Willful Machines (11 page)

He scooped up the last bite of casserole with his fork. “Well, that seems to be the word around here.”

I took another quick look around the room, noticing the kids sneaking peeks over their shoulders and then bending their heads together to whisper. But not with expressions of derision. Even a couple of the FUUWLs looked impressed.

“What's the matter?” Nico said. “You're the son of the president. I'd have thought you'd be used to getting stared at and talked about by now.”

“I am,” I muttered. “Just not for anything good.”

His puck chimed. “Oops. Time to go. I have a costume fitting.”

“Tights?” Bex asked.

“Puffy sleeves, too. But like I said, I'm a confident guy.” He picked up his tray. “Lee, I have to work on my lines again during dinner, but are we still on for tonight? Rehearsals finish at nine.”

I glanced at Trumbull. He was surveying the room from his usual spot next to the dining hall entrance. “Definitely,” I
said. “How about if we meet in the media room at nine thirty? Maybe watch a movie?”

“I yield to thy will.” His overloaded tray balanced on one hand, Nico gave us each a deep bow. “Mistress Bex. My lord.”

Bex watched him walk off, her fingers stroking her copiously pierced but unadorned earlobe, that troubled expression still on her face. At first I'd assumed it had to do with the sight of Nico eating the Spam casserole, but now I wondered if something else was bothering her.

“What's up?” I said.

She shook her head and picked up her fork. “Nothing. Hey, you'll have your security with you when you and Nico hang out tonight, right?”

I groaned. “Unfortunately. I'm praying it won't be too awkward. Why?”

Her eyes flicked back to the door through which Nico had left. “No reason.”

A
s my datelike thing with Nico drew closer, the fears careening around in my head multiplied. What if Nico got flirty again? What if he
didn't
get flirty again? What if he got flirty while Ray was watching? By dinner, I'd entered a state of full panic. My chest felt tight, and the dining hall food turned my stomach even more than usual. I spent most of the meal pushing around the food on my plate with my fork and making Bex tell me over and over that my ears really weren't that big. (The more I'd thought about it, the more convinced I'd become that Nico had just called my ears cute out of politeness.) After that, I went back to my room and spent the next couple of hours trying on every T-shirt and every pair of jeans in my closet. Sort of a stupid exercise, considering all my jeans were the same brand and all my T-shirts were black, but at least it kept me busy. At 9:32 (I didn't want to look too eager), I opened the door to my room.

Ray stood outside. And so did Trumbull.

My heart fell with what felt like an audible
thud
.

“What are
you
still doing here?”

“The task force hasn't found any sign of your robot,” Trumbull answered. “I want to stay close in case there are further developments.”

“Are you sure that's a good idea? You need to get your sleep, don't you?”

He raised one eyebrow. I'd never expressed concern about his sleep schedule in my life. “I will. Later.”

“Okay, well, I'm heading out to meet Nico. We're watching a movie.”

He slid his massive bulk to the side, blocking my path. “Sorry, sir. Tonight you're on lockdown.”

“I'll just be in the media room. It's right there.” I pointed. “I can see it.”

“I know where the media room is. But I'm afraid you're not going anywhere.”

“After one robot malfunction?”

“That's right.”

“For how long?”

“Tomorrow during the day you can go to your classes. Tomorrow night, we'll see.”

“Can Nico come here, then?”

“That's a negative.” I must've made a face, because he added, “This is part of the protocol, sir. We're not doing it to punish you. We're doing it to keep you safe.”

Behind him, Ray opened his hands and mouthed,
Sorry
.

I took one last look at the media room door. My right hand squeezed into a fist. I slammed it against the doorjamb. “Damn it, Trumbull, why do you have to be such a rule monger? Why can't you be a human being for once?”

Back in my room, I dropped onto the bed and put my head in my hands. Dating was hard for everybody, I understood that. But seriously, did other kids have to deal with
this
? According to my puck, it was now 9:37. Nico had probably started wondering where I was. Maybe he figured I'd chickened out.

“Send a message to Nico.”

My puck bobbed lower.

I can't make it
, I told him.
My Head Armed Babysitter is keeping me on lockdown. For my own protection, supposedly.

Tell him I'll protect you
, he messaged back, the words lighting up the wall across from me.
I'd be happy to lock you down.

A blush raced over my face and ears like wildfire. I must've really had it bad to fall for a cheesy line like that.
I don't think he'd go for that idea.

So no movie?

Sorry. Trumbull's such a tyrant.

No, I understand. He just wants to keep you safe. Some other time, then.

But I didn't want to wait until some other time. What if he changed his mind about me before then? I wanted to see him tonight.

Wait. There might be a way. Go back to your room and stand by.

His reply flashed across my wall a few seconds later.
For you, I'd stand by indefinitely.

Full of energy all of a sudden, I bounced up and opened my window. The other rooms overlooking the little courtyard were dark, and nothing stirred on the flagstones below. Perfect. I pulled a black hoodie on over my black T-shirt and tucked Gremlin into a pocket. (I felt a little like a kid lugging around a stuffed animal long after it was age appropriate, but leaving Gremlin behind wasn't an option. I would've felt more naked without him than without my puck, and anyway, I figured I'd need some extra luck to carry out the plan taking shape in my head.) From my closet I grabbed a backpack and tossed in a few other necessary items. Figuring it couldn't hurt, I also pulled out a couple of extra pillows, stuffed them under my duvet, and pounded them into the approximate shape of my sleeping body.

