The Truth Within a Lie: Chapter 2

First, Abbi and I run down to her apartment. Since both of her parents work, we can talk about the test without being overheard by our families. When she opens the apartment door, I walk back to her bedroom and sit down on her bed. Every time I see her room, it looks different. Laundry shoved into different corners. Her bedcovers crumpled in a new way. New papers pinned to the wall behind her desk. I see at least two new ones. The first is a picture of Abbi and me at the Capitol Building for our school’s final trip. I have on one of my rare smiles, the one that only Abbi can inspire me to do. Our faces are bright red from the sun’s heat.

The other new paper, a certificate from school, has golden, bold print stating, Congratulations to Abbigail Clements, Athlete of the Year. The day of the ceremony, I was so proud of her. I could only think of how amazing she was. How talented and how brave. Though I still smile when I see that award, inwardly, my heart aches. Because she still has the one thing that I have never had: strength. In any challenge, she is never afraid to fall and never does. And I, compared to her, feel incredibly far from the standards where I need to be.

A few minutes later, she returns with a box of crackers and some waters. “Sorry, this is about all I could find,” she says as she plops down next to me, “You know, with the rationing and all.” I shrug nonchalantly and we both begin nibbling crackers. We eat as many as we think we should, to save some for her family, before putting the box aside and we start discussing how the assessment went. 

“So,” Abbi says sneakily, pretending to look cautiously around the room, “Do you think you did it?” 

“The judges are just so quiet about it. I can’t even guess what they were thinking. But,” I say, thinking back, “The written questions, easy. The physical part was still challenging…”

“What about the interview?” 

The thought of it makes me shudder, “Always the worst part. It feels like an interrogation more than an interview. But I said the right things.” 

Abbi ponders for a moment and says, in her bravest voice, “I know you made it this time. I can just feel it.” 

After a brief pause, as if we are waiting to hear a footstep or a cough outside the door. Abbi stands up. “I don’t know about you, but I want to eat some real food,” she says, glancing at the box of crackers. 

“Yeah. Sounds good.” And with Abbi at my side, we walk up the stairs to Apartment 158.

The aroma of tomato soup and the noise of pots clanging in the kitchen greet us when we open the door. 

“Emma? Abbigail? Is that you?” 

“Yes. It’s us,” I shout over the noise coming from the kitchen. Suddenly, Aunt Lillian comes rushing around the corner, wearing her favorite yellow-trimmed apron and holding a large spoon dripping with tomato soup. 

“Oh good. You made it before the rest of the Clements…for once,” she adds with a questioning look before moving on, “Emma, help out by setting the table while I finish up dinner.” Before a word can come out of my mouth, she’s already back in the kitchen, stirring and humming quietly to herself. I smile and roll my eyes lightly. 

“She never slows down, does she?” 

“Never,” I say, smiling with pride. My aunt works harder than anyone. And I would know, because since they adopted me, she has poured all her efforts into me. I wish I was more like her. We set the table with the dishes my aunt has laid out, setting places for 7: my aunt and uncle, me, Abbi, her father and mother, and Abbi’s brother, Cody. Cody is 19, three years older than me and Abbi, and has been in the army since he was allowed to join. He passed his assessment with flying colors, apparently, since he is training in one of the best schools in the country. Abbi idolizes him and tonight will be their first time together in a year. When I think about having an older sibling or being one, I wonder if it’s anything like the friendship Abbi and I have. To know someone since they were born… that must be different than a friend. 

After the table is ready, we walk quietly past my uncle’s study and gently close the door of my bedroom. I’m too nervous to really talk much, with my test results still unknown, so I open up my homework iPad and begin scrolling through my assignments. Since school is almost over for the year, I have very little to do, just some algebra and a computer science project that needs to be turned in tomorrow. Abbi groans as she reads the guidelines for the project over my shoulder. 

“I completely forgot! How can I do a whole project in three days?” 

“You haven’t started yet?” 

“Uhhh,” she says as she scrolls through the project guidelines. She sets the pad down and collapses onto the bed, sighing dramatically. 

She looks over at me, “And you’re already done?" I nod. “See…you’re good at that stuff, Emma. I wish I was good with computers.” 

I think of the certificate on her wall, “None of that stuff has helped me pass the assessment.” I pull my knees up to my chest.

