Asa glanced at Eli, who was grinning, his eyes fixed on the little phone screen.
“I can’t wait till I have one of these,” he whispered, and Asa rolled his eyes good-naturedly.
“What an exceptional week it’s been,” the Chancellor continued. “Our clean water reservoir is at its highest level in years, thanks to the gifted engineers of the State and to every one of you. I know that each of us helps ensure the safety of our supply. There is truly no higher purpose than the protection of our society, and we can only achieve it together.”
His deep voice reverberated with the last words, and Asa felt a sudden sense of pride. I’m part of adult society.
“Today,” the Chancellor went on, “I’m going to take a few minutes to highlight one of the people who exemplifies the values of our society. Some of you will know this person, but all of you will know people who are very similar. You know, the reason I like to do this every week is to remind all of us just how important each of our individual contributions are and to remind us what it is we’re contributing to.
“In the years of chaos before the Founding,” he said, “people in communities like ours might have said things like, ‘Why should I worry what happens to Fairfield?’—sorry, Fairfield, you’re just an example,” he said with a wink, and a laugh rippled through the crowd, then vanished as the Chancellor’s face grew serious. “They might have said things like, ‘Why should I worry about Fairfield? I don’t live in Fairfield! In fact, if Fairfield wasn’t around, maybe my community would have more!’ and that …” The Chancellor sighed and shook his head, looking down for a moment, then he faced the camera again with steel in his eyes. “That was the tragedy of the old society, and it was the ugliness, the rot at its core. It was an insatiable greed that our ancestors lived with, and it wasn’t just bad for Fairfield! It was bad for everyone. Because thinking like that will corrode you from within. It will consume a person, and it will destroy a society.”
He looked grimly at them for a moment. Then his face relaxed, and Asa let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding; all around him he heard people doing the same.
“So, we don’t think like that,” the Chancellor went on assuredly. “And not just because it’s dangerous, but because it’s a lot easier to help each other out, right? So, I like to do these little highlights to remind us all that even though we might live in communities that are far apart—even though most of us will never meet!—we are all in this together.
“The person I want to talk to you about tonight is a wonderful woman named Abigail who lives in—and you may have already guessed—Fairfield!”
A still photograph of a woman, holding a toddler, appeared on the projection. They both had dark hair and light brown skin, and both were laughing wildly. The projection switched to a drone feed video of Abigail and the child sitting on the grass outdoors. They were playing with a bright blue wooden puzzle. It had pieces cut out into common shapes, and the child was attempting to put them into place.
“Abigail is thirty years old. That is her with her young daughter, Rebecca. Rebecca is learning shapes, as you can see! Abigail is known in Fairfield as a wonderfully intuitive person. Everyone who knows her says she is a good person to help talk through a difficult problem.”
The feed switched to a gathering in a community square; it could easily have been Rosewood, Asa thought, except for the unfamiliar people. Abigail was amid the crowd, talking and laughing.
“Abigail and her husband, Joshua, have been married for nine years,” the Chancellor continued. “They waited to have children because they wanted to spend some time together first, just the two of them, which I think sounds just lovely.” The feed switched back to the Chancellor’s office. “I think Abigail is just an amazing woman, and we are very lucky to have her in the Fairfield community.”
He smiled widely.
“Next week we’ll all get to meet someone else, and I am so glad that we will. Although we may live in our own communities and be spread far apart from each other, we are all part of our greater community. We are, truly, all in this together. I’ll see each of you again next week.”
The feed switched off; the wall went blank again, and Asa stretched. The sounds of the village square rose again as people chatted, and some began to walk away toward home.
“Are you gonna watch The Challenge?” Eli asked, and Asa shook his head.
“Nah,” he said. “I’m kind of tired.”
Eli shrugged and handed back Asa’s phone. “Suit yourself. See you tomorrow!”
“See you tomorrow,” Asa echoed with a pang of guilt. He started off toward home; as he crossed the square, the wall lit up again as familiar theme music played.
“I wanna watch,” a little boy complained as his mother tugged his hand.
“It’s not appropriate for someone your age,” she said tightly, glancing back at the crowd that had remained to watch. Asa passed them, looking down at the cobblestones and picking up his pace.
He didn’t want to see anyone else, didn’t want to repeat the lie, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Asa!” Someone called to him from a few yards away, but Asa pretended not to hear. He hurried out of the square and up the road toward home for the last time.
In the morning, Asa told his mother and father he was leaving.
“I don’t understand,” Sarah said, gripping the handle of the coffee pot so tightly her knuckles were white.
“I said I’m leaving,” Asa repeated patiently. He had been rehearsing this all night; he was braced for an outburst, ready to counter any of their objections.
“I understand what you said.” Sarah’s words were clipped as she began to move again, pouring her coffee and setting the pot back down, spooning in sugar with a crisp, angry deftness.
Isaac watched warily from the doorway; he had not yet responded to his son’s declaration, and Asa could not read his heavy-featured face. Finally, Sarah sat at the table, her back straight as a post, and gave Asa a withering stare. He met her eyes, not giving ground. Sarah sipped her coffee, not breaking eye contact, then set the cup down.
“What I don’t understand, Asa, is why you would choose to leave us. What have we done to hurt you?”
“What?”
“There must be some reason you’re saying this, son,” Isaac said, coming in to stand behind his wife’s chair. He rested his hand on her shoulder, and her face lost a fraction of its tension. “Your mother just wants to know what it is. So do I. We’ve always tried to do the best for you.”
Asa looked from his father to his mother and back again. This was the only contingency he had not planned for. He was ready for arguing, even shouting, tears and dire warnings of what happens to young men in the city. It had not occurred to him that his parents might be hurt.
“Mom, Dad, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he said quickly. “I just want more out of life. I want to see what the world really is, not be stuck here in this tiny, suffocating place—” He broke off too late.
“Tiny, suffocating place? Asa, this is your home, your community,” Isaac said, the shock visible on his face.