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Jana puts up her hand.

“Yes, Ms. Jones?”

“What stressors, sir?”

“That’s a good question, a good question. What stressors, indeed!” Dr. Witmer smiles broadly, his face looking like someone who just won a million dollars. “It is thanks to The Association’s hard work during the last fifty years at trying to eradicate psychogenic mental illness altogether that you can even ask that question, young lady!”

Jana smiles to herself, as if her question was something brilliant. I roll my eyes at her, but I don’t think she notices.

“Unfortunately for your grandparents and great-grandparents, numerous stressors existed during the Social Media Era. Daily life was unpredictable at best, with individuals falling in love on a whim and entering entirely unsuitable relationships, often
on-line
, as it were. Occupational choices were often made based on something as vague as someone’s
interests
, as if they were choosing an appetizer rather than a life’s career.” Dr. Witmer shakes his head. “In such an era, who can be surprised that the rates of psychogenic depression, anxiety, and substance abuse, as well as somatic illnesses such as chronic pain or recurrent headaches, began to skyrocket?” Dr. Witmer sighs. “First Years, it is thanks to the widespread implementation of Typology by Association Psychologists from across the globe that massive changes systematically took place in society, leading to true order, predictability, and balance for the first time. Such changes were of course welcomed by the majority of most countries’ constituents and have proved to be highly adaptive. They have led to a sharp decline in psychogenic mental illness in just two generations, as well as the closing of several pharmaceutical giants!” Dr. Witmer chuckles to himself, before turning back to the blackboard. “Antidepressants? I don’t think so!”

Dr. Witmer then writes GENETIC across the board. “For decades there was debate in the scientific community in terms of genetics and mental illness. Which disorders seemed to have a genetic link? Which ones were more shaped by environment? In the Social Media Era, there was a belief that some highly complex mishmash between genes and environmental factors led to mental illness. To that I say, Poppycock!’

I snort and turn to look at Noah, who rolls his eyes.

“To review, the implementation of Typology led to a decline in many societal stressors, which in turn resulted in a sharp drop in the rates of all forms of psychogenic mental illness. This has let us identify for the very first time the remaining minority of individuals who are experiencing a mental illness that has a genetic cause. Sadly, such a cause is passed on from generation to generation unless something stands in its way to stop the transmission once and for all.” Dr. Witmer pauses again, to write HARMONY and SERENITY across the board. “After merely one generation had lived under Typology’s umbrella, Psychologists and other professionals were able to identify which persons presented a fleeting mental health condition, such as depression following a spouse’s death, and which individuals had long-term, permanent disease. For those with more minor, short-term difficulties, we have learned that sending afflicted children to Harmony for a Temporary stay or adults to Serenity, and having our standard intervention protocol applied, can eliminate any lingering psychogenic problems for good.”

I suddenly sit up straight, afraid of what might be coming next.

“We are then left with a few poor souls who clearly can’t benefit from the protocol, those individuals who have had the misfortune to have faulty genes passed on to them by their unwitting or selfish parents. These individuals experience chronic depressive disorders, unrelenting alcoholism, florid psychosis, mental retardation, or autism spectrum disorders, to name a few of the organic diseases that persist to this day. It is for these remaining patients that a lifelong stay in Full is clearly required, with a meaningful and rich life still provided to them.”

My stomach starts to tighten and an image of James enters my mind.
Don’t think about him. Don’t think about him
.

“First Years, it was clear to the early Association Psychologists that we needed to stop passing defective genes from one generation to the next. To ignore such transmission would have unnecessarily increased suffering and bordered on abuse. As a result, First Years, the dreaded
surgical interventions
I am sure you have heard about began to be used to ensure that each poor individual would be the last in their line. Yes, they would still have a full and meaningful life, with all of the comforts they deserved as human beings, but they would no longer be able to create a new generation of…miscreants. Such surgery has been a life-saver, a quick and painless procedure that allows us to say that genetically-transferred mental illness will soon be a thing of the past.” Dr. Witmer smiles at the class. “Yes, class, thanks to our advanced sterilization techniques, for the first time in history, mental illness will truly become an artifact of a long-gone era. Take Autism Spectrum Disorders, for example. The rate has dropped from 1 in 88 in the Social Media Era to less than 1 in 10,000 today.” He pauses and shakes his hands together. “Future generations will thank us.”

