by Sue Lange
“Oh, Elsa,” Lainie said. More importantly she had a hug for her daughter. “I’m so sorry, Baby,” she whispered into her daughter’s ear. “You were cheated.”
Elsa could hold out no longer. She bawled like a baby. jWad and May and Jimmy and Christine looked away, scraping their feet on the floor and glancing at the clock on the wall.
Finally Elsa calmed and her mother announced, “I’m going to appeal the decision tomorrow with the school board.
“Oh, Mom,” Elsa laughed, pushing the liquid from her eyes with her finger tips. “This isn’t a court case. It’s just a dumb high school competition.”
“Yes, I know, but you all deserved the prize. What flimsy excuse could they have for not giving it to you?”
“There’s lots of reasons,” Jimmy stepped forward before Elsa could respond. “For one thing this was supposed to be a single person project.”
“Yes, but there were seven installations here and only five of you. You’re two under the limit. Next.”
“We signed up as the PM Club, a non-sanctioned entity,” Christine said.
“So?”
“Forget it, Mom. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a stupid project.”
“To you, Dear. But you’re not alone here. What about May and jWad and Jimmy, and, I’m sorry, what was your name.”
“Christine,” the five losers answered.
“Christine, yes. What about all of you? Do you all have stellar resumes that have no need for . . . something?”
Three of the named said nothing and stared at their shoes. jWad, however, had an answer. “So what?” he said. “We know we’re the best.”
“Doesn’t work that way,” Lainie answered. “Life is not Disney. You have to fight for whatever you deserve.”
“Maybe we don’t deserve it, Mom. We didn’t invent anything. We’re not saving humanity with some wonderful device. Isn’t that what science is supposed to do?
“No. Not necessarily. It’s about appreciating the world too. Elsa, your project deserved to win.”
“Mom,” Elsa said. “Let it rest. Let’s pack up and go. Where’s Dad?”
“He got a call and had to leave, and we can pack up and go, but, truly, this was an injustice.” The words were said with the zeal of one who felt guilt herself and was looking for a way to erase her crime.
“What was an injustice,” Jimmy said, “was not sanctioning the PM Club.”
“Yes, well, let’s talk about that,” Lainie said to the backs of the club members who were busily dismantling their masterpiece and no longer paying attention to her.
The ride home, despite the disappointing day, was actually light-hearted. Mrs. Webb took the gang out for a Pizza-A-Go-Go fling, during which the conversation centered around the PM Club and other important topics such as if Justin Blaine’s drooling problem will be solved when he gets his adenoids out, or whether Jetstream Soda is preferable to carrot juice, healthwise.
The Club members, used to a year of being a renegade outfit, sort of liked their status as losers. They played along with Lainie because she had bought the pizza, but already they had moved on. They were a hit at the big deal FutureWorld competition even if they hadn’t won. There is something to be said for obtaining life’s trappings, the baubles and bling of money and fame that people always work so hard to get. But when the real deal comes along—say the stopping of a show due to your own little self’s efforts—everything else shrinks. The gang was pretty happy and the pizza tasted great.
Much to Elsa’s gratitude, Lainie Webb did not storm into the school the following Monday and demand satisfaction. She did, however, call Dean Williams to suggest reconsidering the status of the PM Club. She asked the dean to look at the hard work the members put into the science exhibit. It was only fair, Lainie asserted. She made a great closing speech, worthy of a case where the life of the defendant is in the balance.
Dean Williams promised to look into it.
Lainie lined up a number of witnesses to recommend the clubs’ sanctioning. The star of the group was none other than Jason Bridges, who stopped by the dean’s office to testify on the club’s behalf.
“Come in, Jason,” Dean Williams beckoned with a beaming smile as the school’s luminary stood outside her office.
“Ms. Williams,” Jason, said seating himself comfortably in the chair opposite her desk. “Can I tell you a story?”
Dean Williams’ smile froze on her face. “Um,” she started, not quite ready for a locker room speech. Her mind was elsewhere and in fact she had just been looking through Carnival Cruise brochures and was not prepared for a new topic. School would be out in less than a month, the last thing she wanted to do was give some student a pep talk. Or hear one. Or think at all about motivational cues. What the devil was he up to? “Sure,” she said, not meaning it in the least.
“Remember when I was accused of my brother’s . . . you know?”
“Yes, but that was—”
“I’m not talking about that.”
“Okay.” She drew it out, remembering and planning what advice to give. “Why don’t you talk about what you’re going to talk about?”
“When I was in trouble, Elsa Webb was the only one that would help me.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
“And you should sanction her club. If it wasn’t for her, I don’t know if I would have pulled through.”
Dean Williams scratched the back of her neck, wondering if Ms. Webb’s mother had hired this unfortunate young man to say all this heart-wrenching gibberish. Lainie Webb was his lawyer if she remembered correctly. Lawyers. They were all pains in the . . .
