WHEN I WAS a child, I once cut my finger to the bone. My mother tells me I didn't scream or cry out. I just froze as though staying still would stop the blood from flowing. The blood pooling on the white floor next to Malachi's head has the same effect. A scream builds inside me, fights to get past my clenched throat, but I make no sound. Someone else's shouts, maybe Will's, wake me from stillness, and I race from my station to where Malachi lies twitching on the floor. A pair of purple-clad arms grab me and pull me back. In my struggle to get free I barely hear the head Testing official talking to me. Asking me if I have completed my test. If not, I must return to my station. Otherwise, there is a risk I will receive assistance from observing another candidate's work.

 

I want to scream that the test doesn't matter. Not when life is draining drop by drop onto the tile floor. But I choke out a yes, and I am released. The Testing officials make no move toward Malachi as I take his hand and hold tight. From their posture I can tell they will offer no aid. This is the penalty for an incorrect answer. To them he has earned whatever comes next.

 

The twitching is getting worse. While Malachi's uninjured eye is open, I am uncertain if he can see or if the plant he ingested has caused some kind of coma as it wages war on his body. Still, I shift my position on the cold tile just in case. If he can see, he will recognize something of home. A girl who sang songs with him on the grass and asked him for help when she struggled with her homework. A girl who is his friend. Someone who can't imagine what will happen when he is gone.

 

Only, I no longer need to imagine. The twitching stops. His muscles go slack as his chest stops its rise and fall. Malachi is dead.

 

Do I cry? I must. Because when they tell me to go back to my station, I touch my face and find my cheeks are wet. How long they let me sit next to Malachi's unmoving body is uncertain to me. A while. Long enough for two of the other candidates to finish their tests — or perhaps, after what happened to Malachi, they chose to stop instead of taking their chances.

 

Giving Malachi's hand one last squeeze, I brush a lock of dark curly hair from his forehead and kiss his cheek. The room swoops and spins as I stand. After a moment, I am able to walk stiffly to my station. I balance on my stool and wait for the officials to move Malachi's body, but they don't. Not yet. Not until everyone has completed this phase of the test.

 

I wait for the other candidates to protest. To say this is wrong. But I know why they don't. It's the same reason I don't yell out. The reason is Malachi and his too-still body. We all want to live.

 

Several minutes later, Will raises his hand to indicate he has finished and then closes his eyes so he won't have to see the shell of a boy he shared meals with. The girl to my right finishes. The Testing official checks our work. When she is done, she signals the other officials to remove Malachi from the floor. My fellow candidates look at the tops of their desks or up at the ceiling. I don't. Malachi deserves someone who cares to bear witness. I force myself to watch every second — picking him up, carrying him by his arms and legs across the room, out the door. Away.

 

There is no time to grieve as the next boxes are brought in and placed on our tables. We are given permission to start.

 

My hands tremble as I smell the blood still staining the floor. I force myself to take deep breaths. Push myself to continue when I only want to run screaming from the room — leave the building — find my way back home. But I know that isn't possible so I rub my hands on my pants, swallow my tears, and examine the box. I need several tries to figure out how to open it. Inside are soil samples and several capped beakers of solutions. We are to identify any soil samples that contain radiation.

 

I use only the solutions I can identify by smell and color. Out of the ten soil samples, there are four I am certain contain radiation, three that do not, and three on which I will not risk wagering a guess. Had this been the first test, before the plants, before Malachi's twitching, bloody body, I might have been arrogant enough to feign confidence. No more. Malachi made a mistake, and he paid for it. The price he paid would be worthless if I didn't learn from his actions.

 

Four more test boxes appear in succession. There is a keypad to enter our answers to complex mathematical equations. I only answer half and am glad I didn't guess on the last when the boy in front of me starts to shake. Electrocution. The punishment isn't as severe as Malachi's, but the boy can barely balance on his stool to work on the next three boxes.

