A Hard No with Chamomile

Theresa was already sitting on the couch when I walked in.

Angel came in from the kitchen, cheerful as ever, carrying three mugs in her hands like she lived there.

“I made chamomile tea,” she said. “And water. Can’t go wrong with water.”

I took off my coat, draped it over the chair, and stood there for a moment.

“I went somewhere,” I said.

They looked up.

“I got invited to participate in something. For the government. Or, actually… for GRACE. An assessment module. They’re selecting students for the first phase.”

Theresa frowned. “Based on what?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. “My grades… I think. Or my profile. I honestly don’t know. It just said I’d been selected. Not why.”

Angel perched on the arm of the couch, one eyebrow raised.

“They didn’t give you a reason?”

I shook my head. “No. Just a notification. ‘Classified as suitable.’ That was it.” Theresa leaned forward. “And you thought, great, I’ll go judge some people?”

“It happened fast,” I said. “It felt… like the decision had already been made. Like all I had to do was show up.” Angel tilted her head slightly. “And that didn’t strike you as weird?”

I gave an awkward smile. “Maybe. But it also felt kind of… like an honor. Like they saw something in me that I don’t fully understand yet.”

Theresa sighed. “Or something you’re not supposed to understand.”

Angel tapped a fingernail against the rim of her mug. “So what did they have you do?”

“Look at scenarios. Evaluate people. Nothing personal, just behavioral classifications. They want us to help establish the standard. What’s safe, what’s deviant. No punishments or anything, just flags.”

Mary kept talking, but all Theresa could hear was the rushing in her ears. She stared at the faded lettering on the mug in her hands and felt a familiar icy knot tighten in her stomach. It was the same feeling she’d had that afternoon when she was fourteen. The rejection. The judgment that couldn’t be undone.

I’m still not pure, she thought, gripping the ceramic so tightly her knuckles turned white. Otherwise the system would have found me. Otherwise I would have been chosen.

She looked at Mary, laughing and gesturing awkwardly with her hands. How could it be her? How could GRACE’s gaze have settled on Mary when Theresa had tried to sanctify every breath, every step, every thought for the HUD?

Angel’s expression softened, but her eyes remained sharp.

“And if you flag someone as a ‘risk’… what happens to them?”

I shrugged.

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe they just get some kind of recommendation.”

Theresa’s voice sounded flatter than I expected. “If enough people click the same button, a recommendation is as final as a sentence.”

I said nothing. My fingers tightened slightly around my mug.

An old MAGA mug, faded like someone had tried to scrub the logo off. Something that had belonged to Theresa’s foster father and that she was definitely not proud of. Angel had deliberately dug it out from the back of the cabinet.

I knew they were both watching me. That something hung in the air between us. A question I wasn’t answering because I already had a pretty good idea where it would lead.

So I stared at the mug. As if that were enough. As if looking down could somehow explain what I still couldn’t bring myself to say.

Just those scenarios. Those choices.

And the knowledge that I had entered something.

That something might stay there.

Theresa pushed her mug away slightly, her eyes narrowing.

“Jesus, Mare… you can’t just accept some invitation when you don’t even know what it is. For all you know, there could’ve been a bunch of creeps waiting for you in there with plans that had nothing to do with answering questions on a screen.”

I raised my eyebrows, mildly irritated.

“T, come on. I’m not an idiot.” But it came out too fast. Too smooth. And I felt it. So did she. For a moment, it hung there between us. The fact that I wasn’t entirely sure myself.

Angel pulled her knees up and grinned without much warmth.

“Sometimes I wonder, sweetie.”

I sighed but kept my mouth shut.

The tea had gone cold.

And suddenly it felt like I’d brought something home with me that I didn’t fully understand anymore.