“Sit down, son.”

Ron sat while his father went behind the desk and pulled a little booklet from one of the drawers.

“This is from Getty College, where I went to school,” Mr. Morgan said, sliding the booklet across the desk toward Ron. “I knew you’d do well in the Exams. I’ve already enrolled you in Getty’s business school—the same course that I had as a freshman!”

And now Ron knew why he had been scared. It wasn’t that he had been afraid of flunking the Exams, of going into the Army to fight in South America. It was this. He was afraid of his father.

“Dad . . .” His voice was so low that he could barely hear himself. “Dad . . . I, uh . . . I don’t know if I want to go to business school. Maybe I ought to try science. The Examiner said—”

“Science?” Mr. Morgan’s face went hard. His brows pulled together in a frown. “Science? What good is that? Spend the rest of your life in some dumb university, teaching kids useless stuff? No, that’s not for you.”

“But it’s what I like best. The Examiner said—”

“I was there!” His father’s voice got louder. “I heard what he said. He said he’d recommend engineering, not science. But I’m telling you that you’re going into business. That’s where the money is.”

“But I—”

“Don’t argue! I’m your father and you’ll do as I say!”

Ron said, “It’s my life, Dad.”

“And you think you’re old enough to run it for yourself? You’re only a sixteen-year-old snot! Who the hell do you think you are to turn your nose up at a business career? Nine-tenths of the kids in this Tract would sell their sisters for the chance to go to Getty! You just don’t know what you’re doing.”

Before Ron could think of anything for an answer, his father went on, but in a gentler voice, “Listen, son, I really know a lot more about the world than you do. The business career is best, believe me. Once you—”

Ron stared at the carpet and shook his head.

His father pounded a fist on the desk so hard that the desk lamp tumbled over. Ron jerked back and looked up at the old man—he was red-faced and snarling.

“You’re going to Getty whether you like it or not!” he shouted.

No I’m not, Ron said to himself. I’m going to run away. I’ll go to New York!

It was easy.

So easy that Ron could hardly believe it. It took him all week to work up the nerve. Then, on Saturday morning, while his father was out with his usual golfing foursome, he told his mother that he was going to spend the weekend with some of his friends who lived in the next housing Tract, a few miles away.

“Don’t go on the freeway with your bike, Ronnie dear. Stay on the secondary roads—they’re safer.”

That’s all she said.

Ron went up to his room and put on a clean one-piece zipsuit. I can get throwaway clothes in New York, he thought. Don’t have to carry anything else with me. He took his credit card and all the cash he had in the house, about thirty dollars. He walked his power bike out of the garage, started its tiny electric motor, and hummed down the driveway and into the street.