Free World Of Shell And Bone by Adriana Ryan

before. Such fluctuations are normal, I know. If I really am pregnant, the doctor will tell me when she does the test.
    When I emerge from the bedroom, Shale is sitting on the sofa, a tense smile on his face. “So?”
    I shake my head slightly and smile back. “Still no sign of it.”
    “Excellent.” He gets up and squeezes my upper arm. “I’m going to make you a big breakfast today so you can keep your strength up. Yours and the ba—”
    “Don’t say it. We don’t know for certain yet. There’s no point in getting our hopes up simply to have them dashed.”
    Shale suppresses a smile, but his eyes twinkle at me. I stare into them, momentarily dumbfounded. “Are you always so optimistic?”
    “I’m always realistic. In the seas of life, when the weather is bad, the optimist says the boat will be fine and the pessimist says we’re all going to die. But the realist—she adjusts the sails.” I walk into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water.
    “Quite wise.” Still suppressing a smile, Shale sets the tea to boil.
     
    The Match Clinic is surprisingly crowded. We wait our turn for ninety minutes before we are finally called.
    The doctor looks at me. “On the form you say you haven’t begun your cycle yet. Is this still true?”
    I want to ask her if she thinks something might have changed because of the inordinate amount of time she made me wait. I stifle a laugh, wondering what on earth has come over me.
    “Yes, it is,” I say instead.
    “Let’s administer a test in that case. See what we can determine.” She rummages in a drawer and pulls out a cup. “Urinate in this, please.”
    I go to the bathroom, and after a few pulse-pounding seconds during which I’m sure I won’t be able to, I do. I bring the cup back and see that Shale is down to his underwear.
    “What’s this?” I ask the doctor.
    “The new physical test,” she says. “While you are both here, I’d like to test you. You’re exempt if you’re pregnant, Vika.” She gestures to a chair. “Would you like to watch Shale do his part?”
    I sit.
    After the doctor puts a strip of plastic in my cup of urine and sets a timer, she turns to Shale. “Let’s go ahead and start, shall we? I would like you to begin by jogging in place. I will then measure your heart rate. Are you ready?”
    Shale nods.
    “Go.”
    Shale jogs, his muscular legs pumping up and down with no effort. They swallow up seconds instead of miles as he remains in place, going nowhere. My chest tightens with an uneasy anger. Must we always run in place, trying to prove ourselves good enough to escape the death sentence that is our country? Must we cross one hurdle only to have another one thrown at us, senseless boulders in our path to a destination that never arrives?
    When the timer beeps, the doctor waves at him. “You may stop now.” She lets the timer keep beeping and measures his heart rate. “Excellent.”
    I feel a rush of relief smother down my simmering rage as I realize he has passed this part of the physical. And then it occurs to me that I am about to find out if I’ve passed the biggest test I will ever have to take.
    The doctor plucks the strip from the cup of urine after turning off the beeping timer. She stares at it for a long minute and then looks at me.
    The moment seems to stretch out, yawning, until all I can see is its oily black throat. Finally she says, “Not pregnant.”
    My stomach lurches and my old friend, the headache, begins to dance a nasty beat behind my eyes. I look at Shale, and his face is pale.
    “That’s alright,” he says. “We get four more chances.”
    “Sorry, that’s not the case any longer. They made an announcement on the NNB just this morning.” The doctor looks at me, a trace of cold pity across her features. “You only get three attempts. There just isn’t enough time for everyone to get their six months in like before. Resources are being depleted as we speak, and they’ve been talking about cutting