PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress.
ISBN: 978-1-4197-2122-9
eISBN: 978-1-6131-2048-4
Text copyright © 2016 Tom Angleberger and Paul Dellinger
Book design by Chad W. Beckerman
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FOR MADELYN
1.1
HALLWAY B
“Oh, big whoop, Maxine,” said Krysti. “Another robot.”
Max made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl.
First of all, Max didn’t like being called Maxine, and Krysti knew it.
Second of all, Max hated the new trend of using fifty-year-old slang like “big whoop” and “awesome, bro,” and Krysti knew it.
And most of all, Max loved robots, and Krysti knew that, too. So Krysti was pretending she wasn’t interested in the biggest news of all time: Today was the day that the Robot Integration Program started. There had been a lot of hype about it and even some news coverage. Their school, Vanguard Middle, was getting the first-ever robot student. Anywhere. Ever. It was a big whoop, at least in Max’s opinion.
Now Max was walking the halls before school started, hoping to see the robot in action. Unfortunately, Krysti was not just slowing Max down but also driving her crazy.
“Seriously,” continued Krysti, “this school is already mega overrun with robots. Janitors, lunch ladies, librarians—all robots!”
“Krysti,” said Max, “it is not just another robot. This is an artificially intelligent, fully—”
“If it’s already so smart, then why is it going to school?” asked Jack Biggs, who had come up behind them.
This time Max definitely growled. It was bad enough listening to Krysti, who was supposedly her best friend, but Biggs was basically her best enemy. He always tried to hang around them, but then constantly picked on them—especially Max. It was maddening.
“Yeah,” said Krysti, who tolerated Biggs much better than Max did. “It’s supposed to be this big-deal super-smart robot and it has to take seventh-grade math?”
“Well, even geniuses like myself have to take seventh-grade math at some point,” said Biggs.
“Hey, where are you guys going?” said Jack’s sidekick, Simeon, as he approached them.
“Oh, Maxine is totally on the hunt for that robot,” said Krysti. She gave the back of Max’s head an affectionate tap with her ever-present sketchbook.
“Yeah, it’s her best chance of getting a boyfriend,” said Biggs.
Why me? thought Max. Why do the three weirdest kids in the whole school always hang around me?
But deep down, Max had to admit she felt closer to these three than to anybody else at the school. And she realized that she herself might very well be the fourth weirdest.
Then she saw a commotion up ahead. The robot must be up there.
She moved faster.
She didn’t want the others to ruin this moment, and she wasn’t going to let a gaggle of onlookers get in her way. Sure, everyone wanted to see the robot, but she wanted to see it more, so she zigged and zagged through the swarm of kids to get a look . . .
And then, there it was!
The robot!
Walking right toward her.
It looked absolutely ridiculous. It was only a little taller than Simeon—who was the shortest kid at Vanguard—and was dressed in boys’ clothes at least five years out of style, and was wearing a dark wig.
And its face was . . . kind of creepy. The features were all there, but different. The bright blue eyes never blinked, the eyebrows looked as though they were painted on, the mouth was a closed straight line, and the nose was formed by straight planes that made its tip look pointed.
A lot of people were laughing at it, but Max thought, That’s just the way they dressed it. It can’t help what it looks like. The important thing is that this is one of the most advanced robots on the planet, and it’s right here where I can—
And then it fell over.
Max actually had to jump back so it didn’t land on her foot.
KLOMP! It must weigh a ton, she realized. It would have crushed her toes!
And then it just lay there. Frozen. Completely still. Bricked.
“Nice work,” said Biggs, catching up from behind. “You already broke it, Max.”
1.2
HALLWAY B
The robot did appear to be broken. It just lay there like a big toy someone had dropped. And somehow she felt like it might be her fault!
Can this day get any worse? she wondered.
Then the walls lit up. The computer-generated face of Vice Principal Barbara looked down on them from every angle.
Vice Principal Barbara was the school’s supercomputer. She ran everything and kept an electronic eye on everything as well. And when she needed to communicate with the students, she had an on-screen avatar, which looked just like a grandmother . . . a sort of crazy grandmother. Sometimes friendly, sometimes stern, sometimes angry, and often flipping between these modes when least expected.
Right now, she was in what Biggs called “grumpy grandmother mode.” To which Simeon had added, “You mean, Big Brother’s Grumpy Grandmother.” But they didn’t say these things at school, where Barbara might hear them, of course.
“Please keep the hallways clear and safe,” Barbara said, the mouth of her avatar slightly out of sync with her words. “No stopping is allowed in the hallways. Clear the way.”
“But, Vice Principal Barbara,” said Max. “The robot just fell down and—”
“Discipline tags will be assigned in five seconds,” said Barbara. “Proceed to homeroom. Please keep the hallways clear and safe.”
