Dweeb

by Aaron Starmer

Denton leaned in so close, his nose almost touched the screen. “That’s it,” he said. “Where are the folders? The programs? The desktop wallpaper?”

  “A lot of the parts I used were old,” Wendell said. “It’s a DOS system.”

  “What’s a DOS?” Bijay said.

  “DOS, well, DOS is old. Older than us.” It was the best way Wendell could explain things. He had found that once he started talking programming to people who didn’t know a thing about it, he ended up confusing them even more.

  “Can I check my Facebook page?” Bijay asked. “I installed a new application called Bollyweird. It lets you follow all the latest gossip from Mumbai.”

  “How about my Gmail?” Denton asked. “Maybe if we sent a message to someone we trusted—”

  “Yeah, and there’s this hilarious thing on YouTube that you guys gotta see where a guinea pig chases a Rottweiler,” Bijay said.

  “It’s not like that.” Wendell sighed. “It’s only green. It’s only text. No graphics. No sound. Almost no memory.”

  “This is a computer you’re talking about, right?” Elijah asked.

  “Of course,” Wendell said. “It’s just … back to the basics.”

  “So, what are you going to do with it?” Elijah asked.

  “I did manage to modify a wireless router, attach it to a newer but slightly damaged motherboard, and then adapt it so …” His comments were met with blank stares. “Well, let’s just say that assuming I can get a signal, I might be able to tap into the school’s intranet,” he finished.

  “And how hard will that be?” Denton said.

  “Next to impossible,” Wendell said.

  “How long will impossible take?” Elijah asked.

  “Who knows?” Wendell shrugged. “Time me.”

  He pulled a chair up to the wall, placed the keyboard in his lap, and leaned his head into the hole. Then he attacked the keys like a concert pianist, his fingers clacking out a staccato rhythm. Strings of green numbers and letters ate away at the black of the computer screen. His pulse quickened, but he felt calm. His ears went deaf. His back was bent nearly double, but it didn’t hurt. His body would not get in the way of his mission.

  It didn’t feel much different from being at home. Sure, at home he didn’t have to stick his head in a hole to see his computer screen, and he never had three other people looking on. But sitting in the dark staring at programming code was how he spent many evenings and weekends.

  The irony wasn’t lost on Wendell. He was doing this so that he could leave one locked room, only to go home and lock himself in another. Or at least, that was how it used to be. Maybe life would be different when they finally got out.

  The night before, Bijay had said they should all hang out together once this whole ordeal was over. Would that really happen? Wendell wasn’t so sure.

  Denton would probably always think of him as sloppy and clumsy. He assumed Elijah would despise the fact that he enjoyed all the hit songs on the radio and laughed at movies with fart jokes. He knew that Eddie would tease him constantly. And Bijay? Bijay was too nice. Wendell would only manage to disappoint him, just as he seemed to disappoint anyone who relied on him.

  Still, he cycled through computer code, trying to find a way into the school’s network. He wanted to do his part, because no matter what these guys thought of him, he liked them. They were everything Wendell wasn’t. They were charming and funny and creative and outspoken. And down in that room, they were his friends.

  So he worked frantically, trying anything he could think of to gain access to the system. And he nearly gasped when he launched a small program he had just created. The screen went black, then green text appeared, blinking hope into the room.

  USER NAME:

  PASSWORD:

  Chapter 15

  EDDIE

  In the shadows above the lights, high in the rafters near the ceiling, Eddie lay facedown on the steel catwalk watching the school’s auditorium fill up with adults.

  Eddie recognized the parents of a few friends, but the crowd was too dense to spot his own. There were more than a thousand seats, and people jockeyed to find an open spot. Soon, every chair was occupied. Even more people poured in. They stood wherever they could—in the back, in the aisles, even on the edge of the stage itself. This seemed to be the hottest ticket in town.

  When the room was at full capacity, the houselights lowered and the loud chatter turned to whispers. A solitary spotlight hit the stage, and almost everyone fell silent.

