Though Jonas had only become a Five the year that they acquired Lily and learned her name,
he remembered the excitement, the conversations at home, wondering about her:
how she would look, who she would be, how she would fit into their established family unit.
He remembered climbing the steps to the stage with his parents, his father by his side that year instead of with the Nurturers,
since it was the year that he would be given a newchild of his own.
He remembered his mother taking the newchild, his sister, into her arms, while the document was read to the assembled family units.
“Newchild Twenty-three,” the Namer had read. “Lily.” He remembered his father’s look of delight,
and that his father had whispered, “She’s one of my favorites. I was hoping for her to be the one.”
The crowd had clapped, and Jonas had grinned. He liked his sister’s name.
Lily, barely awake, had waved her small fist. Then they had stepped down to make room for the next family unit.
“When I was an Eleven,” his father said now, “as you are, Jonas, I was very impatient, waiting for the Ceremony of Twelve.
It’s a long two days. I remember that I enjoyed the Ones, as I always do,
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