Type (6 page)

“But…I thought you’d be at an Extra Home School. I mean, you do know this is ISTJ?”

“Of course I know! It’s the school you’re at, isn’t it?”

“But…what does that have to do with anything?” Aaron asks.

I stare at him in our special, secret, best friend way, and wait for him to figure it out. I watch as he begins to understand, his face turning paler and paler.

“Sophie, did you? Are you? Did you?” He rips the napkin into shreds, making a little pile of paper on the table.

“But I had to!” I say, reaching over to touch his hand and stop the shredding. “I had to see you!” Aaron pulls his hand away from mine and balls the shredded pieces into his fist. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“You know I am, but not like this,” he whispers. “Sophie, if anyone finds out…”

“But what? What are they going to do, huh?” I try to sound brave, but Aaron’s ghost face isn’t helping.

“Sophie…”

“They aren’t going to find out, are they?” My voice sounds small, scared.
This isn’t how our reunion was supposed to be
! “Aaron?”

Aaron looks down at the table. “No.”

“Good! Geez!” I stare at my friend, the one person I supposedly know better than anyone, the one person I was able to pretend to be to get into this stupid place, and don’t know what else to say to him. All of a sudden, each important thing I’ve been keeping inside, waiting for this very moment, has been ruined, torn into little shreds.

“Children, this is Quiet Hour,” a woman says, walking up to the table. “Surely this is not where you are meant to be.”

“Sorry, Ms. Frenda,” Aaron says, standing up.

I stand up, too, then watch as he walks to the door and then disappearing down the hallway. I reach down to the floor and pick up a fallen piece of napkin, holding it in my hand.
Why aren’t you happy to see me
?

CHAPTER TEN

‘Look, Lorax’ I said. ‘There’s no cause for alarm. I chopped just one tree. I am doing no harm.’

—Dr. Seuss

The next morning
on the way to my first Lecture I try and get Aaron’s attention ahead of me in line, but he keeps staring straight ahead.
What kind of best friend are you
? I follow the line into class and sit down in an empty seat next to Emily.

“What’s this class again?” I ask.

“It’s History of Type,” she says. “Don’t worry, this one’s a new one for everybody, so you haven’t missed anything. I think it’ll last for about four weeks.”

“Four weeks for a whole course? At Primary we had the same classes all year.”

“You’re in Secondary now,” Jana says from the other side of Emily. “We do things differently here.”

I’m about to say something sarcastic in return, when the teacher at the front of the room turns around from the blackboard to face us. “Welcome to the History of Type,” he says. “To the four new students who arrived on the weekend, I’m Dr. Witmer, both your teacher for this class and the Dean of ISTJ. It is my honour and privilege to be your guide through the often perplexing world of your forbearers.”

I start to giggle, the word “forbearers” seeming so awkward and strange.
Who talks this way
? I look around the room, expecting to see at least a few other kids laughing, too. Instead, all I notice are serious-looking students, all focused on the teacher and a few already writing down what comes out of his mouth. I make myself look like I’m concentrating and take the cap off my pen.

“A mere two generations ago, the civilized world was a very, very different place. There were massive advances in technology, true, with a new form of mobile device created almost daily. It was an era of what was referred to as
Social Media,
an era of great technical achievements, but also of so little hope. An era in which mere toddlers were given computerized tablets as play toys, with adults having no awareness of the inherent dangers such technology could have on young minds.” Dr. Witmer picks up a piece of chalk and begins writing words on the blackboard in big, block letters. Words like DIVORCE, UNEMPLOYMENT, ANXIETY, and DEPRESSION. I watch as the kids around me scribble each of words down in their notebooks and then I do the same thing.

“You may not believe it, First Years, but as recently as when your grandparents were young, the divorce rate in North America had surpassed fifty percent. Let me repeat this statistic, so the gravity of what I’m saying will sink into your minds—over fifty percent of couples who decided to make a lifetime commitment to one another through the vow of matrimony did not make it. Over fifty percent! Compare that to our current rate of under five percent and I’m sure you’ll agree progress has been made in this area. Over fifty percent to under five percent!” He pauses, gesturing up and down, back and forth, and side to side with his hands. He’s moving them so wildly that for a moment I wonder if he’ll actually take off and fly away.
A girl can only hope
.

