One

Chapter 3

Upon returning to work, I go straight to my project room and sign in, opening everything I had up before. A girl with perfect, almost hypnotic blue eyes stare tranquilly at me. I let myself look at her for a minute before tearing myself away. "Show me her house." A normal, middle-class house appears on the wall, and the temptation to stare is gone. "Does she always look like that?"

MAY COBALT'S RESTING FACE IS SHOWN.

"Why didn't I see those eyes?"

No response.

"In action, then."

I watch her directing her peaceful gaze at a piece of paper as she slowly and carefully sketches what turns out to be a scene of flowers around an empty vase. She looks up suddenly, and I immediately feel some desire that I cannot give even enough ground to show itself rise up in me. "Stop. Shade the screen ten degrees, and censor her face." The desire dies out as the screen turns darker and her face is blurred. "Continue." I watch her slip the paper into a folder and go to her next class. "Stop. Put her in a new group. Show her house instead of her picture."

I go through about fifty more children, then the color of the pictures changes. Instead of a yellow border around the picture, the border is green. "That's all the yellows?"

YES.

"So who's this one?"

OLIVIA VINMAN.

"Olivia Vinman. What's her story?"

OLIVIA VINMAN IS IN THE MIDDLE CLASS. SHE IS MOST OFTEN SEEN READING. HOWEVER, HER PARENTS DO NOT APPROVE OF THIS. SHE HAS BEEN IN 27 DIFFERENT SPORTS LEAGUES AND CLUBS, AND SHE HAS ONLY STAYED IN CHESS CLUB AND THE CROQUET TEAM.

"Croquet?"

CORRECT.

"How long has she been on the croquet team?"

1 DAY.

"How did she do?"

In answer, a video shows on the wall. I watch as the uncomfortable-looking girl holds her mallet stiffly, wearing a sticky-looking uniform that she probably borrowed. The coach reprimands her time and time again as she drops her mallet and kicks the ball on accident and distances herself from the group. I watch her breathing grow shaky, her pace grow pale, her gaze sinking and sinking. Then, finally, the practice is over and she returns home without a word. She changes into more comfortable clothes and picks up a book, and the pain and frustration drains from her face as her eyes grow distant and her whole figure loses its stiffness.

"Stop. How is she at chess?"

PROGRESSING RAPIDLY, RISING.

"But then she goes home and reads again?"

CORRECT. SHE HAS READ 3 BOOKS ABOUT CHESS SINCE SHE ENROLLED 4 MONTHS AGO.

"Put her in the new group."

Her face appears next to the picture of May's house.

"Who's this kid?"

REID LAPLEY.

"Story?"

AVERAGE-PROFICIENT GRADES. MIDDLE CLASS. SPORTS/CLUBS: NONE. HOBBIES: NONE. 

"Just an average kid."

CORRECT.

"He looks like Bear. Put him under Bear."

His face appears under Bear's.

I cycle through about twenty more ordinary, average children before reaching another strange child. Something seems off with her, though her picture appears no different from the others. "What's her name?"