Crewel Read Free

controlled academy curriculum there is more room for expression in teaching than there is in typing notes for businessmen.
    ‘Oh, Ad, you’d be a great teacher,’ Amie bursts in. ‘Whatever you do, don’t get stuck in an office. We just finished our shorthand class, and it was so boring. Besides you have to food-gen coffee all day! Right, Mom?’
    Amie looks to her for confirmation, and Mom gives her a quick nod. My sister’s too oblivious to see the pain flash across her face, but I’m not.
    ‘I do make a lot of coffee,’ Mom says.
    My throat is raw from holding back tears, and if I speak . . . 
    ‘I’m sure you’ll get assigned to be a teacher,’ Mom says, eager to change the subject, and then she pats my arm. I must look nervous. I try to imagine what I would be feeling now if assignment day was only a week away for me, but I can’t. I was supposed to go to testing for a month, to be dismissed, and then get assigned. It was the first time I’d been on a loom, one of the large automated machines that show us the fabric of Arras. It was the first time any of us Eligibles had even seen a loom. I only had to act as if I couldn’t see the weave, like the other girls, and answer the proctor’s questions with my practised lies. If I hadn’t slipped, I would have been dismissed, and then assigned based on my strength assessments at academy. For years, I’d dutifully learned shorthand, home economics, and information storage. But now I’d never get the chance to use any of it.
    ‘We need a new teacher.’ Amie interrupts my thoughts. ‘Mrs Swander left.’
    ‘Is she expecting a baby?’ my mother asks in a knowing way. Her eyes dull a bit as she speaks.
    ‘No.’ Amie shakes her head. ‘Principal Diffet said she had an accident.’
    ‘An accident?’ Dad repeats with a frown.
    ‘Yep.’ Amie nods, suddenly wide-eyed. ‘I’ve never known anyone who’s had an accident before.’ Her voice is a mix of awe and solemnity. None of us know anyone who has had an accident, because accidents don’t happen in Arras.
    ‘Did Principal Diffet say what happened?’ Mom asks so softly that I barely hear her in the quiet dining room.
    ‘No, but he told us not to worry because accidents are very rare and the Guild will be especially careful and investigate and stuff. Is she okay?’ she asks, her voice conveying implicit trust. Whatever my father replies, she’ll believe it. I long to fall back in time and feel the comfort of knowing my parents have every answer, knowing I am safe.
    My father forces a tight-lipped smile and nods at her. Mom’s eyes meet mine.
    ‘Do you think it’s odd?’ She leans in to Dad, so Amie won’t hear. It doesn’t matter because Amie has returned to worshipping the cake.
    ‘An accident? Of course.’
    ‘No.’ Mom shakes her head. ‘That the principal told them.’
    ‘It must have been bad,’ he whispers.
    ‘Something Manipulation Services couldn’t cover up?’
    ‘We haven’t heard anything at the station.’
    ‘None of the girls said anything today.’
    I wish I had some intelligence to share, because I’m feeling excluded. Outside the dining room night has engulfed our quiet street. I can see the shadowed outline of the oak tree in our yard but little else. It won’t be long now, and we’re wasting time worrying about Mrs Swander’s accident.
    ‘We should eat the cake!’ The suggestion bursts from me. My mother, momentarily startled, does a quick inventory of our plates and agrees.
    Dad cuts into the cake with an old bread knife, smearing frosting across the blade and blending the vibrant red flowers into dull pink globs. Amie props her body against the table, completely absorbed in the ceremony, while Mom collects the pieces from Dad and passes them around. I’m bringing the first bite to my mouth when Mom stops me.
    ‘Adelice, may your path be blessed. We’re proud of you.’ There’s a break in her voice, and I know how much this moment means to her.