Chapter 4
Tam
You are invited to a reveal party.
Be at the below coordinates at 9 p.m. with the black tape (provided) covering your helmet camera portal. A guide will greet you and say the passphrase ‘Alphaeus’. You will respond with the phrase: ‘I am here’. They will lead you to the party.
A chill of excitement mingled with fear washes over me as I read. I’ve heard about reveal parties—we all have. They’re strictly forbidden. You get expelled if you get caught attending one. And yet. . . .
The writing on the invitation begins to fade. I don’t dare take a picture of it with my helmet camera, and by the time I fish a pen out of my backpack the information could be gone. Instead, I read the fading words over and over again, trying to memorize them. Within sixty seconds, the only thing that remains are the location coordinates of the meeting.
I continue to stare at the invitation for several seconds after the last of the fading words have disappeared, before suddenly tossing it on the bed like it’s on fire. The rabbit in me wants to run, to get as far away as I can from any possible confrontation with the government or school authorities. But there’s another part of me that’s attracted to the excitement, the rebellion of it all.
Just as quickly as I threw it on the bed, I grab the invitation up again, this time hiding it inside my pillowcase. Then, I take the envelope it came in and carefully tear it into tiny bits, dividing the remains between the trashcan beside my bed and the one in the bathroom.
I slide a lightweight cowl over my head. We’re allowed to wear them instead of our helmets when we exercise. After putting on my running shoes, I head out to run. I love to run for many reasons. Being in nature is rejuvenating—like I’m getting in touch with some primal need to connect with the wild. Then there’s the physical release of the exercise itself. But I also like the freedom of not wearing my helmet.
The equality laws don’t require us to wear helmets all of the time when we’re in public. Most of us do because the helmet’s viewscreen allows other people to see our expressions, not to mention all of the technology that used to be in cell phones a few decades ago (and more) now resides within the helmet. The cowl I have on does none of that. It’s lightweight, covering my skin so that no one can see what race I am, and the veil-like material concealing my face allows me to see out while no one else can see in. The only other item I’m forced to bring along is a tiny voice modulator—just in case I need to speak to anyone while I’m out. But it fits in my pocket, and most of the time, I can forget it’s even there.
In my previous years attending school here, I’ve come up with an impressive number of running routes. Today, I opt for a three-mile trail that winds its way through a densely forested section of the school’s recreational park. Sometimes, I like to people-watch while I run, but today I need to be alone and think.
Soon, I’m in my element. My feet pounding out a familiar cadence as my muscles flex and extend, my lungs and heart working in tandem and lulling me into a trance-like serenity. I force myself not to consider the invitation for several minutes, simply focusing on the here and now.
Once I’m fully in the zone and I’ve burned off some of my nervous tension, I finally allow myself to think about the reveal party. Last year, I had a good friend who went to one. We went running together sometimes. One day, when we were cooling down from a run, he told me about it. . . .
“In a weird way, it’s like being in elementary school again.”
“Oh, you mean because you don’t have to wear the equality suit?”
“Yeah. You get to be around a bunch of people you don’t know at first—all out there to be seen and judged and everything. It’s kind of exciting, actually.”
“Weren’t you scared of getting caught? I mean, you could’ve gotten expelled.”
“A little. But don’t you get tired of it? Having to hide who you really are all the time because the government is afraid we’ll all tear each other apart if we see people who are different than us and don’t like what we see?”
“I know it’s extreme. And I do think it’s a bit overboard. But there must be a real danger there, or there wouldn’t be all these laws against it.”
“Maybe, but I’m not so sure. There were plenty of people at the reveal party who were very different from me, and we weren’t at each other’s throats. It was really fun.”
“What did you do?”
“Mostly talked, played games, hung out—pretty normal stuff.”
“Only without your equality suits on.”
“Yeah, only without the suits. Hold on. . . . Did you hear that?”
I held my breath and listened. I could just barely hear two people talking as they came down the path towards us.
“Let’s go,” I said.
We finished our run without another word about the party. We had talked a couple of other times about it briefly in the following weeks, and I wondered what I would do if I ever got an invitation. It wasn’t long after that I texted him to see if he wanted to go for a run, but he never responded. Then I read in my school news feed that several students had been sent to re-education camp after getting caught attending a reveal party. I never heard from him again.
And now I’ve been invited to a reveal party.
My path leads me up the incline of a medium-sized hill, and I relish the burn in my calves as I try to keep the same pace all the way up. I’m pretty winded once I reach the apex, and I stop at an overlook to catch my breath and enjoy the view out over the lake below.
I think back to when I was younger, about how much fun I’d had with my friends in the neighborhood and at school, back when none of us had to hide our identities. Yeah, were some unpleasant times, too. But almost none of that had anything to do with identity issues.
I do remember one time in elementary school when Julia, a kid who was always getting picked last for dodge ball, broke down in tears when he was the last person standing and neither captain wanted him on their team. That sort of thing doesn’t happen in high school sports.
In high school, for every team sport, anyone who wants to can be on a team. Then, for every game, the coaches factor in everyone’s athletic abilities and adjust the player’s suits for it, so everyone becomes pretty much equal. Weights are added inside the suits of the better players, so they can’t out-perform others. Less-skilled players may get software that helps them aim their throws better, or have boosters added into their shoes to help them jump as high as others. The process really does make everyone essentially equal. All the sports are co-ed, too, and even the least athletic person has a shot.
But you can always tell when there’s a greater mix of females or less athletic males on the field for a football game—because even males with just a little athletic ability like myself get at least some weight added to our suits. During those games, the plays are less spectacular, and the players all move slower. I have to admit, there are times when I’d just like for everyone to be allowed to do the best they can possibly do without any artificial enhancements or added weights and let the chips fall where they may. It may not meet the standards of the equality laws, but it sure would make for a more exciting game.
I head back inside the dorm and take a quick shower. I still have no idea what I’m going to do about the invitation by the time I head to the library to meet Cynthia.
