by Carol Snow
Mother pushed a button, and coffee whooshed into her waiting mug. “Meet meet. I can’t very well tape footage of myself talking to a screen. Though it wouldn’t be the first time.”
“But what if he lived far away?”
“This is an important story, Francine. I’d go to Timbuktu if I had to.”
Francine almost asked where Timbuktu was, but then she realized she didn’t care. Instead, she chose her words carefully.
“I know Ricardo Leisure’s real name. I even know where he lives. But I’ll only tell if you agree to take me with you.”
Mother held Freesia’s eyes for a long time. And then she nodded.
29
AN OPEN LETTER TO ALL SUPPORTERS OF PROGRESSIVE EDUCATION
Ten years ago, I was a respected video game and educational software designer. I enjoyed my work. I was doing well. But I wondered: WHY COULDN’T EDUCATIONAL SOFTWARE BE AS MUCH FUN AS VIDEO GAMES?
Studies have shown that humans learn faster WHEN THEY ENJOY THEMSELVES. They retain more information WHEN THEY ARE ENGAGED IN ACTIVITIES. So why can’t school be fun? Why can’t it be interactive?
At that time, I was just starting to explore the possibilities of virtual reality. That’s when it hit me. Instead of GOING TO SCHOOL, children should be able to LIVE IN AN ACTIVE LEARNING ENVIRONMENT.
In the real world, it is not possible for a child to learn Korean in Seoul one day and French in Paris the next. It is not practical to demonstrate the laws of physics by having students record their speeds on a succession of waterslides. It is impossible to teach American History by allowing students to engage in conversation with George Washington. (Yes—that George Washington!)
In Bubble World, the virtual education reality community that I developed with extensive input from leading educators and child psychologists, these kinds of experiences are commonplace. VIRTUAL REALITY EDUCATION = ACTIVE LEARNING.
In recent days, you may have read inflammatory posts from discontented bloggers. They say Bubble World is a sham. They say that a school without bells and workbooks and standardized tests is not a school. I say they are wrong.
These bloggers are simply angry because THEIR CONTRACTS WERE TERMINATED. Until this week, THEY HAD NO COMPLAINTS. But in Bubble World, safety is rule number one and respect for others is rule number two. These students were expelled because they posed a threat to other students. Confidentiality prevents me from divulging details.
DO NOT BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU READ.
Students in Bubble World continue to thrive and grow and learn at a pace unmatched anywhere. To learn more about how your child might benefit from our one-of-a-kind active learning environment, visit our Success Stories page.
Sincerely,
Todd Piloski
Founder, CEO, and Chairman of the Board
BUBBLE WORLD EDUCATIONAL ENTERPRISES, INC.
“providing the education of the future … today”
30
Along the dusty desert road between Phoenix and the Pacific Ocean, a sprawling outlet mall lay among fields of giant windmills. Freesia could have spent days going through all the stores, but they wanted to make it to Ricky’s house before sundown.
Mother hadn’t bought into the idea of a makeover right away.
“You need a new look,” Freesia announced back in Phoenix as Mother filled her tired beige suitcase with tired beige clothes.
“What do you mean?” Mother’s hair looked even more unruly than usual. She wore a men’s heather gray sweatshirt and pajama bottoms.
“This is your big moment. Thanks to the Bubble World story, your website is getting thousands of slaps.”
“Hits.”
“Hits. Right. If you want people to take you seriously, you need to look the part.”
Mother appeared skeptical.
Freesia laid it out. “People like to look at pretty people. It’s not right, but it’s just the way it is. So if you want to build your audience, you need to first build a relationship with a hair straightener and some good-quality foundation. And you need to start dressing like a professional blog, vlog … news … talker person.”
At the outlets, a few hours were enough to steer her mother away from gray pants suits and wrinkle-resistant blouses. Instead, Freesia convinced Mother to adopt a seventies-inspired style: wrap dresses, jaunty scarves, chunky heels, and oversized sunglasses. Mother had never looked this good. Not just that—even Mummy had never looked better.
