CHAPTER2: The Test That Wasn't a Test
1918 Words
Ten minutes later, Malik Carter was still standing beside the scoreboard.
The basketball game had been forgotten.
So had the argument.
So had the broken control box.
Everyone on the court had developed the same expression people usually wore when somebody announced that aliens had landed nearby.
Confused.
Interested.
Slightly disappointed that nobody had brought popcorn.
Jamal stared at Malik's phone.
“Read it again.”
Malik frowned.
“I already read it.”
“I know. Read it again.”
Malik looked down.
The black screen remained unchanged.
YOU HAVE BEEN OBSERVED.
Underneath it:
YOUR FIRST EVALUATION BEGINS IN 7 MINUTES.
Jamal scratched his head.
“Maybe it's a prank.”
“Probably.”
“You sound like you don't believe that.”
“I don't.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever did this knows my name.”
Jamal shrugged.
“Everybody knows your name.”
“Not like this.”
Malik turned the phone around.
There was another line beneath the message now.
LOCATION: CARTER AUTO REPAIR — 1.8 MILES
Jamal's eyebrows rose.
“That's your uncle's shop.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe they know where you live.”
Malik looked at him.
“That is not helping.”
“I wasn't trying to.”
“Good.”
Malik slipped the phone into his pocket.
Then he picked up the basketball.
“Game's over.”
A boy near the free-throw line protested.
“We're tied!”
“Exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means nobody won.”
“That makes no sense.”
Malik tossed him the ball.
“Life is complicated.”
Jamal stared at him.
“You sound like somebody's grandfather.”
Malik walked away.
“I'm seventeen.”
“You sound seventy.”
Carter Auto Repair sat at the end of a narrow street in an aging industrial section of Columbus.
The shop belonged to Malik's uncle, Raymond Carter, a broad-shouldered man who believed three things were essential to survival:
A working vehicle.
A full stomach.
And never trusting anybody who wore shoes cleaner than their car.
Malik had spent half his childhood in the garage.
He could replace a brake pad before he could explain what a brake pad was.
He could rebuild a bicycle.
Repair a fan.
Replace a phone screen.
Take apart a game controller and somehow put it back together with fewer screws.
His uncle called him Professor as a joke.
Malik hated the name.
“You're late,” Uncle Raymond said when Malik entered.
“I was playing.”
“You always playing.”
“I was fixing something.”
“You always fixing something.”
“Then I'm not late.”
Raymond stared at him.
Malik smiled.
“That's what I thought.”
His uncle shook his head.
“Go bring me the socket set.”
“Which one?”
“The big one.”
“There are three.”
“The one I need.”
“That doesn't help.”
“You're the genius.”
“I never said that.”
“You don't have to.”
Malik disappeared into the back.
Raymond watched him go.
He had noticed something about the boy years ago.
Malik didn't learn things normally.
He absorbed them sideways.
Show him once, and he remembered.
Tell him ten times, and he forgot.
Give him a manual and he became sleepy.
Give him a broken engine and suddenly he was awake enough to rebuild civilization.
“Here.”
Malik returned with the correct socket set.
Raymond looked at it.
“You knew which one.”
“You said big.”
“And?”
“I listened.”
Raymond smiled.
“That's rare.”
Malik's phone vibrated.
He stopped.
The smile disappeared.
Raymond noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Malik looked at the screen.
EVALUATION BEGINS IN 4 MINUTES.
Then another message appeared.
NO COACH. NO PARENT. NO FRIEND.
Malik looked toward Jamal, who had followed him into the shop.
Jamal immediately raised both hands.
“I didn't say anything.”
Malik narrowed his eyes.
“I know.”
“Then why are you looking at me?”
“Because you're standing there.”
“Fair.”
Malik turned back to the phone.
A blue icon appeared.
It looked like an eye inside a basketball.
Below it was one word:
VANTAGE
Malik tapped it.
A black screen opened.
There was no registration page.
No password request.
No advertisement.
Just a single question.
IF YOU HAD ONE POSSESSION LEFT IN A GAME AND 3 SECONDS ON THE CLOCK, WHAT WOULD YOU DO?
Malik stared.
Jamal leaned over.
“Pass it.”
Malik shook his head.
“Why?”
“Because everybody expects the star to shoot.”
“So?”
“So I'd pass.”
“To who?”
Malik looked at the question again.
“Whoever the defense forgets.”
Jamal smiled.
“That's actually smart.”
Malik ignored him.
A second question appeared.
YOUR TEAM IS DOWN BY ONE. YOUR BEST PLAYER IS DOUBLE-TEAMED. YOUR SECOND-BEST PLAYER IS INJURED. WHAT DO YOU DO?
Malik typed:
Make the defense think the injured player is the target.
Jamal looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because they'll move.”
“And?”
“Then somebody becomes open.”
“Who?”
“Doesn't matter.”
“Why?”
Malik looked annoyed.
“Because that's the point.”
The next question appeared immediately.
WHAT IF YOUR TEAMMATES DON'T UNDERSTAND THE PLAN?
Malik typed:
Don't explain it. Show them.
There was a pause.
Then:
CORRECT.
Malik sat up.
Jamal's grin disappeared.
Another screen opened.
A virtual basketball court appeared.
Five blue circles.
Five red circles.
A timer began counting down.
00:30
Malik leaned closer.
“What's this?”
Jamal watched.
“Looks like a game.”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because nobody moves naturally.”
The virtual players began moving.
The blue team attacked.
The red team adjusted.
Malik watched.
Ten seconds.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
At twenty-five seconds, the entire screen froze.
A message appeared.
YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO CHANGE THE OUTCOME.
Malik's eyes moved rapidly.
He didn't touch the screen.
He watched the defenders.
One moved too quickly.
Another was slightly delayed.
The center was standing half a step too far from the basket.
Malik smiled.
He tapped one player.
Then another.
Then another.
The virtual court exploded into movement.
One blue player sprinted toward the corner.
A red defender followed.
Another blue player cut across the lane.
The center shifted.
Malik tapped the final player.
The screen displayed:
SHOT.
The ball flew.
Three points.
The buzzer sounded.
SUCCESS.
Jamal's mouth opened.
“You just did that without reading the instructions.”
Malik shrugged.
“There were instructions?”
Jamal stared at him.
“Exactly.”
A new message appeared.
YOU HAVE 90 SECONDS.
Then another:
BUILD A BETTER PLAN.
The court reset.
This time, the defense knew the first strategy.
Malik watched.
He didn't move.
Thirty seconds passed.
Jamal whispered:
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
“The mistake.”
“Whose?”
Malik pointed at the screen.
“Theirs.”
At the thirty-five-second mark, one defender moved.
Malik smiled.
“There.”
“What?”
“He always watches the ball.”
“So?”
“He doesn't watch the player.”
Malik tapped the screen.
A blue player cut behind him.
The defense collapsed.
Malik shifted another player toward the opposite side.
The virtual defenders scrambled.
Then Malik stopped.
He didn't complete the play.
Jamal looked confused.
“Why'd you stop?”
“Because that's too obvious.”
The screen suddenly changed.
WHY DID YOU ABANDON THE WINNING MOVE?
Malik typed:
Because they expected it.
There was a pause.
Then:
EXPLAIN.
Malik stared at the word.
He hated that word.
Explain.
It was the enemy of every teacher he'd ever had.
He typed:
If I can see the plan, they can see the plan.
Three seconds later:
EXCELLENT.
Then:
YOU ARE NOT BEING EVALUATED FOR BASKETBALL ALONE.
Malik's smile disappeared.
Another message appeared.
WHAT DO YOU THINK WE ARE TESTING?
He thought.
Basketball?
No.
Speed?
Maybe.
Strategy?
Definitely.
Computers?
Possibly.
He typed:
How I think.
The response came immediately.
YES.
Then:
AND HOW YOU REACT WHEN YOU DON'T KNOW THE RULES.
Malik stared at the screen.
That sentence bothered him.
Because it was accurate.
He had never been good at rules.
Not school rules.
Not textbook rules.
Not instructions.
But problems without rules?
Those were different.
Those were interesting.
The final screen appeared.
FINAL QUESTION.
Malik leaned forward.
YOU DISCOVER THAT THE PERSON OFFERING YOU AN OPPORTUNITY HAS LIED ABOUT YOUR ACADEMIC RECORD. THEY CLAIM IT WILL HELP YOU GET SELECTED. DO YOU ACCEPT THE OPPORTUNITY?
Jamal stopped breathing for a moment.
Malik read it twice.
Then three times.
He didn't answer immediately.
The garage suddenly seemed quieter.
His uncle's tools clinked somewhere behind them.
A car passed outside.
Malik stared at the question.
He could barely enjoy reading.
His grades weren't impressive.
His school records weren't pretty.
But the lie could change everything.
A team might look at him differently.
A scout might give him a chance.
A door could open.
And doors like that didn't come around every day.
Malik's thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Jamal whispered:
“What are you going to say?”
Malik didn't answer.
For the first time, the boy who could usually find a way around every problem looked genuinely uncertain.
Then he typed:
NO.
The screen remained still.
He added:
If I need a lie to get through the door, somebody else owns the door.
Nothing happened.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Then the screen went completely black.
Jamal frowned.
“That's it?”
Malik waited.
A final message appeared.
EVALUATION COMPLETE.
Then:
SCORE: CLASSIFIED.
Malik laughed.
“What kind of stupid score is classified?”
Jamal laughed too.
“Maybe you failed.”
“Maybe.”
The screen changed again.
MALIK CARTER.
YOUR PROFILE HAS BEEN ACTIVATED.
Then:
DESTINATION: DETROIT, MICHIGAN.
Malik stopped laughing.
Jamal looked at him.
“Detroit?”
Another message appeared.
REMOTE EVALUATION: 72 HOURS.
Then:
DO NOT TELL ANYONE ABOUT VANTAGE.
Malik stared at the screen.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Uncle Raymond shouted from the other side of the garage.
“Malik!”
“Yeah?”
“You finish that computer thing?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Come help me with this engine.”
Malik closed the Vantage application.
“Coming.”
He took three steps.
His phone vibrated again.
He stopped.
Slowly, he looked down.
A photograph had appeared.
It showed Malik on the basketball court that afternoon.
Taken from above.
He was standing beside the scoreboard.
The timestamp was two hours earlier.
Malik's face tightened.
Under the photograph were seven words:
DETROIT IS ONLY THE FIRST DOOR.
He looked toward the garage entrance.
The afternoon sunlight poured across the concrete.
For the first time, the ordinary little shop seemed different.
Not dangerous.
Not frightening.
Just watched.
Malik slipped the phone into his pocket.
Then he walked toward his uncle.
He didn't know who Vantage was.
He didn't know why they had chosen him.
And he certainly didn't know what Detroit had waiting for him.
But Malik Carter had always possessed one quality that nobody had ever managed to grade.
Curiosity.
And curiosity, he was about to discover, could be more dangerous than intelligence.
Sometimes, all it took was one unanswered question.
And Malik already had several.
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