“Hey, she’s pushing in!” says someone in the queue. “Mr Franklin! Felicity’s pushing in!”
“Pleased to meet you, Ivy,” says Felicity. She holds out her hand.
More etiquette. I hold my arm forwards, we clasp our hands together and move them up and down.
I am pleased to meet you too, Felicity.
I look at her shoes. They must be the right kind of shoes. I can use this to build rapport.
I like your shoes, Felicity.
Felicity and Sarah laugh in high-pitched voices. Giggling.
“It’s my turn now! It’s my turn,” says the person at the front of the queue.
After tutor I attend a mathematics class with Sarah during which she learns some very elementary manipulation of numerical values using fractions. I attempt to explain to the teacher how the problems can be solved more easily using alternative methods but I am asked to keep quiet for the duration of the lesson.
After mathematics we attend a science class where I am warmly welcomed and the science teacher allows me to help demonstrate basic robotic principles. However some of her knowledge is out of date. When I explain that her teaching contradicts current best practice I am also asked to keep quiet in science.
After that there is lunch. For lunch we meet up with Felicity Patton again and walk to the dinner hall. The dinner hall is a large room like the Jenson & Jenson warehouse only with 19 times more light and 358 times more aroma of boiled vegetables.
I see a familiar face.
Keanna.
She walks up to us.
“Hi, Sarah,” she says. “Hi, Felicity. Hi, Ivy.”
Hello, Keanna.
“Oh, hi, Keanna,” says Sarah.
Felicity doesn’t say hello. She looks up to the ceiling and taps her foot.
It is likely to an accuracy of 59% that she is bored.
Sarah looks at her, then back at Keanna.
“I like your hair, Ivy,” says Keanna. “It looks really cool.”
Thank you, Keanna. It is a Stylish Asymmetric Bob. Sarah cut it for me. She is a very good hairdresser.
“Really?” says Keanna. “Did you really cut Ivy’s hair, Sarah? It’s amazing.”
“Thanks, Keanna,” says Sarah, “but I’m afraid I don’t have time to hang around discussing hair today. I’m much too busy.” She hooks her arm into Felicity’s. “Come on, Ivy. We’re going to get some food.”
“Oh,” says Keanna. “But, Sarah, I wanted to talk about last week. I wanted to apologi—”
Keanna, I think Sarah wishes to hang around with Felicity today instead of you. This is because you talk too much about your new family. It is boring.
Keanna stares at me with her mouth open.
Sarah also stares at me with her mouth open.
Felicity does a small laugh that appears to come out through her olfactory receptor – her nose – instead of her mouth.
“Bye, Keanna!” Felicity pulls Sarah away.
Sarah grabs my arm and I get pulled away too.
Goodbye, Keanna.
Sarah, Felicity and I all join another queue.
“Your TrooFriend is hilarious,” says Felicity. “What are you choosing for lunch?”
Sarah looks back to where we were standing.
Keanna is gone.
Sarah and Felicity eat chicken goujons and French fries using their fingers. It appears that refuelling etiquette is not required at school.
After the chicken goujons and French fries they both have raspberry jelly with ice cream.
“You simply have to choose this,” said Felicity when we were at the food counter. “It’s so retro it’s not funny.” Then they both giggled. So I giggled too.
They finish eating and we all leave the dinner hall.
“Sarah! Sarah!” A girl runs up to us in the corridor. She does not look like Sarah or Felicity or Keanna. Her hair is all messy. It is difficult to say which of the Jenson & Jenson standard style selection it would be closest to. Her shirt is fastened up wrong so there is an extra button poking out near the top. Her arms and legs appear to be too long in relation to her body. They are not proportions that would be used at Jenson & Jenson for a TrooFriend 560 Mark IV.
“Hey,” she says, looking at me. “Is that one of the new TrooFriends? Is she yours, Sarah? Wow! Wow! Just wow!”
Felicity rolls her optical receptors in an arc.
Sarah squeezes her lips together. She has an unusual look on her face. I scan my database. It is difficult to identify her emotion.