It was surprisingly easy to convince Mother to buy Freesia the beginnings of a new wardrobe: “If I am poorly dressed, people will think it’s because you don’t love me.”
Perhaps there was enough truth in that statement to frighten or shame her. In any event, Mother flashed her credit card like it was nothing more than a piece of plastic. Freesia even managed to get her to splurge at a beauty supply store.
As for Freesia, picking out clothes was more of a challenge now that she no longer possessed her everything-looks-good Bubble World body. But she had nice arms and pleasantly curved calves, plus she’d discovered that strong colors brightened her sallow complexion. In the end, she opted for flared skirts, ruffled collars, and lots of red, green, and royal blue.
She realized, of course, that real-world Ricky probably looked nothing like Bubble World Ricky. How could he? Her high school had over two thousand students, and none of the boys came close to the perfection of the boy with the streaky blond hair, sculpted cheekbones, washboard abs, and brilliant blue eyes. It was even possible (though unlikely) that the difference between the two Rickies was even more pronounced than the gulf that lay between sweet island Freesia and the girl formerly known as Francine.
But that was okay. (She hoped.) She cared for the inner Ricky: fun, warm, smart, original. He didn’t have to be perfect looking. She hoped that he felt the same way.
It was late afternoon when the stylish woman and her equally well-dressed daughter drove their enormous boxy black vehicle up to Ricky’s house in Newport Beach.
“You have reached. Your destination,” the GPS informed them, just in case they hadn’t noticed.
They’d already stopped off to check in at the cut-rate hotel Mother had found on the Internet. You could find anything on Internet, it seemed, with the glaring exception of Ricky’s phone number.
Freesia wished she’d been able to call Ricky ahead of time. It seemed so un-utter to show up unannounced like this. Still, a blog comment was far too public, and that Twitter thing was just weird.
The enormous front gate stood open. Behind it loomed a house even grander and larger (though not prettier) than Ricky’s Agalinas abode. There were columns. There were fountains. There was a bright green bush trimmed to look like a leaping dolphin. The front windows were two stories tall but coated with something shiny that made it impossible to see inside. Off to one side, a garage had enough room for five cars, yet there were three others parked in the massive, curved driveway. Off to the other side, a break in a hedge offered views of a deep blue, churning sea.
Mother pushed the doorbell.
The intercom above it crackled. “Is this the furniture delivery?”
There were so many disembodied voices in the real world. Freesia wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to it. At least this one was attached to a human.
“Uh … no,” Mother said. “We’re here to see Ricky.”
After a long, long pause, the voice said, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Richard Levine?” Mother said. “He blogs under the name Ricardo Leisure.”
Another long, long pause, and then: “You need to go away.”
Mother said, “My name is Donna Somers. I’m a vlogger who specializes in technology—perhaps you’ve heard of me? I’ve been covering Todd Piloski and Bubble World Enterprises for three and a half years now. I need to talk to Ricardo. Richard. To compare notes and—”
Freesia cut her mother off. “Tell Ricky that Freesia is here.”
This time the pause was so long t
hat Freesia was afraid the person on the other end would never answer. But eventually she opened the front door and introduced herself as Valeria, the Levines’ house manager. Valeria was short and solid, with chin-length hair that was all the same shade of yellow. She wore a turquoise T-shirt, khaki capris, and white sneakers. Nervous though she was, Freesia looked the woman up and down, giving her a mental makeover.
“Is Richard here?” Mother asked, peering beyond Valeria to the cavernous foyer.
Valeria licked her lips. “Richard is always … Richard is here. He was surprised to hear he had visitors. But pleased. His personal assistant is helping him get ready. If you’ll follow me into the salon, you can make yourself comfortable while you wait.”
Ricky has a personal assistant? AND his own salon? That was wicked! If Freesia had known, she wouldn’t have bothered fussing with the electric hair straightener and all those defrizzifiers she had bought at the outlet mall.
