“You don’t want to use it?” I ask in surprise.
That only seems to irritate her. “If Mr. Schroeder wanted toreallyhelp our school, he would have forgone giving us a robot for the sake of his company’s PR and provided new computers or funding to replace the old roof in the gymnasium.”
While I can’t really argue with that, it’s neither here nor there. The android is being delivered today, and with a price tag like that, letting it languish in a closet somewhere is unthinkable. I measure my options. I don’t know anybody here, and if everyone is freaking out about this droid, I might not make any friends doing this. But someone has to use some common sense, and after the snub in the office and the back-handed remarks, I’m in no mood to kiss ass. Hell, I wouldn’t do that, anyway.
So, I do what I always do and hope it works out—the right thing. What Ihopeis the right thing, anyway.
Before she can get too engrossed in her work again, I clear my throat. “I’ll do it.”
Carlisle’s brows lift skeptically. “You’ll do what?”
“The android. I’ll have the android assist me in my classroom. I’m from New Carnegie; I’m used to seeing bionic assistants around town, helping their owners. I’ve even spoken to one or two of them, so they don’t bother me. And since they’re the future, I might as well learn how to use one myself.”
If Carlisle disagrees with me, she doesn’t show it. After a moment of consideration, she relents. “All right. That’ll solve one of my problems, at least. Was there anything else you needed?”
“No, ma’am,” I reply politely.
“Then have Renee show you to your classroom.”
* * *
In stark contrast to my boss, Renee is practically bouncing with her every step as she leads me to my classroom.
“I can’t believe you’re going to be working with the android. This is so exciting!”
The classroom is one of the smallest I’ve ever worked in, with only twelve desks. Once I know where it is, I bring in all my own supplies, most of which were left over from my old classroom, and begin personalizing it. I hang up a few digital banners that will eventually store and display homework due dates, write the name “Miss Lucy Warren” on the holoboard, and organize and supply my desk. I find extra space on a supply shelf nearby and set up a little library with history books from my own collection. Most people don’t read physical books anymore, what with e-readers being so affordable and free to students to make up for textbook prices, but what’s more historical than books made out of paper and ink?
I set up my large teaching tablet on a counter using a digital pen to create a clickable poll of names before displaying it where students trickling won’t miss it.
Renee watches me curiously. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m going to have the children vote on the android’s name,” I reply.
“Oh. That’s a great idea!” Renee exclaims. “Best to select the names yourself and not give them any creative license. You don’t want a robot named ‘Butthead’ or ‘Diarrhea.’”
I snicker with her. Yeah, that definitely sounds like something middle schoolers would do. I like to think of myself as a mature adult, but hell, I’d be struggling not to laugh if a name like “Assmunch” won a popular vote.
“What names will they vote on?”
“We’ll keep it simple,” I reply. “One of our first units is on the Peloponnesian War between Athens and Sparta. So Atticus or Spartacus.”
Renee looks absolutely thrilled. “Like the Spartans, our school team name. How brilliant! But wouldn’t it make the most sense to simply name him Spartacus, then?”
I don’t know aboutbrilliant, as I’ve seen the middle school team mascot plastered all over the hallway, but it’s definitely a start.
“Not at all for the purpose of the lesson,” I reply. “Besides, Spartacus was actually a rebel leader during the Roman times, much later than the Peloponnesian War. I just chose the name because it has Sparta in it, and Anaxandridas is a bit difficult to spell.”
Renee stares at me blankly. “Who?”
“Never mind.”
After I’m finished, she chatters about everything and anything, and it’s a little hard to keep up with her. She takes me up and down the first- and second-floor corridors, showing me the cafeteria, the gymnasium which is closed for repairs, and the outdoor fields and basketball courts.
Along the way, we run into other teachers, and Renee is all too happy to share what she knows about each and every one of them. I quickly learn I’m the youngest teacher on staff at twenty-eight. Most everyone else is over forty, except for the gym teacher, Mr. Sullivan, who’s only a couple years older than me.
Unfortunately, that’s a future recipe for disaster. I can already tell Renee is hopeful.
“Are you single, Lucy?”