  The clack of high heels filled the room. Then Mrs. Kass, the school’s secretary, stepped into the spotlight and up to a microphone.

  “Good evening, parents,” she said enthusiastically. “And thank you for attending this very special meeting of the PTA. I see a lot of familiar faces out there. I see a lot of faces in general! It’s quite a turnout, and we are thrilled about that. It’s an exciting time of year at Ho-Ho-Kus Junior High, and I know some parents have come with concerns. Others have come to show their appreciation for the teachers and staff and all their hard work. There will be ample time to answer questions and talk about your wonderful children. But first we’re going to hand the reins over to a man who sees your favorite guys and gals nearly every day. Our good friend and vice principal … Lionel Snodgrass!”

  Polite applause and a few whistles floated through the auditorium as Mrs. Kass stepped to the side. Then came the sound of large shoes, the heavy thump of rubber on wood.

  When Snodgrass stopped at center stage, Eddie felt something he didn’t expect—awe. Snodgrass suddenly appeared larger than Eddie remembered, as if the vice principal filled the entire spotlight. When he seized the microphone, he seized the audience. Quite simply, he owned the stage. And Eddie definitely didn’t expect to hear what came next.

  “Let me tell you about five boys who attend this school,” Snodgrass said in a calming, confident tone. “Five fine young men, each one talented in his own way. One a competitor. One a wordsmith. One a negotiator. One a performer. One a technician. So often at this stage in life, children are commended for their clothes or their haircuts or their possessions. In the hallways, kids rarely talk about the heart and the mind. Well, these guys have both, in spades. And for a long time, no one seemed to notice.

  “A couple of weeks ago, I received a phone call. A very selective organization had caught wind of our geniuses. I’m not afraid to use that word, because that’s what they are—geniuses. And because our geniuses have showed such strength of character, they were asked to attend a very selective and very secretive conference. Now, I don’t want to spill all the beans, but on Friday, they left on a surprise trip that is bound to change those young hearts and minds forever. Your own children often read about rites of passage in their English classes. These five boys are actually living one.

  “We are all extremely proud of them. In addition, we are all extremely thankful for the folks who raised them. For while we would love to take all the credit here at Ho-Ho-Kus Junior, it is at home that they learned to be the men they are. I’d like the families of Denton Kensington, Wendell Scoop, Eddie Green, Elijah Rosen, and Bijay Bharata to stand.”

  Eddie’s eyes scanned the masses as couples popped up from their seats. His parents were the fourth couple to rise. From his perch on the catwalk, he couldn’t make out their faces, but he assumed they were slightly embarrassed. There was nothing they liked better than championing his accomplishments, but the Old Boy hated being the center of attention.

  The crowd honored all the families with a hearty round of applause. Eddie assumed the other boys would ask him later about their families; he would say they all looked fantastic. It wouldn’t be a lie so much as an assumption, because his eyes wouldn’t budge from his own parents.

  “As these parents take their seats, I want to thank them one more time,” Snodgrass said. “Because their boys are more than just shining representatives of this school. They are shining examples of our future.

  “In this very auditor
ium, on the afternoon the boys set off on their trip, I called a school assembly. And I asked your children what they wanted for their futures. Of course, we all know they’re young. Few of them have any idea what the future holds. But they do have dreams. And they’re admirable dreams, about being doctors and activists and Web site designers and painters and professional athletes and even, bless them, teachers.

  “Then I told them about Denton, Wendell, Eddie, Elijah, and Bijay. Boys who were already on the paths to their dreams. And I held up this.”

  From his pocket, Snodgrass produced a sheet of paper covered in lines of black circles. Eddie winced, guessing what it was.

  “Scantron. No, it isn’t a city in Pennsylvania. It is, unfortunately, what determines so much of our children’s future. It’s a test sheet. Number-two pencil. Fill in the bubbles. A, B, C, D. Sounds absolutely awful, doesn’t it? Well, I held this sheet up to your children just as I am holding it up to you. And I’ll be honest with you. There were more than a couple of boos coming from the audience. So what I did next was this.”

