Type

TYPE

Alicia Hendley

Five Rivers Publishing

www.fiveriverspublishing.com

Published by Five Rivers Publishing, 704 Queen Street, P.O. Box 293, Neustadt, ON N0G 2M0, Canada www.fiveriverspublishing.com

TYPE
, Copyright © 2013 by Alicia Hendley

Edited by Lorina Stephens

Cover Copyright © 2013 by Jeff Minkevics

Interior design and layout by Lorina Stephens

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of the book.

Publisher’s note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Text set in Adobe Caslon Pro

Title set in Trajan Pro

Byline set in Chaucer

Published in Canada

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Hendley, Alicia, 1970-

Type [electronic resource] / Alicia Hendley.

Electronic monograph in EPUB format.

Issued also in print format.

ISBN 978-1-927400-30-2

I. Title.

PS8615.E533T96 2013 C813’.6 C2013-901718-6

To Sophie F., whose inner pluck was the inspiration for the main character.

Here’s to you, Soph.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First and foremost,
I’d like to thank my four children. Daniel and Meghan, thanks for putting up with my frequent ramblings about psychologists and dystopian worlds, not to mention your helpful feedback about the book. You were both great sounding boards! Maxwell and Sammy, thanks for being such loveable, cuddly distractions when I most needed distracting. And thanks also to my husband, Joel, for knowing just when it would be most helpful to take my lovely little distractions for a trip to the park!

While this novel paints a world in which most psychologists cannot be trusted, I’d like to acknowledge the many wonderful Psychology professors and psychologists I’ve had the privilege to know over the years. Thanks to my first Psychology professor, Dr. Donald Morgenson, who provided a “bucket list” of books to read along with his Intro Psych. syllabus, and insisted that each student provide a book report on one of the novels before the course was through (I naively chose
The Brothers Karamazov
!). Thanks also to Drs. Doug Mckenzie-Mohr, Richard Walsh-Bowers, Geoff Nelson, Mark Pancer, and Isaac Prilleltensky, for teaching me to always be aware of the inherent power imbalance found in health practitioner/client relationships.

Thanks to Dr. Cheryl Thomas, who weathered the storms of both my Master’s and Ph.D. theses and taught me that paring down my writing can often be a good thing. Thanks to Drs. David Jones, Michael Zwiers, and Tracy Morgan, psychologists I’ve had the pleasure of working with and who I’ve been lucky to have as friends. Finally, a heartfelt thank you to Drs. Barry Taub and Jim Porter, two of the most ethical psychologists I know. Thank you both for teaching me the importance of being authentic to oneself. It was this lesson which eventually led me down the path towards writing.

I’d like to thank the two main cheerleaders in my family, my mother, Margaret Hendley, and my big brother, Nate Hendley. Thank you for reading whatever drafts I thrust towards you and for always encouraging me to continue writing. Thanks also to the rest of my family and to my close friends for being so supportive. I may not have room to list you all here, but please know that your encouragement and kind words are not forgotten.

Thanks to my friend Jeff Paleczny, for allowing me to pick his brain about sustainable community development and living off the grid and for letting me believe that no question is a dumb one.

I’d also like to thank my publisher and editor extraordinaire, Lorina Stephens, for once again taking a chance on me and seeing the potential within my manuscript. Thanks to your thoughtful editing, the novel I envisioned became transformed into the one that’s now on paper.

Finally, I’d like to say thank you to Katharine Cook Briggs and her daughter, Isabel Briggs Myers, for creating a tool for evaluating one’s personality, a tool which, in its essence, is clearly only meant to be used for good.

