her pencil. Charlotte pressed a button on the VCR. On the screen, text appeared—SERIES 1-1—then faded away. There was a second of blackness. Then a jumble of images flashed by and was gone. Emily blinked. The screen said: END OF SERIES 1-1. Heads bent over desks. Emily looked at her paper. That had been a lot faster than she’d expected. What had she seen? A laughing face. A family around a table. People kissing. Grass. A cow. A glass of milk? She wasn’t sure. Which was strange, because she was observant. She had quick eyes. So why wasn’t she sure about the milk? She glanced around. Everyone but her was writing. She chewed her lip. She wrote: MILK.
“Pens down, please.”
She glanced around. The curly-haired boy to her right had SUSHI. She felt cold. Had there been sushi? Maybe. She looked left. The angel girl: SUSHI.
Charlotte prowled the desks. “Yes,” she said, passing a boy at the front. “Yes. Yes.” She stopped at Emily. “No.” Emily exhaled. “Yes. Yes. No.”
She turned to see who else had fucked up. It was the ten-year-old, who looked devastated. Before she hid her paper, Emily saw: MILK.
“Series two,” said Charlotte.
Obviously, what she’d done wrong was let herself be misled by the other images. Breakfast, a cow, and there
had
been a glass, but empty. Her brain had filled that in. She was too imaginative. And the reason she didn’t get sushi was she didn’t know what the fuck sushi looked like. She kind of remembered now. But it wasn’t exactly a familiar food. These other guys probably ate sushi twice a week, with caviar and quail and whatever that paste was on the crackers yesterday.Pâté. That. She would get the next one.
Images flickered. The screen blanked. Terror gripped her. There had been a banana. Definitely a banana. But also a sun, which kind of looked like a banana, and at the start she’d caught a glimpse of what might have been a fish. She had definitely seen palm trees and an ocean. She wasn’t sure about the fish. Or the banana. The banana could have been an afterimage of the sun. Why were there palm trees? Was that random, or was it trying to make her think of fish? She squeezed her pen. She wrote: FISH.
“Answers, please.”
She looked around. The curly-haired boy: BANANA. The angel girl: BANANA. The ten-year-old: FISH.
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” Charlotte reached her. “No.”
She had outsmarted herself. She should have trusted her instincts. She didn’t want to meet the curly-haired boy’s eyes but couldn’t stop herself. His eyes were closed, as if he was focusing, clearing his mind.
Dick
, she thought. But maybe she should do that.
“Series three.”
The screen barfed images. This time it talked, which took her by surprise: A man said, “Red,” and an old woman laughed, and was that a strawberry? No, a blood spot. It ended. She had definitely seen ice cream in a cone. She wrote that down before she could second-guess herself. She covered her paper with her hands and stared holes in the girl in front of her.
The curly-haired boy put down his pen. She couldn’t see his paper, so she mouthed:
Ice cream?
His eyebrows rose. She didn’t know what that meant. She felt a surging desire to pick up her pen and write something else. But she hadn’t seen anything but ice cream.
“Answers, please.”
The curly-haired boy moved his hands. STRAWBERRY. “Double
fuck
,” she said. She didn’t bother to look at the others. Charlotte reached her and confirmed that she had gotten it wrong, again. There were two more nos: Along with her and the ten-year-old, a skinny guy in the back had messed up. Emily was glad for this, but mostly furious. Give ten dollars to each of the people in this room, wait two hours, and Emily would have it all. Drop them on the street with no cash and no place to sleep, she would be the one with her shit together twenty-four hours later. These tests, though, were making her feel like a moron.
“Series four.”
Fuck you
, she
“Pens down, please.”
She glanced around. The curly-haired boy to her right had SUSHI. She felt cold. Had there been sushi? Maybe. She looked left. The angel girl: SUSHI.
Charlotte prowled the desks. “Yes,” she said, passing a boy at the front. “Yes. Yes.” She stopped at Emily. “No.” Emily exhaled. “Yes. Yes. No.”
She turned to see who else had fucked up. It was the ten-year-old, who looked devastated. Before she hid her paper, Emily saw: MILK.
“Series two,” said Charlotte.
Obviously, what she’d done wrong was let herself be misled by the other images. Breakfast, a cow, and there
had
been a glass, but empty. Her brain had filled that in. She was too imaginative. And the reason she didn’t get sushi was she didn’t know what the fuck sushi looked like. She kind of remembered now. But it wasn’t exactly a familiar food. These other guys probably ate sushi twice a week, with caviar and quail and whatever that paste was on the crackers yesterday.Pâté. That. She would get the next one.
Images flickered. The screen blanked. Terror gripped her. There had been a banana. Definitely a banana. But also a sun, which kind of looked like a banana, and at the start she’d caught a glimpse of what might have been a fish. She had definitely seen palm trees and an ocean. She wasn’t sure about the fish. Or the banana. The banana could have been an afterimage of the sun. Why were there palm trees? Was that random, or was it trying to make her think of fish? She squeezed her pen. She wrote: FISH.
“Answers, please.”
She looked around. The curly-haired boy: BANANA. The angel girl: BANANA. The ten-year-old: FISH.
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” Charlotte reached her. “No.”
She had outsmarted herself. She should have trusted her instincts. She didn’t want to meet the curly-haired boy’s eyes but couldn’t stop herself. His eyes were closed, as if he was focusing, clearing his mind.
Dick
, she thought. But maybe she should do that.
“Series three.”
The screen barfed images. This time it talked, which took her by surprise: A man said, “Red,” and an old woman laughed, and was that a strawberry? No, a blood spot. It ended. She had definitely seen ice cream in a cone. She wrote that down before she could second-guess herself. She covered her paper with her hands and stared holes in the girl in front of her.
The curly-haired boy put down his pen. She couldn’t see his paper, so she mouthed:
Ice cream?
His eyebrows rose. She didn’t know what that meant. She felt a surging desire to pick up her pen and write something else. But she hadn’t seen anything but ice cream.
“Answers, please.”
The curly-haired boy moved his hands. STRAWBERRY. “Double
fuck
,” she said. She didn’t bother to look at the others. Charlotte reached her and confirmed that she had gotten it wrong, again. There were two more nos: Along with her and the ten-year-old, a skinny guy in the back had messed up. Emily was glad for this, but mostly furious. Give ten dollars to each of the people in this room, wait two hours, and Emily would have it all. Drop them on the street with no cash and no place to sleep, she would be the one with her shit together twenty-four hours later. These tests, though, were making her feel like a moron.
“Series four.”
Fuck you
, she
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