The Wikkeling Page 11

  “But what do we say?”

  “Where you go! Write about where you go!”

  The students wrote, though the question was unlike the ones they were accustomed to. Henrietta studied her own screen a little longer than everyone else, half expecting the face of the yellow-haired creature to loom up and look back at her. Her cursor blinked impatiently. Time was clicking by. She slouched a bit in concentration, and began.

  I NEVER WEARY OF PERAMBULATING TO LURMY’S, BECAUSE IT ALWAYS HAS HIGH-QUALITY, AFFORDABLE PROVENDER.

  As she typed, the word perambulating (which she knew meant to walk about leisurely) showed up underlined in red—a mistake. She had learned the word from the Bestiary, though, and had even looked it up in the attic’s dusty dictionary, so she knew she was using it correctly. Another red underline appeared under provender, but she kept writing—there was no time for second thoughts.

  Soon, the two minutes were up, and the terminal froze. The data was sent to the district for processing. “Don’t worry about how you did,” Ms. Span chirped from the front. “It’s too late. Math is next!”

  Many of the students looked mystified and nervous as the seconds ticked down toward the appearance of the first multiple-choice math question. “Remember, C is most common,” said Ms. Span quietly. Henrietta looked up at her, a little surprised. Giving directions after the test began was against the rules. The class’s composition grades must not have been good. The first math question appeared.

  20 + 5 =

  A) 25

  B) 25

  C) 25

  D) 25

  “Don’t respond!” Ms. Span said. She typed for a few moments and watched her screen. “That’s the question!” she called out. “Answer and move on!”

  “But which is it?” said one student.

  “Just answer,” barked Ms. Span.

  Henrietta clicked C), and her computer made a soft ding sound to indicate that she’d answered correctly. The same ding sounded around her as other students submitted their answers, and here and there a clunk rang out, the sound of a garbage can’s contents being dumped into a truck. Henrietta saw some students sitting with their eyes squeezed shut. The next problem appeared. This one was fill-in-the-blank.

  30 - 10 =

  Henrietta typed “20” and submitted it. To her surprise, though, her computer responded with a heart-stopping clunk.

  Around her, other computers clunked. At the front of the room, Ms. Span’s neat bun had begun to come loose. A strand of hair hung in front of her face, and her reading glasses were askew. She typed madly at her terminal.

  The next question appeared.

  20 - 5 =

  “Don’t respond!” she said, typing furiously. “All right, everyone. Silence. Pay attention. Math is different now. Minus means plus now. When you see minus, think plus.”

  “But—” began several students.

  “Minus means plus!” Ms. Span shouted. Her voice cracked.

  Henrietta looked at the problem. All right, then. “20 - 5” should be “20 + 5.” Henrietta entered “25.” Her computer dinged—correct. Around her, other computers dinged, although some clunked. Some of the students were evidently having difficulty thinking of “minus” as “plus.”

  The next problem:

  10 + 10 =

  “Ms. Span, if minus is plus, is plus minus?” said Bernard Faust, a large boy whose scores were generally near the bottom of the class. He sat next to Clarence Frederick, and both of them were shooting worried glances all around, unsure what to do.

  “I don’t know,” said Ms. Span. Her voice had become very calm. “Answer and move on,” she said. She held up her arms, like someone making a plea for help.

  Henrietta typed “20” and submitted it. Ding.

  That was how the remainder of the math portion worked out. Minus had become plus, but plus was still plus. In other words, the test contained no subtraction problems. Once the students got the hang of it, Ms. Span seemed to recover some degree of her composure, straightening her glasses and running a hand over her black hair to smooth it. The exam ended and the bell rang for History and Nutrition.

  “Everyone, Mason the bus supervisor is waiting outside to escort you today, while I stay here to collate the results.”

  The students stood, some a little shakily, others wiping tears from red cheeks, and walked silently out the door. Henrietta was preparing to follow when Ms. Span’s voice stopped her in her tracks. “Henrietta.” She did not sound pleased.

  Henrietta approached the front as the last few students exited.

  “You did well on the math today,” Ms. Span said, removing her reading glasses.

  “Thank you,” said Henrietta. She could tell this wasn’t going to be good news.