“Well, I appreciate your coming forward, Jason. I’m not sure it will help. Elsa is a bright girl and obviously thoughtful, but the club never really gained much support from the student body. She only ever had five members after several weeks of recruiting. It hardly seems worth the effort to get it on the—”
Jason jumped up. “Five, only? So if I can prove to you that there were more people in the club, you’ll sanction it?”
Dean Williams let out a little half laugh. “Well,” she said, wondering what he had up his sleeve and assuming more of Lainie Webb’s influence. “I’ll consider it,” she finished patronizingly.
Jason reached out to shake her hand. “Thanks, Ms. Williams, you won’t regret it.” He dashed out as soon as the dean ordered Robert to open the door. He yelled “No!” to the office assistant before it had a chance to ask if he wanted an appointment.
Within an hour, seven witnesses, witnessing on behalf of the club’s integrity, forthrightness, and honesty, paraded through her office. Em Twill and Jake the Shorter, the Johnson twins, and three fidgety seniors anxious to please Jason stopped by and told about how wonderful their experiences with the club were.
By the end of the day, seven anti-Rifs stopped by to see Dean Williams as well. She’d never been so popular before and had never in her life more regretted giving hope to a student.
It was the last witness that did it. Christine stopped by, sneezing and wheezing and bawling about how she had nowhere to turn before hooking up with Elsa. She was on her last bottle of pills and had considered taking them all if Elsa’s poster hadn’t intervened in her life.
“I was nothing, Dean Williams, nothing. And now look at me. In three years I’ll be president of Northawken High’s Perpetual Motion C . . . ” She wound herself up to the point of a coughing jag. She finished with a sizable hack into her Kleenex. What could Dean Williams do but jump from her seat, pat Christine on the back, and agree to the sanction. Anything to get the infectious student out of her office.
***
A week later, Dean Williams brought the subject up at the year’s final faculty meeting held via SkypeConference. She was determined to get this club sanctioned. She knew Brown would be against it and then Phelps would be confused. They’d be at an impasse and the club wouldn’t get sanctioned. And Jason Bridge’s parade of witnesses would start up again and ruin her entire s
ummer. Bringing it up at the faculty meeting would ensure more than three voters. Most of the faculty could care less about this off the wall organization. They were as anxious as she was to get the year over and done with and the grill fired up.
“Item Three,” Dean Williams began right after the obligatory Skype ad had finished extolling the virtues of VoIP.
“Elsa Webb,” Mr. Brown, reading it on the itinerary, said it along with her.
“Yes, Dean Williams said. “I’m sure you’re all aware of the outstanding achievement of this sophomore and her Perpetual Motion Club at our FutureWorld competition.
“It wasn’t science,” Mr. Brown cut in.
“Correct,” said Ms. Phelps’ crackly Skype voice. “It was so much better than that.”
Silence as the faculty digested Ms. Phelps’ extraordinary statement. They were each sure they had misunderstood through the static in the line, but no one wanted an explanation. Even Brown was too confused to rebut. Finally he came up with something.
“It’ll compromise the school’s club program,” he said. “A tramp outfit getting the stamp of approval.”
“Nonsense,” replied the dean. “The only club that comes close to ever compromising us is the Science Society and you do that yourself every year when the questionable winner of FutureWorld is one of your members.”
Mr. Brown gasped.
Ms. Phelps tittered.
Ms. Curnsom made a motion to vote which they did: 29 ayes to one nay. The Perpetual Motion Club entered into Northawken history. As well as into American history as every high school in the country would soon no longer be caught dead without its own PMC.
In the end, May, jWad, Jimmy, Christine, and Elsa had a bonafide entry on their resumes in the section for extracurricular activities. A legitimate line that stated they were the founding members of a forward-thinking new organization whose mission was to study the mystery and beauty of science and life and just about anything else.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“There’s one more thing, Mom,” Elsa said the following Sunday. Lainie was on her way to church. She stopped with a look on her face.
“Mm?” she said.
“The anti-Rifs helped finish the project, I promised I’d help them get their legislation passed.”
“What legislation is that?”
“They want RFIDs outlawed.”
“Are they nuts?”
“Maybe we could just get a law saying they can be legally removed once the wearer turns 18.”
“That’s . . . interesting. I’ll talk to Hackstraw.”
“Jeb Hackstraw? Our senator?”
“Yeah, he’s a member of the LFTT.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nah. He’ll tell me what they need to do.”
Three years later Lainie got a law before congress allowing kids to pull their RFIDs once they reach the age of consent. It was easily passed once everyone realized the RFID was a conduit to iHigh. In fact the local parents group started their own legislation to get rid of RFIDs altogether. There were two factions then: pro and anti, so vehement in their protesting it threatened the existence of one of the most powerful American institutions, the PTA.