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 7

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE 10

CHAPTER TWO 14

CHAPTER THREE 19

CHAPTER FOUR 22

CHAPTER FIVE 26

CHAPTER SIX 29

CHAPTER SEVEN 35

CHAPTER EIGHT 42

CHAPTER NINE 45

CHAPTER TEN 55

CHAPTER ELEVEN 59

CHAPTER TWELVE 63

CHAPTER THIRTEEN 65

CHAPTER FOURTEEN 69

CHAPTER FIFTEEN 72

CHAPTER SIXTEEN 76

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 83

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 87

CHAPTER NINETEEN 91

CHAPTER TWENTY 94

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 102

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 106

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 109

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 118

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 121

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 126

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 129

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 132

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 136

CHAPTER THIRTY 142

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 145

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO 148

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE 152

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR 157

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE 160

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX 162

PART TWO

CHAPTER ONE 169

CHAPTER TWO 176

CHAPTER THREE 185

CHAPTER FOUR 190

CHAPTER FIVE 193

CHAPTER SIX 196

CHAPTER SEVEN 199

CHAPTER EIGHT 203

CHAPTER NINE 206

CHAPTER TEN 212

CHAPTER ELEVEN 220

CHAPTER TWELVE 225

CHAPTER THIRTEEN 228

CHAPTER FOURTEEN 232

CHAPTER FIFTEEN 237

CHAPTER SIXTEEN 241

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 243

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 246

CHAPTER NINETEEN 250

CHAPTER TWENTY 252

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 262

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 266

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 271

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 275

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 282

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 284

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 290

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 294

END NOTES 298

About the Author 308

Books by Five Rivers 309

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

All the other bulls…would fight each other all day…But not Ferdinand—he still liked to sit just quietly under the cork tree and smell the flowers.

—Munro Leaf

As soon as
Dr. Saunders opens the lunchroom door, all of the kids stop talking. Even though we know what is about to happen, even though we’ve all seen the same thing about a hundred times before, everyone is excited. Everyone, that is, but me. As Dr. Saunders walks towards Aaron, I push at my stomach with both of my fists, to try and shove away the jealous feeling. What kind of person isn’t happy about their best friend’s Card Day? Lucky for me, I’m a good actress.

“He’s coming, he’s coming!” I whisper to Aaron, poking him with my elbow. “Can you believe you’re going to get it in just a few seconds? I mean, can you actually believe it?”

“Yeah, shhhh,” he whispers back, staring at his plate.

I sigh, then turn to look again at Dr. Saunders.
How can Aaron stay so calm
? I watch as Dr. Saunders gets closer and closer and closer, until all of a sudden he is right in front of our table. He stops next to Aaron, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope.

“For you, Mr. Ferguson,” he says, putting the envelope down on the table. He then looks at me and nods, before walking away.

Aaron stares at the envelope for a few seconds, not moving.

I nudge him again with my elbow. “Aren’t you going to open it already?”

He reaches out his hand and slowly picks it up, turning it over and over. After what seems like forever he opens the envelope, also very slowly. When it’s my turn next month, I’m going to rip the thing open in two seconds, but then I’m not an Intro. Aaron pulls out the Card and then stares at it.

“So what’s it say?” I grab the thick paper from his hand. “It says you go tomorrow! Oh my god! Can you believe it? You actually go tomorrow!”

Aaron looks down at his lap. “I don’t want to go without you.”

“But you have to do your Assessment first,” I say. “You’re now twelve and I’m still just eleven! You
know
that!”

“But what if I get scared?” Aaron turns and looks at me, his green eyes big and frightened.

“Just remember that I’ll be there in five more weeks. You can do this for five weeks, can’t you?”

Aaron shrugs. “Promise you’ll come to my Home School? Swear it?”

I poke him in the shoulder. “How can you even say that? Of
course
I’m going to come! We’re best friends, remember? They wouldn’t dare separate us!”

“But…how will you even know which one I’ve gone too?”

“My dad works for The Association, remember?” I say. “He knows
everything
.”

“Okay,” he says. The lunch bell rings and he pushes his chair back. “I think I’m going to go to a Quiet Room now.”

“But you can’t!”

Aaron looks at me, confused. “It’s Break Time. I always go to a Quiet Room at Break Time.”

“Yeah, but not today, okay?” I push my chair back too and stand up. “I need you to come with me to one of the Social Rooms today.” I pull on his sleeve.

“But why would I do that? I hate the Social Rooms.”

“Just do it for me, okay? I mean, it’s your last day here!”

Aaron looks at me and blinks. “That’s why I want to go to one of the Quiet Rooms. I need to think about some stuff and say goodbye.” He looks at the card in his hands. “I’m really going to miss this place. There’s a beanbag chair that I always sit on in Quiet Room B and I don’t know where to find another one like it…”

“You can sit on it later!” I can tell that my voice sounds kind of impatient, but I can’t help it.
Why won’t he be spontaneous for once?

“I don’t want to go to a Social Room,” he says again. “You can go to the Social Room. I want to go to Quiet Room B. It’s my last day and I should be able to do whatever I want!” Aaron sounds stubborn. He’s usually so quiet that I often forget he has this side of him too.