 

I identify about three-quarters of the slides they ask us to view under what I suspect is a rigged microscope. Thankfully, we never learn what the penalty for mistakes would be. There is a solar power converter that I easily build — though the girl next to me ends up losing the tip of her finger — and six samples of water that we must purify using the chemicals provided. The purification test takes two hours, and we are instructed to drink the ones we think have been done correctly. I drink two. The electrocuted boy and the girl next to me drink none.

 

With that, the second round of tests is over. We are free to leave the room.

 

Will can barely walk. From the stress, the water he drank, or one of the slower-acting plants he might have ingested? I don't know. But his legs tremble as he takes small, halting steps. I put my arm around his waist to lend my strength as we exit the Testing room. In the doorway, I stop walking and take one last look back at where Malachi fell — where his blood has dried on the floor. A tear falls. I say a whispered goodbye. Then, with a steadying breath, I lead Will away, wondering who else will be missing when we reach our table.

 

Boyd.

 

According to an ashen-faced Nicolette, he collapsed during the third exam and was taken for treatment. He never returned. They all look at me and Will, who is now seated but needs help staying upright. Tears prick the backs of my eyes and Tomas takes my hand and holds it. I am grateful to him for his support. For his survival. I share the story of our Testing room as quickly as possible, telling myself it is like pulling off a bandage. The quicker you pull, the less agonizing the pain. But I am wrong. Fast or slow, relating Malachi's death digs a knife deep into my heart. Watching Tomas's jaw clench and Zandri's eyes fill with tears twists the knife until I don't know if I can keep breathing.

 

The last of the Testing candidates straggle into the hall and an announcement is made. "All candidates who feel they are in need of medical attention, please report to the elevators."

 

At least one candidate at every table gets up and heads back into the hallway. Nicolette tells Will he should go. He starts to rise, but I push him back into his seat and tell him not to. I study his face. His pupils are dilated, but his breathing has become easier. While his skin is still clammy, color is returning to his face. My gut tells me whatever caused this reaction is leaving his system. Do I think the right medicine would help him get better faster? Of that I have no doubt. But I remember Dr. Barnes's words spoken in the hallway as Ryme was being cut down from the ceiling. About the Testing demonstrating the pressures a candidate can handle. About finding those who can deal with the pressures and still perform as leaders. I doubt those seeking medical attention will be deemed strong enough leaders to return.

 

Nicolette pleads with me, but I will not let Will go. I can't. Dinner is served. I tell Tomas to get Will food and something to drink. That will help. I hope I'm right.

 

Will does improve after drinking two glasses of juice and eating small bits of bread and fruit. Now that he can sit unassisted, I get food of my own — more than I can ever possibly eat despite the fact that I'm not hungry. I eat some vegetables. A few bites of chicken. Drink some juice. The two apples, the orange, the bags of raisins, and the rolls disappear into my bag one by one. I wait for my friends to finish eating and stow away anything they have left. Why? I'm not sure. At this point I'm not sure of anything. I just know that being prepared for whatever comes is better than not being prepared at all.

 

I notice most of the candidates stay in the dining hall until we are instructed to leave. The celebration of last night is a memory. Tonight we are just glad to be alive.

 

We return to our sleeping quarters. I sleep with the lights on, hoping Malachi and Boyd will not join Ryme and Gill in my dreams. But Malachi comes. They all come. Only this time the terror in their eyes is for me. They warn me to be careful. Ryme reminds me to trust no one while Malachi sings me a song from home.

 

The anxiety of the night mounts with the morning announcement. When it is time to report for breakfast, I tell myself I am as ready for the day and what it might bring as I will ever be.

 

Will gives me a smile as I reach our table. His eyes are sad, but no longer look sickly. Whatever strange plant he consumed has worked its way out of his system. He whispers a soft thank you and says Tomas's roommate sought medical treatment. He has yet to return.