  Snodgrass tore the paper into little pieces. He threw it into the air like confetti.

  “I told your children that the only way to beat a test is to ace that test. Show the world that you’re better than the test. Dreams cannot be quantified, I told them. And I made them a promise. Perform beyond expectation on Friday’s Idaho Tests, and I will put in a petition to the local, state, and federal government asking that we reconsider how we are valuing our children. I promised them I would fight to make the Idaho Tests a thing of the past.

  “The reaction to this proposal was enthusiastic, to say the least. They started preparations for the greatest pep rally this school has ever seen. We’ll be holding it Thursday morning, so that on Friday they are excited and motivated to conquer those tests. And what do any of us want more for our children than to see them motivated? To see them bursting with passion to be the best children they can be. To watch them achieve, and love achieving, and to know they will live lives brimming with success.”

  Snodgrass’s voice reached a frenzied pitch.

  “And our children are stepping up to that challenge! I trust you’ve noticed a difference in them already?”

  Eddie thought about Tyler. Tyler was different, all right. A different person entirely. And the one thing Tyler couldn’t stop talking about was the Idaho Tests. Eddie had endured his share of Snodgrass’s lectures, and there was no way one corny speech could turn the school’s delinquent into its most dedicated scholar.

  “Now, I know you have a lot of questions,” Snodgrass went on. “So let’s open up the room, and I’ll do my best to explain everything that’s going on here at school.”

  A fidgety man stood up from the crowd. In his hand he held a crumpled wrapper, which he shook violently. Rather than waiting to be called upon, he just started speaking.

  “Who exactly thought it was a good idea to hand our cafeteria over to a corporate entity? To a polluter of our bodies and our environment?”

  The man then threw the wrapper onto the stage.

  A smattering of applause followed.

  “If you’re talking about Mackers,” Snodgrass said calmly, “then I have to say I understand your concerns, but you might have been misinformed. We did vote on this issue last year, and the majority of the community agreed that Mackers is a good idea for our school. And I’m not only speaking about their financial contribution. If you review the menu, you’ll see the standard hamburgers and fries. But you’ll also find salads and fruits and fresh-baked breads and more than enough healthy alternatives. In fact, when comparing their menu to the standard school menus approved by the FDA, you’ll find Mackers is higher in daily allowances, and completely void of trans fats. This information comes not from me, but from our new resident expert, Nurse Gatling. Nurse Bloom, who served this school so well for the last few years, has decided to leave us, but in her place we have hired a registered nurse and certified nutritionist with over twenty years of experience.”

  Snodgrass bent over and picked the wrapper up from the stage. As he folded it and calmly placed it in his pocket, he said, “As for polluting our earth, I cannot speak on behalf of Mackers, but I do know they contribute ten percent of their profits to sustainability programs. Even Al Gore eats Mackers.”

  Eddie enjoyed Mackers as much as anybody, but he could hardly call it health food. The first and last time he ate Mackers before a cross-country meet, he nearly got sick in the final mile. Even after eating the salads, he felt as though he needed to shower.

  Still, Snodgrass’s answer silenced the man, who hung his head and returned to his seat.

  “Yes, Ms. Garlan?” Snodgrass said, pointing to a hand sticking up from the crowd.

  A woman in a green pantsuit rose from her seat, straightening her jacket as she stood. “You say you have such contempt for tests. But don’t you think there’s a place for testing in the educational system? How else are we going to measure success? I like the fact that my kids are finally turning off the TV and hitting the books. That they’re obsessing over a test rather than over a computer game.”

  “First off, I wouldn’t say I have contempt for tests,” Snodgrass explained. “I just think there are other approaches to education.”

  “Don’t you stand to benefit as well?” she continued, looking to Eddie a bit like Peter Pickle. “As I understand it, the school board is ready to appoint a new superintendent. High test scores will make them look kindly upon an administrator. And seeing that Principal Phipps has abandoned our children with his poorly timed leave of absence, I would imagine you’re the next in line.”

