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forgetful? So negligent? I know agriculture isn’t your strong
point and you’re probably considering changing vocations
again—”
    I nod.
    “—but I really wish you wouldn’t be so reckless. You
don’t know how damaging those sun lamps can be.”
    I look at my skin. I have a pretty good idea.
    “Why did you really go there anyway? I know you’re
not so idiotic as to forget a radiation suit. And don’t tell me you
forgot something. You wouldn’t go out on the field just because you
forgot something. I don’t want excuses. That’s not something anyone
in this family would do. It’s not something a daughter of a speaker
would do.” He finally takes a breath. I don’t know what to say. I
haven’t thought ahead to come up with some excuse. Anything to save
me from trouble.
    Then Dad takes another deep breath. He brings his
hands up and rubs his eyes. I know he will let it go. Then he looks
at me.
    “Speaking of vocation changes, considering your work
record, I thought maybe it was time you made a change. Have you
thought about trying public service?”
    My temper flares. So that’s it? I’m being groomed to
be the next speaker? I was determined to keep my mouth shut, to be
kind, but everything I’ve been feeling over the past few days comes
spilling out before I can put a clamp on it.
    “Really, Dad? Public service? You think I have any
desire to be a speaker like you or Gram? I hate it down here, and
if you knew anything about me, you’d know that. Why would I want to
be an advocate for this stupid, messed up place? I’m very seriously
considering following in Mom’s footsteps, and I don’t mean being a
nutritionist.”
    I shouldn’t have said it. That Mom comment goes way
too far. But I have to tell someone what’s rolling around in my
head before it explodes, even if it is my dad.
    He’s horrified and looks like his nose has just been
punched—his eyes water and his face is red. His mouth quivers, with
sadness or rage, I don’t know. I don’t want to stick around to find
out. I grab my bag and run out the door as fast as I can. He
doesn’t even have time to collect himself to tell me how much
trouble I’m in.

Chapter Four
    My feet pound down the corridor, and the only thing I
can think about is my scorching skin. I need something for it, but
I have no idea what to do for a sunburn. It’s not something they
teach us in first aid; it just doesn’t happen down here. Well,
except to neurotic teenage girls who are planning to defect.
    I need to go to the infirmary, but I’m terrified of
having to give a report. They’ll observe me, they’ll know what I
did, and they’ll call Dad in. Then we’ll have round two of our bout
this morning, and I’m too physically and emotionally exhausted to
face him again.
    Mr. Klein can help me. If anyone knows what to do, he
will. He’ll have studied sunburns, or at least know what can help
it feel better. I get on the transport. I left early, without
eating breakfast, so there are only a few people, and they’re
involved in catching up on messages, getting ready for their day.
My hair is too short to cover everything, but I let it fall around
my face to hide the redness.
    The transport stops at the vocational quarter first.
Then the doors close and the transport zooms along to the education
quarter. The doors open and I get off in a circular foyer with
corridors jutting off like wheel spokes.
    There are more people down here, teachers preparing
for classes, students who are on early schedule (they even schedule
us according to our bodies’ natural rhythms). I take the fifth
corridor that holds the teacher’s offices. I stop outside Mr.
Klein’s and hope he’s there by now. I knock.
    “Come in,” says a muffled voice. The door slides open
and I hear the click of his laptop closing.
    He flips through a thick book laying open on the
desk, and a cup of coffee is in his left hand. He hasn’t looked
back to see the monstrosity his prized pupil has