 

I force myself to eat, and this time I notice someone else slipping food into his bag. Tomas sees me watching and nods as the loudspeaker crackles to life.

 

"Congratulations, candidates, for reaching the team Testing phase. For this exam you will be placed in groups of five. Due to the number of candidates who remain one group will be comprised of only four. When you hear your name called, please walk to the hallway to join your testing group. Best of luck to you all."

 

There are five of us at our table. I don't even have the chance to hope we will be called together when Tomas's name is announced along with those of four other candidates I don't recognize. Tomas touches my arm as he slings his bag over his shoulder and walks out. Several minutes pass before the next group is called. Both Will and Zandri promise to see us later and disappear out the door.

 

Nicolette and I stare at each other as group after group leaves the room. Finally, Nicolette's name is called along with four others. She and I will not be testing together. Dread churns the breakfast in my stomach as I scan the room and see the scruffy boy who tripped Malachi on our first day still seated at a table. He, along with a tall, muscular blond boy and a red-haired girl I remember from my written exams, will be in my group for this test. The only group of four.

 

"Do we wait for our names to be called or save them the trouble?" This from the redhead.

 

I smile at her and stand. "If we haven't figured out our group by now, we probably don't belong here, right?"

 

The two boys stay seated, but the redhead rises. She joins me in the hall and holds out her hand. On her wrist I see a half circle surrounded by the eight-pointed star symbol we share. "Annalise Walker. Grand Forks Colony."

 

"Cia Vale. Five Lakes."

 

She gives me a wide grin. "I know. Five Lakes candidates

 are all anyone from my colony has been interested in talking about."

 

I wince. "What have they been saying?"

 

"Most figure you're easy competition. They equate small colonies with simple-mindedness."

 

The self-satisfied smile on her face makes me ask, "And you?"

 

"One of the guys from my colony has the same eight-pointed star symbol. He's the only person who scored higher than me in class. I used to study for weeks in order to beat him, but I never could." She shrugs as though to show coming in second didn't bother her at all, but the glint in her eyes tells a different story. Smiling, she adds, "If two of you from Five Lakes made it into the same Testing group as the two of us, I'd say the rest of the candidates are pretty stupid to overlook you."

 

The loudspeaker announces, "Malencia Vale, Brick Barron, Roman Fry, and Annalise Walker — report to the hallway."

 

Brick. Roman. I try to decide which name belongs to which boy as they stride toward us. Before I can ask, a Testing official in red leads us into the elevator and pushes the button for the fourth floor.

 

We are led to a white room with a table surrounded by four chairs. On the far left side of the room is a large wooden door with a green light blinking above it. In the center of the table are four pencils and four booklets marked with our symbols. The knot in my stomach loosens as I see the paper. While I have no idea what the pages contain, I am certain of one thing — a written test contains no immediate threat. None of my friends will die from a test today.

 

Once we take our seats the Testing official explains, "Today's test will evaluate your ability to work as a team. On the table in front of you are booklets filled with five sample questions. Each sample problem requires specific skills to solve. As a group, you must decide which team member has the skills best suited to solve which sample problem or problems. Those same skills will be required to solve a corresponding problem in one of the five individual examination rooms. Once you have determined who the best person to solve each problem is, the person you have selected for the first problem will go through this door." She points to the door with the green light. "Once you have walked through this door, the light above it will turn red. Follow the hallway to the end. There you will find five doors marked with a number. The numbers correspond to the sample problems in your booklet. There is also a door marked EXIT for when you have completed your portion of the exam. Open the door marked with the number of the question your team selected you to answer. Inside, solve the problem as best you can. When you have completed your portion of the exam, indicate you are finished by going through the exit door. The light above this door will then turn green. This will signal it is time for the next candidate to begin. Everyone in the group will be given credit for all the correct solutions on the exam that are not only your own."

 

The idea of being scored based on someone else's work makes me uncomfortable, but Annalise's confident smile banishes some of the doubt.

