The Similars (The Similars #1)(13)
“Harrison thinks he’s a shoo-in,” Pru whispers. “So does Sarah.”
“Then I hope they both get it. I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t care less about being a part of that snobby society.” I add, “Plus, they supposedly meet at midnight. Who wants to go to a meeting then?”
Pru laughs and turns to her Similar. “Emma is literally the only student at Darkwood who feels that way. Everyone else is dying to join the Ten, but my best friend here would rather sleep.”
“Funny,” I remark. If only Pru knew how little I actually sleep anymore. If I were a part of the Ten, I’d have no trouble waking up for those meetings…
The three of us turn our attention back to Principal Fleischer. She motions to a few of the teachers, including Mr. Park, who hold boxes of envelopes. My classmates look ready to explode from anticipation. While the first years and sophomores look relieved they haven’t had to take the stratum test yet, the seniors appear bored, and some are visibly annoyed they have to sit through this. After all, their fate was sealed last year when their strata were determined. Darkwood was famously one of the first high schools in the country to stop ranking its seniors, a decision that was originally the school’s attempt at being different and standing out from the crowd. It was a way to reward students on its own terms, like the founders intended. Since then, many other schools have followed suit. Darkwood didn’t get rid of the stratum ranking, though. I guess because the Ten is such a long-standing Darkwood tradition. Determined in our junior year, our strata ranks are the only standing that colleges will see.
“Make no mistake about it,” Principal Fleischer continues. “Darkwood’s ranking system is based on a highly scrutinized and painstakingly constructed test, one that gives each eleventh-grade student every opportunity to showcase his or her intelligence, talents, and skills. Every single junior has taken the test, and every single junior has the same chance of ranking in the top five.”
“Even the Similars?” a guy calls out from somewhere across the room.
“Yes,” Fleischer says, her gaze sharpening as she surveys all of us. “Even our newest juniors.”
“I wouldn’t worry about them,” Madison says loudly. We all turn to stare at her, including Principal Fleischer. “Darkwood is the nation’s preeminent college preparatory school. Few others even come close to our college admissions statistics or National Merit Scholarships. If you’re here, it means you’re special. And if you’re one of the Ten”—she surveys her captive audience—“then you are part of our legacy. The Similars just got here. They didn’t even go to a real school before this—they were homeschooled,” she says with disdain, like it’s the worst fate imaginable. “I doubt any of them will make the top five, or even the top twenty, of the junior class.”
Madison folds her arms across her chest as reactions ripple through the crowd. Clearly some students agree with her. Others aren’t so convinced. I can’t even bring myself to look across the table at Pippa. My cheeks are burning, and I don’t want her to see how mortified I am. I want to tell her that I don’t agree with Madison, that I don’t share her opinion in the slightest. But before I can, Fleischer, who is ignoring Madison’s outburst, forges ahead. “Your teachers will hand out envelopes with your name marked on them. Inside the envelope is your stratum. Please come up for your envelope when your name is called. Do not—I repeat, do not—open your envelope until every single student in the class has received one.”
Not a soul will disobey her. According to Darkwood lore, a student once ripped open her envelope prematurely and was reslotted into the ninetieth stratum, forfeiting her coveted spot in the Ten.
A collective breath is taken as the teachers begin making their way through the maze of tables, calling out names and handing envelopes to the students who jump up to retrieve them.
For a moment, I allow myself to look at Levi.
He’s eating. He’s slow, almost methodical about the way he organizes his lasagna on his fork, using his knife as a guide. He doesn’t look up and is obviously not interested in the stratum rankings.
Then, he moves his head slightly, and our eyes meet. It’s exactly like one of those slow-motion moments in a movie. Only in a movie, that’s usually the beginning of a relationship, and this is most definitely not.
Neither of us looks away.
“Emma,” Pru coaxes me, “you’re being summoned.”
She’s right. Principal Fleischer is calling my name, and I nearly missed it. Because of him. I leap up to take my envelope from the principal’s hand and sit down again, placing my stratum letter in front of me on the table. Emmaline Chance is scrawled across it in crisp, old-fashioned calligraphy. Pru is called a few names later.
As I look around the room, observing the final juniors retrieving their envelopes, I see Levi pull out a book and start reading. I’m too far away to see the cover, but it’s a paperback and it’s thick. He leans back in his chair, like this is normal, like he’s above us all, the clone of a dead boy, who, newly arrived at that dead boy’s school, casually reads during one of Darkwood’s most anticipated and dreaded events. I’m hit with an urge to pummel him until he feels as small as I do.
“Has any junior not received an envelope?” Principal Fleischer asks.