  She made a good point, which hadn’t occurred to Eddie in all the confusion of the last few days. What was Snodgrass going to gain from all this? How was he going to benefit from Eddie’s suffering? It made Eddie sick with confusion and anger.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Snodgrass said with a laugh. “I am honored by your suggestion, but the appointments of the school board are the least of my concerns. When I came to this school, the students were unmotivated, unruly, and unhappy. All I’ve been trying to do is show them it doesn’t have to be that way. I’ve been trying to get them excited again. The way to do that is by showing them the importance of discipline, and by motivating them and letting them thrive in any number of ways. Sports. Theater productions. Writing workshops. Debate teams. Math clubs. These are all integral parts of an educational system. Tests have their place, but they don’t make our kids unique individuals. I say we might as well just get them out of the way quickly, and focus on the important things.”

  The woman straightened her jacket, sniffed contemptuously, and sat.

  Snodgrass pointed to another hand in the crowd. “Mrs. Haskell?”

  A young woman in jeans and a T-shirt stood up. “Frankly, I’m a little worried about the kids,” she said. “Motivation is great and all, but this sudden obsession with academics baffles me. What about kids being kids?”

  “In the last couple days,” Snodgrass said, “these kids have been as happy as I’ve ever seen them. They’re having fun. And to illustrate that fact, we’ve organized a little surprise for the parents tonight. Without further ado, I present you with our newest performing troupe, singing their medley ‘I Heart Ho-Ho-Kus’!”

  All the lights went dark as Snodgrass stepped to the side.

  Eddie suddenly felt dizzy. He wrapped his fingers around the steel bands of the catwalk and got a good grip. He imagined the whole thing crashing down from the ceiling and landing on the stage. That would be Snodgrass’s true surprise—Eddie’s descent, Eddie’s defeat.

  The thought lasted only a few moments, but it didn’t seem too far-fetched. He now knew how it felt to have an enemy. And with Snodgrass in such obvious control, Eddie knew how it felt to have an enemy that was winning.

  A blue light erupted from the calamity of bulbs below him. It hit the red curtains at the back of the stage and transformed them into a rich purple.
A band started playing the tune to “Heigh-Ho!” from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

  The curtains opened, and seven kids dressed like the Dwarfs marched onto the stage whistling and singing:

  Ho-Ho-Kus, Ho-Ho-Kus, it isn’t hocus-pocus

  That this old town

  Is the best around

  Ho-Ho-Kus, Ho-Ho-Kus, Ho-Ho-Kus, Ho-Ho-Kus …

  Eddie groaned. This was even worse than the fall concert, which had consisted of nearly two hours of medleys of Oscar-winning songs. He was almost relieved. Maybe nothing had changed, really. School was still school.

  But as he watched for a little longer, he noticed that his classmates seemed too calculating, too precise in their movements. They were whistling without missing any notes. They were too good.

  As the kids whistled, the music slowly mutated until it took on the tune of the title song from the musical Oklahoma! Eddie recognized it from music class, where they had been learning all the classic Broadway hits.

  Another group burst onto the stage, hooting and stomping. They were decked out as cowboys and cowgirls, but he couldn’t recognize any faces. They all moved exactly the same. It was like watching a flurry of ants. And when they sang, it was in perfect harmony:

  Hooooo-Ho-Kus! Oh yes, you’ve quenched our thirst to roam

  Now that we’ve shown we’re worthy

  To live in Jersey

  And call this lovely place our home!

  Hooooo-Ho-Kus! Every day we come to school in smiles!

  If the world needs proof

  We’ll shout it from the roof

  And they will know our name for miles!

  The audience clapped. The cowgirls skipped. The cowboys galloped. Had this been a typical school performance, Eddie would have been tempted to crack a joke to anyone within earshot. It was, after all, a lame set of lyrics.

  But there weren’t any jokes surfacing in his mind. Only a feeling that he was watching something unnatural, something wrong.

  The music faded softly away until all was silent. The stage went dark. Then the distinctive melody to “Amazing Grace” filled the auditorium.