“Let those numbers sink into your young minds and percolate there for a while.” He points to a girl in the front row. “What’s your name?”

“Heather.” Her voice comes out quieter than a whisper, like she’s trying out the
idea
of talking, rather than actually attempting to do the real thing.

“Heather what?”

“Heather Griffin, sir.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Griffin. Now tell me, are your parents divorced.”

“No sir.” Again, a whisper.

“And you!” This time Dr. Witmer points at Aaron. “Are your parents still happily betrothed?”

“Yes sir,” he nods. I look at Aaron and smile at him, but his eyes remain on the teacher.

For the next five minutes Dr. Witmer asks each and every student about their parents’ marital status. To no one’s surprise, all of the parents are married, with the only exception being a boy with curly brown hair, whose father died a few years ago. When he says this, the whole room gets even quieter than before (something I didn’t believe could be possible). Dr. Witmer pauses for a few seconds and then turns to the next student to ask the same question. Once the entire class has spoken, the teacher picks up his piece of chalk again and draws what looks like an enormous egg on the blackboard.

“So, what did we learn from my little survey of thirty-five First Years?” he asks.

Everyone looks politely at him but no one responds. I fight an urge to put up my hand. After all, I’m supposed to be like Aaron, and he would never do that.

“What we’ve learned here today is that zero percent of your parents have divorced. Zero percent! And I would venture to say that this number would remain unchanged even if Mr. Philips’ father were still alive.” Dr. Witmer nods at the curly haired boy, who looks like he wants to sink into his chair and disappear. “Now, I have much more to tell you about this subject, but suffice it to say that the state of marriage was on the brink of collapse before The Association came to be. Collapse! And the state of employment was not faring much better. In your grandparents’ day, unemployment rates were at an all-time high, with individuals frequently switching jobs mid-career, hopping from one position to another like drunken toads.”

This time my giggle comes out louder, like a snort. Jana turns her head sharply to look at me.
Drunken toads
? I try and cover up the giggle with some fake coughing.

The teacher raises his eyebrows at me but continues. “Survey after survey showed increases in job dissatisfaction and burnout. More and more adult children were remaining in their parents’ homes into their twenties or even their thirties, feeling a sense of malaise and discontent with their lives. Depression and anxiety disorders were diagnosed like never before, which should be no surprise, as on-line interactions had replaced face-to-face ones. Rather than directly dealing with such problems, however, solutions were sought through artificial means, with antidepressants prescribed as if they were multivitamins. All of this, in the so-called Social Media Era.” Dr. Witmer pauses and leans against the edge of his desk, lacing his fingers together against his significant belly. “Yes, technological advances may have been impressive, my First Years, but at what expense? Civilization was at its breaking point, with crime rates at an all-time high. And we would have headed into a downward spiral were it not for the establishment of The Association and the widespread implementation of Type…”

Suddenly a soft tinkle can be heard over the loudspeaker. “Ah, that is your bell and my cue to stop for today. Next class will be on the origins of The Association.” He turns his back to us and begins rubbing away his chalk words.
Class dismissed.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

There is an idea that rubbing up against all and sundry in youth is a good preparation for life. This appears to me to be rubbish. No one, in later life, associates with all and sundry.

—Bertrand Russell

I decide to
try to talk to Aaron one more time after lunch. As he walks out of the dining hall I run after him and grab him by the sleeve.

“Aaron, wait!”

“Don’t do that,” he hisses, shaking my hand away. “What if someone saw?”

“So they’d know we were friends,” I answer. “So what? I mean, everyone knows we went to the same Primary. Since when is it a crime to be someone’s friend?”

“Being someone’s friend isn’t the crime I’m worried about,” he whispers. He starts walking down the hallway and I follow next to him.

“A crime? You think I’m a criminal?”

Aaron says nothing, just keeps staring straight ahead.