“Are Richard’s parents here?” Mother asked. “I’d like to meet them.”
“Richard’s father and stepmother are in Asia until next week. Mr. Levine’s business requires extensive travel.”
“What business is he in? If I may ask.”
“Cell phone components. Here’s the salon. I’ll see how Richard is making out.”
The salon was not a beauty salon after all. It was a living room. With a grand piano. And a view of the Pacific Ocean beyond an infinity pool. And a maid who asked if she could get them anything. Mineral water? Passion fruit iced tea? Cappuccino?
“This is almost like Agalinas,” Freesia said after the maid left to fetch their beverages.
Why in the world did Ricky need a virtual paradise when he was living in a real one?
Beyond the glass wall, the sky was clear except for what looked like a cloud on the horizon. Freesia crossed the room’s black-and-white marble tiles to get a better look.
“Is that … an island?”
Mother joined her at the enormous window. “I think that’s Santa Catalina. One of the Channel Islands. It’s what Todd used as inspiration for Agalinas.”
Freesia gasped. She put her hand on the glass as if she could touch the far-off land. “Agalinas is real? You mean we can visit?”
When Mother spoke, her voice was uncharacteristically kind. “Catalina Island is a real place. I’ve heard it’s very pretty. But it’s not Agalinas. Nothing is. I’m sorry, Francine.”
Freesia dropped her hand from the glass, swallowed hard, and nodded.
The maid brought their drinks (mineral water for Mother, the fruity iced tea for Freesia). They settled down on a white couch and looked out at the water without speaking.
What was taking so long? If Ricky had surprised Freesia in Arizona, she might have taken a few moments to change her clothes and apply lip gloss, but she would have rushed down to see him as soon as possible. Didn’t Ricky want to see her? Perhaps he was as nervous as she was.
At last yellow-haired Valeria returned.
“Richard is ready for you.”
31
Freesia and Mother followed Valeria back through the vast foyer to a wide marble staircase. About halfway up, Freesia stumbled and smacked her leg against a sharp step.
“Are you okay?” Valeria asked.
Freesia righted herself, holding back a whimper. “I’m fine.” Her shin throbbed.
Mother said, “She’s had trouble with spatial relations ever since…”
She left the sentence hanging, but Valeria nodded.
They walked down a dark, high-ceilinged hall with fluffy white carpet and stark black-and-white landscape photographs on the walls. The doors were all closed until they reached the last one, which was left open just enough to allow an eerie blue light to filter through.
Valeria rapped on the door. “Richard? You ready?”
“Yes.” His voice sounded strained.
Valeria pushed open the door. Dread clenched Freesia’s stomach, and not because she was afraid that Ricky wouldn’t like her outfit. (Her outfit was vicious.) But something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
Valeria entered the vast, murky room first, followed by Mother and then Freesia. The only light came from a laptop monitor inside a bubblepod. Freesia blinked, trying to make out shapes.
“Freesia. You found me.” That strained voice again.
She edged closer to the bubble. It was at least three times the size of hers.
“You told me your address, remember?” She tried to keep her voice light and normal, but it was hard. There is something wrong with Ricky.
“Of course I remember.” He paused to take a breath. “I remember everything.”
She’d reached the open bubblepod door. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, blacks turned to charcoals, charcoals to light gray. Objects began to take shape. A recliner similar to the one she had at home dominated the pod. Only this one was far, far larger than hers and piled with pillows.
Behind the recliner, in the space where her bubblepod had a toilet, sink, and shower, Ricky’s had an enormous walk-in Jacuzzi with a showerhead, along with a full vanity and toilet.
But no Ricky. (Not that she wanted to see him while he was … you know.)
His voice came from somewhere near the recliner. “I always wondered what you looked like in the outside world. Not that it mattered. But you’re pretty, Freesia. You really are.”
“Thank you.” Sweat dampened her new clothes. She had an awful urge to flee. But she didn’t. Instead, she took a small step closer to the recliner. And another small step.
