Awaken (8 page)

When I’m not taking classes, I spend my free time on social sites with all my contacts. My favorite site used to be DS4Dropouts, made up of teenage kids sick of living their lives behind their computer screens. I made most of my contacts through that site, but after my Rebellion, my dad blocked those sites and friends from my computer. But being compliant doesn’t suit me for very long – it’s like an outfit that I grow out of so fast, I never feel comfortable living inside of it.

Justin’s helping me understand why I rebelled against DS when I was younger. It’s limiting people. We’ll never realize our potential if we always live inside the boundaries of what we fear. Teaching society to be afraid and stay tucked safely behind their locked doors is not the answer to human problems. It only conceals the problem, like a bandage. It doesn’t fix it. Giving the problem open air and room to breathe, to mix with other elements, is what helps it heal.

Justin is also reminding me life shouldn’t be a law that a few people impose down on you, it should be what people collectively decide is best and grow from there. Digital school should be a choice, not a mandate. We should have alternatives: real schools, digital schools, private schools, small schools, public schools, home schools, alternative schools, schools in airplanes, schools on the sea, I don’t care.

I’ll never go to the extremes I went to when I was fifteen to change the system. It almost destroyed my family, and I will never willingly
cause that pain again. But I know there are quiet ways to rebel. There are tiny seeds to plant. Even small voices can ripple change along.

My father’s ideas are becoming my gauge for what not to do. How not to live. What he believes, I suspect. Whatever rule he applies, I quietly write on the top of my list to fight. That is our relationship. Ironically, he inspires me more than anyone because he shows me what I don’t want and sometimes that’s the only way to discover the things you do want.

I have more online contacts than I can count. I make about one hundred connections a day. I have access to millions of people. I used to think that I had friends in these numbers. But these virtual fiends are like stars stretched out in the sky. They’re out there, they exist, and I can imagine what they’re like, but we’ll never meet. We all just coexist in this vast universe with a length of space between us. For a long time I thought that could be enough for me and I’ve been programmed to believe people do better alone and apart; DS always preaches that. Distance is healthy; solitude breeds peace. But in the past few weeks, after meeting Justin, I’m reminded of how I used to feel. Of how wrong that mentality is. There’s a reason why stars can only exist in the sky – they’re just rockets of light traveling through space, so it feels right to admire their form from a distance. People, solid and living and breathing together in the same world, are not meant to be surrounded by that much darkness.

“Hurry up, Madeline!” I heard Mom yell from downstairs. I looked over at Baley, who lay sprawled on my bed, her head resting between her front paws.

“What I wouldn’t give to be you right now,” I said to her as I dreaded the evening ahead, the annual National Education Benefit. Baley blinked back at me and wagged her tail. I took one last look in the full-length mirror. The worst part about attending the benefit was the formality of the event. Dresses show too much skin for my comfort and heels are the most painful idea of footwear ever invented. Shoes are meant to protect your feet from conditions, not make the conditions worse. My toes already felt squished. I studied myself in the mirror and tried to be optimistic. My green dress, I had to admit, fit well, and the color complemented my eyes. Mom picked out the halter-top design and it clung to my hips, flaring just slightly at my knees. I teased my hair up into a twist, following directions from an online stylist. I put makeup on for the first time in months and my eyes looked magnified, highlighted in black eyeliner and mascara. I walked down the stairs, careful not to twist my ankle in my heels. My mom gasped when she saw me.

“Madeline!” she cried. “You look beautiful.”

“I feel like a green bean,” I said, because it was easier to make fun of myself than take a compliment.

She beamed and told me to turn around. “That dress fits you perfectly.”

I ran my hands over my hips and smiled. “Thanks for picking it out.”

“You mean you like it?” she asked hopefully.

“I’d rather be in jeans.”

She shook her head. “Maddie, you’re a woman,” she informed me, as if I was confused on this detail. “It’s okay to let people see that once in a while.”

I nodded and told her she looked stunning, in an elegant black gown that fell nearly to her feet.

