Abolition

Chapter One

There are so many lines running on the ground in front of Weston that the actual color of the pavement is only visible in streaks here and there. It's a myriad of colors consisting of all different tints and shades, and my dull pink blends in between a pastel yellow line and an orangey red line. I follow it up the staircase that's spanning the front of the building and, after stuttering to a stop because of the sheer enormity of the moment, I continue through the doors.

The atrium is large enough that the sound of shoes clicking on the floor is louder than the murmur of late afternoon conversation. A man and a woman are sitting at the desk that spans across the back wall in between four sets of quicklifts, WESTON ENTERPRISES AND LOGISTICS emblazoned in large platinum letters on the wall above it. My shoes sound louder against the tile floor than anybody else's do, but the lady behind the desk doesn't notice my approach. I clear my throat.

"Oh!" she says, jolting to attention. "Sorry. Are you the four-thirty interview?"

There's a badge on the desk that has my name on it. It has no neighbors. "Yes."

Her face warms as she smiles brightly. "Alright. I'll need to see some ID, and then you can go right on up."

My ID is still slippery with sweat as I show it to her, and she nods once before typing something into the computer. I slide my card carefully into my wallet, and then I glance at my timepiece. I have three minutes to spare. "Do you know who'll be conducting my interview?"

I swear I come within two seconds of having an actual heart attack when she slides my badge over to me and says, "Mr. Weston will be."

Mr. Weston. Mr. Turner Weston, founder of Weston Enterprises and Logistics. Mr. Turner Weston, founder of Weston Enterprises and Logistics, who tested out of the highest level of public education possible—Tier 7—when he was fourteen.

Holy shit.

I think I stutter some sort of a response as I take the badge from her, or at least I hope I do, because I'm seeing the world through tunnel vision and everything sounds like it's underwater. I barely hear the, "Just go on up to the top floor," that she says as I walk away. My eyes catch and focus on my dull pink line, clutching to the unfortunate familiarity of it, and I walk it like a balance beam as I follow it to the quicklifts to the right of the desk. I don't think I could walk in a straight line right now without it.

The quicklift is large and blessedly empty. I lean against the wall as the doors close and the quicklift begins its smooth glide up, taking deep breaths and trying really, really hard not to give in and call Jan and tell her that I can't do this.

Kirk, a voice that sounds a lot like Janice says, you can do this. You're doing great in school and you'll be nothing but excited at the prospect of working for him. Excitement is key in job interviews.

Yeah, until I get overexcited and hyperventilate and he has to call an ambulance.

Kirk, Jan-in-my-head says, stop over-exaggerating. You'll be fine.

How can you be so sure?

Because I'm your mother.

Well, technically—

The quicklift's stopped, baby boy, she says, and I ignore her warning in favor of saying, "Not your baby boy," under my breath as the doors open. The waiting room is empty, which means my voice carries all the way to the man that's sitting behind the desk on the opposite side of the room. He raises an eyebrow and says, "You're right. Have a seat, Mr. Hawthorne. Mr. Weston will be with you momentarily."

Momentarily is subjective. It can mean anywhere from five minutes to half an hour to, sorry, it appears that your interview has been cancelled. Resigned to the wait I settle into one of the chairs that he gestured to, which is hard and plastic and unforgiving. Weston's unimpressed secretary is typing away on his computer and pretending that I don't exist, so I turn my attention to the muted screen in the corner above his head. One of the news channels is playing, and as soon as it cuts from the newsroom to bomb wreckage from somewhere down south—Florida, I think—I look away.