Free Qualify by Vera Nazarian Page A

seconds.
    “Level!” I say before I hit the mat.
    Again, a tiny lurch, and the board is moving once more in a line horizontal to the floor. Then the end of the mat looms. I pass over and beyond it, a few extra inches for good measure, then say, “Stop!”
    The board freezes.
    Slowly my fingers let go their white-knuckled grip. I stand up, and step off the hoverboard.
    I did it .
    Relief hits me full blast. I am lightheaded and suddenly kind of hungry, as I walk to the back and approach the Atlantean at the desk.
    Up-close, he is tall, young-old in a sense that I cannot be sure what age he really is. I am again fascinated by the unreality of his chiseled features, Ancient Egypt come to life. I glance at his sculpted eyebrows and wonder if they are real painted hairs or lapis lazuli inlay. . . . His eyes are black, irises and pupils appearing to run together. And, I swear, he has to be wearing kohl eyeliner.
    “Your name?” Ligerat picks up a small hand-held device and looks at me.
    “Gwenevere Lark.”
    He passes the gadget over the ID token pinned to my sweater.
    “Thank you,” I say as I meet his very dark eyes.
    “Good luck,” he replies gently.
    And that’s it.
     
     
    S omehow I manage to collect my backpack and duffel, then get out of the auditorium into the hallway. I attempt to look around past other jostling students to see where my brothers and sister are. The hallway is jammed with people, and there is a lot of emotional talk.
    Some people are still standing in line to do the hoverboard test. Others are done like me, trying to get out. People are sitting on the floor with their feet sticking out, among bags. Some girls and guys are hugging each other, their friends, even just strangers, people they barely know or don’t know at all, people from other schools—and they are all crying.
    I stare, and see a whole lot of tokens on people’s chests already lit up. And they are mostly shining red .
    Oh no. . . . Well, it’s not exactly surprising. They did tell us that very few people would pass even this preliminary stage of Qualification.
    Fear returns, gripping me in its cold abyss like an ocean wave pressing from all sides. . . . I look down at my own inactive token and feel sick to my stomach. Should I activate it? But no, I think I’ll wait to find out my stupid fate once I see a familiar face at least.
    I walk a few steps and there’s Ann Finnbar. Her expression is heartbreaking. My best friend is red-eyed, and so is her token, flaming merciless red. I remember seeing Ann up there on that hoverboard half an hour ago, and she looked like she was doing so much better than me. At least she had been standing up.
    “Ann!” I say, and then I am hugging her, feeling her skinny shaking form in my arms. We stand there, holding each other, and I say over and over, “Crap, crap, crap, I am so sorry!”
    We break apart, and she glances at my own dead token.
    “I am going to wait and do it with my sister and brothers there.” I feel guilty and rotten and I don’t even know why. “I’m sure mine will be red too, I just don’t want to find out just yet. Not until I see Gracie at least.”
    “I get it,” she says. “Okay, I’m going home now. My parents are probably worried, or whatever. Yeah, they’re not going to be too surprised to see me. At least I can give my Grandpa back his wooden carvings and my Mom gets her necklace back. Yeah, whatever. Anyway, you go on. . . .”
    “Look, I’ll definitely see you later!” I purse my lips. “When we get home—”
    “Oh, stop it.” Ann looks at me with an intense expression. “You are probably green.” And then she pats me on the shoulder and turns away.
     
     
    S everal minutes later I run into my siblings. “George!” I cry, seeing the back of my brother’s head in the crowd.
    “There you are!” George looks grim as he waves to me, and Gracie and Gordie are right behind him. It’s like a family funeral.
    I notice that all their