The Contract

All characters in this work are over the age of eighteen, and entirely fictional.

"It's not that serious." I rolled my eyes at my dad. He really didn't seem to be getting it. "I've never had an issue with derivatives before, it's not going to be as hard as you're making it out to be." It was a rerun of the same conversation we'd had a dozen times since I signed up for a year of all AP classes.

"I don't think you're putting in the work, Jenny, you can't go through life like this!" He groused, slapping his hand on the steering wheel. He'd been picking me up more frequently recently, something about 'spending more time with me', which I assume is code for getting all the way up my ass about being a 'slacker' (in his opinion).

In truth, I'd just never had any problem at school. Almost everything came naturally to me. It's not that I'm some kind of savant, or that I'm the smartest person in the entire world, it's just that I'm good at working in the structured environment of high school. If I'm offered a four-answer multiple choice question, I can be sure that at least one of the answers is right, one of them is close, but wrong, and two are obviously incorrect. That pattern holds true regardless of where you are, so the whole thing becomes a game of sussing out which answer is right, and which answer is

almost

right. My dad, however, doesn't really see it like that.

"Jenny, in college, you're not going to have the luxury of every test being multiple choice, and you're not going to have the privilege of every teacher being your buddy." I narrowed my eyes at this last bit- I was friendly with my teachers, sure, but their praise during last year's parent-teacher conferences kept being weaponized back towards me.

"I don't need special treatment to get a perfect GPA, here or in college." I rolled my eyes again. He seemed incapable of understanding. "Just because I don't have to study for four hours a night, it doesn't mean I'm about to fail AP Calc. I'm not going to burn out at the finish line, dad." We rolled up to the driveway, classic suburbia, classic beige house. I unclipped my seatbelt and grabbed my bookbag, intent on hopping out before we even stopped. Dad's hand found my wrist to stop me- looking up, I found his eyes pleading, surprisingly tender.

"Please, Jenny, for me, just put in a little bit of effort." He paused, as if sensing my lack of interest in acquiescence. "It's what your mom would've wanted." He sounded sad, but with a hard undertone, as though he was chewing on the words. I grimaced at him.

"Mom wouldn't want me to work just to make you feel better about the future, she'd want me to be successful." I pointed at my bag. "The A-pluses in here tell me I'm being successful, so don't worry about it!" He was probably going to say something else, but instead I twisted from his hand. Popping the door of his old Jeep open and hopping down, I practically skipped up the driveway to the front door.

He wouldn't let it go, but I wasn't interested in discussing it further. He could hold my attention hostage in the car, but as soon as I got back to my room, I was home free, literally and figuratively.

I flipped the door closed behind me, kicking my flats off and shimmying out of my jeans, dropping them onto the pink bedspread I hadn't bothered to update in five years. It's not that I was averse to challenge, I just liked to pick my battles, and my current battle was with keeping my belly flat before college. I looked in the mirror, admiring my abs, the roundness of my shoulders, the dirty blonde hair spilling to touch the tops of said shoulders. My A-Cup breasts annoyed me, but the tightness of my body made up for them. I grabbed my joggers from the top drawer of my dresser, and snatched up my running shoes. This was a challenge I actually cared about, running was much more engaging than Calculus, and it got my blood pumping a lot more than English Literature.

I tiptoed out through the living room, dad was on the phone and gave me a stern nod. Even if we couldn't see eye-to-eye on my academic rigor, at least he wasn't going to make my home life a living hell. I relaxed a little bit, and slipped out the front door.

I caught the barest hint of his words as it swung closed behind me: "language" and then "airtight". Something work-related no doubt.

I ignored it as irrelevant. My focus for the day was on making sure I didn't let my body break down around me. I stretched for a bare minute, then started down the block.

It was sickening to watch my peers let themselves fall apart around me. They could keep themselves fit if they only tried, but so many of them had pronounced belly fat before even graduating high school.

I locked in and began to sprint, away from home, towards my future. Squinting against the sun, I gagged at the irony, both looked bright.