“Well,” she says thoughtfully, “the government knows what they are doing. They’ll have a place for you.” I sigh, holding back my frustration. Abbi has been my friend for a long time, but our views on government, in general, do not match up most of the time. Her parents and brother are that way, too. With her dad working a high ranked government job and Cody as a military prodigy…why would they even think about it? I mean, my family aren’t ‘rebels’ or anything outrageous, but I’ve never had great discretion between keeping my mouth shut and not having opinions. 

“But if you try hard enough,” she says quietly, “They’ll see that you want to make your parents proud.” She’s said it before, but something about the way she says it this time lightens my spirits. Maybe the judges will see my devotion this time. Maybe they’ll actually understand how much I want this.

We hear the doorbell ring and Abbi practically flies out of the room to greet her brother. I slowly follow behind her, still taking in what we discussed. My aunt has already put Mrs. Clements to work in the kitchen, while Mr. Clements stands in the kitchen doorway, content to just chat. When I turn the corner, I see Cody, falling back a few steps as Abbi tackles him in a hug. A smile appears on his face and I can only imagine Abbi’s expression. Once she releases her grip on him, he looks at me, startled. 

“And who are you?” he says, pretending not to recognize me, “You seem vaguely familiar.” I roll my eyes and gently punch him on the shoulder. 

“So,” he continues, “what’s up with you two lately?” 

“I took my MTA today,” I blurt out. Cody turns around to casually survey the room. Abbi looks at me, silently saying, “We can’t talk about that!” I look down at my shoes nervously, hoping none of the adults heard. Cody taps me on the shoulder and leans in to whisper. 

“How do you think you did?”

I turn to whisper an answer back, “Good enough, I hope.” He nods and we stop whispering and resume a normal conversation about other, non-illegal topics before dinner is called.

My aunt covers the table with enough just enough food for seven. 

“Ohh, I nearly forgot!” she says as she finishes setting down the last bowls, “Let me go get Tim real quick.” We all take our seats and wait patiently. My aunt bustles back into the room, pushing my Uncle Timothy’s wheelchair up to an empty place at the table. I notice the surprised glance Cody has when my uncle arrives. I can’t remember Cody ever meeting him, so I am not completely surprised. Abbi reacted about the same when she first met him. 

Dinner tonight seems like any other night. While everyone else seems to be enjoying themselves, I feel tense and nervous about my assessment scores which distract me from socializing much. Abbi’s parents chat with my relatives while Cody and Abbi listen politely. I catch a few concerned glimpses my aunt and uncle share during breaks in conversations. I can relax after dinner, when the Clements are heading out the door. 

Abbi leans in to whisper, “We’ll go to together after school, ok? Good luck.” I give her a hug and smile as she heads out the door. Cody winks at me as he leaves and their parents, who either forgot about the testing or aren’t willing to discuss it, simply say good night. The door closes and I relax. A little. I always forget that it must be hard for my aunt to wait for results too. My aunt gives me a concerned smile, but her worry doesn’t spare me from clearing the table. I take the dishes to the kitchen and load them, happy to have something to distract my attention.

After I finish loading the dishes into the washer, I creep back to Uncle Tim’s study and push open the door. He sits in his wheelchair, facing the door as if expecting me to join him. Shutting and locking the door softly behind me, I move to sit next to him in his comfy armchair. He takes out a faded, yellow pad of paper and we begin to write. 

He writes in capital letters in straight print, HOW DID YOU DO? It takes me longer to respond since I don’t have the skill and experience he has with penmanship. 

I DID WELL. When I finish, I pass it back. He looks frustrated as if writing all of what he wants to say would take too long. 

He writes back, WERE THE PHYSICAL CHALLENGE ANY BETTER? WHAT ABOUT THE INTERVIEW? I struggle for second to come up with a response. How did people ever communicate this way?

PHYSICAL FELT EASIER. INTERVIEW WAS HARD BUT I ANSWERED CORRECTLY. 

He pauses, his pencil hovering above the page before he responds with, YOU MAKE ME PROUD. His face breaks into the slight grin I love to see. I read the words and I wish that he could say them out loud. So they would be real. Not just words on paper. I embrace him tightly, because only that could show how much I love him without my voice.

That night I go to bed in fear. Fear that I will let down my family and friend. That my country will reject me. And that nothing I do will ever change the world.