<strong>Emily Steele</strong><br/><br/>Emily watched the clock, then watched one of her students – young Mister George Standish – scribbling furiously at his exam, then watched the clock again, her eyes flitting back and forth between the two. She sat on the edge of her desk with rapt interest, a proud smile on her face as she observed George checking off his answers. She knew she’d taught him well. She knew he’d<em>do</em>well on his G.O.A.T. exam, too.<br/><br/>But George looked nervous. She saw the sweat dripping from his brow, watched as he chewed his pencil … which brought a disappointed frown to Emily’s face. Granted, George was supposed to be taking his examination on a computer, not with a pencil and paper, so she understood his frustration, to a degree. The exam computer had a nasty habit of failing at critical times. But the Vault manuals provided for that contingency. Hence, the pencil, and the thick sheafs of printed exams, all in the proper files, ready for use.<br/><br/><em>And thank heavens for that,</em>Emily thought.<br/><br/>The lad also kept staring up with an odd look at Emily, as she sat on the desk with her legs crossed … sometimes he stared at her legs, other times, her blouse. She wondered if she’d somehow stained her clothing, or done something else to gather the lad’s unwanted attention. Considering the importance of the G.O.A.T. exam, Emily couldn’t image why the lad would choose instead to let his gaze wander to his teacher.<br/><br/>Finally, George put down his pencil. Emily got up off her desk, adjusted her skirt, and picked the exam off the lad’s desk.  She took it to her own desk, where she pulled a scoring manual out of one of the drawers, along with a dark red marking pen. Calmly, she put on her reading glasses and began assessing George’s exam, dimly aware of the lad’s hard, coarse breathing as he watched her. She paid no attention to him, though, concentrating at the important task at hand.<br/><br/><em>Check. Check. Check.</em>Emily’s pen flew down the exam, circling the appropriate answers, assigning them the proper scores. When she was done, she double-checked them, and then double-checked those results against the scoring manual. A delighted smile crossed her face.<br/><br/>“George,” she said, looking up at the lad, “terrific news. According to the G.O.A.T., you’re perfectly fit to be a sanitation worker. Isn’t that fantastic news? You’ve done so well, I’m so proud … what? What is it?”<br/><br/>The lad looked crestfallen. “Nothing,” he mumbled. “Somehow I thought that’s what I’d get.” He got up from his desk, and shuffled out of the classroom, before Emily could say anything.<br/><br/>The young teacher was shocked.<em>He’s … <strong>disappointed?</strong></em>she thought, in disbelief.<em>How very odd! To be one of the diligent souls who keeps this Vault of ours neat as a pin? Who wouldn’t be proud of that?</em><br/><br/>Confused, Emily nevertheless slid the marked and completed exam into the backup scanner, which wheezed and groaned as it accepted George’s results. The Vault systems would be updated shortly, and George would be properly assigned to his newfound tasks. Emily beamed with pride. She loved preparing the children of the Vault for their grand, exciting lives. As the Vault’s primary – and, lately, only – teacher, she took great pride in her work.