“But how will they thank us if they never even get to exist?” Noah calls out.

The teacher raises his eyebrows. “I was not referring to the genetically flawed, Mr. Philips, but rather to your own children and your grandchildren, who will undoubtedly be relieved to no longer bear the burden of having to finance the costs of housing the…more unfortunate.”

Jana raises her hand and Dr. Witmer nods at her. “I for one am already grateful, sir,” she says.

I glance over at Noah, who shrugs at me. I can’t stop thinking about my brother.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

‘Pooh!’ he whispered. ‘Yes, Piglet?’ “Nothing,’ said Piglet, taking Pooh’s paw. ‘I just wanted to be sure of you.’

—A. A. Milne

“Oh my god,
I thought that would never end,” I whisper as the Guest Lecturer finally stops talking.
This is the kind of big Saturday night that Hannah was bragging about?

“Really? You didn’t like it?” Emily asks, her dimples disappearing. “I didn’t understand everything he said, but what I did get was so…fascinating!” She talks in a breathless way that makes me want to protect her from anything or anyone that could hurt her.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I lie. I stand up and join the line of kids forming quietly in the middle of the room, without any teacher in sight.
What is it with ISTJers and lines, anyway
? Just as we’re about to go down a flight of stairs, Emily grabs at my arm.

“Oh my god! My notebook! I left it on my chair in Lecture A!”

“You’ll have to get it tomorrow then,” Jana says from in front of me, her voice sounding more like Ms. Williams than a twelve-year-old girl. “If we don’t hurry, we won’t make it make in time for Lights Out Count.”

“But I need my notebook!” Emily grabs my arm tighter. “What if it goes missing? I wrote down everything about Logic and Philosophy, everything!”

“You should have kept a better eye on it, then,” Jana says.

“I’ll go back with you,” I say, stepping out of line. Jana turns to look at us and I stick out my tongue.

“Thanks!” Emily says. She steps out of line too, then races down the hall. Jana rolls her eyes at me, but stays in line.

I try to follow Emily down one hallway, then another, but she’s too fast for me.
What’s the rush, anyway
? I’m about to walk past Lecture B when I notice that the door is a bit open. Could she have gone in there by mistake? I take a step in the room and push the door open more.

“Emily? Are you in here? This isn’t the right room! We were in Lecture A, remember?” I try to push the door open more to get through, but keep hitting something solid. I push again with my shoulder, using all of my weight.

“Ow,” says a voice. “Can you maybe stopping hitting me with the door?”
A boy
.

I squeeze into the room and then shut the door behind me. Lying on the floor in the dark is Noah. When I see him, most of me wants to pretend I didn’t and just leave him there.
It would serve him right
! But there’s that small part of me, the part Aaron always really liked, that won’t let me just walk away from a kid who’s lying on the floor in the dark, moaning.

“What’s wrong?”

“My head…” he moans again.

“Your head? Did I hit it with the door or something? I didn’t mean to, but how was I to know you were lying there. I mean—”

“No….migraine!” he moans.

I take a step closer and bend down. It’s hard to see but I can tell he’s covering his eyes with one arm, as if to block me out. I reach out a hand and touch his forehead. “You don’t feel hot.”

“Why would I be hot? It’s a headache, not the plague!”

I pull my hand away. “I think you need to go to the Infirmary. I’ll take you there.”

“No! Not the Infirmary!”

“But you need some sort of medicine. You need to see the nurse to help—”

“I’ve got all the medicine I need,” he says. I suddenly notice a bottle in his hand, which he holds up to his lips. It’s then I breathe in the smell of booze.

“Are you drunk?” I ask. I don’t want to sound shocked, but I can’t help it. I’ve never known anyone to have more than one drink before, and never a kid.

“I knew you were bright,” Noah says, raising the bottle in my direction. “Ow…”

“But…you’re twelve!”