I lean over and whisper into his ear. “You dumb, stupid-head! There’s a surprise party for you in Social Room C! We put up balloons and streamers and everything, in case you got your Card today! We were even allowed to get cupcakes! Everyone’s waiting for us! You have to go!”

Aaron gives me a how-could-you-do-this-to-me look, but I ignore it. After all, it isn’t every day that you get to plan a surprise party for your best friend, is it? Whether Aaron likes it or not isn’t really the point. The point, at least to me, is that I get to have one last chance to show Aaron him how much he means to me. And there’s no way that I’m going to let him ruin it for me, Intro or not.

Slowly, Aaron stands up and lets me lead him to the Social Room. As we walk through the door, all of the kids yell surprise and rush over to hug him. I look around the room, at the decorations that a group of us put up just a few hours ago. There are orange and black balloons, Aaron’s favourite colours, and streamers hanging down from the ceiling. Music is playing and a couple of kids are dancing. Even though we just finished lunch, there are bowls of chips and dip and even a huge tray of cupcakes. They’re chocolate, with orange icing.

“Isn’t this great?” I ask, turning to my best friend. “We did it all for you! All of this for you!” I grab his hands and start to jump up and down, but he remains stiff. “Aaron! Come on! Get happy!”

Aaron looks at me, then down at his feet. “I’ll stay for ten minutes, but then I want to go to Quiet Room B, okay? You
know
I hate parties.”

I can feel my frustration building but I try to ignore it. “Fine, ten minutes. But only if you promise to have a good time!”

Aaron sighs loudly, then nods. I watch as he goes to the refreshment table and grabs a handful of chips, then leans against a wall, not talking to any of the other kids.
What’s his problem, anyway
? I’m about to go follow him, when one of my other friends pulls me by the shirt.

“Dance, Sophie!” she giggles.

I smile back and we dance around the room like crazy, holding hands and banging into other people. One kid grabs a handful of pretzels and throws them in the air, while another dumps a cup of punch on someone else’s head. The music is turned up louder and I begin to move faster and faster, all my feelings about Card Day and Aaron leaving and him hating my party mixing up together and coming out in my dancing.
At least I’m having fun, Aaron! At least I’m not a party-pooper! As least I can enjoy this
!

After about three songs, my anger and hurt are all danced away and I’m ready to be with my best friend again. I turn towards the refreshment table, but he’s not there. I then look around all of Social Room C, but don’t see Aaron anywhere.
Gone
.

CHAPTER TWO

I wish Pooh were here. It’s so much more friendly with two.

—A. A. Milne

“I hear Aaron
was accepted into ISTJ,” my father says at supper a few days later, scooping mashed potatoes onto his plate before passing the bowl to my sister. “His parents must be very proud!”

“Is that a good Home School?” I ask.

My mom nods. “It’s one of the best. Many of our finest business executives had their start at an ISTJ.”

“It would drive me insane to go there,” my sister says. “If you ask me, there’s too much thinking going on at any of the Intro schools, and too little excitement!”

“ISTJ is where I want to go, too,” I say, ignoring Hannah. “Do I just ask the Psychologists if I can go there when I do my Assessment or do you tell them for me?” I pour dressing onto my salad, trying to drown away the taste of the lettuce.
I hate salad.

My mom gives my father a funny look, then reaches out her hand to touch mine. “No, honey. You going to ISTJ just isn’t possible,” she says.

“What do you mean? Of course I’m going to go where Aaron is! We’ve planned that forever! I even swore it!” My throat starts to get tight and I’m not sure why.

“You can’t go because you’re an Extra and he’s not,” my father says.

“So who cares? What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” my father says.

“But I have to go to Aaron’s Home School!” I blurt out. I turn to look at my mom. “You know how quiet and shy he is! He won’t know what to do without me! I promised him I’d be there! I promised! You don’t want me to break a promise, do you?”

“Honey, don’t you see that the fact he’s so quiet and shy means that he’s different from you?”

“So what? How is different bad?”

“It’s not bad, honey,” my mom says. “There is no right or wrong when it comes to Type. Just differences. And the only way to truly live up to all the strengths your Type has to offer is to go to a school with like-minded children. You can still see Aaron on holidays and on summer vacation.” She smiles at me, as if a few weeks with my best friend in a whole year could make me feel better
. Does she not understand me at all?

