Qualify by Vera Nazarian Read Free Book Online

teacher places on the table a folded rectangle of paper that looks like some kind of map.
    “Weird . . .” I mutter.
    Mrs. Bayard nods sympathetically. “Yes, honey, I know. All right, this is the last part. I am supposed to ask you the following. You are alone in a strange location. Choose one of these four objects. ”
    I stare at the things before me.
    “Um . . .” I say. “What kind of location?”
    The teacher sighs. “They don’t tell us. Just pick one, please.”
    “Okay. . . . Well, it really depends on what it’s all about. This is very strange. I mean, if I knew I was lost in the wilderness or something, it would be one thing. But if I was stuck in a shopping mall elevator—” My attempt to be sarcastic is pretty much lost on the very tired teacher.
    And so I take a big breath and try to think what this is really about. I remind myself that when it comes down to it, this really is life and death.
    Qualify or die.
    I consider the knife, the pen, the shield, and the map. I try to think as the Atlanteans might think—or as they might want me to think. Do I need to think Darwinian, survival of the fittest? Or altruism? Or what’s honorable? Or—drat, okay I honestly have no frigging idea what they’re looking for.
    If it’s cutthroat survivor instinct they want, I need to take the knife. I really, really should take the knife.
    On the other hand, if everyone else decides it’s a deadly jungle out there and arms themselves, I might be better off with a shield. Because honestly, I have no idea how to fight with a knife. At least with a shield I might keep myself intact, and save my hands from getting all cut up.
    Now, if it’s a civilized situation, I might be considerably better off with a pen. I could use it to keep records, to write down important things, to communicate. And if I am stuck alone on a desert island, I could even entertain myself.
    But, what about the map? If I’m genuinely lost, then wouldn’t a map be the most logical and useful thing to have with me? Not to mention, it’s reading material.
    I bite my lower lip, and pick the map.
    The teacher nods and records my answer on her papers.
    “That’s it,” she says. “You are all done with this portion of Qualification. You can take your things and proceed to the auditorium for the next part. If you’re unfamiliar with the school, any teacher or security guard in the hallway can guide you.”
     
     
    I pick up my stuff and head for the auditorium. On my way out of the classroom I look up and finally find the wall clock, which shows 1:45 PM. Wow, so we don’t get a lunch break after all. This is hardcore.
    The hallways are not crowded but they are not empty either. Students are making their way up and down stairs, from room to room, and quite a few are headed my way.
    I pass a few familiar people from my class, and finally make it to the auditorium. Inside, I am surprised to see it not set up for assembly, as I thought it might be. All the folding chairs are stacked away, and the large hall is filled with students from all grades, milling about, and it’s pretty crowded already. The noise level is unusually subdued, and no one is really laughing. People are seated on the floor against the walls or on top of their bags like weird refugees, and there is plenty of whispering, but it’s all hush-hush. A few people are secretly fiddling with micro electronics installed in discreet smart jewelry but the overt standard phones are mostly out of sight because the last thing anyone wants is to have their phone confiscated today of all days. No cell phone use on school premises is a hard rule, and absolutely no hashtagging, even though the wireless internet blocking filter is on in every classroom.
    I look around and see a number of teachers, mostly circulating and watching the room, and some of them standing in clusters talking. Armed security guards are pacing quietly. Near the front of the stage, there are a few unfamiliar