Look Closer

Mr. President

Walking down the hallway to meet the presence that is the President is not something every 17 going on 18-year-old would do. If anything, I'm the only 17 going on 18-year-old to meet the President in person. I had never heard of anyone being normal, anyone being sent to meet the President for his or her superpower test. H303, H304, There is it. This is the old science room isn't it? H304, the empty room. I had never had any classes there and had never seen anyone go in there. There was just a badly taped Welcome! sign on the door and some tape where the glass used to be.

As I was slowing my pace in front of the grey door, I raised my hand and placed it onto the handle. The smooth grey handle was normally so easy to push down, but I had found it impossible. A deep voice came from inside the room. "My bodyguard senses your presence. Come in, Gabrielle. There is no need to be so nervous."

At this I was even more freaked out. A bodyguard? Why would the president have a bodyguard if he was just visiting to talk to students? As if I was talking to bodyguard, he answered my question himself. "It is just a precaution; I will not interject or be any part of the conversation." These words were not said, but transmitted into my mind. This bodyguard must be a very powerful telepath. I guess that the President only gets the best.

I calmed myself down and pushed down the handle, taking a step into the old room. I was utterly shocked. This was no old room; this was a very modern and high-tech room. With its sleek white walls, curved shape, and tall ceilings, there was no way that it could be older than two or three years old. I walked over to one of the walls and felt the smooth plastic that made up every room. There was a bright blue outline around the plastic, and it  glowed, giving off the only light in the room, other than the small square of light created by a window that sat very high up on the far wall. The President was nowhere to be seen, and his bodyguard nowhere to be heard, his voice no longer in my mind.

"It's okay, don't be afraid," the President's deep voice said, as even without a bodyguard he could sense my emotions. "This room operates off of light switches. They are these little things that people would press on one side and then the lights would turn on. Even though this room looks like something that could just be told what to do, it has none of that technology." As he talked about the light switches, I started to look around for something that could be pressed. "Oh the switches are over here," he said. And with that there were a series of loud clicking noises, and then the whole room lit up, a row at a time. There were funny looking things on the ceiling that lit it up, and they were all in rows. They seemed to stretch on forever, but abruptly stopped when they reached the other wall. "Those are lights. The Prevalents were not very original. The things on the wall were switches, and the things that lit up were lights, so they called the switches light switches. Isn't that weird?" he chuckled at this last sentence.

Now that the room was lit up, I could locate the position of the voice. It was coming from a very tall man standing by a panel of what must have been the light switches. He lifted his fingers slowly off of the switches and placed them behind his back, waiting for me to say something. He stood in a very professional position, with a slight smile on his face. His dark blue suit contrasted the walls that he stood against, sticking out like a blob of blue ink against the most perfect white background. He had short blonde hair, and a wisp of a beard on his chin. He also had soft blue eyes with a welcoming look, and they were nice and calming.

He started walking my way, and I saw that he was not that much taller than me. As I was about 5 feet and 9 inches, he must have been about 6 feet tall. "Hello Gabrielle." He said, sticking out his hand as he reached me. "It's a pleasure to meet you." He smiled another slight smile, and shook my hand warmly when I stuck my hand out towards him. "Would you like to sit down?" he gestured towards a wooden desk with a big chair on one side and a smaller chair on the other side of it that seemed to have just appeared in the middle of the room. These were nothing like the hover chairs that we used in class. Our chairs in class were light blue with white rims and would shape themselves to suit our needs. If we leaned back, they would change shape; if we were really focused, they would become straighter. The bigger one was brown and had nowhere to put your arms, and the smaller one looked like it was created out of some kind of very badly made brown plastic.

"O-okay Mr. President." I stuttered, as I was still not over being in the presence of the President.

"Mr. President?" he chuckled, "That's a very formal name. Why don't you just call me Micah? I have a feeling we are going to get to know each other well, and you need to be able to call me by a less formal name."

"Okay." I said, confused. "But Mr.-Micah, I mean Micah, aren't I only going to see you once? Just today right?"

"No Gabrielle. Whereas the other students will be taking one of those simulated tests you will be taking a real one, with me. Your test will be verbal and written. I will ask you questions and you will answer them how you see fit. On the written piece you will need to write something about yourself. You will write whatever you'd like to write and you will have 40 days to write it and then turn it in. But we will not begin that today. Today you and I will get to know each other more."