Rest in peace, my darling

A chapter that didn't make the final edit.

One of the more enjoyably frustrating parts of the authoring process is when you work with a developmental editor. A developmental editor is a very kind person who clearly hates everything about you and wants nothing more than to take your money in exchange for making you miserable…or at least that’s what you might think when you first start reading through the feedback.

Editing is a dangerous business. Theatre director Ann Bogart described the process of choice-making as inherently violent. From the largest to the smallest decision, opting for one choice winnows all others from the herd of possibilities. After sitting with my developmental editors most savage recommendations, I was able to wrap my hands around a much stronger story for the eventual readers of the book; however, that doesn’t make up for how delighted I was by this particular little chapter that will not be appearing in TAUGHT when it arrives this spring - which gives you plenty of time to read CALLED!

This scene introduces Rose Crantz, a teenager on the precipice that determines what direction her life will take who is finding herself with no idea where the path will lead. She is a minor character in the larger world of the Conglomerate, my imaginary dystopia where the government is run like a business…which felt more far-fetched even just a year-and-a-half ago when I started writing in it.

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West Franklin Upper School

At fifteen years old, Rose Crantz was a shy, understated girl. She had bushy, brassy hair that didn’t behave the way it was meant to do, and her front teeth had the seeming audacity to grow too large for her mouth. Her arms were long and her breasts were nowhere to be found despite routine attempts to coax them forward while in the shower.

The newest affliction, however, was the worst one of all. She was horrified only the day before to discover that a large yellow pimple had risen on the tip of her nose. Her mother didn’t understand when she tried to explain she was clearly suffering from some sort of genetic mutation. All her mother said was, “Rosie, you are the prettiest girl in all of Suburban Franklin.”

This response made no sense.

She never thought of herself as ugly, Rose only hoped her face and limbs would sort themselves out and was only looking for confirmation that would be the case. It seemed to her that everything should end up looking like it belonged together, and hoped her body would get the message from her mind eventually.

Less outgoing than her older sister Daisy, and less needy than the baby, Ivy, she seemed to slip through the cracks in the shifting floorboards of her family. She didn’t act out, she didn’t complain, and she mostly kept to herself until she reached age eleven. Now entering the sixth form, Rose was facing the biggest decision of her young life: what specialty might she pursue?

Unlike previous academic years, sixth form began with aptitude and genetic testing which meant the whole of the grade was packed into the old gymnasium, awaiting their turn in one of the little temporary curtain booths they’d set up in the center of the room. It was a rite of passage representing a step forward in life and Rose Krantz had no idea where she was going.

“What’re you going for, Eden?” the brunette girl asked the blonde sitting next to her a few rows ahead of Rose. Oblivious of their classmate, slouched down in the very back row, the two girls made no effort to muffle their voices. They were two of the most popular in the school, used to looking down on everyone else figuratively as well as literally.

“Ugh, I don’t know, Harper. Don’t ask me yet, I’m not ready to be an adult!” Eden replied.

Not more than a few weeks older than Rose, Eden already looked like a grown up. She had plump lips, glistening with gloss, and bright blue eyes that sparkled behind her effortlessly full and wavy hair. She wore school colors, her sweater tight to her torso and the hemline of her skirt just below her fingertips.

“There’s a lot of jobs in marketing I think I would be really good for but, I mean, I don’t really, like, want to serve for that long.” Rose winced before she heard Eden’s next words. “But that will depend on whether or not I can get approved for breeding. If I can, I’d rather be a mom than have to deal with all of that career stuff.”

“I know what you mean,” replied Harper.

Her companion’s opposite in coloring, she was equally as developed a young woman. Blonde curls cascading down her back and a pair of deep blue eyes, she was linked to a different boy every few months.

“Can you imagine how much better it was before they made us all do the tests? I look at my mom and she’s just, like, so happy and that’s so much better than, I mean, like, look at those nurses down there? How long do you think that fat one has been doing this?”

“Gross, she probably smells half-dead like my grandmother. I hope I don’t get her, I don’t want her to touch my hair.”

“Her hands smell like sausages and disappointment, I can tell.”

They giggled, leaning on each other and pointing down to the admittedly matronly-looking nurse who had just brought another student out from their appointment. The lanky boy with messy brown hair was a little dazed by the examination and teetered towards the exit to the gym.

Between the two sets of doors that lined one side of the room was the entrance to the armory, its door rusted shut and the lock long-ago cracked. Before the Novarican Civil War, what is now Franklin was the site of massive military installation. Captured by the seceded territories, the complex served as a stronghold for the Souvern Republic. By the time of the Conglomerate incorporation, Franklin was a natural site for Guardianship training until the new headquarters were built in Zion. The remnants of that history left hundreds of regional instruction centers, easily converted to schools. During RapidReconstruction, the engineers had probably weighed the cost of waiting to have it opened against the additional cost and time needed to properly convert the space. Instead, they welded additional steel plates over the doorway and left it as a puzzle to torment the children.

“Look Harper, there’s Rhea!” Eden said excitedly. The pair of them straightened up and waved at the girl who was now walking up the stairs to join them.

“Rhea! What was it like?” Harper said, almost scared.

The tallest of the three, Rhea had an elegance that looked out of place next to the plainness of Eden and Harper. Her jet black hair was a sheet glistening in the gymnasium lights and her presence had more gravity, more depth. Because she had functioning ears, Rose knew that Rhea’s father was in line for a promotion that would move them to Franklin center, a hint Rhea dropped as often as possible since it only added to her mysterious allure.

“The brain scan is really strange. They put this little thing over your head and then it draws a picture of it. They showed me a few parts of my brain, but I didn’t understand what they were showing me. I stopped listening to be honest because I could see the results on the screen, too, and I could see that one special letter. That’s right girls, I got my B card!” she wiggled her hands and showed her Conglomerate identification that indicated she was permitted to breed.

“Wow!” cooed Eden. “We were just saying we hope we get ours.”

“Harper Thrush!” the fat nurse bellowed.

Harper instinctively cringed at the sound of her own name and making another silent wish that she would be able to get married soon and so be rid of the permanent association with a vaginal rash. She didn’t understand how her mother bore it, but Veruca had no sympathy whatsoever.

Harper rose to her feet, overeager for her chance at the ritual, and started down the stairs. Eden and Rhea sat back down, whispering to one another how glad they were to have sensible last names that didn’t make people think of itching their private parts.

Rosie was not looking forward to her turn, her agitation mounting with each passing moment. She didn’t have Daisy’s head for numbers, and she didn’t have Ivy’s knack for words. She and her mother had looked into all the different types of service and there wasn’t one that called to Rose. History was the only subject she’d ever enjoyed. Learning about the state of society before the Incorporation, she was proud to be a Conglomerate citizen, but did that mean she was only cut out for breeding like the nitwits in front of her?

“Oh no, look at Jeremy!” Eden blurted. “He’s going for it!”

They watched, laughing wildly, as the muscular athlete darted from the examination area towards the armory door.

“He is so bad!” Rhea squealed.

The mood in the room soared at the levity at the first incident of the long-standing sixth form prank: feigned brain scan insanity. There had been legendary performances throughout the years with boys and girls alike showing off their dramatic sensibilities in a litany of crude words, lascivious movements, and general mayhem.

Rose perked up to watch the spectacle unfold but was surprised to see Jeremy headed for the armory door with a strange intensity. He wasn’t veering off course, he gave no indication of slowing down. Eden and Rhea’s squeals turned to shrieks as Jeremy lowered his head and made direct contact with the old steel door. The moment she heard the crunch of his skull fracturing against the metal, Rosie’s sense of purpose showed up.

She was on her feet and down the stairs in an instant, meeting the stalwart nurse as she dragged the examination curtain towards the door. As the nurses covered the scene and teachers escorted students from the bleachers quickly and quietly, no one moved Rosie along. She stood, her arms folded, outside the cordon of sheets mounted to metal frames, watching over the scene until the Guardians arrived.

When sixth form scans resumed the following week, Rosie was seated in the front row, eager for her turn in line. The same fat nurse looked at her with curiosity, as though she knew her but couldn’t place her exactly.

She had seen a thousand children this year alone, say nothing of the decades she’d spend in the field. After a while, they all start to look the same. Barely on the cusp of understanding they’re living beings and not simply brains trapped in meat suits, Helen Stinson had seen every type of student from the brightest eyed of dreamers to the pitiably sullen, destined only for menial work.

“Any particular service you’re aiming for, love?”

“Guardianship. I want to be a Guardian.”

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