In the coming days, I saw a marked change in my relationship with my father. I didn't bother doing anything differently, and continued to do well in my studies regardless of how much time I spent hard at work, grinding over my textbooks. He, on the other hand, seemed much more relaxed and accepting of my outcome-oriented life philosophy. I attributed it to my sterling debate performance and convincing oration across our rides home from school.

He kept picking me up, but we talked about other things, hobbies, sports, that kind of stuff. I felt confident that I'd broken through his objections, and to be honest, felt a little bit full of myself. My friends would continue to complain about their parents not understanding them, while I got to run roughshod over my dad's objections. I was wearing the pants in our house, that's for sure!

About a week after my last conversation with dad, I was leaving AP Bio, chatting with friends, confident in my scholastic abilities, when my bliss was sharply interrupted by the crackle of our ancient intercom system.

"Jenny Jones, to the principal's office, Jenny Jones, to the principal's office." I groaned as everyone around me started to jeer and make jokes.

"Jenny, your reign of terror has finally come to an end." Quipped my friend, Stacy. I responded with a punch to the elbow, grimacing. I didn't usually get caught in my rule breaking (limited and surreptitious as it was), and couldn't think of what I'd possibly done to deserve punishment. Stacy tagged along as we walked down the long hallway, echoing with laughter and the sound of footsteps, smelling of equal parts body odor and Axe body spray.

"No more graffiti on the tennis court." Joked some random jock passing me in the hall. I flipped him off, but Stacy looked at me anxiously.

"That wasn't you, was it?" She asked in a hushed whisper. Gullible as the day she was born.

"Not unless I was sleepwalking again." I mimed staggering back and forth with eyes closed, imaginary paint cans in hand, drawing penises and expletives on the wall as we continued towards the office. Stacy relaxed, and I felt myself doing so too. I hadn't done anything wrong, maybe it was an award for being a straight-A student? Stacy drifted away as we approached the end of the hallway, giving me a small smile as I pushed the door open.

The gray-haired front administration lady (I never bothered to learn her name in all four years) was predictably dour and snippy, a lifetime of dealing with truants and miscreants had clearly worn her nerves sharp. She frowned at me as I entered the reception area, as though I was already convicted and found guilty of whatever it was that I was accused. Wordlessly, she pointed back into the administrative complex, towards the principal's private office.

I held my breath as I entered, hoping for the best, preparing for the worst.

I groaned, slinking down as I spotted my father, already seated in one of two chairs on my side of the principal's desk. Principal Warton sat on the other, grey hair framing his wrinkled visage, his fingers tented contemplatively, an ominous stack of paper with associated fancy black pen sitting atop the dark wood of his desk.

"Ms. Jones, please sit down." The principal's tone always struck me as cold, judgemental for sure, if not actively hostile. I sat, tentatively looking over at my father, who returned my gaze without comment.

For a heartbeat, the three of us were silent, letting the anticipation roost in the pit of my stomach.

"Ms. Jones, first of all, you're not in trouble." Warton stated, allowing me to breathe a silent sigh of relief. My dad grinned, he'd been intentionally winding me up. I withheld the urge to smack him. "In fact, you have an opportunity in front of you, an opportunity that I believe based on your past academic achievement, of which you could take full advantage." His finger stabbed down, and he pushed the papers towards me.

I reached over, flipping their orientation towards me, reading the headline.

The ISD 448 Program for High-Achieving Female Scholars

It stuck out at me, in black and white. I started to read the top few lines, but the legalese was thick. I bet it would've been difficult to understand for even seasoned legal professionals considering my intellect. I looked over at my father, then to Warton.

"Do you guys have a TLDR?" I asked, clarifying as a brief moment of confusion flashed across the principal's visage. "I mean, a summary- it's just a little dense..." Warton nodded, and sat back in his big leather chair.

"Ms. Jones, every few years, we're privileged to teach an excellent female student, a generational talent in academia who we believe will be a boon to the entire community, and whom we want to ensure is provided with every opportunity." He paused. "Regardless of financial situation." I glanced over at my father, his face was expressionless, but I almost giggled. A sick burn from the older man.