“So yeah, maybe I did do something wrong,” I whisper back. “But when is it going to occur to you that I did it all for you?”

Aaron stops walking and pulls me to the side. “You’ve got to stop talking this way!”

“But, Aaron…”

Aaron looks at me with his big, green eyes, and all I can see is fear. “Look, I missed you, too, okay? The first couple of days here I would have done anything to see you!”

“So then why can’t you act happier to see me?”

“Because what you did is wrong, really, really wrong. I can’t be your friend anymore. I’m sorry.”

“Aaron!”

“Have you tried to be the best me you can be, Sophie?” he asks, his face solemn.

I let out a snort. “You can’t be serious? You’re kidding, right?”

He shakes his head.

“But…we always made fun of that, remember?” I mimic the voice of Dr. Saunders from Primary. “
Children, always remember to be the best me you can be!
”

“Maybe I’ve grown up,” Aaron says.

“In six weeks you’ve grown up?” I snort again.

“Just think about it, really think about it,” Aaron says, then rejoins the line.

I lean against the wall and watch everyone as they walk past me. Can he be serious? Of all the things that have happened in the last few days, this is definitely the worst.

gh

As the days pass I try and pretend that being
near
Aaron but not
with
Aaron doesn’t bother me, but it does. How could it not? Sometimes I feel angry, which is a lot better than the times when I feel sad. With anger I can direct it at someone else, at Aaron. Doesn’t he know all the risks I took to be with him? Doesn’t he care at all? With sadness, I just feel lonely and bad about myself. Sometimes I get so low I even start to miss Hannah, who used to drive me nuts. That can’t be good.

So instead I try and focus on making other friends in this place. After all, I’m going to be here for the next six years. Luckily, Emily seems to like me and I feel the same way. Jana notices the friendship quickly and becomes even ruder to me, if that’s possible.

My days develop a certain rhythm to them, filled with structure and rules. Wake up at 7:00. Get dressed and meet the Floor by the flagpole at 7:30 for a Reflection Walk. Walk around the school for half an hour, supposedly thinking deep thoughts, then get in line for breakfast. Now race back to the room to get into uniform in time for Lectures One and Two. Back to the dorm room until lunch bell at 12:00, followed by more Lectures, followed by Free Time, which includes participation in extra-curricular activities, engaging in Quiet Time, or studying. Boring, boring, and more boring.

After a while, I almost forget what it was like before, at Primary, being with so many different personalities and being able to make so many more decisions on my own. Even choosing whether to be in a Quiet Room or a Social Room seems like such freedom now. At ISTJ, there
are
no Social Rooms. After a while, I also almost forget what it was like to have Aaron as my best friend.
Maybe I imagined it
.

I start to spend most of my free time with Emily. She reminds me a bit of Aaron, which I guess isn’t so strange, as they are the same Type. She puts up with me being louder than her and wanting to talk all the time, just like Aaron did.

“What are you two giggling about?” Jana asks, standing in front of us one afternoon during Free Time.

“Nothing,” I say. I try to look serious but end up snorting.

“Yeah, nothing,” Emily says, laughing harder.

“If it’s nothing, then why are you still laughing?” Jana asks. She moves closer to Emily. “Have you finished your homework already?”

“Almost,” Emily says. She takes a deep breath, then giggles again.

“Almost? What do you mean by almost? Don’t you want our floor to win on Ribbon Day?”

“Back off, Jana,” I say. “It’s Saturday. We’re just having fun.”

“You might just be having fun, but I guarantee that all the girls on Floor Five are focusing on their History to Type projects,” Jana says. I watch as a bright red blotch appears on each of her cheeks.

“Sorry, Jana, I guess I forgot,” Emily says. She picks up a few library books from the floor and begins flipping through one. “Want to go work on our project?”

“Sounds good,” Jana says. While I know she’s talking to Emily, her words are clearly meant for me. I feel a shiver run up and down my back.
Watch out for her
.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away. So he said to his mother,‘I am running away.’ ‘If you run away,’ said his mother,‘I will run after you.’