The school bell would ring any minute now. Soren hissed in frustration as he rushed to class. Being the youngest junior in Altina High School, he wouldn't have his driver's license until well into summer. The only means of getting to school was the bus that was always late the day you needed to get to school early.
As he approached his first period classroom, something was different. The door was closed; the lights were off. A sign posted on the door said: "Mr. Tauroneo's first period report to the media center."
Gritting his teeth, Soren whirled around and sped to the media center. Gasping for breath, he scanned the room for available computers. There were more than he'd expected; every senior in his class was absent, from Ranulf to Makalov. He figured it was some senior skip day.
Ike waved to him. Soren took a seat at a computer next to Ike, slumping into the chair. Still catching his breath, he logged on. The bell rang. Mr. Tauroneo sat at one of the tables, taking attendance. At least he made it on time.
"I hadn't known of this," Soren muttered. Ike understood. Soren was one who was always punctual and prepared. Unexpected surprises such as this one were his bane.
"Good morning, good morning," said Mrs. Calill, the library assistant. As she walked around the room her golden bangles clacked with every step. "While we wait for everyone to log on, can anyone tell me what we are doing today?" She called on Marcia.
"Making accounts on a college readiness website, which is a waste of time because by this time we know what college we're applying for and what job we want! I mean, we'll be seniors soon."
"Assuming you pass eleventh grade," muttered Lethe. Her words drifted in the air, forgotten, since most of her fellow classmates were asleep, on their phones, or chatting with their neighbors. Ilyana was passed out, a plate of brownie crumbs on the floor. Soren wondered not for the first time if she had a pre-existing medical condition or if the brownies she always brought to school contained some drug.
Ignoring Lethe, Mrs. Calill said to Marcia, "Sorry, honey, but Principal Sanaki made it mandatory that everyone in our school do this, seniors excepted. Now, please go online and onto the school website—" keyboard clacks filled the air sounding like an army of robotic insects—"click on 'media center', click on 'online resources'..."
Soren was at the website before she even finished talking. Her instructions had been written on the chalkboard in thick loopy cursive and it seemed he was the only one to have noticed them.
"So, does anyone here know what they want to be when they grow up?" No one chose to answer. Some, like Marcia, threw exasperated looks her way. "Oh, I'm just teasing. I'm sure you've all talked to our counselors Mr. Bastian, Ms. Ena, Miss Elincia, and Mr. Mordecai about that. Instead, you'll be doing something I'm sure you haven't done yet."
"Like what?" Boyd challenged.
She smirked. "Why, a personality test."
What?
Apparently everyone was thinking the same thing—aloud. "What?" yelped Mia and Boyd together, prompting them both to point at each other and shout, "Jinx you owe me a soda!" Murmurs of surprise hung over the room like the fragrance of Mrs. Calill's perfume.
Soren recovered quickly. It's another indicator, though a minor one, that may decide which jobs suit each individual better than others based on his or her personality and disposition.
"Class," Mr. Tauroneo said in a deep, resounding voice. The class settled down.
"All right," said Mrs. Calill, "everyone, use your student ID as your username. Use your four digit birthdate for your password. Does anybody need me to repeat myself? Student ID for username and four digit birthday for password. Does anyone need help? No? Okay. Click on 'Personality' annnnd," she said dramatically, "begin!"
Soren started. Based on the first few questions he already deduced what the test was: the Myers Briggs test. He already knew what his personality would be. ISTJ.
"Soren, what do you know about this test?" Ike asked.
"It's the Myers Briggs Type Indicator," Soren answered. "Personalities consist of four letters. There are four dichotomies, or opposite pair of letters, meaning eight letters total. Each letter represents an aspect of personalities. They are I for Introverted and E for Extroverted, S for Sensing and N for Intuitive, T for Thinking logically and F for Feeling emotions, and J for Judgement as opposed to P for Perception."
"So there are sixteen combinations and sixteen personalities total?"
"Correct. It seems all humans can be more or less categorized into one of them."
"Thank you, Soren." Ike could have just as easily Googled his inquiry, but he didn't, and for that Soren felt appreciation for his friend.
Soren looked over the questionnaire, which asked questions from whether he considered himself to be organized to whether he liked to dream about the future to whether he favored justice over mercy. The test was long and tedious, asking page after page of questions about himself. His eyes were glazing over.
"ENFP! Yeah! Anyone else ENFP?" Mia exclaimed, startling Soren. Not just because of her pealing voice but because almost always he was the first in class to finish a test. He clicked through the answers, hurrying to finish, knowing what his results would be.
At last he finished. He clicked the "Next Page" button. In the center of the page in bold letters were the words "Congratulations, you have the ISFJ personality."
ISFJ... ISFJ? How He reread the sentence once, twice, three more times. But of course, the words did not magically disappear and rearrange themselves to his liking. Three more times the test results taunted him: ISFJ, ISFJ, ISFJ.