"In short, it's a contract for a- I suppose you could describe it as a wager- One five hour, independently proctored, multidisciplinary exam." He pointed up to a poster on the wall, describing some bullshit 'wheel of achievement' our curriculum supposedly followed. His finger followed the wheel's different quadrants as he listed them off. "Mathematics, English Language, Life Sciences, Technical Sciences, Entrepreneurship, and Social Studies." I rolled my eyes, the definitions were painfully trite. I almost yawned listening to his droning voice.

"Exemplary success in all six of these subjects will indicate a higher level of cognition, and indicate your preparedness for the next level of education." I bit my lip to keep myself from egging him on, his voice was interminable. "In short, a score above ninety-percent in this exam will allow you to immediately graduate from high school with A's in all classes, and provide you a full ride scholarship, housing and living stipend for any four, six, or eight-year program in the country." His statement hung in the room for a moment, shocking and heavy.

I stared at the contract, gears working in my mind. This could be Harvard, this could be Yale, Princeton, anywhere I wanted to go, I could go, for as long or short as I wanted, and I wouldn't even need to keep focusing on schoolwork until graduation in May.

"Where do I sign?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. I reached for the pen, but my father's hand reached over to forestall me.

"Let him finish, there's also a penalty, that's what makes it a

wager

." His voice was soft, warning. I held the pen in my hand, but looked up at Warton.

"I don't think I'm going to fail, but go ahead." My mind was racing with excitement, already picturing myself in an MIT-branded leather jacket (assuming they exist).

"Your father is right to caution you." The principal cleared his throat. "The penalty is rather severe-" He paused again, as if contemplating how to phrase his words, before carefully picking out each of them.

"The founders of this program believed that if a scholar fails their attempt, they are of no use to society for their brain." He made a noncommittal gesture, as if trying to soften a blow. "Failed scholars will forfeit their bodily autonomy for life, be immediately kicked out of the school, and will be required to-" He gave a small sigh. "Be required to- to

inbreed

with their closest immediate family member." I blinked, astounded by what I'd just heard.

"What kind of sense does that make?" I groused, finally understanding my father's presence. "It's not like a B means I'm worthless, just because it isn't an A, and anyway it's not like he'll follow through with it-" Warton raised his hand to stop my babbling.

"He is required to do so, and the independent monitoring committee will see to it that he does- the funding which would've gone to education is diverted to your living costs and the raising of the theoretical children." Warton reached across the desk to tap on the document. "You're both required to sign, and will abide by the terms of the contract. It's rather unconventional, but the founders were clear in their intent." I glanced over at my dad, his face purposefully blank as Warton sighed again, deeper this time. "This contract has already been challenged to the state supreme court, and found to be airtight. Once you sign, there's no going back." My leg jittered, shuddering with a mix of concern and anticipation. Warton gave a small, apologetic smile towards my father, who still wasn't looking in my direction.

"Are- are you okay with this?" I asked him, slightly skeeved out by the thought of my father sexually. I imagined my belly, swelling beyond my control, gaining the weight I hated, with no ability to work it off because of the baby growing inside me.

"I'm not the one taking the risk." He finally met my gaze, stating almost matter-of-factly, his tone measured and slow. "You'll need to study hard for this, no phoning this one in." I bristled at his words, and uncapped the pen, pushing his hand away as he sought to stop my movement. This was just another facet of our disagreement, another way for him to try and pressure me.

I paused, pen nib a centimeter above the first signature page. This was a

permanent

contract. This would determine the course of my life from here on out. I again pictured my flat abs replaced with a baby bump, and shivered.

Then I imagined myself at Stanford, at Harvard, at Penn or NYU. Free from my father's overbearing nature, emancipated by virtue of my intellect.

Both were equally possible for anyone else, both were a potential for the future.

But I'm special. I'm the most intelligent person to ever attend this school. I can do everything I want without studying, and I was going to knock this test out of the park.

Jenny Jones.

I signed.

Warton reached over to flip the page.

JJ.

I initialed.

Then signed.

Then initialed five more times.

I handed the pen to my father, his face still neutral, but I thought I could see the corner of his mouth rise. Pride in his little girl? Even though we were in conflict, he couldn't help but be proud.

