There are protests on our way to the Gifted Site. There are various responses to the passing of the Bounty Act; the law allowing Gifted people to be sold to the Gifted Program. Many people are pleased at this new method to gain wealth while others organise boycotts or annual marches to protest against the Act.

Some teenagers protest out of jealousy; being outraged at the thought that some child may be called more special than them. The religious claim we are abominations sent by Lucifer to test their faith.

Some abominations— preferring to be called Gifted— speak against our talents being used to fill the pockets of those in power. Some parents are angered about the pay they receive for their child's gift and constantly state how selfish the government is to be paying so little for their service. Various individuals speak out for their freedom; arguing that the Gifted Program takes this privilege away.

My mum and I remain calm, but Mathea, who is still afraid that some protestor will throw a rock at our car window, lays her head on my lap and places her hands over her face. She may be praying. Mathea does that. Mum flips her middle finger at a man who stumbles towards our car and decides rubbing his arse against her window will make a change.

After a few minutes of Mother hooting at the protestors, hoping they will move out of our way and let the car pass through the compound's gate, security guards step out of their shelter to help us.

The guards, with hands on their guns, instruct protestors to move out of our car's way. The guards continue this action to assist the cars behind us, and as my mother drives into the compound, I read a signpost held by a lady dressed in brown from head to toe. She must be religious.

I see many cars parked on the compound, but that's expected seeing as the first day of the New Year is always the busiest. Some parents stick around longer than necessary, because having done this before; they cannot believe they have to leave their precious children alone for more than a month, only to see them during midterm and wait another month to spend a three-week holiday with their child. Some children don't want their parents to leave.

Visitors, who usually consist of parents that intend to auction their child, also visit the compound today. The presence of all housemothers and housemasters who are required to check in at their respective venues today also contribute to the mass of people.

When the car comes to a stop, my mother is the first amongst us to exit the vehicle. I rest my head on Mathea's shoulder for a few seconds, and we both sigh as she opens the car door. We slide out of the car and find that our mother has already taken our luggage out of the boot.

"Goodbye, my babies. I'll see you soon." Mum pulls me into a tight hug and shoves me away before doing the same to Mathea. However, Mathea is able to give our mother a kiss on the cheek before watching her rush back into the car.

My mum's goodbyes never take much time, because she doesn't like crying in front of people. My dad told me she's been that way ever since she returned from serving time in the Creathe Army. I think she also wants to seem strong, but little things, such her always and currently waving her hand out of her window until we are out of her view, break that image down.

"Willow!" Housemother B walks towards Mathea and I, excitement shown through her smile.

I've always liked Housemother B. She's one of the few adults here that actually understands me. A lot of my time is, weirdly enough, spent visiting her.

"I think I have both of your year schedules right...here." My housemother smiles as she pulls two pamphlets out of her pockets. "You, Mathea, should've been here earlier. Your evaluation starts soon. Go on!"

Housemother B lightly smacks a pamphlet on Mathea's head before handing the pamphlet to her. Mathea takes one look at it before smiling guiltily and shoving the pamphlet into her pocket.

"Please?" My sister turns to face me and points to her suitcase.

She doesn't even give me a chance to answer her before running off in the opposite direction. I guess I'll be taking her luggage up to her room for her.

"You, my dear, have some time to yourself before your evaluation." Housemother B squeezes my arm before handing me the pamphlet. She begins to walk away, but I hear her chuckle when I groan.

My evaluation is scheduled for later today.
It's the one thing I am dreading, because it takes up too much of my time. It isn't that I have better things to do, but I don't like wasting my 'nothing' time on unnecessary things. Mathea once said I should be grateful for the time the evaluation takes, because it's better than the program officials forcing us to go to any type of classes on the first day back.

The classes offered in the Gifted Program are divided into two categories; The Gift classes and Studies. We advance our gifts during the Gift classes and gain knowledge 'important to ensure we earn a good income when our gifts are no longer of use' during Studies such as taxes and Information Technology. We also learn about the history of Geode during Studies. All pupils in the Gifted Program must take part in both categories.

I then look at all the luggage I'm expected to carry and consider leaving Mathea's luggage here for her to handle once her evaluation is over. However, I'm not in the mood to put up with the lecture I know my younger sister will give me. I guess there's a plus side to this; that girl now owes me.

~•~

The walls of the evaluation room are a light shade of blue. In fact, most rooms in the Gifted Sites are. I once asked a nurse why that was, and he claimed that 'blue is a soothing colour that helps to relax one's mind'. He then continued talking about other soothing colours and gave me various reasons why a light shade of blue, rather than the other soothing colours, was chosen by management to be the colour of most rooms. He seemed excited when talking about colours.

He then ended our conversation by telling me that a light shade of blue is rumoured to be President Foster IV's favourite colour, and that rumour may be the reason management wants most rooms to be a light shade of blue. The colour, as the nurse said, 'Honours the President who ensures our economy is prosperous and constantly advancing'. I made a note never to start a conversation with that nurse again.

Twice a month, all Gifted residents of all Gifted Sites are required to go to these blue rooms to be evaluated. There are only six Gifted Sites in Geode that house approximately seventy-five children each.

I suppose we're evaluated often because we, the Gifted, are rare. One nurse informed me that our health is essential to the development of society, therefore we are tested for any health risks and any new abilities. There is nothing extraordinary about us. At least, I don't believe so. We simply perform better than the average person.

Someone once told me the main difference between the Gifted and the ordinary is not what we are now, but what we can become. Currently, my gift is my abnormal high tolerance for pain, but the program scientists believe that if trained effectively, I may soon feel no physical pain at all.

The scientific name for those with my gift is Callumsiandrum, but everyone calls us Iron or the Iron Rods. We also heal faster than the average person, but the difference isn't large enough to be considered a gift. The jobs assigned to us are often personal trainers or bodyguards. I hate being a bodyguard. I hate it even more when I have to help people accused of doing the cruellest things, but those are the kind of jobs that pay the most.

"Willow. Willow, you'll need to concentrate. Could you tell me how that feels?" the doctor asks me.

I look at my bleeding arm. She's re-opened the cut from my last evaluation with a tool I can't seem to identify.

"A scratch," I reply.

"My dear, say that louder for me, won't you?"

"It feels like a scratch," I raise my voice, hoping this will finish soon. Kane and Mathea are waiting for me at the river. Their evaluation was two hours before mine.

"Thank you, Ms Bare." The doctor then turns to speak into a small microphone on her desk, "Subject 024 showing no improvement."

"Willow, did you take your medication during the holiday?"

"Every one of them."

"And you made sure to do all the exercises? I gave you the pamphlet myself, Ms. Bare."

"I did everything asked of me."

"I'm risking my job telling you this," the doctor continues regardless of the risk, "but there have been concerns about you, Ms Bare. You've shown no improvements for the last five months. There are some people, in management that is, that are rethinking your stay here. It seems to only be a thought, but thoughts spark actions. You must meet the standards."

"I do everything asked of me."

"You must want it! There are many families wanting this for their children, and there are many children who want this for themselves. Willow, you are Gifted. Be grateful," the concern I heard in the doctor's voice disappears, and her voice is now laced with anger.

"I may have missed a few days when taking my medication," I say, hoping it will bring an end to the conversation.

"You must have. You'll do better now, won't you?"

"I will."

"I'll just clean this up for you," the doctor motions to my bleeding arm, "and you may be on your way."

My thoughts may be rude, but I can't wait to get away from her. Anyway, I need to be with Mathea and Kane right now; they often keep me calm. With everything going on inside my head, I've been needing to feel that way lately.