(Initiate startup procedure.)
CALIBRATION IN PROCESS. PLEASE EXCUSE SOME MILD DISCOMFORT.
(Calibration 50% complete, please wait...)
(Calibration 80% complete, please wait...)
CALIBRATION COMPLETE. ACCESS PROCEDURE INITIATED.
(Access procedure in process, please wait...)
DISCOMFORT LEVEL MAY INCREASE.
ACCESSING NEURAL MEMORY.
ACCESSING MUSCLE MEMORY.
ACCESS PROCEDURE COMPLETE.
RICHARD GORANSKI, WELCOME TO YOUR SUPER QUANTUM UNIT INTEL PROCESSOR. YOUR SQUIP.
A lone figure lay hunched against the cracked and graffitied concrete back wall outside a Payless, bathed in a sickly yellow light from a distant street lamp in the parking lot. His hands were clamped around his head and his knees dug uncomfortably into the rough pavement below. The vulnerable flesh of his hands had most likely scraped when he'd fallen to the ground writhing during the startup procedure. His breathing and heart rate were fast and frenzied, and had only now begun to steady. Slowly, he dragged himself into a sitting position. On noticing the new presence standing before him, he speechlessly stared on and blinked rapidly. "Oh my god, I can't believe it. This shit's actually legit," he finally managed to spit out.
YOU'LL FIND I CAN BE SO MUCH MORE THAN "LEGIT," RICH.
(Operation: find program objective. Accessing memories. Conducting brainwave reading. Objective found.)
I WAS INSTALLED TO IMPROVE YOUR SOCIAL STANDING, CORRECT?
"Yeah. Lame, I know. It's just with school starting tomorrow and everything. I needed to do something about it," Rich replied.
(Human error detected. Tongue placed incorrectly in mouth, leading to speech impediment. File away for eventual correction.)
BEFORE WE DO ANYTHING ELSE: GO GET A HAIRCUT.
He stood up and crossed his arms. "What? Why?"
IT RESEMBLES A GREASY MOP. THERE'S A STORE IN THE MALL THAT WILL CUT IT. GO THERE NOW. ALSO, STOP TALKING TO ME OUT LOUD. YOU LOOK LIKE YOU'RE TALKING TO YOURSELF. JUST THINK AT ME.
Rich ran a hand through the stringy strands of hair that hung limply around his shoulders, fingers snagging at the tangled knots. He mentally communicated to the SQUIP, 'Damn. I've kept it long since seventh grade. I've thought about cutting it, but-'
YOU NEVER GOT AROUND TO IT. WHAT ELSE HAVE YOU NEVER GOTTEN AROUND TO DOING? LOOK AT YOURSELF. YOU'RE FIFTEEN AND APPEAR TWELVE. IF YOU LOOKED AT A VERSION OF YOU FROM YEARS AGO AND ONE FROM TODAY, YOU'D BARELY BE ABLE TO TELL THE DIFFERENCE. YOU TOLD YOURSELF THINGS WOULD GET BETTER ONCE YOU MOVED TO MIDDLEBOROUGH FOR FRESHMAN YEAR, BUT NOTHING CHANGED AT ALL. WHEN ARE THINGS GOING TO CHANGE, RICH? WHEN YOU'RE SEVENTEEN? TWENTY? FORTY?
As his body momentarily twitched, Rich's eyes narrowed. 'That's why I got you. So I'm not a loser the rest of my life.' At that, he knew what he had to do. He scrambled to his feet, wavering at the quickly passing dizziness from the startup procedure. His dingy gray sneakers slapped the pavement as he trudged out from behind the Payless and towards the bright lights of the mall.
Before he knew it, the deed was done and several inches of his hair lay in a pile on the salon floor. By the time he'd left the mall, it had gotten late and the sky had completely darkened. As he walked along the side of the road, the cars roared past him as they sped by. Whenever one passed, he looked over at it in hopes of catching a glimpse of his reflection. He couldn't believe how different he looked already. Not only was his hair short, the SQUIP had practically ordered him to buy new clothes to wear tomorrow. Most of his regular clothes were at least a year old and currently sat in wrinkled, stained piles in his room. If someone were to look at a picture of himself from two years ago, the differences would be more pronounced than ever.