 

The Testing official isn't done. "Because there are only four of you in the group, one candidate will be responsible for solving at least two of the problems. Once a problem has been answered, the door to that problem cannot be opened again. Any attempt to resolve an already completed problem will result in a penalty for the student making the second attempt to solve that problem. You have one hour to discuss your strategy." The official pushes a button and the green light is replaced by red. "Once the green light is turned on, you can begin the test. There is no time limit to the exam. Take as much time as you need to get to know one another's strengths and weaknesses. Good luck."

 

The sound of locks being engaged accompanies the Testing official's exit. The only way out of this room is through the Testing exam doors.

 

The four of us look at one another for a moment. I am the first to grab the booklet marked with my symbol. The tall, muscular blond boy grabs one with what I think is an anchor surrounded by a heart. The X surrounded by a circle belongs to the scruffy kid.

 

Something about this test makes me apprehensive. Maybe it is the simplicity of the instructions or the idea that someone else will get credit for my work and me for theirs. Whatever it is, my gut tells me there is more to this test than meets the eye.

 

I don't have to think about what that might be as Annalise takes charge. "How about we solve the sample problems one at a time? Once everyone is done with a problem we can compare notes. That should help us figure out who should do which problem. Right?"

 

Since none of us has a better idea, we take her suggestion and get to work. The first problem is mathematical — a one dimensional heat equation to determine the flow of heat in a rod where everything but the ends are insulated. These are equations I have used often and make me smile as I get to work.

 

I'm surprised when the scruffy boy, whose name turns out to be Roman, finishes before me and has the same answer as mine. Annalise's answer also matches. Brick's does not.

 

One by one we work through the problems in the book. A history section that requires dates, names, and population sizes for the colonization of the United Commonwealth. A biology question that asks for the DNA mapping of a rock wolverine that resembles a wolf but is actually a mutated version of a Nebelung cat. While I'm answering the question about solar power, the red light turns green. Our Testing can begin at any time. Maybe the pressure of the light distracts me from fully concentrating on the last problem that details the principles of nuclear weaponry. I'm the last one in the group to complete the final question. Brick is first to finish. His answer agrees with the other two. My answer matches no one's.

 

Out of five questions, my answers match at least one of the others four times. Annalise also gets four matches. Brick matches answers on two. Roman's first answer is his only correct one.

 

"Guess that means I go first, right?" he says.

 

Of the members of the group, I am by far the youngest. At home my natural inclination would be to hear everyone else's opinions before offering mine, but something about his enthusiasm rubs me the wrong way. So instead of waiting, I say, "The Testing official didn't say the problems have to be completed in order. We just have to determine the order the members of our group go in to solve the problems."

 

Roman folds his arms across his chest and scowls. "That's not what I heard."

 

I look at Annalise. She chews her bottom lip and closes her eyes as though trying to recall the exact words. When her eyes open, they're filled with apology. "I think Roman could be right. We could try it another way, but if we do we could fail. That's a risk I'm not willing to take."

 

Roman smiles. Brick shrugs and nods. Three against one. Just like that the discussion is over.

 

Annalise leads the decision making. Roman will answer the first problem. She will answer the second and third. I will answer the fourth, Brick the fifth. I suggest that I might be better suited to the third question since my father's work has given me a strong understanding of genetics, but Roman and Annalise disagree. Brick refuses to give an opinion. Part of me wonders why as Roman gets up and says, "See you all after the test." He turns the handle on the green-lit door and walks out without a backward glance.

 

The light turns red, and we wait.

 

At first, we try to chat. Annalise asks Brick about his home, and we learn he's from Roswell Colony. His parents are both University graduates. They work at a former military facility where together they develop weapons and security methods for colonies plagued by animal attacks. No wonder he excelled at the nuclear science question.

 

As the minutes tick by, though, our conversation becomes more stilted. There is more time in between questions. Shorter answers. Until we no longer talk. We just wait for the light to change.