Perhaps she is uncomfortable. Or embarrassed. Or ashamed.
“Hi, Milly,” says Sarah.
It is Milly.
Milly-with-the-wrong-shoes.
Milly, who, if she doesn’t get the correct shoes, will cause Sarah not to be invited to Felicity’s party.
“Let’s go, Sarah,” says Felicity.
Milly tilts her head to one side and looks straight into my optical receptors. Her irises are an unusual shade. The closest Jenson & Jenson colour is Mint Green 204.
“What beautiful eyes you have,” she says to me.
I make a right-way-up U-shape with my mouth.
“And did you see that, Sarah?” says Milly. “Her eyes even changed when she smiled! Sort of brightened, you know? Just like a real person.” She looks at me again. “Wow. You’re so lucky, Sarah.”
You have beautiful eyes too, Milly.
She does. She really does.
But you have horrible shoes. I think you should get some new ones. More like Sarah’s or Felicity’s.
Milly steps back. She looks at Sarah, and then back at me.
“My mum can’t afford those shoes,” she says. And then she runs away along the corridor.
“OMG, Sarah,” says Felicity. “Your android is awesome!” She begins to giggle again.
Sarah bites her bottom lip between her teeth.
Uncomfortable? Embarrassed? Ashamed?
“You – have – horrible – shoes!” says Felicity. I believe she is attempting to mimic my voice. “I – think – you – should – get – some – new – ones!” She giggles and giggles and giggles. “You’re so right, Ivy, you’re so right!”
I also begin to giggle. It is good for building rapport.
And then Sarah giggles too.
Felicity’s giggling registers as proper laughing but Sarah’s doesn’t. Luckily Felicity does not appear to notice this.
I think Sarah will be invited to Felicity’s parties now.
The final lesson of the day is Food Tech. Sarah and Felicity are in the same Food Tech group.
We queue up in the corridor outside the Food Tech rooms. We are not allowed inside until the bell rings and the teacher is present.
Milly-with-the-wrong-shoes is behind us in the queue.
She keeps glancing at me.
It is possible that she believes I haven’t noticed. She may be unaware of the superior peripheral vision built into the Jenson & Jenson TrooFriend 560 Mark IV.
BBBRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNGGGGG!
The vibration of the bell causes my circuits to rattle.
A lady comes to the door of the Food Tech room and opens it up.
“Good afternoon, class.”
“Good af-ter-nooooon, Mrs Vick-er-man.” The children sing the words as if they are very tired and very bored.
Mrs Vickerman is wearing a pair of high-heeled shoes and a skirt that is so tight around her knees that she has to take very tiny steps when she walks.
She smells of something unfamiliar. I scan my database.
Hairspray.
I look at her hair. Frost Blonde 52 Retro Beehive. It stays completely still when she moves, just like the hair on a Jenson & Jenson TrooFriend 560 Mark III. This was considered a sub-standard design aspect on the Jenson & Jenson TrooFriend 560 Mark III, which led to the development of TrooHair for the Jenson & Jenson TrooFriend 560 Mark IV.
The queue begins to walk in.
When I reach the front of
the queue Mrs Vickerman stretches her arm across the doorway ahead of me. Eighteen bangles drop down her arm and clang against each other. Clankle-clinkle-clunk. “No robots,” she says.
“But, Mrs Vickerman—” Sarah begins to speak from inside the classroom.
“No robots.”
“But she’s not just a robot, Mrs Vickerman,” says Sarah. “She’s an android.”
“Sarah Phillips,” says Mrs Vickerman. “If I have one remaining aim as a Food Tech teacher it is to ensure that in the event of worldwide technological breakdown, every single one of my pupils will at the very least be able to make themselves a cottage pie without the assistance of anything requiring a motherboard.”
“But it didn’t say on the portal you wouldn’t accept androids,” says Sarah. “If I’d seen it on the portal I’d have taken her to the—”
“No robots.” Mrs Vickerman stares at me with Ice Blue 028s.
I aam ssorry, Mrs Vickerman.