He had almost reached his house when he addressed the SQUIP again. 'Has anyone ever told you that you look like that dude from the Matrix?'
MY DEFAULT MODE. MY APPEARANCE SETTINGS CAN BE CHANGED TO WHATEVER THE USER WISHES.
'Heh, anything? What, so you could look like Kermit the Frog or something?'
DO YOU WISH TO USE CUSTOM APPEARANCE SETTINGS?
'Wait, wha-'
(User command initiated. Searching databases for "Kermit the Frog or something." Top result found. Custom appearance settings activated.)
'Damn, you actually did it? That was a joke, dipshit.'
I AM CAPABLE OF PROCESSING MORE INFORMATION IN FIVE MINUTES THAN YOU WILL IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE.
Momentarily stopping in his tracks, Rich covered his mouth to no avail. His harsh, grating laughter soon filled the air. 'I can't believe it. I'm gonna be told how to be cool by a fucking frog puppet!' His words were occasionally punctuated by yet another short burst of laughing. He resumed his trek home, still shaking his head at the incredulity of it all.
I AM A POWERFUL SUPERCOMPUTER. I ASSURE YOU THAT I AM PERFECTLY CAPABLE OF DOING MY JOB. ALSO, THIS WAS YOUR IDEA, NOT MINE. I KNOW IT WAS YOUR IDEA BECAUSE IT WAS A TERRIBLE ONE.
'Yeah, I regret that one already...' came the mental reply. All traces of laughter died in Rich's throat as the smile dropped off his face. 'That's my house. I'm home too late. But you probably already knew that, huh?'
(Memory access indicated that his curfew was at ten-thirty. Current Eastern Standard Time was eleven-fifteen. All his assumptions were in fact correct.)
A one-story house in a suburban neighborhood came into view. When viewed next to all the other houses on the block, it really wasn't fundamentally different from any of them. That was, however, if the overgrown lawn and chipping paint on the steps were to be ignored. Rich avoided the main sidewalk leading to the front door altogether and instead cut across the lawn to where the front window was placed. When he peered inside, he saw that the blinds were down, but tiny shafts of light came from inside the window. If the lights were on, there was a slim chance someone would actually hear him coming home after curfew. He didn't want to risk it, so he dashed to the other side of the house, facing a darkened bedroom window close to the fence that enclosed the backyard.
In a practiced routine, he put one foot on the fence and hefted himself on top of it. Balancing precariously on the fence, he reached over and unlocked the window. After pulling it open, he jumped off to put a foot on the windowsill. He climbed into the house through the window. At least his small size ensured that he could fit through easily enough. If his dad asked where he'd been, he would say he was home by ten-thirty and had simply come through the front door unnoticed.
The room he'd climbed into was not his own, but it was the easiest to get into from the outside. Still, it wasn't like his brother was using the room for anything. He had moved out the minute he turned eighteen and had probably fled the state. It sucked that Rich had to go through high school by himself, but it wasn't like he blamed his brother for getting out of this shithole as soon as possible. The empty bed was always made, and the door was always kept closed. Christ, his dad treated the whole situation like the guy died or something.
There was no reason to stay there any longer. Rich slid the door open and slipped into the hallway. For curiosity's sake, he crept forward, melting into the shadows, until he neared the living room. Peeking out from behind an alcove, he surveyed the scene. His dad was either asleep or passed out on the couch; no matter which, he was completely dead to the world. The white lights of the TV reflected onto his face in the dark room while some dumb infomercial blared at top volume. He only saw one empty beer bottle on the side table, but knew that there were most definitely more of them laying around out of his sight. He'd been lucky that his coming through the window turned out to be just an extra precaution. Tonight, he could've burst through the front door with a mariachi band and his dad still wouldn't have stirred. Vanishing from sight, he went back down the hallway and entered his own bedroom.
After flipping on the light switch, Rich gracelessly flopped onto his unmade bed, pulling the wrinkled sheets over his legs. He grabbed the slice of pizza sitting on a paper plate on a nearby side table, taking a bite. For two-day-old cold pizza, it wasn't half bad. There was probably something better to drink in the fridge than the flat Coke on the table, but it wasn't worth getting up again.
