Home at Meadowridge

Classification Day

My stomach was already twisted in knots before I even opened my eyes. Today wasn't just another school day, or even a birthday. Today was Classification Day.

I pushed my breakfast around my plate, but every bite felt like it might come right back up. Papa told me to at least try, but the nerves sat heavy in my chest. I couldn't stop thinking about the tests—the written questions, the speaking part, and worst of all, the blood draw. Over an hour of being poked, prodded, and judged, and by the end of it they'd tell me who I was supposed to be for the rest of my life.

Classifications began after World War III. People still whispered about the bomb—how it ripped through cities and burned the air itself. Half the population gone in a single strike. Those who survived carried something inside them the scientists hadn't seen before: a mutation in their DNA. The government studied it, mapped it, and eventually declared it the key to building a better society.

Now, every person is tested and placed into a class: Pet/Handler, Little/Caregiver, Master/Slave, Dom/Sub. They tell us it's for our happiness—that once we're classified, we'll know where we belong and who we belong to. Some kids can't wait. They brag about how easy it'll be, how perfect their match will turn out. Me? I wasn't so sure.

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I didn't even notice the car had stopped until Papa opened my door and held out his hand. His palms were warm and steady against my cold, sweaty ones. He gave me a small smile, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes, but I knew he was worried too.

Inside the testing facility, the air smelled faintly of antiseptic and something sweet, like artificial flowers. The receptionist at the front desk barely looked up as we approached. Her sharp glasses and thin, tight-lipped frown made me shrink back, so I let Papa do the talking. His calm voice filled the silence while I studied the way her pen scratched across the clipboard.

After the paperwork was finished, they led me down a hallway painted in colors too cheerful to be real. Papa had to stop at the door. I wanted to argue, to beg him to come inside, but the rule was firm: no parents during the test. He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze before I stepped in alone.

The room was designed to look welcoming. Pale yellow walls, posters of smiling cartoon characters, and shelves of toys and beanbags in the corner. But it all felt staged, like they were trying too hard to make me forget what I was here for. I sat in one of the soft blue chairs, running my fingers along the fabric seam while my heart pounded in my ears.

The door creaked open, and a woman in a pale pink uniform walked in. Her smile was bright, but her eyes seemed sharper than the rest of her.

"Hi, Wesslynn. I'm Dr. Rhodes. I'll be running your test today. Every step will happen right here in this room," she said.

My throat tightened. "Hi," I whispered back, barely lifting my gaze.

She lowered herself into the chair across from me. "We'll start with the written portion. There will be some questions, and you only need to answer honestly. If you get stuck, you can ask me. Take your time, sweetheart."

I nodded and picked up the pencil she handed me. The first few questions weren't difficult, but my mind kept drifting. After ten minutes, my page was more flowers and butterflies than answers.

A quiet laugh brought my head up. Dr. Rhodes tilted her head, smiling knowingly.

"Wesslynn, are you having trouble with the test?"

Heat rushed to my cheeks. "No, it's just... boring. Sorry. I'll keep going."

She chuckled softly. "How about this—you finish the questions, and we'll take a break before moving on. Deal?"

That made it easier. I pushed myself to focus, scribbling down the rest of my answers, then slid the paper toward her. She glanced over it, her eyes lingering on the doodles before she looked back at me with a grin.

"I've got some coloring pages if you'd like something to do on your break," she offered.

My whole mood lifted. I nodded eagerly, almost bouncing in my seat. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.