My dad walked into the room in his tuxedo and I glanced at him for a moment with awe. When he wasn’t trying to conquer the education system and control my life, when he was caught in moments of just being an ordinary person, he could be breathtaking. His tall, steady presence usually commanded attention. But sometimes, when he wasn’t trying to run the world, his eyes lightened and his handsome features relaxed. He looked like a real person, even vulnerable. This only happened when he was truly happy, like tonight, in the privacy of our house as he smiled proudly at his two girls.

We stepped outside and walked to the end of the driveway, where a private ZipLimo was waiting with a security guard at the door. My father always traveled with at least one security guard to his public events, due to all the media buzz his presence generated. When we got inside, the door buzzed closed and my dad’s phone rang.

While he was distracted with his call, my mom wrapped her arm around my shoulder.

“You’re going to torture Paul tonight with the way you look.”

I rolled my eyes. “Paul is so boring.”

She sighed at my attitude. “Give him a chance, Maddie. You barely know him.”

“You can’t get to know him. That would require him having a personality, which he doesn’t.”

“You shouldn’t be so critical of people. He’s smart and he’s good-looking. And he’s tall,” she added, which was one point I couldn’t argue.

“His personality downplays his looks.”

She watched me and lowered her voice to make sure my dad couldn’t hear us.

“Have you heard from Justin?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Nope, not since he stopped by,” I said with indifference as I picked a ball of fleece off my coat. I spent the first week after having coffee with Justin and his friends expectantly checking my phone, my e-mails, my profiles, my study group chat sites, only to be continually disappointed. The more sites I checked, the more profiles I logged on to, the more times I felt rejected. So, in an effort to save my pummeled self-esteem, I avoided the chatspace he normally found me on.

I tried not to miss him, which just made me miss him more. Without him, part of me went numb. Like I wasn’t quite awake in his absence. In my mind, Justin was as temporary as the birds that passed through my life for a brief, exhilarating moment, but continued on because their survival depends on constant movement. My brain had decided to let go of my crush. Now I just had to convince my heart to follow.

“I bet he’d love to see you tonight,” Mom said.

“I don’t think he does formal events.”
Especially ones that support digital school,
I wanted to add.

She admitted she told Dad about my date with Justin. I leaned back on the seat and shook my head.

“It wasn’t a date. Would you stop trying to make this a bigger deal than it is?” It was depressing enough that Justin wasn’t interested in me. Did I have to spell it out for my mother?

“Well, your father wasn’t happy to hear about it,” she said under her breath.

I looked out at the dark night sky, broken up between clusters of frozen lights.

“I think I’m old enough to start making decisions for myself,” I said.

Our ZipLimo came to a smooth stop in front of the Stratford House, a historic hotel and conference center on the west side of Corvallis. The hotel was a spacious white mansion, with tall Doric columns framing the two-story oak doors; all of the ground-level windows were decorative stained glass. The white marble steps leading up to the doors were dressed in red carpet and roped off in gold ribbon to honor the guests. A concierge greeted us as the doors of our ZipLimo slid open.

“Good evening, Mr. Freeman,” he said, recognizing my dad as he stepped out of the car behind the security guard. News cameras were waiting behind the gold ribbon barricade and photographers snapped pictures frantically when they recognized my dad. Reporters fired questions as we stepped onto the velvet carpet in front of the hotel. I squinted as lights flashed and blazed in our direction.

Dad wrapped one of his arms around my mom’s waist and he locked his other arm tightly inside mine. We stood and smiled as flashes showered us in a strobe light.

“People are rioting in New Jersey, Kevin. Do you think DS could lose its nationwide support?” one reporter yelled out.

My dad’s calm smile never faltered. His hard eyes lost any of the childish light I saw earlier.

“Digital school is stronger than ever,” my dad said. “The program is right and it’s working.” He emphasized the words
right
and
working,
as if his statement was a scientific fact, not an opinion, and his confidence quieted the reporter.