“And what about after Secondary is all done? Aaron and I are going to share an apartment together and work at the same place and everything!”

“You’re so dumb!” Hannah says, snorting. “How can you even say that now, when you don’t know what your Occupation Recommendations will be? Sure, you might end up at the same place, but what are the chances of that even happening?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask again. I can feel my throat getting tighter and tighter and my head start to hurt. I’m hearing too much new stuff tonight, stuff I don’t understand.

“Hannah, enough!” my father says loudly. “Sophie’s Assessment is less than a month away. I’m sure you don’t want to jeopardize her results!”

“Sorry, Daddy,” my sister says quickly.

“Have your teachers at Primary never told you what the Assessment is all about?” my mom asks.

“It’s to see how smart you are, I guess.”

“To see how
smart
you are?” Hannah talks in a high-pitched voice that I know is supposed to sound like mine. When did she become such a jerk? I can tell that she’s trying to make fun of me, but don’t really know why.

“Hannah!” my mom scolds.

“So what’s it for, then?” I ask.

“It’s to see what your specific Type is,” my father explains. “It’s so we can know which of the sixteen Secondary Home Schools in our county will provide you with the most appropriate education for your particular personality. The science behind the Assessment process is quite magnificent, actually. And to put it quite simply, my dear, Aaron is an ISTJ and you are not.” My father looks me full in the face and smiles his I’m-a-member-of-The-Association-so-I-know-best smile. “The very fact that you’re questioning things right now is proof that you are not an ISTJ, my inquisitive daughter.”

“But how do you even
know
that I’m not an ISTJ? How can you really, truly know? I haven’t even gone to my Assessment!”

“Honey, we might not know what your
full
Type is, but we’ve known you were an Extra ever since you were a toddler. They do a basic evaluation on all children when they turn two.” My mother’s voice is gentle, like the way she talks when I’m home sick with the flu or she’s trying to give me bad news. “It’s no surprise you’re an Extra, as your father and sister both are.”

“And what about James?”’ I ask. “Is he an Extra, too?”

“Sophie!” my father says sharply.

“Yes, and James, too.” my mother says softly, looking away.

“Well, maybe I’ve changed!” I say. My eyes fill with tears and I wipe at them with the back of my hands.
I want Aaron
.

“You can’t change in such a fundamental way, Sophie,” my father says. “It’s like wishing that apples were oranges or pears. Each kind of fruit is wonderful, but they are all different from one another. Wishing this wasn’t the case doesn’t change the truth.” His voice isn’t gentle like my mom’s, but stern, almost angry.
His Association voice.
“You are born to be a certain Type. I know this, your mother knows this, and until just this moment I had assumed that both of my daughters had been raised to know this. The Assessment you complete at the age of twelve is just to determine more specifically what your particular Type is.”

“But…”

“Isn’t your school motto ‘I want to be the best me I can be’?”

“But…”

“I asked you a question, Sophie Marie.”

I nod, looking down at my uneaten salad.

“I’d like you to say it.”

I shake my head, tears rolling down my cheeks and onto the plate.

“Sophie Marie, say your motto.”

“Say it, sweetie,” my mom says, touching my hand again.

“I want to be the best me I can be,” I whisper.

“And are you being your best me if you are questioning what you are?”

I shake my head again.

“Well, there you go,” my father says. He picks up his spoon and starts eating once more. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to enjoy this delicious dinner that your mother so graciously prepared.”

I push myself away from the table and run to my room. As I shut my door behind me I can hear my father saying something angrily and my mom trying to calm him down. Right now I don’t care if I get in trouble for leaving the table without asking or for shutting the door. I don’t care if I get grounded for a month, I don’t care about anything at all.
Except Aaron
.

CHAPTER THREE

What we need is a technology of behaviour.

—B.F. Skinner

I lie on
my bed and try to slow down my breathing. There’s no way I can think straight if I start to hyperventilate.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
Eventually I feel calmer and sit up, waiting for my sister to come in the room. If I want any more information, then she’s my only hope. As soon as Hannah enters our room, I’m ready.

“What were you talking about before?” I ask her. “About jobs?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, untying her shoes and dropping them on the floor.

“Please tell me!”

“Nothing, okay?” She picks up her brush and begins her nightly ritual of one hundred strokes.
Why does she get beautiful dark, wavy hair while all I get is stupid mud brown?