That’s when she realized: those weren’t pillows on the giant recliner. That was Ricky. He was a pale mass of heaving, wheezing flesh. Forget the food court at the mall. Forget the weight-loss reality shows that her sister occasionally watched. Ricky Leisure was by far the fattest person Freesia had ever seen, and not just because she’d lost so much of her memory. A person that size couldn’t make it down the stairs, couldn’t fit through a car door, couldn’t walk down the street.
Tears stung her eyes. Her sweet Ricky, trapped in so much flesh.
“Secret’s out,” he said. “I’m a big boy.”
Enormous black knit pajamas covered him down to his pale pudgy hands and swollen feet. His face was so distorted, it was hard to tell what he really looked like. His hair, unlike the Agalinas golden boy’s, was brown and wispy. But his eyes, lit by the glow from the computer, were bright and sharp and shiny blue. She knew those eyes. Those eyes knew her.
“Oh, Ricky.” Without thinking, she rushed over and took his hand. It was warm, soft, dry. Nice. This is Ricky. My second bestie. Maybe my first.
She said, “I’ve missed you terribly.”
He said, “Agalinas was borrifying without you. Though not nearly as odious as this.”
Freesia lowered herself onto a tiny stool next to the recliner.
Ricky shifted his weight. She pictured the Ricky she’d known in Agalinas lounging on his yellow raft, muscles glistening in the sunshine. All those nibbles, all those sips: they added up. But still. He’d left the raft on occasion, to mingle with his guests at a rooftop party or visit Spanglish class.
Freesia said, “The rubber floor in front of your recliner. Is it a treadmill?”
“It is. But I don’t use it if that’s what you’re asking.” With his free hand, he pressed a button, and the recliner buzzed and straightened like the front seats in Mother’s monstrous black vehicle. “That’s about all the exercising I do. But I like lounging best. Even if it can make breathing difficult.”
“My chair doesn’t recline anymore,” Freesia said.
He said, “Mine had to be custom made. So it has backup controls.”
“Richard? I’m Donna Somers. Francine’s mother.” She entered the bubblepod and got a good look at Ricky. “Oh, my…”
Feeling protective, Freesia squeezed Ricky’s squishy hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Ricky said. “I’d get up, but…”
“Please do
n’t!” Mother fiddled with the sleeve of her wrap dress. “I think we should join forces to bring down Todd Piloski. I’d like to interview you on camera. People need to know that Bubble World is not only dangerous to the mind, it’s harmful to the body as well.”
Ricky plucked an enormous cup from the steel table on the far side of the recliner. He put the straw in his mouth and took a long drink before speaking again.
“I was always like this,” he said at last. “You can blame Todd for a lot, but not my size.”
Mother chose her words carefully. “Francine’s nutritional supplements—the bars and shakes and juices—they were all carefully measured to provide her with the proper amount of calories.”
Ricky shifted his massive weight. “When I first got to Bubble World, they tried to limit my food, but I couldn’t think. I couldn’t sleep. So I stomped and yelled until they gave me what I wanted.” He sighed. “I know I could get an operation. They could make my stomach smaller. But I’d rather cut off a leg or pull out an eye.” He reached for the cup.
“About that interview,” Mother said.
Ricky shook his head. His neck was nowhere to be found. “It’s not that I care what people think of me. That bothers my father more than it does me. But I won’t be writing any more about Bubble World.”
“But—”
“Piloski was going to close it down. It just wasn’t attracting enough students to make money. That’s why I let the secret out. Because it didn’t matter anymore.”
“How do you know this?”
“I hacked into his e-mail. But here’s the thing. In the past few days, because of all the press, enrollment has gone through the roof. There’s actually a waiting list to get in.”
Mother was stunned. “Even though the whole thing is a sham?”
“People believed Piloski over us.”
“But my vlog,” Mother said. “My reputation…”
“Piloski is trying to get my father to invest more money in his company. If he does, I’ll be allowed to go back.”