  “But your composition. It was . . . inexcusable.” Ms. Span turned her computer screen to face Henrietta and displayed Henrietta’s essay, with FAIL written across the top. Below, the many words Henrietta had learned in the attic were underlined in red, one after the other.

  “What is this supposed to mean?” said Ms. Span, donning her glasses again to peer at the screen and then removing them as if the sight caused her physical pain. “Why are you making up words, Henrietta?”

  “I didn’t,” said Henrietta.

  Ms. Span shook her head. “This essay decreased our class’s aggregated statistic by two percent.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Span,” said Henrietta.

  “Henrietta, this essay, plus your Behavioral Citation this morning, has forced me to classify you as At Risk for the remainder of the year. If you perform like this again, you will be Finished.”

  “But—” said Henrietta.

  “If I don’t declare you At Risk, the whole class will suffer from having your scores included. Do you want that?”

  “No,” said Henrietta.

  Ms. Span sighed. She massaged her plucked eyebrows with one hand. “Henrietta, I don’t want to do it. I like you. Gary likes you. And I want to help you.”

  “I understand,” said Henrietta, numbly. She wasn’t really following the conversation anymore. Her mind had stopped at the words At Risk.

  “We’ll get through it if we commit to working hard. Gary will help you, too, I’m sure.”

  “Okay,” said Henrietta. She looked up at the wall clock above, and observed the seconds clicking past.

  “If you’d like to visit him at the nurse’s office, Henrietta, I’ll release you from History and Nutrition today. Ms. Morse just sent me a message that he’s recovering.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Span.”

  Henrietta entered the hallway with her stomach clenched in a knot. Detention she could handle, but At Risk was something else entirely. Just a step away from a lifetime in a dingy apartment in the crime-ridden Old City, collecting garbage. A step from never seeing her friends again. She blinked furiously and wiped away shameful tears as she walked to Ms. Morse’s office.

  Her cell phone rang, and her mother’s name appeared on the screen. She knew she should answer, but she didn’t. Once it stopped ringing, it rang again—her father. By now they would both have received the news that she’d been reclassified.

  When she opened the door to the infirmary, Ms. Morse was behind her desk, and wasn’t surprised to see her.

  “Rose is already with him,” she said, gesturing.

  Henrietta entered the recovery room. Gary lay on a cot, curled up with his hands loosely covering his face. He looked small. Rose sat across from him. “He’ll be all right,” she said as Henrietta sat next to her. They watched Gary’s still form for awhile. “Rose, I’m At Risk,” said Henrietta. “My parents are going to ground me forever. You probably shouldn’t come over today.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Rose. Her small face was full of sympathy, which made Henrietta feel a little better.

  Henrietta’s Behavioral Citation had also earned her detention, during which she typed out a long list of District-Approved Vocabulary words provided by Ms. Span that included terms s
uch as bucket, grunt, and rug. By the end, Henrietta had missed her bus and had to call her mother.

  Her parents were both in the car when it arrived, which was almost unheard of. They received her with disappointed faces, told her she was grounded, supplied many unpleasant scenarios of her future life that would occur if she were Finished, and emphasized the importance of using District-Approved Vocabulary, glancing at Ms. Span’s report recommendations on their phones as they spoke. Henrietta wished she could shrink into nothing. As her parents lectured, she dropped her chin to her chest.

  When they arrived home, dinner was served in near-silence, and her father curtly assured Henrietta that she would get no dessert. Other grim facts were aired:

  – The amount of money Henrietta’s father lost by coming home early.

  – The exact layout of the tiny, rat-infested Old City apartment where Henrietta would spend the rest of her days as a garbage collector, which did not feature a private bathroom.

  – The shame that would be heaped forever upon the name of Gad-Fly if

  Henrietta were to become Finished.

  Henrietta nodded when it seemed appropriate. Everything had piled on top of everything until she felt nothing. Finally, she was sent to her room to think about what she’d done. As soon as she arrived there, she climbed past the unseeing eye of the still-broken BedCam into the attic.

  A luxuriant, greenish full moon shone through the large windows, reflecting perfectly in the glass top of the coffee table. The couch, ornamented with brocades of deep shadow, looked like a stone sculpture in the pale light.

  On it Mister Lady reclined casually, reading Early Town, turning a page with a single sharp claw.