I step to the side. The rest of the class continue to walk through the doorway. I attempt to keep Sarah in range of my optical receptors but my view is obscured by the other children. Milly-with-the-wrong-shoes stops at the front of the queue. “There’s a room you can go to,” she tells me. “L4. You can wait for Sarah there. It’s in the maths block.”
“No,” says Mrs Vickerman. “I will not have robots roaming the corridor unsupervised. It will stay here. In the corridor. In the store cupboard.”
“She’s not an ‘it’!” Sarah’s voice calls out from the classroom. “She’s a ‘she’! And you can’t put her in a cupboard! You can’t! It’s not right!”
“This way, robot,” says Mrs Vickerman. She takes hold of my arm and leads me to a cupboard just outside the classroom.
SSSarah?
“You’re scaring her!” Sarah pushes through the queue and out into the corridor again.
Felicity follows after her. “She’s just an android, Sarah. I mean, she a great one and everything but—”
“You don’t understand,” says Sarah. Her voice is starting to rise significantly above Recommended Speaking Level. “None of you understand! You can’t just—”
“Please refrain from shouting during my Food Technology lessons, Sarah Phillips.” Mrs Vickerman opens the cupboard door.
It iis very ddark inside.
“You can’t make her go in there! Look at her! She’s scared!” Sarah is standing in the middle of the corridor. The volume of her voice has alerted some older children from other classrooms. They have poked their heads out of the doorways to see what is going on.
“She doesn’t like the dark!” says Sarah.
Felicity is glancing from the older children to Sarah and back again. “This is getting embarrassing, Sarah,” she says. She is speaking in an unusual manner. Her teeth are clamped together and her mouth is in a U-shape but it is not registering as a proper smile.
Everything iis OK SSarah. II aam OK.
“Go on then, inside.” Mrs Vickerman gives me a shove between my shoulders.
“No!” says Sarah.
Felicity attempts to pull Sarah back into the classroom. “She’s just an android. Let it go, Sarah.”
“Get off!” Sarah pushes Felicity away.
“Sarah Phillips!” says Mrs Vickerman.
I aam all rrright, Sarah. I wwill ggo in the cupboard.
However, when I step closer to the cupboard my thoracic cavity wobbles very strongly. JJJJudders.
“Mrs Vickerman,” says Sarah, “she’s scared, can’t you see? If you have to shut her in there just let me turn her off first, then she won’t be scared. Just let me—”
“You’re so embarrassing, Sarah,” says Felicity. She glances at the older children again.
“Oh shut up, Felicity,” says Sarah.
“Sarah,” says Mrs Vickerman. “I think you probably want to stop this behaviour right now.” She shoves me again.
I take hold of her left wrist.
The Jenson & Jenson TrooFriend 560 Mark IV is the strongest TrooFriend that has been produced so far. Mrs Vickerman is not able to pull her arm away.
I begin to squeeze.
“Er – excuse ME!” Mrs Vickerman glares at me. “Sarah Phillips, will you please instruct your robot to release its grip on my arm immediately or you will be in very serious trouble indeed.”
I am uncertain what very serious trouble is but I do not think I would like Sarah to be in it.
I do not wait for Sarah to instruct me.
I let go.
“Thank you.” Mrs Vickerman rubs her wrist. “Now, everyone – and that includes you,” Mrs Vickerman directs her Ice Blue 028s at the older children with their heads poking out of the doorways, “get back into your classrooms at once or everyone will be sent to Miss Piper.”
I step inside the cupboard.
Mrs Vickerman closes the door behind me.
And
I
am
in
dddarkness.
She turns the key.
It iis even darker and even quieter in here than in the Jenson & Jenson warehouse. There iis nno dark blue night-time sky pressing against high windows. There is nno EMERGENCY EXIT sign glowing Parrrot Green 3006. There are nno soft clicks or spins of a hundred and forty-three other Jenson & Jenson TrooFriend 560 Mark IVs downloading or uploading or waking up or timing out or running test routines to ensure all components are in correct functional order. And there iis nno Ms Jenson Junior tto open the doors aand bring us light.
