10
On the morning of the swearing-in ceremony and my name day, I wake up to a breakfast of deviled eggs, mushroom-and-cabbage pierogi, and all the other favorite dishes Mama has made especially for me. Then I suffer through a phone call with Babcia, Tata’s mother, whose tinny voice sounds as though it’s coming from across the galaxy, not from across the ocean. She tells me how much she misses me and complains about how I never call her and weeps when she declares that she won’t get to see me again before she dies. I dutifully tell her about how well school is going before Mama finally rescues me by taking the phone.
After breakfast, my parents give me my name day presents: colorful pens and crisp new notebooks and a collection of poetry that Mama had one of her friends from back home mail over. Then we put on our nicest clothes and get ready to drive into the city for the biggest present of all.
Mama fastens on her favorite necklace that she saves for special occasions. The beads are made of polished amber, the nonmagical kind that looks like pieces of rust-colored rock. Then she tells me to hold out my arm, and she fastens the matching amber bracelet around my wrist.
I suck in a breath as the beads sparkle up at me. It’s the first time my parents have let me wear jewelry.
“Make sure to blow-dry your hair before we go,” Mama reminds me, “or you’ll catch pneumonia.” But her voice is gentle and she’s smiling.
When we arrive in the city, instead of circling around to find a parking spot on the street, we actually pay to park in a garage. Then we cram into an elevator with other nicely dressed people.
“Leave that,” Mama says, brushing my fingers away from the collar of the new dress she bought me for the occasion. The fabric is so itchy that I can imagine my skin getting redder and redder underneath.
Mama looks as poised as ever in one of her work outfits, and even Tata seems relaxed in a suit, though I think it’s been years since he put on anything so formal. How are my parents both so calm when our lives are about to completely change?
We wind through a maze of gray hallways, following signs for the room number listed on our paperwork. I imagined that the ceremony would take place in a palace, full of velvet seats and marble statues. Instead it’s in a big conference room with the same dull carpet and off-white ceiling tiles as in the rest of the building. Some chairs have been set up in rows; there are fewer people being sworn in than there are kids in Miss Patel’s class.
We line up to check in at a desk by the door. I cringe when it’s time for the official-looking man to read our names off his list. He’s stumbled over so many others in front of us. But I’m surprised when the consonants roll off his tongue with ease. I glance at his badge and see that his name is long and hard to pronounce, like mine. For some reason, that makes me less nervous. Maybe he was in my place once. Maybe his hands shook and his stomach gurgled and his toes tingled in his new shoes.
Soon the man from behind the desk stands up and, in a droning voice, asks everyone to take their seats. Then he reads from a piece of paper in his hand, about the solemn and important privilege that will soon be bestowed upon us. He asks us to rise.
I get to my feet with the others, and I hold up my hand and repeat after the man. Strongly accented words echo around me. There aren’t many of us, but at that moment we fill the room with our voices.
“To uphold the laws of the land. To defend its people and its resources and gifts.” Our voices hush on “gifts.”
When the ceremony is finished, the man smiles and officially congratulates us. Tata puts his arm around my shoulder as Mama wipes her eyes.
The man starts passing out certificates that say we are citizens of Amberland. Some people around us simply fold up their certificates and slip them into their pockets, while others hold them proudly as though they’re made of gold. I feel the sweat from my fingers soaking into my certificate, so I hand it to Mama and ask her to hold on to it for me.
I secretly hope the magic will flood through me, trickle in from the half-dozen flags around the room and maybe even from the stained carpet under my feet. But of course, it doesn’t.
I’m almost disappointed, until I notice the official man standing by the door and handing out small bottles to the people filing out. Amber rations.
“Please pay attention to the weight and age guidelines on the label,” he tells us. “Overdosing can be dangerous to your health. Make sure to grab an informational pamphlet on your way out.”
“How do we get more?” a woman behind us asks in a thick accent I don’t recognize.
“Every family is allowed a gallon of Amber per month for miscellaneous use, but you’ll have to apply for that at your local town hall,” the man says. “If you do it today, you should be able to pick up the additional rations within three to five business days.”
“We have to wait a week?” the woman cries. “I thought we would have as much as we wanted right away.”
The man gives her a What can you do? shrug. Then he continues handing out the bottles.
“I suppose we should stop at the town hall on the way home,” Mama says, tucking her bottle into her purse along with an Amber Basics pamphlet. She laughs. “It’s so strange that I’ve been working with Amber for years now and have never actually tried it.”
“Do you think it tastes funny?” I ask, shaking my bottle. Now that I’m studying it up close, it almost looks like honey.
Mama smiles. “I bet it will taste a lot better if we take it with some pizza.”
“Really?” I ask.
Mama glances at Tata, who only grunts his agreement. “It is almost lunchtime,” she says.
Suddenly I’m buzzing with excitement again. If we’re celebrating with junk food, then things really must be different now.
At lunch, Mama and I clink cans of soda. I take a sip even though I’ve never liked the overly sweet taste, but it feels like the perfect thing for us to be drinking right now. Across the table, Tata doesn’t touch his water.
“Ready?” Mama asks, measuring a dose out into the little cup that came with her bottle. Then she pours a slightly smaller dose into my cup.
“Are we going to do two doses today?” I ask. According to Krysta, that’s how much the kids at school all take.
“We can start with one a day and see how we feel.” Mama glances at Tata. “Are you not taking yours?” His bottle is still in his pocket.
“Maybe tomorrow,” he says.
“But this is what we’ve been waiting for!” I say. “It’s the whole reason we came here!”
Tata’s face doesn’t change. “I came to this country for you,” he says softly. “Not to have magic for myself.”
Mama clears her throat. “There is nothing wrong with using Amber. They’ve done plenty of studies that say it’s perfectly safe in moderate doses. Even if you accidentally take too much, it usually works itself out of your system pretty quickly.”
“What happens if you take too much?” I ask.
“I’m sure you’ll learn about it at school,” Mama says, “but too much Amber overstimulates your body so that you feel jittery and nervous. In extreme cases people experience shortness of breath, seizures, or heart problems.”
Tata scowls at the table.
“It’s perfectly safe,” Mama says again, patting Tata’s hand. “In appropriate doses, the benefits far outweigh the risks.” She turns to me. “Ready?”
Of course I’m ready. I grab my cup and bring it to my lips. Then I swallow the liquid in one gulp and wash it down with a sip of soda, barely noticing the sickening sweetness of the soda this time. I know that Amber is supposed to be tasteless, but as it travels down my throat, I imagine it tasting like sunlight and honey and possibility.