The Wikkeling (2 page)

“S
ENSIBLE STUDENTS SUCCEED SPLENDIDLY
!” said Ms. Span, a primly dressed teacher sitting behind a computer at the front of the class, her thick, black eyebrows arching over the top of her reading glasses.

“Yes, Ms. Span!” said the students. They sat in neat rows that filled the room, faces lit yellow from the light of their own computers.

On the wall behind Ms. Span, a large projection displayed the sentence she had just recited. “Let's begin today's focus on the letter S,” she said, her voice just loud enough to be heard above the whirring of the fans in all of the computers. The students began to type. Next to each child's screen, a plastic cradle held a cell phone hooked to the school's network. The children's practice sentences were instantly graded and transmitted to their parents' phones, ensuring that each parent knew, at each moment, how their child was scoring.

Additionally, all sentences were tabulated, in terms of accuracy and speed, into a data pool describing the class, the school, the district, and the system as a whole. At this moment, every child everywhere was typing “SENSIBLE STUDENTS SUCCEED SPLENDIDLY,” allowing every school to be instantly ranked in comparison to every other school. On Competency Exam days these rankings were used to determine whether or not the school was functioning properly, or whether it
should be shut down. Today, fortunately, was not the Competency Exam. It was a Practice Test.

Ms. Span flipped through the students' responses on her screen, checking them. She was on edge, even though it was just practice. The thing about Practice Tests was that they led inevitably to the Competency Exam, and if things went poorly then, Ms. Span could be classified a Bad Teacher and lose her job.

“Very good, Andreas,” she muttered. “Very good, Sasha.”

Ms. Span projected the next sentence.

“S
ENSIBLE STUDENTS ARE SAFE, SECURE, AND SUPERVISED
!” recited the students, some beginning to type as they spoke. Because the exercises were timed, there was little opportunity to fix mistakes. Ms. Span reviewed the responses again. Her computer screen reflected on her glasses, rankings appearing there in columns.

She glanced at the bottom of the stats and winced at the names there, especially at the one at the very bottom. She frowned. She didn't want to stop the lesson, but the whole class was getting dragged down.

“Miss
Gad-Fly
,” she called out frostily. All the children turned toward the rear of the room to look at the object of their teacher's attention. Some of them snickered. Miss Gad-Fly sat in the back row near the door. She seemed lost in thought, and didn't notice the attentions of the room until Ms. Span said, “Henrietta!”

Being singled out scornfully in class wasn't unusual for Henrietta. Wherever she was and whatever she was doing on any given day, she found herself in a
similarly unenviable position. If a poll were to be taken this afternoon by her school, asking all the students in all the grades who was least popular, Henrietta Gad-Fly would win. And that would be the only thing she won all year.

Henrietta looked a little like a brick—her face and body were squat, thick rectangles. Her ruddy skin was prone to pimples, and flushed red when she was embarrassed, like now. Her small, black, beady eyes were set closely together, which lent her a confused and peevish expression that often caused people to explain things to her twice, and then scold her. Her thin eyebrows made her look a little surprised, which didn't help matters.

And yet Henrietta was not a stupid, confused, petulant block. Or at least, she didn't feel like one. Inside, she was just herself—a person to whom she'd scarcely yet been introduced.

Henrietta is the main character of this story. This whole book will be about her—and it's worth mentioning at the outset a few things that aren't going to happen to her.

She will not become beautiful when someone gives her a new hairstyle.

She will not find a miracle cure for her pimples when an angel sees she's a good girl inside.

She will not find out that she's actually a princess, and she won't become happy forever when a prince marries her.

Those books are out there, and your school librarian can help you find one. This isn't it.

“Henrietta,” said Ms. Span, “you are
off task
.”

With the click of a button, Ms. Span displayed the contents of Henrietta's monitor on the wall screen. Each day contained a moment such as this, in which Henrietta was exposed as an example of the kind of person one should have the common sense not to be. Henrietta, everyone knew, ranked at the bottom of the class in most subjects: writing, reading, math, and even physical safety. Her scores were so low that she was nearly (but not quite) At Risk.

Henrietta's sentence read: SE

What kind of child could so grievously fail in her attempt to type “S
ENSIBLE STUDENTS ARE SAFE, SECURE, AND SUPERVISED
?” The class had a good laugh, but they didn't laugh as hard as they might have. As with any joke, Henrietta's incompetence had grown less funny over time.

“Henrietta, you will stay after class today and retype your practices,” said Ms. Span.

