Amy bowed her head. That had been over two years ago, and he had lectured her for hours, but had remained unaware of her activities since then. I’m the best, she thought; every runner in the City knows about me. She wanted to shout it and force her mother to acknowledge the achievement, but kept silent.

“It’s a stupid, dangerous game, Amy. A few boys are killed every year running the strips, and passengers are hurt as well. You’re fourteen now-I thought you were more mature. I can’t believe-”

“I haven’t been running the strips,” Amy said. “I mean, I haven’t made a run in a while.” Not since a couple of hours ago, she added silently to herself, and that wasn’t a real run, so I’m not really lying. She felt just a bit guilty; she didn’t like to lie.

“And your grades-”

Amy seized at the chance to avoid the more hazardous topic of strip-racing. “I know they’re worse. I know I can do better, but what difference does it make?”

“Don’t you want to do well? You used to be one of the best math students in your school, and your science teacher always praised-”

“So what?” Amy could not restrain herself any longer. “What good is it? What am I ever going to use it for?”

“You have to do well if you want to be admitted to a college level. Your father’s status may make it easier for you to get in, but you won’t last if you’re not well prepared.”

“And then what? Unless I’m a genius, or a lot better than any of the boys, they’ll just push me into dietetics courses or social relations or child psychology so I’ll be a good mother someday, or else train me to program computers until I get married. I’ll just end up doing nothing anyway, so why should I try?”