The Line by Teri Hall Page A

collaborators. Many of those people who protested were too. They were the beginning. And now the collaborators have members everywhere.”
    Vivian reached for Rachel’s hand, held it in her own, stroking it. “Your father,” she whispered, “was a member. So was I.”
    Rachel stared at her mother’s face. “You were . . .” She stuttered to silence. She knew what collaborators were, sort of. People who fought the wrongs of the government, people who led shadowy, hidden lives, doing illegal things in the name of freedom. Vivian’s homeschool lessons had always emphasized that the government reports calling collaborators “criminals” and “threats to society” were nothing more than political dogma. She called the collaborators “revolutionaries.”
    “We were collaborators.” Vivian held her hand tighter. “Your father didn’t go fight in that war because he believed in the cause. He went because he was sent. The government was on to us, and they sent your father to serve in that war as a punishment. It was an easy way to get rid of him. You and I moved to The Property because we had to, after he was gone.”
    “I don’t understand, Mom.” Rachel was bewildered. “You told me Dad was a successful architect. You said we had a good life. Why would the two of you have been collaborators?”
    “I’m going to explain it, Rachel. So you will understand.” Vivian turned in her seat so she was facing Rachel. She said nothing for a few moments, gathering her thoughts.
    Rachel watched different expressions flicker across Vivian’s face, but she was unfamiliar with every one of them. She felt as though she had just stepped off a curb where none was expected; that odd, fleeting sense of weightlessness when one’s foot encounters a void instead of solid ground.
    Finally, Vivian spoke.
    “We did have a good life. It made us perfect recruits for the collaboration. In college we had spotless backgrounds, the prospect of good jobs, and we could move through society without rousing suspicion. But we also had reasons to hate that society, Rachel. Reasons like your father’s childhood friend Alex. Your father told me so many stories about him. He said Alex was bright and promising, full of hope. He painted watercolors, and he wrote poetry—wonderful poetry, according to Daniel.”
    Rachel shook her head. “What does Dad’s childhood friend have to do with being collaborators?”
    “It’s what happened to him, Rachel. Alex was a factory worker’s son. He was denied the chance to explore his talents, to go to college like Daniel, to ever earn more than enough to survive, simply because his father didn’t have the money to secure an admission. He took the general population exams and easily qualified, but there were more secured admissions than openings. You’ll be taking those exams soon enough, Rachel. And no matter how well you do on them, you wouldn’t get into any college at all if I didn’t have certain . . . savings . . . set aside.”
    “You mean the tuition creds?”
    “No.” Vivian shook her head. “That will only cover tuition . People need a lot more than that to get into college. I have some extra savings I brought with us when we came here. Your father and I . . . we had some black-market gold. I plan to use it to get you a secured admission. Otherwise, you would be in exactly the same position your dad’s friend Alex was.”
    Vivian was silent for so long that Rachel wondered if she was going to continue. When she did, her voice was much softer.
    “It used to be that if you were smart and hardworking, you could go to college no matter who you were, Rachel. At least you had a chance. But things like secured admissions to college became routine a long time ago, before your father and I were even born. It became normal to have to buy your way into college. If you don’t have the creds or the connections, your choices in life are limited. Most people just accept their lot, because there really