope so. I need the competition!” he answered, still smiling.
This is good, I can use him as my measuring stick, she thought, and then:
God, why does he have to be in my year?
Next week, Tim brought his physics test, and the week after he brought his reading, and after that his chemistry. He edged her out on each one, and each time left with a look of disappointment. It was that look that drove her crazy– as if the idea that she could beat him never crossed his mind. He was using her as his measuring stick, and she wasn’t measuring up.
Her nail biting got worse. She gnawed them to the quick, drawing blood, but that didn’t matter. Beating Tim mattered. The final boss was right there; if she could beat Tim, she could take top score on the entrance examination. Tim who did integral calculus. Tim who balanced organic chemistry equations. Tim, Tim, Tim.
She studied
And studied
And studied.
And finally hit a wall she couldn’t climb over. In the dim light of her study lamp, she stared down at a calculus book, squeezing her red and blistered thumb between her teeth for hours on end. Her vision swam and turned blurry. Wet spots started to appear on the page under her face.
“I don’t get it. I can’t do it.” she said.
“I’m not going to make it.”
Education is everything. Education is a future. Which meant if she couldn’t win then she was nothing, and she didn’t have a future.
“Jenny? What’s wrong? It’s 3am, why are you crying?” her mother suddenly asked from behind her. Mom had work tomorrow. Jenny couldn’t start crying in the middle of the night in this tiny one-bedroom apartment where they all slept together in pull-out cots, that would wake up her parents. But she couldn’t stop herself anymore either.
She broke down and told her parents everything– about Tim, about the pep pills and the nicotine, and even about coughing on the water fountains. They said all the nice, comforting things she wanted to hear– that they loved her, and were there for her and would support her through this crisis, even if their faces were drawn and pale as they spoke. Then her dad said something sensible that she did not want to hear,
“Jenny… you don’t have to do this. We’ll find another way.”
They tucked her into bed, reassured her, and then had a whispered argument while she pretended to sleep.
“Kyle, how the hell are we supposed to ‘find another way’? What options do we have?”
“Lyra, this isn’t normal. Little girls aren’t supposed to be popping pills so they can study harder.”
A long pause.
“It’s just for now… just until she gets in.”
“Lyra, listen to yourself. I can’t let her do this to herself.”
“She wants this more than anything. We have to support her.”
Another pause.
“Listen… some of the guys at work have been talking about organizing a strike and asking for more money.” whispered her mother.
“What? That’s insane. We have charity jobs, the government literally loses money by employing us. We have no leverage, they’ll just fire us.”
“What’s going to happen to her if she doesn’t make it? Look, I did some calculations… if we both double our pay, and she can get in the top 3, we can just barely make it.”
“They’re not going to double our pay, that’s crazy.”
“We have to risk it. If she can still get the top spot, it won’t matter if we’re unemployed. If we get a pay increase, she’ll be OK in the top 3. There’s nothing to lose.”
Jennifer let the thought not having to finish at the top wash over her, and she let out a shuddering sigh of relief. Her parents shifted and she could feel them looking at her, realizing they must know she had been awake. That sigh had settled the argument and sealed their fate.
♦ ♦ ♦
Jennifer reached the shade of the overpass and slumped against the concrete pillar. She slid down until she sat on the ground, her back against it. Her tears mixed with her sweat and she finally let herself see the painful memory from that final night.
She had been laying on the couch with the news playing in the background. She was so relieved. Top 3, she could do top 3. She was going to make it, thanks to her parents. She even let herself read a book of fiction instead of a study guide for once. The strike had been going on for only 3 days, but it was actually looking promising.
The talking head on the TV cut through the white noise:
“This just in. Bloodshed in the Mayer industrial district as a worker strike turns into a violent riot. Police suffer casualties and are forced to open fire.”
Jennifer had gone cold, dropping her book on the floor. She understood in a flash of instinct that her parents were dead. She found out the details later, but it didn’t matter. Someone had brought a gun, they said, and opened fire from within a crowd.
Her parents were gunned down that night, and Jennifer wasn’t 20 yet. That meant no UBI. That meant no apartment, and no cafeteria. Pity from the other residents allowed her to sleep outside and beg for food for a while, but inevitably, someone called the police to report some dirty vagrant kid. She was terrified of the police, and ran into the slums. She took what little plunder she had managed to steal from the apartment before she was kicked out: a sewing kit, change of clothes, all the money she could find, and a book of all things.
The book had proved its true worth in the slums, as kindling. Education was bullshit. Education was a lie. Books were trash– worse than trash because they taught you to dream. It would have been better to plug into a VR set and zone out and rot, for all the good dreams could do you.
Jennifer leaned her head back against the concrete pillar and gave up. She didn’t think she could stand up again if she wanted to, and she really, really didn’t want to. This was the end of the line.
“Mom… Dad… I’m going to die.”
She stared up at the vivid blue summer sky, cut in half by the huge gray pillar. She watched a lone cloud trek across the endless blue and became aware she was hearing a familiar sound, transmitted into her skull through her concrete pillow.
Thunk-thunk. Thunk-thunk. Thunk-thunk.
It was a train. The overpass was for a railway. She looked between a break in the concrete supports and saw the rhythmic flash of sun off of glass as it passed overhead.
An idea entered her mind. Glass meant windows, and windows meant passengers. What did passengers mean? What did it matter?
Passengers meant one of two things: students or employees. Neither her middle school or Hunter-Townsend High School were anywhere near here, so it was employees. That meant disposable income, which meant restaurants, which meant dumpsters, which meant….
“Food.”
And people who were too soft to kill her over it.