I turned to my shelf of Creatures. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel.”

One of the robots woke up—a squat one, about a foot and a half long, with a body shaped like a beetle and an oversize Barbie doll head attached to the front.

“How can I help you?” she asked in a bright Barbie voice.

“Keep your voice down, first of all. And set yourself up at the window. I need an exit.”

“Okay!” she chirped, more softly. She skittered over to the
open window, perched herself sideways on the sill, and clamped herself in place. “Ready!”

I reached into the back of my bottom dresser drawer and pulled out one final piece of equipment: a climbing harness. I strapped myself into it. A length of thin cord hung from an opening in Rapunzel's side, with a carabiner attached to the end. I clipped that to my harness. As I stood near the open window, my palms had already started to sweat, and my legs wobbled underneath me. I'd had the idea to build Rapunzel last year, on a day when I'd felt especially fed up with Trumbull and more desperate than usual for solitude, but I hadn't worked up the courage to use her even once. Of course, I'd never let any of my Armed Babysitters know what she could do. For months, she'd sat on my shelf, unused, hiding in plain sight among my other Creatures.

I sat down on the sill and slung my legs over one by one. This first part would be the hardest. Hard for anybody, probably. For a phobic basket case like me,
very
hard.
Don't look down
, I told myself.
Just focus on what's in the foreground: the windowsill, Rapunzel, the cord. Ignore that forty-foot drop in the background.

My heart going crazy, Gremlin already purring in my pocket, I took hold of the sill and twisted my body around. My butt swung out into the courtyard. My sneakers smacked against the wall. Nothing but cold, empty air underneath me. Rapunzel held fast, though. She'd turned her Barbie head
to watch. “Good job!” she trilled. My puck had followed me through the window too. It angled itself so its light shone on the stone wall in front of me.

I knew what I had to do next—while designing Rapunzel, I'd learned all about rock climbing on the Supernet—but I'd never actually tried it myself. “Give me some slack, Rapunzel.” The cord began to lengthen. My body dipped backward. I transferred my grip from the sill to the cord. Now I just had to press my feet into the wall, straighten my legs, and walk down the wall all the way to the ground.

It had looked easy on the Supernet. When I tried to straighten my legs, though, my body seemed to weigh a ton. My legs wobbled and shook. My sneakers slid slowly downward and then flew out from under me. My body slammed into the wall, and an involuntary yelp leaped out of my mouth. I dangled from the cord, gasping and scrambling like a drowning person, stone fragments from the windowsill raining on my head.

“Not to worry!” Rapunzel sang. “I gotcha!”

Don't look down
, I ordered myself again.
Just stay calm. Think of your brain as a machine. It'll do what you want it to do if you operate it correctly.

I'd told myself that plenty of times before. But the problem I always came back to was this: if my brain was a machine, half its buttons didn't seem to work. And the other half didn't have labels. And I'd lost the instruction book. Right now, for
example. I knew I'd built Rapunzel well. I knew she wouldn't drop me. So why couldn't I stop panicking?

“Just lower me down, Rapunzel,” I panted.

“But—”

“Please! Just lower me down like this.”

“You got it!”

The cord unspooled. I descended, using my hands to keep from bumping and scraping too much against the wall. The rest of my body hung limp in the harness. Inside my hoodie pocket, Gremlin continued his purring. I hoped Trumbull hadn't heard my yelp. I hoped I wouldn't be a dirty, sticky mess by the time Nico saw me. Small chance of that: the sweat rolled down my face, dripped from my nose, turned icy in the cold air.

My sneaker soles thumped against something. I gave myself permission to peek down. My feet had reached solid ground. I unclipped myself from the cord with shaky hands and collapsed on the flagstones. “Tell Rapunzel to come here,” I said to my puck.

Up above, my robot retracted the cord and climbed down the wall, her short legs finding tiny footholds in the rough stone. My panting had slowed by the time she reached me. Hauling myself to my feet, I wiped my face on my sleeve and dusted off my jeans, as if that might help erase my monumental lameness.

But at least I'd made it down. That had to count for something. I'd successfully, if not gracefully, negotiated that forty-foot drop. And now I was free to see Nico. Unchaperoned.

C
ome on, Rapunzel.”

Following the escape route I'd mapped out last year but never actually used, I passed through a door that led from the courtyard into a service stairwell and headed down to the subbasement. At the foot of the stairs stood another door, this one locked. I pulled a pouch of robotics tools from my backpack and went to work. A few minutes later the door creaked open. That was another skill I'd taught myself in order to facilitate my escape plan: picking the kind of old-fashioned pin-tumbler locks that were still common at Inverness Prep. But unlike climbing down walls, picking locks was something I could actually do. I'd discovered it really wasn't all that different from tinkering with robots.

On the other side of the door, a narrow corridor stretched down the length of the building, with rusted, sweaty pipes running along its low ceiling. As I followed the passage toward the center of the school, the ever-present rumble of rushing water
grew to a roar. I turned a corner, then another, and found myself in a large, low room with the river crashing right through the middle of it. The water ran from the front of the school to the back, where it boiled through an iron grill and tumbled over the side of the cliff. Two narrow stone walkways ran along the canal, one on each side. The chamber made me think of the engine room of an old ship—probably because of its location deep in the bowels of the school, and because the thundering of the river, loud enough to crack a skull open, sounded just like I imagined a ship's engine would.