[ WP ] Only a handful of people on Earth know that we broke the light barrier years ago . There is a beautiful utopia mankind built on another world that only the best and brightest of each generation get invited to live on and you just got a perfect score on the SAT .

It's been about three months since I took the test. I'd like to be all humble and say that I could n't know for sure that I'd licked it, that it was tough, that I got all easy questions somehow, that it was just an honor to be nominated. But I was n't halfway out the door before I picked up my bag, fished out my phone, and started rocking out to `` We Are the Champions.'' Because, you see, I just knew. What I did n't know was how much my life was going to change. 
 
 I remember that I texted Paul right after. We'd been friends my whole life. He'd been having a rough time lately -- his dad was out of the picture and his mom was working two jobs just to put food on the table for him and his two sisters, so he was usually stuck at home watching the girls. I figured he needed a break, so I told him to meet me at Gamestop because I had the best news, no excuses. He showed up about 30 minutes later. 
 
 `` Hey Trev, what's going on? Sorry I did n't get here sooner, I had to get Aunt Martha to watch Callie and Jess.'' 
 
 `` Just took the SATs, man. Feels good to have that behind me. Did pretty well, actually.'' 
 
 `` Oh yeah?'' 
 
 `` Mm-hmm. I aced the verbal and the math part. I wo n't know the writing score until whatever grader they hire off Craigslist gets done with it, but I figure I knocked it out of the park. The prompt said for me to describe a time I overcame adversity, and I wrote all about how I had to grow up and be the man of the house when my father walked out on us.'' I saw the expression on his face, and quickly added, `` Hey, it's such an inspirational story I could n't help it! Are you mad? I'm sorry.'' 
 
 He still looked a little upset, but he said, `` Hey, man, it's you. Guess I ca n't get too upset, you know. I mean, you tutor the football team, you volunteer at the soup kitchen and the Salvation Army. You've even spent a summer in Africa putting up mosquito nets. You've done quite a lot for yourself. But if you think my story is so great, I'm glad you thought of it.'' 
 
 We hung out for 20 minutes or so, and then I had to head off -- I was tutoring Billy Jenkins, and if I'm more than 10 minutes late I lose half my fee. I hopped on my bike, kicked it in gear, and as I rode I thought, not for the first time, that Paul would have been really cool if he did n't have to spend so much time keeping track of a couple little girls. The guy read everything, was almost as smart as I am ( he'd taken the SAT about a month before me; all he said was that he'd done `` all right'' ), and he was responsible as hell; the best brother from another mother I'd ever had. 
 
 Two weeks later, two things happened. First, I got my writing score back: a perfect 800. Not that I was worried. The second thing, a couple days later, was that I got called into the office during third period. ( English class. Yawn. ) I left the kids and Mrs. Stoker to their Shakespeare and headed down. I checked in with the receptionist. `` What's up?'' 
 
 The receptionist, Miss Smith ( I think? ) indicated a tall, bearded man in sunglasses and a black suit, who'd been sitting behind me, but rose now that I'd entered. 
 
 `` This is Mr. Lightman, I believe?'' He nodded. `` He's from the paper and he wants to write a short piece on you. We've talked with your parents and they've given permission.'' 
 
 `` Of course,'' I said, playing it cool. It never looks good to get too excited about things, but I was stoked. I followed him into the next room and got ready to answer his questions. 
 
 He pulled out a small device -- I guess it looked a bit like one of those voice recorders. He switched it on and said, `` Testing, testing,'' and looked at the indicator screen. He frowned a bit, but so quickly that I almost did n't notice. 
 We spent the next fifteen minutes or so talking about my background, my family, my hobbies, if I had any test secrets. I said that I'd already been accepted to Stanford and Yale, so it did n't matter too much if Harvard dragged its heels. He laughed a bit at that, one of those polite laughs that does n't get near your eyes. 
 