Naturally iHigh became more popular than ever and several students started an organization in support of RFIDs.
But that was in the future. Right now, it was graduation time for seniors. So everybody was partying.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The final party of the year at John Twill’s, Em’s big brother, was one of those parties with no invitations. It was assumed everyone would be there. And everyone was: Jason, his entourage, a pack of anti-Rifs, even Elsa, May, Jimmy, jWad, and Christine.
The last party of the year was always a celebration for the breaking of the branding slavery chains. They were no longer required to wear the free gifts of their sponsors. The final year-end party saw a healthy group in the bloom of youth sporting not a single logo, brand, or word. Elsa, not knowing the unstated rules of sponsored life, wore her U of NC t-shirt and baseball cap. Everyone else had on casual formal wear: pressed pants, halter tops, velvet chokers, derbies. No one cared. Life awaited.
In spite of the cavalier attitude in the air, Elsa Webb managed to make a fool of herself one last time. She accidentally on purpose ran, literally, into Jason Bridges.
“Hey, Elsa,” Jason said when he turned and saw her sprawled on the ground. He was standing around the keg with a bunch of young bucks and a few does. They all laughed at Elsa and then Em Twill held out her hand to help her up.
“The project turned out great!” Em said. “I’m so glad I worked on it.”
“Yeah, the district wants to parade it around to the junior highs next year and then put it on permanent display somewhere.”
“Wow,” said the group as one.
Jason released his grasp of Ruthie Williams, captain of the field hockey team. She was a tall, thin junior, Jason’s latest. He moved forward and put his arm around Elsa’s shoulders and walked her away from the crowd. Elsa’s knees got shaky, but her newfound celebrity had braced her for encounters of the human kind. She remained sharp.
“But you choked at the end, didn’t you?” Jason.
“No, I don’t think so,” Elsa said. “We did really well. I got several offers of sponsorships and summer internships, and all kinds of stuff. And the club got sanctioned.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t win.”
“No, but you know sometimes the prize isn’t the prize, you know what I mean?”
“No,” Jason said. “But hey, do you want to get together sometime this summer? I wouldn’t mind seeing your mom again. She was great.”
Elsa’s heart leaped to her throat. But only for a moment. It took that moment for her to remember that she no longer was infatuated with Jason. She turned and saw Jimmy drinking his first beer over in a corner of the yard. He was standing next to May and jWad who seemed to be propping each other up. jWad was playing air drums to the Moby Dick solo blasting from the moldie oldies track of the party’s background music. May hung on his neck and giggled. Jimmy as usual was introspective, watching the party with a confused look as if he couldn’t figure out what the fuss was all about. Why did they care so much about fads and baubles when everything would fall into place for them if they were just honest?
She thought about his speech to her half a year ago. How was it that she hadn’t realized how much the two of them had in common? Hadn’t she fought to be honest and true to herself this whole year? Wasn’t that what Jimmy always did? She remembered, too his statement that there was a lot that she didn’t see. She was looking now and seeing that Jimmy had grown from an annoying twerp to a really fine lad. With beautiful eyes, square shoulders.
And she remembered how he’d been on her side all the times everyone else was against her. He’d even understood her through it all. He was the only one. Considering how screwed up she was, that’s saying something.
And she remembered how hurt he’d been when Jason and his friends had been in her life during that one heady two-week period. And she remembered how hurt she’d been when he didn’t show up because of it. And she remembered . . .
“Sure,” she said, answering Jason’s invitation. She untangled herself from Jason’s grip, and nodded before turning to the far corner of the yard.
“Hey, Jimmy,” she called. The Perpetual Motion Club members turned and beckoned her over.
“Spare a sip,” she said to Jimmy, reaching her hand up to the beer in his hand. He pulled it up and out of her reach, making her scrabble after it. Then he reached one arm around her.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A big thank you to Michelle Humphrey for help in the rewrite. Thanks also goes to Dr. Bogdan Roman for help in the perpetual motion lecture in chapter 5. Hugs all around to the workshop group for their support and suggestions: Marilyn and Pat Klimcho, Clem Page, Dottie Allyn, Liz Clark, Doug Arnold, Frank Mulligan, Jim Hubbard, Ozzie, Liz Drozda, Bryan Wang, Nancy Orlando, Susan
Pingitore, Shirley Mainello, Charlotte Anderson, and Ruth Doelp.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sue Lange has two published works of speculative fiction satire. Her first novel, Tritcheon Hash, was republished as an ebook by Book View Cafe in 2011, and was included in Kirkus’ best of list for that year. Her second novel, We, Robots, was included in io9′s 13 Stories that will change the way you look at Robots list. Her short fiction has been published in Futures (Nature), Adbusters, Apex Digest of Science Fiction and Horror, and elsewhere. She lives in Pennsylvania with a dog, two cats, and a refrigerator.