“First of all, I’m fourteen, little girl, but don’t let anyone else know. I missed over a year of Primary when my dad died. Had lots and lots of headaches.” He points to his head. “My mom told everyone I was having a
delayed grief reaction
and they bought it!” He lets out a laugh, which fills the room with a lonely sound. “Anyway, they let me start here late. So there you go!”

He takes another sip of the bottle, then shakes it. “Oh man, I hate when it gets empty and my head still hurts.”

“But, why don’t you let the nurse help you?”

“I did, until they ran through all these tests and informed me that I was fine and that the headaches had to be…psychological. After that I got shipped off for five weeks to Harmony.”

“But why? For headaches?”

Noah laughs again. “Being sent there worked for me,” he says. “Let’s just say that I’m forever cured of ever asking for help for the headaches.”

“But what’s so bad about headaches?”

Noah moves up onto his elbow, then his knees. He brings his face close to mine, his breath reeking of rum. I force myself not to move. “God, you really
are
this naïve, aren’t you?”

“But—”

“Sophie? Sophie? I found my notebook!” Emily calls out.

“I’m coming!” I answer. “Just a second!”

Before I have a chance to get out of the room, Emily sticks her head around the corner.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hey, join the party,” Noah says, raising the empty bottle. “Although from the looks of it the party’s about to end.” He tosses the bottle onto the floor.

I pick it up and shove it under my sweater. The glass feels cool against my skin.

“We’ve got to help him,” I say to Emily. “He won’t go to see the nurse.”

“Why would he need to go to the nurse for being drunk?” Emily asks.

“Listen to your little friend there,” Noah says. He grins, then suddenly closes his eyes as if hit in the head by a hammer.

I stand up and pull Emily into the hall. “He needs our help,” I whisper. “We’ve got to get him out of there before someone sees.”

“But we’ve got to get back to our floor! We’re going to miss Lights Out Count! Jana will be so mad!” Emily takes a step away from me towards the stairs, then another.

“We’ve
got
to help him,” I insist. “He’s an ISTJer and we’ve got to stick together.” I see the image of the words on our dorm room wall and look directly into her eyes. “He’s
depending
on us.”

Emily bites her lower lip but stops moving to the exit. “Okay,” she says. “What’s the plan?”

“We’ve got to get him out of the room and into his dorm.”

“But the boys’ dormitory is on the other side of ISTJ. We’ll never get there before Lights Out!”

“Then we’ve got to take him to our room. He can hide under your bed.”

“Jana will never agree,” Emily says, glancing down the hallway.

“We’ll make her understand, don’t worry,” I say. “Come on already!”

We push our way back into the room and get to either side of Noah, who’s back to lying on the floor. We first try pulling on his shirt, but when that doesn’t work, Emily puts her hands under one of his arms and I put mine under the other. After a few failed tries, we get him upright, his feet sliding all over the floor.

“I need to go to bed,” he moans. “I need to lie down!”

“If you lie down now you’re going to get caught and put back in Harmony,” I hiss.

“Why Harmony?” Emily asks from the other side.

I ignore her question and focus on trying to force Noah down the hallway. He’s heavier than I expected, his weight solid muscle and bone. Lucky for me, lucky for Noah, my roommate is stronger than she looks. Emily manages to push-pull Noah to the staircase and then almost drag him down two flights of stairs with me following.

As we reach a hall with double doors at the other end of it, she leans Noah against me. “I need a break,” she says, breathing heavily. “Can you hold him while I go get the door?” I nod and watch as Emily walks quickly down the hall.

Suddenly Noah turns his mouth to my ear. “How could you stand that lecture? I’d have needed double the booze just to get through it,” he whispers.

“I don’t care,” I whisper back. “I mean, so it was boring, so what? They’ll make it up to us with lots of parties soon.”

Noah snorts. “Lots of parties soon? Who told you that?”

“My sister,” I whisper, starting to walk slowly with Noah towards the doors. “Almost every Saturday night she goes to dances and parties and bowling and stuff. Sometimes with other Home Schools too, to meet lots of people.”

“Let me guess. Your sister isn’t an Intro, is she?”