This is another SF story, a dark, dystopic future.   A bit extreme, but you can’t miss the author’s  point.  J

 

According To Law

by

Jane Campos Johnson

 

 

            Karlie hunched in the chair where Rose Housley had sat the day she'd died. She watched Teacher's secretary file papers in a long desk drawer while Teacher studied her notes. Her shirt pocket bumped leaden at her ribs.

             Rose had arranged a car rental agreement and balanced a bank statement, a practice session the night before finals. Then she'd failed exams, and got caught in the Parents' House. Now, Karlie wondered, who would suffer if she phoned her folks?

             The chair creaked. It reminded her of a crime scene.

             "My parents..." she started to say.

             "Miss Jacobs. We don't refer to biological source material, especially not on the day of review," Teacher answered.

             "I mean, even though the calculus final is geared to my aptitude, I'd like to make a call..."

             A bell jangled in the distance. Classes ended early on review days, the courtyard empty, peaceful. Karlie daydreamed that parents had legal right to raise their children, and that Teachers taught history, spelling, art.

             "Miss Jacobs, this is the formal exit review. For dropouts."

             "I thought..."

             "Yes. Dropouts often hope for one final chance to raise their grade. But we can't allow everyone to go on. We mustn't coddle the young. Diplomas for everyone...my, what a world it would be..."

             Teacher, Karlie knew, had made her first million in real estate, at age 14.

             Karlie crossed and recrossed her legs. "I might try secretarial," she blurted. She'd majored in Aerospace R&D in junior high. She had no typing skills, nor a thirst for dictation. A young man in gray pinstripes appeared at the door, leash in hand.

             "Dear, you'll be in Marcus' care until your exit is finalized. You understand that it's all for the best."

             Karlie nodded. She followed Marcus into the hall.

             "You're not the first," he said. He examined her with a critical eye. "They've got harems at the trade houses. Some dropouts temp at National Laundry." He cupped his hand as if around an invisible syringe. "STM kids plug into the pipeline. Meth. Croke. No skills, no paren..." He cleared his throat. STM. Slow To Mature. He slipped the collar around Karlie's neck. "It'll blow my DO portfolio if I walk you without restraints." Detention Officer. Karlie minced along behind him.

             Why had she chosen second-year calculus? She was fifteen. Didn't Teacher say that 15-year-olds had to make their own decisions? Offices passed in a blur. Karlie imagined snapping the vial in her pocket, sucking its contents to the back of her throat.

             A girl, maybe thirteen, pregnant, hair streaked black, worked the phone in the detention room where Marcus left her. When she flung Karlie a mindless grin, Karlie knew that Teacher had been wrong. She stabbed the floor tiles with her shoe. Maybe she deserved to be 'dropped out'. But if this girl could do secretarial, so could she. Teacher had stolen her parents, stolen her dreams. Maybe Teacher could do that according to law. But she couldn't steal her life.