Test , livre ebook

Praise for William Sleator s books
Test
Fast-paced with short chapters that end in cliff-hangers good read for moderately reluctant readers. Teens will be able to draw comparisons to contemporary society s shift toward standardized testing and ecological concerns, and are sure to appreciate the spoofs on NCLB.
- School Library Journal
Part mystery, part action thriller, part romance environmental and political overtones fast pace and unique blend of genres holds attraction for younger teen readers. - Booklist
The Boy Who Couldn t Die Brisk, addictive - Publishers Weekly
Full of zombies, danger, murder, and the creepy twists Sleator is famous for. Just when you think you ve solved everything, there s a twist you don t see coming. - ALAN
Action-packed, full of enough ghoulish surprises, twists, and surreal situations to hook both younger suspense and science fiction fans. - VOYA
Hell Phone
A suspense-filled plot and touches of macabre humor will appeal to both horror fans and reluctant readers.
- Kirkus Reviews
The rapid pace and vivid, unsettling conception of the Inferno will grab horror readers.
- School Library Journal
Also by William Sleator
Novels
Blackbriar
House of Stairs
Into the Dream
The Green Futures of Tycho
Run
Fingers
Interstellar Pig
Singularity
The Boy Who Reversed Himself
The Duplicate
Strange Attractors
The Spirit House
Others See Us
Dangerous Wishes
The Night the Heads Came
The Beasties
The Boxes
Rewind
Boltzmon!
Marco s Millions
Parasite Pig
The Boy Who Couldn t Die
The Last Universe
Hell Phone
Books for Younger Readers
The Angry Moon
Among the Dolls
Once, Said Darlene
That s Silly
Short Story Collection
Oddballs

PUBLISHER S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition of this book as follows:
Sleator, William. Test / by William Sleator. p. cm.
Summary: In the security-obsessed, elitist United States of the near future, where a standardized test determines each person s entire future, a powerful man runs a corrupt empire until seventeen-year-old Ann and other students take matters into their own hands. ISBN 978-0-8109-9356-3 [1. Educational tests and measurements-Fiction. 2. Education-Fiction. 3. Political corruption-Fiction. 4. Immigrants-Fiction. 5. Conspiracies-Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.S6313Tes 2008 [Fic]-dc22 2007038987
Paperback ISBN 978-0-8109-8989-4
Text copyright 2008 William Sleator Book design by Chad W. Beckerman
Lizard design by Julia Gorton
Jacket design by Chad W. Beckerman
Originally published in hardcover in 2008 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. Paperback edition published in 2010. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
For Ann Monticone, who is really the co-author of this book, a wonderful teacher, and my best friend.
Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted. -Albert Einstein
TEST
The first time the black motorcycle followed Ann on her way to school was a Wednesday in early May.
She noticed it immediately because of the red logo on the front fender, and also on the driver s helmet. It was a striking logo, and she knew she had seen it somewhere before, though she couldn t remember where. But the logo made it easy for her to be sure it was the same black motorcycle she had seen-also just behind her-a block or so before, and another time before that. That logo, and the very expensive silver-studded black leather jacket the driver wore.
The red logo was egg-shaped, made up of three reptilian curvy creatures swirling around each other forming the egg. She didn t like it, and she felt afraid that the motorcycle really did seem to be following her.
She brooded about it in school all day. She was able to hide her preoccupation at lunch with her friends, but not in Mr. Wells s English class in the afternoon. Wells, who always seemed to be dressed in gray, and always had a handkerchief to wipe the sweat off his forehead, noticed that she was preoccupied, even as he was ranting at the class about the upcoming XCAS test, and how low their practice test scores were. He stopped pacing and turned on her. You d better concentrate on what I m saying, young lady, he said to her. Or haven t you noticed that your test prep scores have been going down?
The entire class turned and looked at her, which made her angry and embarrassed. The strange foreign boy, Lep, was the only one who had a sympathetic look on his face.