 

There is no clock. No windows to measure the movement of the sun. No way to know if the time that passes is as long as it feels. My shoulder muscles tighten. I see Annalise roll out the tension in her neck. Brick is the only one who appears unfazed by the long wait.

 

He closes his eyes.

 

Annalise gnaws on her thumbnail.

 

I stretch my muscles.

 

Every minute feels like ten. Never do I lose sight of the light.

 

Finally, it changes. Annalise stands and smiles. "My turn. I bet I can do both my problems in less time than it took for Roman to do his."

 

"Don't rush," I warn, and I feel my face flush as I realize my words could imply criticism. "We're okay waiting," I say. "Take as long as you need."

 

Annalise's smile fades as her eyes meet mine. In their depths I see nerves and a touch of fear lurking behind the bravado that I have in this short time come to admire. Then the smile is back as she nods. "I promise to kick butt on questions two and three. The rest is up to the two of you."

 

The door closes. The red light returns. So does the silence.

 

Brick sits unmoving. His calm, silent demeanor has the opposite effect on me. I stand and pace the room as my stomach begins to growl. I am certain it is far past lunchtime. It is obvious that no meals will be provided until this test is complete. And maybe that's part of the test — to see if candidates will stay focused despite the desire for food.

 

My mother always insisted I eat everything on my plate on mornings before important tests. She said the brain and body need fuel to operate at the highest level. I dig through my bag for my stash of food and find myself deciding between a roll filled with raisins and nuts and an apple. Since the roll is easier to split with Brick, I start to pull it out when I realize they are two of the items I selected for dinner the first night of The Testing. I count back the days. Less than a week has passed, but everything has changed since that night when the four of us from Five Lakes arrived and took our table. Now Malachi is gone and I am working in a group with the boy who tripped him. Did Roman stick out his leg for spite? For fun? Did he think it would intimidate Malachi into doing less well on the exams, thereby giving Roman a better chance of passing? Maybe. Roman only got one answer correct today. How smart can he be? The work he did on the final problem was so illogical I found it hard to believe he had made it through the first two tests.

 

Wait.

 

I reach for the booklet marked with the X and the circle. Roman's handwriting is neater than I would have suspected based on his appearance. Hearing my mother's voice warn not to let appearances deceive me, I read through the pages of numbers and formulas for the first problem. The work impresses me. While I also got the correct answer, Roman was able to calculate several steps in his head, which is why he finished first. His work makes it clear why he was chosen for The Testing. He's smart. Very smart.

 

Which is why his answers to the other questions make no sense. Gibberish fills those pages. We had all been so concerned with who gave the correct answers to the problems we never bothered to check the pages that preceded the final solution. Roman's scribbles made one thing obvious. He wasn't concerned with coming up with the right solutions. He was just wasting time. Why?

 

"Cia."

 

I jump as Brick's voice breaks the silence and follow his gaze to the light above the door. Green. If I were to make a guess, less than a half hour has passed since Annalise walked through the door. Could she have finished her problems in so little time? Hands shaking, I grab the booklet marked with the other eight-pointed star and start flipping the pages.

 

Yes. Her writing is clear. Concise. Confident. Her logic shows no flaws that I can see. If anyone could whiz through two tests in far less time than it took another candidate to do one, it would be Annalise. Still . . .

 

"Are you going to go in?" Brick asks.

 

"In a minute," I say. Going through the door is my only option. The only way to get past this test. It's what happens once I am through that door that is in doubt. I think back to the Testing official's instructions. Roman's insistence that he go first. One answer allowed per question. The scores to the answers provided count for all. Any attempt to resolve a question will be punished.

 

Annalise's testing booklet falls from my fingers and my legs go weak as the pieces click into place. Roman's lack of effort on the other problems. The length of time it took for the red light to turn green during his turn. Dr. Barnes told us the third test would evaluate our ability not only to work well with others, but to evaluate their strengths and weaknesses. If I am correct, Roman evaluated our group perfectly and has set the rest of us up to walk into a trap.

