Blink and theyÃÂre gone. I prodded my thumb into the hole in my desk. It was hi-tech stuff, a machine that registered your thumb print from the school data, meaning that the teachers didnÃÂt have to waste valuable learning time by taking the register, but it also meant that our finger prints were stored forever, in a large web of data. I waited for the beep meaning that I had been marked as present, and dropped my ÃÂHow to be a Medical expertÃÂ text book on the table in front of me, along with my pencil case and todayÃÂs ÃÂlovelyÃÂ lunch.
I didnÃÂt want to be a ÃÂMedical expertÃÂ. I wanted to be a writer, like my friend Sandy. But hey, since when did what I wanted count for anything? When I was ten years old, I had to sit an IQ test, a national one which every ten year old in the country had to take annually.
It was a test to map and decide our entire future in a couple of hours, a test to decide what weÃÂd be when we were older, which school we should go to- you almost expected it to say who youÃÂd marry and how many kids youÃÂd end up having.
I left school as soon as the bell rang, hurrying to catch the bus. My house is a half hour walk away, and I had too much to do tonight with out worrying about breaking curfew. I slid my identity card into the bus door (something that only has to be done on school buses, so that they know you are a pupil of the school, and not just someone trying to get a free ride), grimacing as my chewing gum fell out of my pocket when I shoved the card...