Page 1 of Privilege

1

AMITY

BALTIMORE, MARYLAND 2034

“Amity Bloome!”my mother shouts urgently from the bottom of the stairs of our Baltimore rowhouse. I crack my eyes open. The morning sunlight is streaming through the window of my tiny bedroom, squished in the middle of the upstairs.

“Hang on, I’m almost done,” I call and take a deep breath, trying to settle down into the last minute of my Twenty. It’s no use, my thoughts are racing now and the calm, detached feeling is slipping away.

When my timer beeps I shut it off and stumble down the hall to the pale, tiled bathroom still in my pajamas. I’m wearing a soft, worn T-shirt I adopted from my dad, and loose shorts.

I hear steps on the stairs. She must be coming up to check on me. There’s a loud knock on the door.

“How’s it going, Amity? Do you need anything?” I tugthe door open and reveal my mother’s narrow, tan face staring back at me. She is tall and pretty, in a way that blends with the power she exudes, her natural command.

She has sharp cheekbones, full lips, and blue eyes like my own, with long brown hair in a braid down her back. The only differences between us are the streaks of gray around her temples and the wrinkles that tighten the corners of her eyes and deepen her smile.

If you can get a smile out of Calista Bloome, you’re doing exceptionally well.

I haven’t answered her questions but she already has more. “You did your Twenty?” she checks.

“Of course.” I haven’t needed a reminder to do my required morning meditation for years. She’s anxious.

“You need to be out the door by eight,” she reminds me sharply, turning on her heel. “In your school uniform,” she tosses back from down the hall.

I could stretch it to 8:15 and still get to the courthouse on time but I don’t argue, just shove my toothbrush back in the holder and listen to her stepping briskly back downstairs, the quick staccato of her shoes on the wooden steps.

Today is a huge day for me. Thinking back to what the speaker said at graduation yesterday has my heart pumping with anticipation.

“City College High School, class of 2034, tomorrow you have the opportunity to take your Oath and make your commitment to the Peaceful Society of Greater Maryland.” The speaker was smiling but her eyes were wide open and grave. “It’s a privilege many of our mothers and grandmothers never had a chance to enjoy.

“We have many reasons to be thankful. All of us owe our lives and safety to the sacrifices our mothers and the martyrs of the Peaceful Society made for us. I sincerely encourage each one of you,” her eyes flicked around the room, slowing on the groups of young men sitting in the audience, “to fully embrace the opportunities we offer every Citizen regardless of race, creed, or gender.” She said the last word with a straight face but there was a low hum from the boys in the room.

Another reason I’m in a hurry. Zeph. He sat next to me in the crowded auditorium, his pale skin and red hair as familiar as my own brown locks. Ever since the Integration, when everything changed, he’s lived around the corner, always knocked on my door or I’ve knocked on his.

I was ten when the war happened and everything changed; a lot of my friends moved away. But that was when Zeph moved in around the corner. After the Integration we explored the streets, safe with security stations sprouting on every block like the newly planted trees, ready to call a Security Officer within minutes any time, night or day.

Zeph and I were both children of women who fought in the Integration and stayed to build the Peaceful Society. The safety of the streets, each inch of city monitored and safeguarded, made our mothers giddy with the freedom they indulgently pushed on us. The Privilege of safety, provided by the Peaceful Society.

“Go, go anywhere,” my mother would encourage me. “You can explore all of Baltimore, Amity, the whole city is safe. The whole city is yours.”

I buzz around my tiny bedroom, pulling on my uniformand grabbing what I need to take to the courthouse. The walls are pale blue and my bed is narrow against the wall. I yank the blanket up and straighten the pillow. It’s uncommonly neat in here since I might be leaving, tomorrow even, after I’ve made my Oath.

It’s quiet downstairs. My little brother Ethan is already at school. My dad greets me with a wide grin. He’s eating eggs and toast before he leaves for his job at the WPA, the Works Progress Administration, that employs most of the men in our neighborhood.

I wiggle my feet into sneakers as my mom flits about, fretting. She must have delayed going to work to make sure I got off okay. It’s silly we can’t go together, since she works at the courthouse, but the rules are I go to Oath Day without a parent or guardian.

There can be no hint that taking the Oath and committing myself fully to the Peaceful Society is anything other than my own decision. It’s also why we can’t take the Oath until we graduate from high school.

“Bye, Dad,” I call into the house and my mom follows me onto the porch.

“Are you still planning to sign up for HighClear?” she asks, checking for the hundredth time.

“Yes, absolutely,” I assure her. Her face relaxes and she nods, giving me a tiny shove.

“Go ahead, Amity. Go in peace.” She dismisses me with a hint of her rare smile, ducking back inside.

I turn the familiar corner and Zeph is already waiting in front of his house, backpack on. I hesitate. No matter how many times we’ve talked about it, no matter how much I’ve begged him, he claims he’s going to refuse the Oath.

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