Lifespan of Starlight by Thalia Kalkipsakis Read Free Book Online Page B

went to Nossal High, one of the first select-entry
schools, and is the guy who invented the thermal inverter, which harnesses the hot
winds that are whipped up during a heatwave and uses them to mega-load solar energy.
    Everyone has to learn about Christophe Eichmann because he’s the goal we’re all aiming
for, basically. His ration level would have been so high that no letter exists to
describe it. He died in 2065 but I’m sure the entire country sends him a prayer of
thanks on days when the world is a fan-forced oven and we get to flick on the air-con.
    We make it to the entrance foyer with about a zillion other applicants and shuffle
obediently towards the security gate. Most of the parents are already saying their
goodbyes, but Mum stays close. We near the centre gate and I can see the photo IDs
flashing up on a comscreen to one side as each person walks through.
    Mum squeezes my forearm as my turn comes, then hangs back as I wipe my palms against
my thighs and walk through the gate. My photo comes up, just like it has for everyone
else. In it, I’m wearing a white shirt with a school emblem half chopped off at the
bottom. Photoshopped in, of course.
    The woman sitting at the entrance desk doesn’t even glance up and I find myself walking
free, no longer crammed in with the crowd. I turn to look back at Mum, standing to
one side on the other side of the gate, and almost cause a jam in the flow because
I think I see tears in her eyes.
    She raises her eyebrows. Keep going.
    Still I hesitate, but by now she’s laughing as she shakes her head. Keep going already. I can’t help grinning as I wave at Mum one more time. No-one else would understand
the mountain we just climbed. Of any test I’m doing today, the entrance gate was
by far the largest.
    With all the others, I head into the massive halls. So many desks laid out row after
row, so many others aiming for the same goal. I don’t let the nerves spike. At least
for once, I’m on equal footing. For the first time in my life, I have just as much
chance as anyone else.

I T TAKES FIVE days before I receive an automated email from the selection co-ordinator:
‘Congratulations
on
successfully completing phase one of your application to attend Karoly High School
in 2085. Please book an interview for phase two by following the instructions here .’
    My heart lifts to the ceiling before slapping to the floor as I read on. The email
also requests the contact details of a registered teacher who is willing to give
a verbal reference.
    Straight away, I hit Mum’s work number. ‘They want to speak to one of my teachers,’
I blurt as soon as she answers. ‘What are we going to do?’
    A pause. ‘Scout, I’m with a client right now.’ Considering she’s at work, I should
have expected that. ‘But I’ll … wait. You made it through?’
    It gets a bit fun from there because the client who’s with Mum has a son who just
finished year twelve at Nossal, so she joins in with the celebration.
    Mum’s about to hang up, when she says, ‘And Coutlyn. We’ll talk later, okay?’
    ‘Yeah. Thanks, Mum.’
    As the compad goes dim I breathe out and let my shoulders drop. I just did exactly
what I’d promised myself I wouldn’t: asked Mum to solve a problem when I should be
doing that myself. Maybe I can set up an automated voice recording, I don’t know.
I have two weeks to work it out.
    Mum’s so pleased about me getting an interview that we head into the city for dinner.
She does her hair up in this fancy French roll and lets me borrow a work shirt and
pants, which is the best we can manage in terms of dressing up.
    The restaurant is amazing – Oceanic Fusion – but I can’t help noticing some of the
other diners in here with us. Tight-cropped hair, cool linen slacks and fitted shirts.
It’s not that Mum looks old compared to the other women in here, but she does look
old-fashioned.
    I’m already saving credits, so I add another line to my pact. Mum’s next