Krysti, Biggs, Simeon, and the other students immediately headed to class, though many craned their necks to look back at Max and the dead robot.
“But—” said Max.
“Discipline tag assigned to Student M. Zelaster,” said Barbara.
Has it been five seconds already? wondered Max, but she knew better than to wonder out loud, because that would probably get her an additional dTag.
She looked down at the still robot, reluctant to leave it. Maybe she could help?
“Don’t touch it!” called a voice.
Max looked up to see three adults running down the hall. Robotics technicians. Max was dying to ask them questions.
“No running is allowed in the hallways at any time for any reason!” boomed Barbara, switching into really stern grandma mode. “Discipline tags assigned to School Visitor number 5, School Visitor number 8, School Visitor number 11. Your violation of school rules will be reported to your employer, Rossum Technologies. Additional discipline tag assigned to Student M. Zelaster. Clear the
hallways. Please keep the hallways clean and safe.”
Max didn’t stick around to hear the rest. She headed for class before she got hit with any more dTags. She already had way too many.
1.3
HOMEROOM
“Oh man,” said Biggs. “Good-bye, Robot Integration Program. I told you anything with the initials RIP was doomed. Rest in Peace, RIP!”
Yes, thought Max, he did tell us that . . . about fifty times.
“Those technicians looked pretty mad,” said Simeon.
“Yeah,” said Krysti, “they came running up, ‘Don’t touch it! Don’t touch it!’ Did they think you were going to give it mouth-to-mouth or something?”
“Yeah,” repeated Biggs, way too loud—as usual. “And then Max goes—”
Luckily, Max didn’t have to hear anymore, because a tone sounded over the loudspeakers, their desks lit up, and their science and homeroom teacher, Ms. French, said: “Now, I know there was a lot of excitement in the hall this morning. But we can’t let it get us off track. This week’s UpGrade testing is just around the corner, whether there’s a robot in school or not. I suggest you use your homeroom time to review.”
Ugh, thought Max. Reviewing for an UpGrade test was about the last thing she wanted to do. But sometimes it felt like it was the only thing she ever did. The tests were in every class, every week. And you had better make sure your UpGrade level never went down!
Everything at this school was focused on UpGrading. It was all part of a new Federal School Board program called Constant UpGrade. (Although the students had their own names for it.)
The Constant UpGrade program was supposed to be a “revolution in education” with “cutting-edge technology” like Barbara. But it had turned out to mostly be a giant pain in the butt. The cutting-edge technology was always yelling at you, and with the constant testing, none of the classes were any fun.
Since teachers got their own #CUG scores, all they seemed to care about was preparing for the next test.
And making it all even worse, parents received constant updates on everything from their child’s test scores to dTags. Bomb a test or do something dumb and Barbara would be sure your parents heard about it in real time.
Vanguard did have a human principal, Mr. Dorgas, but everyone said—whispered, actually—that Barbara was really in charge. And they were right. She wasn’t just running the school. She WAS the school.
Everything—every door, every camera, every screen, every sensor—was connected into the central computer running the Barbara software. All the janitor and lunchroom robots were under her control, plus dozens of others the students never saw, such as qScreen repair-bots, heating duct cleaners, and dumpsterdroids, all rolling around on wheels or treads and mostly consisting of metallic appendages designed for their specific functions.
The goal of #CUG was a perfect school—higher test scores, fewer discipline problems, and cheaper to run.
Every part of the school must be Constantly UpGrading—the students, the teachers, the “learning materials,” the robots, the flow of traffic in the halls, attendance, physical education achievements, proper hand-washing in the restrooms.
Barbara gave everything a #CUG score, and that #CUG score needed to keep going up. Anything other than a constant upgrade in your Constant UpGrade score meant trouble.
Every student’s #CUG score was recalculated in real time. Attendance, discipline, and citizenship points were added or subtracted instantly. Homework was graded by computer, and students’ #CUG scores were adjusted within the first minute of class.
And once a week came those Live UpGrade Assessments. They were really just multiple-choice tests, but they had a big and immediate impact on every student’s #CUG score . . . and on the teachers’ scores, too.
And it was working! Vanguard was exceeding all of its Constant UpGrade goals. Academic test scores were way up—actually, the highest of any school in Florida—and discipline problems were way down. In fact, almost nonexistent.
Although Vanguard still had human teachers and a human principal, the Barbara system kept finding ways to replace more and more of the school’s staff, saving even more taxpayer dollars.
Already there were plans to open up other Constant UpGrade schools with their own Barbara systems across the country.
Because the students under the Constant UpGrade system really were being constantly upgraded . . . according to Barbara’s data.