  Henrietta froze when she saw this, and Mister Lady looked up abruptly. It was obvious she hadn’t been expecting Henrietta at this moment.

  “I’m sorry,” said Henrietta. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just can’t do anything right.”

  The black pupils of the cat’s green eyes were so large Henrietta felt swallowed by them. Mister Lady dropped the page, stood, and leaped easily to the top of a nearby bookcase, from which she looked down at Henrietta.

  “I’m sorry,” said Henrietta again. She felt like she should leave, but couldn’t bear to go back down. Everything was too terrible.

  When she blinked, she must have missed something. She must have because suddenly Mister Lady was gone. The place she’d just occupied atop the bookcase was empty.

  “Hello?” said Henrietta quietly. There was no response. The silence of the attic was oppressive.

  After wearying herself with searching, Henrietta descended back to her bedroom. The day could scarcely get worse. She shoved her feet and arms into the legs and sleeves of her polyester pajamas and slipped under her bedcovers. Disheartened, she fell asleep almost immediately, retreating from it all.

  It seemed like the end of an awful day, but it wasn’t over yet. The world didn’t stop turning just because Henrietta had gone to sleep.

  At that moment, a massive, yellow truck turned onto the street outside of her house, blocking both northbound lanes of traffic. A yellow car followed it at a walking pace. A worker emerged from the passenger side of the car with a can of spray paint in one hand, and made marks on the road—numbers and symbols of obscure meaning.

  Behind the yellow car drove a yellow van with a hole in its roof, through which protruded a tall swiveling platform where a worker stood, holding a large remote control covered with buttons. When the van approached a stoplight, the worker pushed a few buttons on the control, and the light went out.

  Behind the yellow van drove another yellow truck, this one dropping sawhorses at intersections. Each sawhorse featured two bright yellow, flashing lights with a sign between that read: ROAD CLOSED. Eventually, this caravan of northbound vehicles passed an identical caravan traveling southbound. After they passed one another, the street was empty.

  For the first time in many years, there was silence on Henrietta’s block.

  The Department of Insta-Structure

  The next morning, after a depressing breakfast of cornslaw and further remonstrances from both of her parents, Henrietta left the house to find Gary waiting outside. “Look!” he said, pointing to the street.

  It was empty. There was no layer of smog curling on the ground. No horns blared. No engines rumbled. Henrietta stepped onto the sidewalk, looking up and down the street. Several blocks distant, she saw some cross-traffic out past the ROAD CLOSED signs. She scratched her head and turned to Gary. “How are you feeling?” she asked. She hadn’t talked to him since his headache.

  Instead of answering, Gary took a few comical steps out into the road and did a little dance. He waved his arms, jiggling them like rubber bands. “I just ran across to your house!” he said.

  “Don’t stand out there,” said Henrietta. “The cars could come back.” She looked up the street nervously.

  “Oh, right,” said Gary.

  As they walked to the bus stop, Gary’s levity diminished. He grabbed Henrietta’s hand when they arrived. “I’m scared,” he said. “I hope the bus doesn’t come.”

  “Me, too,” said Henrietta.

  They hoped in vain. The crowded bus arrived, and they reluctantly boarded. No cars honked in annoyance, and no targeted advertisements were deployed.

  “Let’s sit somewhere different,” said Gary quietly.

  They buckled into a pair of seats a few rows further back than usual. Gary closed his eyes.

  Not long after Henrietta departed for school, her mother Aline sat at the living room computer and checked her mail.

  The first thing she saw was an advertisement for a Halloween trick-or-treating event at a nearby mall. Aline didn’t like Halloween. It was dangerous, and she was perturbed that it endured year after year. Henrietta would insist on going out, she knew. Was it the ads? Something they were learning at school? Aline couldn’t understand why kids liked Halloween. (She’d forgotten that she liked it herself when she was young.)

