Noology (22 page)

“I know you have your SMART’s today, and
I thought you could use a little pick-me-up. These are for you,” he produces
vivid ruby roses from behind his back. The soft petals drip dewy jewels as I
hesitantly take them from his hand.

“I know it’s old-fashioned,” he
continues, “but roses used to be women’s favorite gift before the interim. Or
so I hear.”

I am overcome by a peculiar sensation.
Despite the fact that logically there is nothing special about a few wilting
dead flowers, I am drawn to the rich blooms and their fragrant perfume is
intoxicating. My bitter heart warms and loses some of its stoic hardness in the
face of such a thoughtful gesture.

“Thanks. They are beautiful,” I reply.

“Good luck today. I will see you soon,
okay?”

“Yeah, okay. See you later.”

How can I continue to berate such a
tender soul for the despicable actions of his brother? Cerebrus doesn’t judge
me because of Rian’s mistakes and low station. Maybe I should give him another
chance – be open to his explanations and trust him more than I have been.

Either way, this is a decision for
another time. Right now, I need to concentrate on the SMART’s and getting
through the next few hours unscathed.

As I plow through the bulky oak door, I
plaster a confident expression of defiance across my face. This exam is
nothing: trivial. It will soon be over, and I will be a highly successful tier
two in training.

Inside, I am a bundle of frayed nerves
fighting to conceal my hopeless anxiety from everyone else. They feed on
weakness – prey on the feeble-minded.

Fumbling to take a seat at the front of
the hall, the metallic scrape of chair legs across the floor pierces my
consciousness.

In. Out. In. Out.

Remember to breathe.

“Okay, I am going to distribute your
booklets now,” the stony-faced proctor announces. Looking around, there are
only a handful of students in the room. Since the SMART’s correspond to
individual birthdays, they are administered to very small groups. The SMART’s
are conducted once a week for individuals right after they turn twenty-one, and
they have just so happened to fall on my exact birthday. Lucky me.

“Academic dishonesty is a criminal
offense, so do not attempt to fool the government with any haphazard plans.”
Cheating is considered as reprehensible as suicide, thus one would have to be
insane to try and manipulate the system.

“Are there any questions?” the proctor
inquires with disinterest. My palms are sweating profusely. Hysterical
butterflies rumble in my gut. I scratch my head, already raw from weeks spent
subconsciously raking through my hair as a relaxing stress-diffuser.

In. Out. In. Out.

“Alright, begin!”

I crack open the bloated packet of
water-warped paper, finally confronting the mental gymnastics that lie ahead.