Wells caught that too. Don t waste your time feeling sorry for her, Fingernail, Wells taunted him. At the beginning of the year Wells had made him explain that his nickname, Lep, meant fingernail in whatever language they spoke in the country he came from, and Wells used it to make fun of him when he was in a bad mood. You may think you re doing better, but you re not nearly good enough yet to pass XCAS yourself.
Lep looked down at his desk.
Ann was nervous about the motorcycle on her way home from school. She always walked to and from school, even after she d been hanging out with her friends. Walking was just so much faster than taking the bus, or riding in somebody s car. Because of the traffic, of course. The traffic that was always there, except for at three A.M. The traffic that oozed along agonizingly, inch by sluggish, groaning inch. The traffic that sat forever at red lights too far away to be seen. And then moved slowly forward. And then stopped again, many times, before it even reached the light.
She d been walking home from school for the last few years, and yet she still never failed to appreciate how lucky she was that she lived close enough to be able to walk, instead of being trapped in a car like so many of the other kids. Yes, on good days it took her just over an hour, and on bad days in the winter even longer. But that was still so much better than the four or even more hours other kids had to suffer through in cramped vehicles, trying to do their homework and study for the XCAS test and getting carsick.
She knew what it was like. Until a few years ago she had been relegated to the school buses herself, because of the gangs on the street. Walking hadn t been safe. But that was before the new government took over, with their heightened security. Of course there had always been security at school. Now all the cars had to go through security checkpoints too, at regular intervals, which slowed things down even more.
But she was free. She had to wear a mask, of course; everybody did in the pollution. But she could go at her own pace; she wasn t under the total control of the traffic like people in buses and cars. She could even jog when she felt like it, though actually running would have been too suspicious. She was seventeen, after all, and not a little girl anymore.
She checked behind her and there was that motorcycle again, with the red reptilian logo. It was closer behind her than it had been on her way to school. It had been very odd before. Now it was scary.
Logos were everywhere, of course, representing every company, blurring together indiscriminately. And yet somehow this one stood out. She thought she had seen it only one other place before now. But where?
She quickly turned away from the motorcycle and started walking faster. She wanted to get home! She looked at her watch. At least another half hour to go.
If it had been a car it wouldn t have been able to follow her; it would have been stuck in traffic and she would have zipped past it ages ago. But motorcycles had more mobility; they could weave in and out between the trapped cars. Motorcycles always thrummed at the head of the cars at every traffic light. The instant the light turned green they were the first ones to zoom roaring ahead in clouds of exhaust. Only because it was a motorcycle was it able to follow her.
But how could she be so sure it was really following her? Maybe she was just being paranoid. She turned back and looked again to check.
And when she did, the driver-whose face was completely hidden by the dark helmet with the red reptilian logo on it-made the unmistakable gesture of zipping his gloved hand across his throat and then pointing directly at her.
She felt a terrible icy shock through her whole body. She instantly turned away again, fighting the impulse to run. He wasn t just following her, he was threatening her! But motorcycle or not, he was in traffic and she wasn t. Evasion was still possible. She had just come to a small, one-way street she didn t know, but it was worth turning right onto it, going the opposite way from the one lane of oncoming traffic. He d have to stop following her now. She didn t look back-she didn t have to. She was walking toward the standing traffic and could easily see that the motorcycle was not daring to fight it and go the wrong way. She was going out of her way now; it would take her longer to get home. But she had managed to evade the motorcycle. For today.
Supper didn t happen at the same time every day-her household couldn t be that organized. Because of the traffic, there was no knowing when Mom or Dad would get home from work, even though neither of their jobs was far from their apartment. Mom worked the day nursing shift at a nearby hospital, and Dad worked as a home health aide. Her brother, Spencer, was five years behind her in school, and there was no knowing when he d get home either. But by the time she did get home that day, they were all there already, which was a little bit