I want to give credit to the many books and sources that gave me ideas; the major ones include; -The Giver -The Matrix (hence Mr. Anderson and many other concepts) -My best bud Gill, who I imagined as Grace

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Grace shifted nervously, looking down at her feet. The man sitting at the desk peered down at her tiny form through his glasses. She looked at the name hologram. Mr. Anderson. Grace looked around the room, walls covered with dark blue paint. All of the furniture was bright, shining silver metal, giving the room a shining, old-fashioned look. She rarely saw actual furniture anymore. Even her footstool at home was made of form-jel, the material that moved to fit your body.
The windows were covered with heavy black drapes, and the only light was on Mr. Anderson's desk. Light reflected off everything, giving the room a eerie glow. The only sound was the tap of Mr. Anderson's pen as he read Grace's request. The man, Grace saw, had his head shaved in a military style, and he was maybe five years older then her. That makes him just four years assigned, thought Grace. She swallowed hard and began to study her feet again. The man cleared his throat.

"Well, Miss Livingston. This is a very interesting request. We don't often have someone come to us until after they are Assigned a job in grade nine. You have very good reflexes, good marks in school..." Grace looked up, hope growing with every word. The man droned on, his face a blank mask. "But," Grace's heart sank. "I see you play your violin every day, long periods at a time. Is that correct?"
"Y...yes sir," she stuttered.
"Well," said Mr. Anderson, "your mother tells me that you also express your feelings through music. You love to read fantasy. In essence, you live in a dream world." He handed her request back to her. Grace numbly nodded. I'm very sorry, but we need someone more attached to reality. I'm so sorry."
Somehow Grace managed a proper bow, then backed out of the room. As soon as she was out of sight of that forbidding place, she started to run. She dashed by Alena, her friend, thinking that the man hadn't looked sorry at all.

"Grace, how'd it go?" Grace kept running. "Grace?!" Her friend's scream echoing after her, she reached the doorway and dashed out, leaping onto her blue-and-silver hover-bike, a new model of the hovering motorcycle. She took off at full speed for her house, speeding through empty streets. Everyone was at school, daycare or work.
She reached her house and leaped off her bike almost into the door, where she pressed a finger to the keypad and shot inside. The place was as empty as the streets, with Mom and Dad at work and little Nick at school. Her grade eight classmates would miss her, but she had to go. Her parents wouldn't care. They thought she lived in a dreamworld too. They had probably been the ones to tell that to Mr. Anderson. Nick was too little to understand. She grabbed her smallest dark blue bag and stuffed in clothes and food.

"Stupid Attolia," she muttered, furiously tossing in a blanket.
"I thought this place was perfect." She grabbed one last loaf of cinnamon bread and left without a backward glance. "I don't want to be Assigned a job next year," she said under her breath. "I'm only fourteen!" But she knew that was the way. You were Assigned a job when you turned fifteen, and that was that. But she had heard rumours, that she was only good for food distribution. She looked at her shining 60 000 credit Hover- bike. "Too obvious," she said, leaping over the fence into the neighbours yard in a practised move. She grabbed her neighbour's old beat-up bike, taking off the license plate. She had never liked hre neighbours anyway.
"Here we go," she breathed, and took off. She chose an abandoned road, and set it on full-speen auto pilot. She sat back, the last thing she saw before drifting off to sleep; a big red holo-sign: WARNING-YOU ARE NOW LEAVING ATTOLIA.