 
 After a while, he asked me, `` can I follow you around for a bit? A day in the life of a TestMaster?'' I could hear the camel case, and almost called him out on it, but instead I said sure, why not. He followed me around all day, and he almost came home with me ( Paul was driving me to and from school that week since my car was in the shop, so it would have been crowded for him in the back seat with the two girls ), but at the last minute he said, `` I think I have what I need. I'll be in touch if I need to follow up.'' 
 
 
 A couple weeks later, I got a phone call from Paul. `` Hey man, you'll never guess where I am.'' 
 
 
 `` Chili's?'' 
 
 `` Even better.'' 
 
 `` Olive Garden?'' 
 
 `` No, man, about 500 light years from the Olive Garden. We call this place Elysium.'' 
 
 I was stunned. `` You're shitting me.'' 
 
 `` Nope.'' 
 
 Then he told me the whole story. Turns out that human technology was about a thousand years ahead of where the rest of us thought it was. That thing Mr. Lightman had had n't been a tape recorder; Paul called it an `` aristometer.'' `` Basically, it takes a complete mathematical reading of your intellect, your talents, and your morals, and tells you numerically how good you are, to the 9th decimal place.'' He said that the people at Elysium were keeping an eye on humanity and gradually letting in the people they thought were worthy, to make sure that the human race would still survive if the rest of us destroyed ourselves. 
 
 I stopped him short. `` So, you're saying that they're taking the best minds of our time. When do I pack?'' 
 
 He laughed. I'd never heard him laugh quite like that before. 
 
 `` Are you serious?'' 
 
 `` Sure. Mr. Lightman came there to see me.'' 
 
 `` He came to see the person you wrote your essay about. Your description of yourself -- that is, your description of me -- tripped a lot of alarm bells in Elysium's surveillance net: compassion, intelligence, wisdom, good humor. The folks here are monitoring our every communication, looking for the absolute best that humanity has to offer. I'm actually blushing right now, thinking about it.'' 
 
 `` So what? I'm brilliant, athletic, socially conscious. What makes you a better choice than me?'' 
 
 His voice changed, and there was a forcefulness in his words that I'd never noticed before. `` You're brilliant and athletic, sure. You have a lot of talent. But you only think about yourself. That's why you volunteer -- to get service hours and things to write about in admissions essays. You charge football students $ 40 an hour to teach them long division. You ca n't even remember that my dad died of lung cancer last year. You always talk about him like he's just gone away.'' 
 
 `` I thought -- I thought it was too painful to talk about.'' 
 
 `` For you, maybe! Maybe I needed someone to talk to, man! All of us were going through hell, and no one to say a word about it.'' His voice grew quieter. `` Anyway, it was dumb luck that I was driving you to and from school that day. I guess I should thank your selfish ass again.'' 
 
 `` Come on, Paul,'' I said. `` It's not too late. Please,'' I begged. `` You can put in a word for me.'' 
 
 `` Would n't matter if I did, even if I wanted to. Anyway, I just wanted to call to say thank you. Yeah, maybe to brag a little bit. Wo n't deny that. And I want you to say bye to my mom and the girls for me. They would n't let me tell them, and I could n't bring them along. I wanted to, but rules are rules. Oh man, this place is amazing.'' 
 
 He went on and told me all about Elysium, but I could n't hear a word he said. I hung up the phone at some point, crawled into bed, and stared at the ceiling for three solid days. Ever since, my appetite has gone and I do n't sleep at night. That's when I hear Paul's voice on the phone that day, standing in judgment, tantalizing me with paradise. He has n't called back, and in my better moments I do n't blame him, not really. Every now and then, I even think that he might have been right. 
 
 But even if that were true, he had no right to betray me like he did. He should have done more, been more persusasive, made sure we could both go, or given me his place so he could keep on taking care of his family. These nights, I take my smartphone and my telescope out to the backyard and I search. I'm looking for Elysium. And when I find it, I'm going to get some answers.