This must be a mistake. Soren's mind ran through the questions; if only he'd read them more carefully or changed that one answer!
Soren was a thinker and he knew in it. Everyone knew it. He was not labelled insensitive and calculating for nothing. He took pride in those logical analyses that would end any argument in a final resounding silence. All of the compositions he'd written were based on reason and thought. He rarely, if ever, took feelings and personal values into his essays. All of the other traits—I, S, and J corresponded to his personal line of thought.
How, then, could he have the Feeling trait over the Thinking trait? How could T be replaced by F? He considered retaking the test but one glance at the clock told him he'd never time to finish it.
Minutes later when the bell rang, everyone logged off, chatting animatedly about their results of the test. Soren exited the media center with a sour taste in his mouth.
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"Hey, Soren," said Ike at lunch hour. "I'm driving to Chipotle. Do you want to come?"
"No, thank you," Soren said drily, almost sarcastically.
"How about that frozen yogurt place?"
Now Soren paused. Almost no one knew this—well, almost no one knew Soren that well in the first place—but frozen yogurt his favorite.
"I didn't bring money," he said.
"I'll pay."
"I can't let you do that."
"All right, now I know there's something going on with you," said Ike. "What is it? Is it the personality test?"
Soren looked away. Was he that easy to read? Maybe he was losing his edge. Maybe he was going soft. And now he had to cut short these thoughts before they got to him even more.
"What is it?" Ike prompted. "C'mon, we'll walk there."
They headed down the path away from the school. After a little ways, Soren decided to speak up.
"ISFJ," he said, as if the word was venom. He heard the spiteful tone as the word left his mouth and cursed himself silently at how irrational he was acting over a measly result that a computer fed him. He needed to get a grip.
"What's wrong with that?"
"F," Soren said. When Ike didn't piece it together immediately Soren continued, "F for Feeling. I always thought I was T for Thinking. I prefer logic over emotion." He said nothing more, knowing that Ike would understand the rest.
They crossed an intersection. The cars sped by noisily. Ike said nothing, didn't even look at him. His eyes were fixed on the path ahead.
"What was your result?" Soren asked, unnerved by his friend's silence. But asking pointless questions was something Soren never did; making small talk was something he loathed to do. Most of all, letting nervousness get the best of him was something he could never remember doing before. So why was he now? Was the computer right after all?
"ENTJ," said Ike.
Soren nodded. It made sense. "That is the trait most common among leaders," he commented.
"Soren," Ike said. He stopped walking and stepped in front of Soren. He looked deep into Soren's eyes.
"I once heard of a definition of a person, that a person is the summation of his actions, character, virtues, experiences, memories, and abilities. I know that you've had a hard childhood and that circumstance has brought you to where are you now."
Really, now, Soren thought sarcastically. Hard childhood was just the beginning of it. Losing both his parents—not even knowing who they were—then being subjected to the constant mistreatment of the woman who merely kept him alive, nothing more—
"But I don't believe in that definition," said Ike. "Aren't people more than that? You are more than a personality that a computer reads to you—but you know this already. So Soren, when I see you I think of a person with vast knowledge and the ability to feel—and to use that ability, not hide from it. You do actually base some of your decisions on emotions and values, don't you? You know how important feeling is to your life and to who you are today."
No, he wanted to say, but that was not true. When he thought about it, he recalled the time Ms. Titania the AP Lang teacher gave him a C on his persuasive argument paper with a note in red ink stating, "Good use of logos but almost no use of pathos." He recalled the time Ms. Tanith from the debate club had to explain to him why he lost, saying, "In ethical debates, sometimes it's just as important to utilize emotions and shared values as it is to use factual evidence and knowledge. Your opponent used the former better than you had."
Ever since then, Soren had included such details into his compositions and contentions in order to net good grades or yield the victory. Perhaps it had affected him more than he realized. Perhaps with each paper and each debate, his emotional intelligence quotient, as he learned it was called, was steadily rising, little by little, until it was enough to contend with his intelligence quotient.
And it wasn't so bad to be Feeling, was it? All that insecurity and anxiety about having the F trait was for nothing, he now knew. Feeling didn't make you weak, it made you stronger. He wouldn't deny that he hated to be emotionally vulnerable like he was when he was a child, but who likes to be? There were times when he could use it to his advantage and so he would.
Ike laughed.
"What?"
"You have that look on your face. The thinking face you wear when you're putting together a strategy for Capture the Flag or when you're figuring out who's what when we play Mafia."
"I was thinking," Soren said.
They walked until they reached another intersection, which they crossed to arrive at the frozen yogurt shop. Sitting beside his best friend while tart pomegranate raspberry yogurt melted in his mouth, Soren decided he felt content.