Rite of Rejection (Acceptance Book 1) Read Free Page A

Cheryl’s mom answers right away. “I’m Mrs. Thomas Pierce, and this is my daughter Cheryl.”
    Cheryl stands, the picture of perfection in her stylish dress and smooth ponytail. The boy with the straight back shakes her hand and polite hellos are spoken. Eric turns his attention to me and his warm smile brings a flaring heat to my empty stomach.
    “I’m Mrs. Stanley Collins, and this is my daughter Rebecca.”
    Eric takes another step closer to me. I stand and lift my hand to shake his, but he takes my wrist and lifts it to his lips to kiss the back of my hand. “Rebecca, my name is Eric Dunstan. Very pleased to meet you.”
    All the air rushes out of my chest and there’s nothing left in my lungs to say anything. It doesn’t matter, really, since I have no idea what I’m supposed to say when a boy I’ve just met kisses my hand.
    Eric laughs, a light chuckle that makes his blue eyes twinkle, but doesn’t miss a beat. His eyes stay glued to mine. “I realize this is a little early, but I was hoping you’d allow me to sign your dance card for tomorrow.”
    I suck in a quick gasp of air. Behind Eric, the bottom half of Cheryl’s face breaks into a huge grin. Clearly, she’s thrilled, but it’s my mother’s opinion I need now. Her eyes are wide and bright, but her bleached-white teeth bite her lower lip. I wait while her brain works at warp speed to calculate the risk of an early dance invitation against the prestige of the asker. She nods her head, reaches into the lacy bag and pushes the soft-leather book into my hand.
    “Of course,” I say, handing over my card with a smile I hope doesn’t show my nerves. This is the exact scene I pictured in my head when I chose the light-blue book with the swooping silver scrollwork along the edges.
    “A pretty card, for a pretty lady.” Eric pulls an old-fashioned fountain pen from a pocket inside his jacket and signs his name in the spot designated for the first dance, the traditional opening waltz. “I look forward to our dance.”
    Eric and his father walk back to their table, and I sink into my chair. My mother is beaming next to me. She runs the tips of her fingers under Eric’s name, careful not to smear the wet ink, and slides the priceless book back into the bag. Tomorrow can’t get here soon enough.
     

 
    Two
     
    Bright and early Saturday morning, Cardinal City is plastered with people along all the streets and sidewalks. As far as the eye can see, sixteen-year-olds in formal gowns and suits of every shade of the rainbow cloud the landscape. In front of the bright-red Cardinal building a large platform is raised with several chairs sitting in judgment behind the Machine. I’ve only ever seen pictures of the Machine in our history books. The black-and-white pictures of the mechanical brain that weeds out future criminals always looked sinister to me. In person, there really isn’t much to it.
    The round disc is only large enough for a single person to stand with their feet together. Two poles extend up from the base, topped with flat readers for our hands. That’s where the Machine gets its information, though how it works is a mystery. A small horizontal bar in the front that links the readers will display the green and red lights that indicate each person’s status. I’ve seen video games at the teen center that looked more sophisticated.
    “Rebecca, Rebecca, over here!” Cheryl’s voice rings out above the din from where she stands next to a small shop. “Isn’t this exciting?” she asks when my parents and I finally wind our way through the crowd to join her. “Did you see the cameras?”
    I stop moving and take in the square for the first time. I was so absorbed with the Machine I completely missed the video cameras positioned on high stands around the platform and throughout the crowd. Off to the side a raised booth towers over the crowd with more cameras. It reminds me of the booths used by the newsman when they show the Thanksgiving