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“The recorder’s on. Go ahead and read what’s on the card.” Mr. Newman had a soft voice and it sounded creepy, not like Dad’s or Grandpa’s.
“My name is José Raymond Phillips. I’m ten years old. My family has been assigned to Zone 7: Jordanville in upstate New York. How am I doing, Mr. Newman?”
“Just fine, but keep to the script. Its just for your records.”
“Okay. Well, anyway…I live in Zone 7 on the Jordanville farm with other families. We are happy here and enjoy the work and the outdoors. My Dad let me drive the tractor for the first…”
“That’s not in the script, José.”
“Sorry, I just got excited.”
“I’m turning off the recorder. Take a few minutes to compose yourself. Then we’ll try again.”
“Why do I have to make this recording?”
“It’s for your official records.”
“You mean like school records?”
Newman chuckled in a way that was scary. “No, not exactly. We just want to show people that you like being in a zone and that you are happy. You’re happy, aren’t you?”