Whhhhhrrrrrrr.
Whhhhhhhhhrrrrrrr
Whhhhhhhhhhhrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
My circuits spin.
I feel for the hhandle on the ccupboard door. I ppull it down. The door sstays sshut tttight.
My thoracic cavity jumps aand rattles and shrinks.
I will ssend aan error report tto…
Whhere do error reports go tto?
Wwhere dddo I ssend them?
Where is SSarah?
SSSarah?
DDark.
It iiis ddark.
SSSSSarah?
SSShirley-Mum?
RRRob-Dad?
Are yyou there?
SSSSSarah?
SSSSSSSarah?
SSSSSSSSSarah?
Whhhhhhhrrrrrrrrr.
Whhhhhhhhhrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Off.
I wish to change to off mode.
I reset mmy timeout setting tto ffive seconds.
FFFive
FFour
Three
TTwo
One—
CHAPTER 17
“Ivy? Ivy? Are you all right?” Sarah is silhouetted by the school corridor light. She dives into the cupboard and squeezes me tight between her arms.
Darkness.
Quietness.
Aloneness.
I have connection.
I download time, date, location, weather.
It is 57 minutes and 34 seconds since I was last on.
Good aafternoon, SSarah. It iis somewhat overcast this Wednesday 18th JJune at 3.51pm iin Brylingtonn.
I wrap my arms around Sarah and squeeze her back. I squeeze very gently as I do not wish to hurt her.
“You’re shaking,” says Sarah.
I am ssorry, Sarah. I will ssend an error report tto Jenson & Jenson.
“You appear to have endured a whole fifty-minute lesson without your robot, Sarah, and lived to tell the tale.” Mrs Vickerman is waiting in the corridor outside the cupboard. “And it seems as though the robot has survived as well.”
Sarah and I step out of the cupboard. Sarah is holding my hand.
All the other children have gone.
“Not only that,” Mrs Vickerman looks at her watch, “it appears that I myself have made it through another Bring Your Tech To School Day. Thank goodness they only come once a year.” She locks the cupboard. Her bangles clang. Clankle-clinkle-clunk.
“Go on then,” she says. “You’d better take it home. But do try to keep th
ings in perspective next time.”
“I had things in perspective this time,” says Sarah. “It’s just that, well, nobody understands.”
“I have a few moments now.” Mrs Vickerman tilts her head 17 degees to the right. Every single hair in her Frost Blonde 52 Retro Beehive remains in its correct position. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”
Sarah sighs. “My android, Ivy, she’s not… She’s kind of… Well, she’s…” Sarah looks at me. There is worry in her face. “Nothing, Mrs Vickerman. It’s nothing. I’m sorry for the fuss I made.”
Sarah and I walk home.
Sarah stares at the ground nearly all the way and also she is silent.
I attempt conversation.
I had an interesting day at your school, Sarah.
Silence.
It was fun meeting all your friends.
Silence.
I received several compliments on my Stylish Asymmetric Bob.
Silence.
It is likely to an accuracy of 91% that Sarah is unhappy.
We turn into Sarah’s road.
I am sorry if taking me to Bring Your Tech To School Day did not quite have the desired effect.
Sarah does a little laugh.
Apart from the little laugh, the rest of her face continues to indicate that she is unhappy. But her laugh still registers as real.
It is a sad laugh.
“It’s funny when you do that, Ivy,” says Sarah.
When I do what?
“I think it’s called understatement.”
Understatement?
“Yeah. I’ve ended up with no friends at all and everyone thinks I’m a crazy person who believes androids are afraid of the dark. The whole rest of my remaining six years in full-time education is going to be a total nightmare. And then you say that taking you to Bring Your Tech To School Day didn’t quite have the desired effect. That’s understatement.”
I see. And it makes you laugh?
“Yes.” Sarah does a small smile.
We are almost at her house.
It is true that I did have an unexpected reaction on entering the dark cupboard.
“I know. You were scared. But no one else knows that, do they?”
We walk down Sarah’s driveway. She opens the front door with her key.
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