 

A trap Annalise must have already sprung.

 

I sit hard on the chair behind me and take deep breaths trying to stave off the panic. If I am right, I cannot attempt to answer the problem my team assigned me. If I am wrong, not answering the problem could result in my failure. I have to decide what I believe.

 

My heart pounds as I look at Brick. His calm demeanor and poor performance on the practice problems take on a sinister tone. Does he know about Roman's plan? Did they plot this together? Brick's practice book might present me with the answers, but the booklet is currently resting under his elbow on the table in front of him. To get the booklet, I have to explain my concerns. If he isn't involved in Roman's trap, Brick will learn about it from me and gain the opportunity to pass when he doesn't deserve to.

 

Shame. Hot. Deep. Oily, stomach-churning embarrassment fills me. My thoughts make me no better than the person I believe Roman to be. I will not stoop so low as to trick others in order to eliminate the competition. While I am horrified at the methods employed with The Testing, I seriously doubt the Testing officials who rate us at the end will approve of trickery, either. What kind of leader would that type of person make?

 

Mimicking Brick's calm demeanor, I carefully explain what I believe Roman's plan is. What I think happened to Annalise. What could possibly happen to us if we attempt to solve the problems we have been assigned. Brick listens without interruption, and when I fall silent, considers me for a long time before saying, "We said we would answer the agreed-upon questions."

 

Does he not believe me? No. His expression is not one of disbelief, but of resignation. "Roman agreed to work as a team, but I don't think he is. If we answer an already answered question,we'll be penalized."

 

I can see the nail enter Malachi's eye. The blood. The trembling body crumpled on the floor. Knowing what could happen makes me want to shake Brick's stoic shoulders as his head moves side to side while once again saying he gave his word. His parents taught him to respect a promise. End of story.

 

Desperation claws at my heart even as I wonder if he's right. If I'm wrong. If Roman answered only his question. If not answering ours will be the biggest mistake we could make.

 

Hitching my bag onto my shoulder, I walk across the room. I have done all I can to help Brick survive the day. If he doesn't . . .

 

"Please." Turning, I walk back to Brick and take his hand in mine. "You don't know me. There's no reason you should trust what I say. I can't tell you what to do. I can only ask that you look at Roman's booklet and think about who has the most to gain by betraying the others. If he solved all five problems, anyone who attempts to solve them again will be penalized. I don't know what the penalty is . . ." I see the nail enter Malachi's eye again and swallow the bile that rises in my throat. "But if I'm right, three of us could be eliminated from The Testing because we trusted our teammate."

 

For a moment the composed expression disappears, re placed by confusion. "I'm not from your colony. Why do you care what I do?"

 

"Because I don't want anyone else to die."

 

Brick looks over my shoulder at the door behind me. The green light telling me it is time for me to make my choice.

 

Letting go of his hand, I open the door, give one last look at my teammate, and walk through hoping I did enough to save Brick's life. Hoping I am confident enough in my own deductions to save my own.

 

The hallway is dimly lit. The shadows fill me with unease as I follow the corridor to the end. As promised, another hallway lined with six illuminated doors greets me. To my right is the door marked with the number four. The door I promised to walk through. To my left are doors one through three. I cross to door two — looking for signs of what? Blood? Hair? Something to prove my theory right. The silver doorknob gleams in the light. There are no smudges on it to bear witness that it had been handled. I check the other doorknobs. All perfectly polished.

 

I walk back to door number four and trace the black number on the snow-white door. Do I keep my word and turn the handle, or go with my gut and walk away?

 

How long do I stand in front of the door? I don't know. But when I finally make my choice my knees protest as I shift my weight. Touching the doorknob, I take a deep breath and step away from the door. Turn to the right. Walk two doors down to the one marked EXIT and turn the gleaming knob, hoping the choice I have made is not my last.