Dad leads me over to the oak bench Hamin made Mom for her birthday and takes a seat. I sit next to him and wait for him to speak.

Crickets chirp. Wind rustles the tree branches above us. From somewhere deep in the lengthening shadows come the faint sounds of wolves and other animals prowling in the night.

After what seems like forever, Dad takes my hand and holds it tight. When he speaks, I have to lean close to hear him. “There are things I’ve never told you. I had hoped to never tell you. Even now I’m not certain I should.”

I sit up straighter. “Is it about The Testing?”

Dad has never talked about his Testing or much about his days spent at the University no matter how many questions I’ve asked. For a moment I feel closer to him, knowing we’ll share this experience. Then the moment is shattered.

“You should never have been chosen.”

The words slap me across the face. I try to pull my hand free, but my father holds on tight. His eyes are staring into the darkness, but the expression on his face says he is not seeing anything. The glint of fear in his expression makes me forget my hurt. A knot of worry grows in my chest as my father’s eyes meet mine.

“My parents and I dreamed of me being chosen for The Testing. Our family was barely surviving. Omaha Colony was one of the largest colonies in the Commonwealth. There were too many people. Not enough resources. There was never enough food for everyone. We all knew someone who had died from starvation. My parents believed I could help fix that. Restore balance to the earth. I wanted them to have the money the government gives Testing candidate families to compensate them for the loss of the student. And I admit that part of me believed my parents. I believed I could help. I wanted to try.”

That the government compensates Testing candidate families is news to me. I want to ask if he and Mother will be compensated when I leave, but I withhold my question as Dad continues talking.

“There were only fourteen colonies then. Seventy-one of us assembled in the Testing Center. They tell me The Testing for my class took four weeks. I don’t remember a single day. Sixteen of us were chosen to move on. The head of the Testing committee said Testing memories are wiped clean after the process is complete to ensure confidentiality.”

“So you can’t tell me what the tests will be like?” Disappointment churns inside me. I had hoped my father’s experience would help me prepare—give me an edge. No doubt this was exactly what the Commonwealth government was preventing by removing my father’s memories.

“I remember arriving at the Testing Center. I remember being assigned a roommate, Geoff Billings. I remember us toasting our bright futures with full glasses of fresh milk and eating cake. There was lots of food and excitement. We could barely sleep that first night knowing our dreams could end the next day if we didn’t perform well on the tests. The next thing I remember is sitting in a room filled with chairs being told The Testing was complete. I started attending University classes three weeks later. Geoff wasn’t there. Neither were the two girls from my colony who traveled with me.”

Somewhere in the night an owl screeches, but Dad doesn’t seem to hear it. “The University was challenging. I enjoyed my classes. I liked knowing I was doing something important. My parents were able to send word that they were safe and well and proud. I was happy. I never gave a thought to Geoff or the other Testing candidates who didn’t pass.”

He closes his eyes and I sit beside him, wondering what it would feel like to lose the memories of my friends. To only remember the day I met Daileen. To not remember the giggles and the adventures we’ve had. The idea makes me want to cry, and I lace my fingers through my father’s to make us both feel better.

“I went to Lenox Colony after I graduated. There was a botanist who was close to a breakthrough, and the Commonwealth thought my ideas might help. I worked there a year before I ran into a boy who reminded me of Geoff. That night I started having dreams. I’d wake up sweating, heart racing, not knowing why. Not a night would pass uninterrupted. My work began to suffer, and the government medics gave me pills to help with sleep. The pills didn’t stop the dreams. They just made it harder for me to escape them. In the light of day I began to remember the dreams. Just flashes at first. Geoff giving me a thumbs-up from across a white room with black desks. A large red-numbered clock counting down the time as my fingers manipulated three blue wires. A girl screaming.”

My father lets go of my hand and stands. I feel a flicker of fear as he runs a hand through his hair and then begins to pace.

“The flashes stopped. In their place was one recurring dream. Geoff, a girl named Mina, and me walking down a street lined with burned-out steel buildings. Broken glass covers the street. We’re looking for water and a place to sleep for the night. The buildings are so badly damaged that we’re nervous about using them for shelter, but we might have to because of the predators we’ve seen at night. Mina is limping. I spot a large branch and offer to make her a walking stick. While I’m working, Geoff scouts down the block. Mina tells him not to go too far. He promises he won’t. A few minutes later he yells he’s found something. Then the world explodes.”

Dad goes still. My heart pounds loud in my chest. Dad’s voice has gotten so quiet I have to lean forward to hear him say, “I find Mina first—half buried under a slab of concrete, blood running down her face.”

Dad swallows hard. His breathing is rough. His hands clench and unclench at his sides. I can tell he wants to stop talking. I want him to stop. This feels too real. I can see the blood. I can feel my father’s fear.