Another reporter took the floor. “A study at DS Berkeley claims eighty-five percent of sixteen-year-olds want the choice of whether to attend digital school. What do you think about that, Mr. Freeman?”

“Every child deserves a safe, free, and quality education. That is what we provide,” my dad stated. “When they are eighteen years old, or have met all the graduation requirements, they will be emotionally and mentally ready to opt out of DS. Until then, I will deprive no child of an education.”

I listened to my dad with fascination. His answers were always formulaic. He didn’t pause to think about the questions, he only listened for key words and plugged in the calculated response he’d scripted for these kinds of events, like an automated recording. Fast. Emotionless. Efficient.

The three of us stood outside for another hour, allowing photographers to snap our pictures and the media to either praise or criticize my father, a scene I had grown accustomed to whenever I was in public with him. When we finally made it inside the labyrinthine lobby, Mom checked our coats and I walked into the huge dining hall, set with over a hundred round tables. Golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling and sprinkled dim yellow lighting around the room. I always loved the grand chandeliers, their long and slender gold arms holding balls of light. We found our table at the head of the room, where it was every year, near the stage where my dad would give his annual speech to highlight another successful year in DS and promise another one yet to come.

Paul and his sister Becky were already sitting at our table. Becky was typing on her phone and Paul yawned as he picked at some cheese and crackers on his plate. I sat down next to him and felt him gaping at me.

“Madeline,” he said. I offered Paul a forced smile and told him it was good to see him. He ran his eyes down my dress. “You look really pretty,” he said. I winced and thanked him with a smile that felt more like a grimace. His sister glanced up from her phone long enough to catch my reaction.

“That color looks really good on you,” he added. I felt my face flush.

“Paul, you might want to wipe that drool off your chin,” Becky said, and gave me a sympathetic frown. Paul’s parents sat down across from us at the table and my parents sat on the other side of me. I could feel Paul still staring dumbly at me out of the corner of my eye. I sighed to think that the tiniest glimpse from Justin set my heart completely out of rhythm while a glance from Paul made me cringe.

“How’s school going, Madeline?” Paul’s mom, Meredith Thompson, asked. I was about to answer her when my dad interrupted.

“She’s in the ninety-seventh percentile of her class,” he said. “Right now she’s trying to sift through all the college offers out east.”

“Very impressive,” Paul’s dad, Damon, said. “It helps that she has two role models to look up to.” I nodded politely at Damon, who was the city sheriff, my dad’s best friend, and my probation officer. He offered to do the latter as a favor to my dad.

A waiter in a black tuxedo set down salads and bread at our table.

Meredith put her hand on Paul’s arm. “Paul began his police academy credits last month. He’s already shadowing Damon.”

Paul grinned in my direction to make sure I was absorbing Meredith’s news. I held back a deep sigh. No wonder my dad was encouraging Paul to date me. Just one more set of eyes to keep me in check. I glanced around the room and noticed how quiet the atmosphere was. I watched groups of people, eight per table, picking at their food in silence. Every year I felt like the effort of face-to-face socializing was becoming more awkward for people. I looked over at Becky, who was messaging her contacts. I observed a handful of people at every table peering into their own hand-held, portable lives. It’s ironic, I thought, here is life passing, like clouds drifting over the sky, yet they don’t see what’s right in front of them. They believe there is something more substantial going on in that little screen in their hands.

I looked down at my plate. It wasn’t that I felt better than these people. Just out of place.

A voice boomed over the speaker system and I jumped in my seat. On the main stage in front of our table, an older man with a thick head of gray hair combed smoothly back on his head held a microphone and addressed the audience.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to the fifteenth annual National Education Benefit.”

An energetic applause rang out and I tapped my fingers together.

“To commence this honorary night, please welcome the designer of DS himself, Kevin Freeman.”

The applause escalated and soon everyone in the room was on their feet as my dad marched to the podium through a flash of lights. I set my napkin on the table and rose to join the crowd. He shook hands with the announcer and stood, proud as an eagle perched on the highest branch of the tallest tree. He beamed out at his ecstatic supporters.