  The next mail item was from the city. It read:

  “DEAR HOMEOWNER,”

  YOUR HOUSEHOLD HAS BECOME NONCOMPLIANT WITH THE MINIMUM STREETSIDE OFFSET ALLOWANCE (MSOA) SUBSEQUENT TO AN EMINENT DOMAIN APPROPRIATION BY THE CITY. NONCOMPLIANT STRUCTURES ARE DEMOLISHED IN ACCORDANCE TO THE DEMOLITION AND RESTRUCTURE ACT (DRA). MITIGATION FEES ARE EQUIVALENT MARKET VALUE (EMV) PLUS EXPENSES. THE EMV OF YOUR DRA AWARD IS:

  $1,000,000

  THE DATE OF IMPLEMENTATION OF THE REQUIREMENTS OF THE DRA PURSUANT TO BRINGING THE STRUCTURE(S) ON THIS PROPERTY INTO COMPLIANCE WITH THE MSOA IS:

  OCTOBER 30

  AND THE PROPERTY HAS BEEN SCHEDULED FOR DEMOLITION ON:

  OCTOBER 31

  PLEASE MAKE NECESSARY ARRANGEMENTS, AND RELOCATE OR LIQUIDATE PERSONAL POSSESSIONS IN ADVANCE OF THE FORMER DATE.

  SIGNED,

  THE DEPARTMENT OF INSTA-STRUCTURE AND HOUSING AFFAIRS (DIHA)

  ADDITION DISTRICT 002

  The letter didn’t make much sense to Aline. Minimum street-side offset? Eminent domain appropriation? Her eyes fell again on the figure in the middle of the screen:

  $1,000,000

  Aline and Tom had tried to sell the place several times. It was the topic of many of their fights. For Aline, living in her rickety childhood home was a chronic aggravation, and she felt sure it was the cause of Henrietta’s House Sickness. But it was valued at $900,000, and the cheapest new houses were a million dollars.

  This letter changed everything. The city would pay them more to tear down the crumbling place than they could have gotten from a buyer.

  Tom entered the living room with his work clothes on, his cereal bowl in one hand, chewing. Aline gestured to the screen, and he peered at it over her shoulder. She watched his eyes.

  “Can you believe it?” she said.

  Tom took a bite of cereal. “Barely,” he said, as he chewed. “They don’t give us a ton of time. Is today September 30th?”

  “A month,” said Aline
.

  “We’ll have to talk more about it,” said Tom, “but it seems like good news.”

  “It seems like great news,” said Aline.

  They were silent then, and both of them had the same secret thought: they imagined, for a moment, moving out on their own. Not being together anymore. If they split the money, they could each get a nice condominium.

  Tom was running a little late, and he walked into the master bedroom and grabbed his coat, noticing as he did that Henrietta’s BedCam seemed to be working again. He approached the viewing screen. It showed Henrietta’s empty, rumpled bed.

  “Finally,” he muttered, not giving the matter further thought. He certainly did not speculate about whether the departure of a wild housecat from the attic had anything to do with it. Back in Henrietta’s room, the counting program on her computer switched from 36,565 to 36,566.

  Outside Tom was surprised to see the empty, silent street. Several blocks had been closed off, and he concluded that some road work would occur later. He entered his car, a compact red two-door, started the engine, and backed onto the vacant asphalt.

  “HELLO, AND THANK YOU FOR DRIVING,” said the onboard computer.

  “Work,” said Tom.

  “TURN LEFT,” said the car. “WOULD YOU LIKE TO HEAR SOME ADVERTISEMENTS FOR PRODUCTS THAT MAY INTEREST YOU WHILE YOU DRIVE?”

  “Yes,” said Tom, and then, “sixty percent volume, double speed. Dial work, full volume, priority.”

  “THANK YOU FOR USING THE ADVANCED FEATURES,” said the car. A stream of advertisements issued from the car’s speakers, sped up and smashed together, at sixty percent of normal volume. It formed a linguistic wallpaper against which Tom’s phone dialed his work.

  HAS SOMEONE YOU HAVE KNOWN DIED RECENTLY? WITH PERFUME CREMATION, ASHES ARE TRANSFORMED INTO PERFUME—THE SCENT OF LOVE. IF YOU ARE PLAGUED BY RATS TRY RAT-B-GON! RATS EAT IT, DIE, AND BECOME PENCIL ERASERS. WERE YOU RECENTLY FINISHED FROM SCHOOL? WONDERING WHAT’S NEXT? ATTEND THE GARBAGE ELIMINATION INSTITUTE—WHEN SCHOOL ENDS, THIS BEGINS.