1.4
MAX’S HOUSE
Constant UpGrade didn’t just cause Max trouble at school. The computer system’s instant communication with her parents often meant that she’d come home to find them all worked up about something that was really nothing.
And today was no exception.
Don and Carmen Zelaster had received texts about Max’s two discipline tags, along with a reminder that Max needed to study for the weekly UpGrade test.
So she tried to explain the whole scene with the robot to her parents, but that just made it worse, because her mother did not share Max’s interest in robots. In fact, ever since she and their city’s other police dispatchers had lost their jobs to a computerized communications system, she had become anti-computer, anti-robot, and, Max thought, anti-everything. Now she was working at a small local library, downloading e-books for its patrons—at least until some robot took over there, too.
“I don’t understand it,” Carmen Zelaster said. “You just step over the robot and you go to class. End of story. No discipline tags. How hard is that?”
“I couldn’t just leave him there—”
“‘Him’? Honey, robots aren’t ‘hims,’” Max’s mom said, clearly struggling to hold on to her patience. “They aren’t ‘hers.’ They’re machines. And if people start treating them like people, then we’re really screwed. Just today I was reading about that failed Mars mission. The robot crashed the ship and it was just lucky there were no people abooard. Because, listen: They don’t treat us like people. We’re nothing more than just another machine to them, and once they’re in charge—”
“Do we have to go into this again?” Don Zelaster interrupted quietly.
“It’s important,” said Max’s mom.
“I know it is, but so is her test on Friday. If she does as badly as she did last week, her . . . uh . . . #CUG score is going to drop again, and she’s really going to be in trouble!”
“She sure is!” agreed her mom. “Maxine, you—”
“So, that’s why she needs to go study,” said her dad firmly, and Max was grateful.
She didn’t know how to talk to her mom about anything anymore, and her test scores were a particularly touchy subject. She had studied for the test last week. And the ones before it. And she thought she had done pretty well on them. She couldn’t understand her poor performances.
But whenever Max tried telling that to her mother, she would just get angry and snap, “Well, you better figure it out!”
2.1
HALLWAY B
Back at school the next day, Max was hoping to see the robot. But she ran into her friends instead, and apparently they were not done teasing her about yesterday’s run-in with the robot.
“Hey, Max, where’s your boyfriend?” Biggs asked.
“I heard they’re packing him and all the equipment up and leaving,” said Simeon with a superior smirk.
“Aw! What a bummer . . . I thought he was kind of cute,” said Krysti, holding up a sketch she had done of the robot lying flat on his face.
Max didn’t say anything. She was worried that Simeon was right. However, Simeon was famous for his exaggerated and often just plain false factoids, so she wasn’t sure what to think.
All of a sudden there was a little bing-bong sound, and everybody froze. The notes on the big learning screen at the front of the room faded out, and the principal’s face appeared. Everyone relaxed. If it was an important message, it would have been Barbara. This was just Mr. Dorgas.
Dorgas was a grumpy little man whom everyb
ody called Dorkus, including some of the teachers when they thought no kids were listening.
“Maxine Zelaster, report to the office, please,” he said.
All the other students in the room turned to stare at Max.
“Sounds gnarly,” whispered Krysti, although her uncharacteristic frown showed she was worried for her friend. “What’d you do?”
“Nothing!” Max then appealed to their homeroom teacher: “Ms. French! This isn’t fair. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Nobody said you did,” said Ms. French, “but you can’t ignore Dork—er, Mr. Dorgas. I suggest you hurry so you get back in time for the UpGrade review.”
So Max hurried, walking as fast as she could without running. No reason to rack up another dTag.
She was almost to the office when a long durafoam arm sprang out of the wall and blocked her way. She knew from experience that, if she tried to go around or under it, it would extend a durafoam band that would actually encircle her and hold her in place.
A large section of wall lit up, showing Vice Principal Barbara looking firm but not yet angry.
“Discipline tag assigned to Student M. Zelaster. You are not authorized for this hallway at this time.”
“But, Vice Principal Barbara, I’ve been called to the office!” Max protested.
“No record found,” said Barbara, and the screen image became slightly grumpier. “You are not authorized for this hallway at this time.”
A keypad appeared on the touch screen.
“Press one to review hallway procedures. Press two to—”
Max was actually considering trying to duck under the arm and make a run for it when Mr. Dorgas came around the corner.
“There you are, Zelaster! Follow me.”
“I can’t,” she protested. “Vice Principal Barbara won’t let me.”
“Oops,” said Dorgas, like it was no big deal. “I forgot to key you in. Barbara: Override, code seven.”
The arm disappeared into the wall with a whoosh, and Max wished she could, too. Dorkus seemed to be in his usual bad mood. He stalked off down the hall, and she followed him.