“Yes, Ms. Span,” said Henrietta, her voice inaudible over the tinny hum of the fans in the computers.

“What?” said Ms. Span.

“Y
ES
, M
S
. S
PAN
!” said Henrietta. She pressed her lips together in a way that made her look angry, but she was actually feeling humiliated.

“Now, then, everyone,” said Ms. Span, “we've fallen behind because of Henrietta. Today is just Practice, but next month is the Competency Exam. If Henrietta delays us then, we'll have to work even faster, with even more accuracy.
Remember, we're graded as individuals
and
as a class. We compete against each other to help each other. Right now, we're in Good Standing. None of you are At Risk, and none are Finished.”

A chill ran down the spine of every student when Ms. Span said “Finished.” No one wanted that. If the school declared you Finished, that was it. You were kicked out. Your parents would be really, really mad, and you'd become a garbage collector for the rest of your life.

Typing Practice gave way to Composition, and then Math for the remainder of the morning until it was time for History and Nutrition. Ms. Span removed her reading glasses and bade the class stand, and they lined up and followed her into the hallway, quickly completing the short walk past the mural that read: S
ENSIBLE
, E
FFICIENT
, E
DUCATION
(S.E.E!).

The History and Nutrition Center was a large room filled with four rows of ten divided study carrels. Each seat in each row was cordoned with yellowish brown walls rising from the desktop. Through the rows ran a conveyor belt used to deliver the day's Approved Nutrition while the students watched various historical videos on the carrel dividers.

Henrietta's class entered just as the kindergartners, whose nutrition came a little earlier, were packing up to return to their room. Henrietta waited at the nearest carrel as its occupant prepared to leave: a little girl, who seemed small even for a kindergartner. Henrietta noticed that she was wearing odd clothes. Instead of a polyester outfit with a yellow safety stripe down the back, she wore a brown shirt made of . . . wool? Henrietta had seen wool in a few old TV shows, where people rode on horses or lived on icebergs. It was said to cause rashes.

The girl's dark-skinned arms looked painfully thin as she stuffed some papers into her backpack, zipped it up, and pulled it with some effort over her shoulders. She ran to join her class, her curly black hair bouncing as she exited.

Henrietta settled into the carrel, noting that the one immediately to her left was occupied by the chubby, bespectacled, Clarence Frederick, and the one to her right by the chubby, bespectacled, Clarice Sodje. Both had bullied Henrietta in the past, and she wasn't thrilled to be between them now.

History and Nutrition period was the day's only non-graded learning experience. History, because it wasn't related to anything, wasn't tested during the Competency Exam. Ms. Span said history had a “Noninstrumental Positive Impact,” which meant it was good for you but didn't really matter.

It was also good to watch movies while eating, because watching discouraged talking, and talking with one's mouth full was both dangerous and impolite. The History and Nutrition Center was generally very quiet but for the tinny sounds of the movies playing over the speakers in the carrel dividers.

Henrietta had landed in the HENRIFT ANDI carrel. She'd been in this one a few times before, and had seen the movie already, which was called
Founder, Humanitarian, Forward Thinker
. As she sat, the movie began. Henrift Andi, a tall, clean-shaven man with a stovepipe hat, was giving a speech to a crowd of fascinated onlookers.

“We must be courageous enough to look forward without fear, and sensible enough to fear looking backward!” he said, and the crowd cheered through the little speakers. The title came on:

H
ENRIFT
A
NDI:
F
OUNDER
, H
UMANITARIAN
, F
ORWARD
T
HINKER

The end of the title was obscured by a little piece of paper. It was a yellow sticky note attached to the screen. Henrietta leaned forward. The square contained a short message scrawled in a beginner's handwriting.

henRift
and
andi

Henrietta pulled it off of the screen as the movie segued to show Henrift Andi as a little boy, still wearing a stovepipe hat, planting an apple orchard. Henrietta crumpled the note and dropped it in the trash next to the carrel. She thought the kindergartener who had just departed was most certainly the culprit, and she didn't want the tiny girl to get in trouble for vandalism.

Nutrition arrived on the conveyor belt: a cube of corn bread smothered in starchy gravy, some small yellowish carrots with margarine dip, a pile of corn chips, and a glass of apple soda.

“Soon after,” said the narrator's calm but engaging voice, “Henrift Andi developed a new breed of apple, which he called Scrumptious!”

Henrietta dipped a corn chip in the margarine. As she brought it to her mouth, a little paper airplane flew over the carrel wall to land squarely atop her corn bread and gravy. On one wing was written: