Outer

1. The Sorting

"I'm not sure. Mr. Paul says I equate to nothing, yet Mrs. Paul says I'd make a wonderful businesswoman," I say, smirking. What am I going to be? How am I supposed to know? I could be very talented in the arts but be chosen to be a housewife or in the military. They don't always pick based on your skills.

"Hush girls," the mistress orders quietly as we near the large brown door to the lunch hall. I take a deep breath when she pushes it open.

The boys are already inside and seated in their arrangement. We only ever see the boys in class and during mealtime, but we're not permitted to talk to them. They don't want us to feel love, if we do we might not listen when they separate us.

I've understood that rule for a while now. Sometimes it would get hard to stay by myself, but I always reminded myself that it's better that way. I don't want to feel the feeling of being torn from someone I see as a sister.

The other girls were too dumb to keep away from each other or the boys, and sadly they'll learn why we were separated.

"Go to your assigned seats, ladies," the mistress says, leading the way. We all walk around, looking for our numbers and names.

When I notice mine isn't with the other girls, my eyes travel to the only bench at the back of the room. I slowly walk towards it, trying not to bring attention to myself. It's particularly hard when two boys are already sitting there.

The one next to the empty seat looks up at me then at the paper taped to the seat next to him, then back at me.

"Lynx, please sit, we don't have all day," Mr. Paul says, annoyance rubbing his tone. I smile politely at him as I look at the page:

Lynx, no. 5

I carefully walk and sit beside the boy, making him scoot away. I understand. It's awkward.

"What're you doing here?" The other boy asks, in a hushed tone. He looks at the boy sitting next to me, makes a face, and then looks back at me to ask, "Were you assigned here?"

I nod and look at the stage, but he persists, "Why? You're a girl. We're supposed to be separated. You know that right?"

"Look, I didn't choose the arrangement. I'm sorry sitting near you makes you uncomfortable, deal with it," I snap, annoyed by his tone. He smirks and says, "I like you, my name's Chester, what's yours?"

"Doesn't matter, I won't be seeing you again."

"Who knows, maybe you will, and if we're never gonna see each other again, why not just tell me your name?"

"Fine, if you'll leave me alone," I shift, trying to get comfortable. He makes a face like he's reconsidering, then says, "Okay."

I nod and whisper, "Lynx"

"Like the cat?" The other boy asks quietly, not looking at me, "I'm Jack by the way."

"Okay," I mumble, looking back at the stage. My stomach hits the floor when I see the announcer already on the stage.

She's already halfway through her speech and restless to call out names, "...and that is why we have this annually. It's an important role in our society, we do this to make sure everyone has a good role and won't go into poverty..."

I stare up at the stage and try to act completely interested, even though we hear these speeches every year. I could make one of my own and make it sound more sincere than hers.

"...now we'll begin the selection," the announcer says, a small smile growing on her lips. She opens the desktop and connects it to the screen behind her. There's a template for each person on the screen, waiting to be used.

In the right corner there is a long rectangular box for each of our pictures and on the rest of the screen are lines. One for the name, one for their chosen career, and five small ones for the description and importance of the career.

She relaxes her hands on the desktop and looks down at her mini screen for a few moments before looking back up at the crowd with a large, malicious smile. A small shiver runs down my spine at the sight of her smile. I look at the other two boys, not surprised when they seem unfazed.

"The order the names will be read in has no importance, so don't worry. Once I read your name please come up to the stage and get your envelopes. Once you get your envelopes, please go to the person who has the same number as the one on your envelope. We just separated them by which we think would be best, not by each career," the announcer says before a picture and name pops up on the screen.

She turns and begins talking about whoever's on the screen and what they'll be. I drown it out as I carefully listen to the conversation around me.

The people in front of us are being too silent to be heard and the teachers keep hushing each other. The only thing I can't stop noticing is how all the teachers keep looking at us three.

I decide to look at the screen like everyone else and pretend to be listening. Slowly and steadily the room clears until it's just us three.

I assume one of the other boys will be called before me, but instead, she turns off the screen and leans into the microphone to say, "Hello, my three Outers."