Warton received the signed contract back from my dad, his face dour.

"Ms. Jones, you have one week from this meeting to prepare yourself. Your examination will take place in classroom B305, good luck." He reached across to offer his hand. I was still buzzing, but shook it. I grinned over at him.

"Don't worry, I always knew I was going to Harvard, I just didn't expect you guys to pay for it!" He didn't return my smile, instead pursing his lips. He nodded to my father, who returned the gesture.

"Allen, good to see you again." My dad said. I almost didn't hear him, my brain full of noise, full of excitement. I rushed out of the office, leaving my father in the dust.

I needed to tell someone, I needed to tell

everyone!

I was going to get a hundred percent, to be the best the program had ever seen. While my peers would still be trying to graduate, I would be free.

I

would

be the best.

Suffice to say, I wasn't circumspect about discussing my new opportunity. The words of the principal indicated that the school had seen the potential in my scholastic ability, which was perhaps giving me a little bit of a big head. I'm humble enough to admit that, which I think is commendable.

I was excused from classes for the next week to 'study', truthfully, that probably wasn't in the cards for me. My natural talent would be enough to carry me through. On the ride home, I texted Stacy to come over after school so I could tell her some big news, and just sat there, buzzing, practically humming with excitement and energy.

I glanced over at my dad, he was gripping the steering wheel tightly, his salt and pepper hair framing his face, his eyes fixed forward.

"So are you going to say it?" I asked, still riding high off of the meeting we'd just attended. He glanced over for the briefest of moments, a slight note of confusion in his eyes.

"Say what?" He asked.

"You know, say that you were

wrong?

" I gave him a smirk, confident that this opportunity validated me. His grip on the wheel tightened slightly, and he took a deep breath before responding.

"Jenny, don't count your chickens before they hatch, you need to-" I grinned, cutting him off with a punch to the shoulder.

"Come on, there's a legal document which says I'm the best student at the school!" I was elated, the 'study every night' methodology had well and truly been vanquished.

"That's not what that means, you still have to take the test, and it's going to be brutal." Dad narrowed his eyes, still focused on the road.

"It's going to be easy, just like every other test." I bragged, stretching in the passenger seat, languidly, as if experiencing a full-body massage.

I was startled when my father slapped his hand on the dashboard.

"That settles it!" His voice was louder than it had been, as if seeking to drown out any disagreement before I'd even voiced it. "Jenny, you give it your best shot, but I'm not going to bail you out if you fail. Study, don't study, who cares!" He swung into the driveway and yanked the key from the ignition, burning with passion and anger. "Best of luck!" His words were sarcastic, biting, as he slapped the door open and practically jumped from the car, eager to be away from me.

"When I get a perfect score, you'll have to eat crow!" I yelled after him, mirth still bubbling in my stomach.

He just didn't

get

me. Will Smith was right, parents just don't understand.

"Wow, so you're like,

smart-smart?

" Stacy was flopped on my bed, reading the copy of the contract the school had sent back with me. I was seated in my desk chair, painting my toenails with practiced ease.

"I mean, you know, that's not new information..." I stuck my tongue out at her, fanning the polish dry.

"Oh ha-ha, very funny." Stacy pouted. She had a rack that I always envied, D-cup at least, if not double, but she wasn't on my level academically. "Do you know what all this means?" She shook the pages of the contract meaningfully in my direction. "This -'forfeits bodily autonomy to her immediate male family member in perpetuity'- sounds, like, scary, right?" She wrinkled her eyebrows in concern, or perhaps in concentration to read such dense language.

"I mean, it's not like it's actually going to matter." I shrugged, re-dipping the brush into my favorite red polish. "I'm not going to fail, and even if I did, it's not like my dad would actually

do

anything. I've got him totally whipped since my mom died." I paused, awkward for a moment, a bit of an overshare. Stacy pushed past it.

"Okay, but like, it seems like it's like

really

specific -'to inbreed as frequently as medically possible for the remainder of her fertile window'- that's fucked up, right? Why would they even make a program like this?" She shuffled through the pages, looking at each clause I'd initialed.