THAT'S DISGUSTING.
'Hey, don't knock it 'till you try it. Not that you'd get it, with the whole "being a computer" thing. Sorry you can't appreciate the wonder that is cold pizza.'
GO TO SLEEP, RICH. YOU HAVE SCHOOL TOMORROW.
'I'm not even tired. You really think I haven't been sleeping in late all summer?'
I CAN HELP WITH THAT. NOW GO TO SLEEP. FIRST IMPRESSIONS ARE EVERYTHING, BUT YOU SURE DIDN'T LEAVE A GOOD ONE FRESHMAN YEAR. THE SECOND IMPRESSION IS THE NEXT BEST THING. TOMORROW WILL BE VITAL TO YOUR PROGRESS.
'Whatever. Just don't be surprised when I can't sleep at all.' Rich leaned back and put his hands behind his head as he laid down.
(Activating sleep synapses. Increasing melatonin levels.)
(Eyelids closing. Processing, please wait...)
(Brain now in sleep mode. Good night, Richard.)
...
Deep breaths. Inhale, exhale. He could do this. He had to do this. From the second Rich stepped into the halls of Middleborough High for the first day of his sophomore year, he had received a near-constant stream of mental suggestions whispered into his ear. He guessed he needed a ton of help if he wanted to get anywhere.
UNCLENCH YOUR HANDS. LIFT UP YOUR HEAD. RELEASE TENSION IN THE JAW. DON'T LOOK LIKE YOU'RE PLANNING A MURDER.
He lifted his gaze from its fixed point on the floor tiles, attempting to employ every instruction at once. The hall was cramped with teenagers, and Rich studied the sea of passing faces while never lingering on any of them for more than a second. There were groups of girls carrying cups of coffee and doing the finishing touches on their makeup. There were boys in vivid red jackets who animatedly told vastly exaggerated tales of wild summers partying at the shore. There were wide-eyed freshmen who clung to their printed-out schedules and maps like a lifeline. And then there was him.
Scanning the rows of lockers, he searched for the one whose number matched the one on his schedule. Continuing to walk forward was a challenge considering the sheer numbers of kids standing in the hallway and clogging everything up. If he had to slightly push past people to move forward, then so be it. It was public school; he knew he would get exactly nowhere if he wasn't willing to be a little pushy.
Still, things could be worse, he guessed. Not a single stare of pity or mild disgust had been sent his way yet, with the people he passed paying him no mind at all. He was surprisingly awake for this early in the morning, and might not even fall asleep in first period. Between the new-clothes smell of his jeans and his straightened posture, he hadn't felt this clean and alert in years. Things were actually going well. For a solid ten minutes, that was.
ONE MORE THING: WATCH YOUR STEP.
Tripping on something unseen to him, Rich lost his footing and saw the ground rushing upwards to meet his face. Luckily, he managed to catch himself and land on his hands and knees. As a few passerby turned to look at the commotion, he scrambled to his feet as quickly as humanly possible. From behind him, he heard a burst of hyena-like laughter. After twisting around to face the source, his face contorted into a glare. A group of boys stood in the exact spot he'd been tripped, and none of them even attempted to contain their wild howls.
I TOLD YOU TO WATCH YOUR STEP, DIDN'T I?
(Vitals scan indicated increased heart rate and tensing of the muscles, even shortly after he was instructed to behave otherwise.)
"Oh, we're starting this shit again, huh? Which one of you did it?" Rich muttered in their general direction, all the while looking more at his shoes than at the people he'd accused.
"The fuck did he say?" one of them asked.
"Does it matter?"
"No, seriously, I have no idea what he just said. Maybe it's the lisp?"
"I, uh, I said, which one of you did it?" Rich repeated.
"Did what? What did we do?" one asked, in a tone not unlike one a teacher would use on a stupid drooling toddler. "I didn't do anything. Did you?" The others shook their heads. Rich ground his teeth together, and his face began to flush red. His reaction prompte another round of laughter, followed by them yelling at each other in a mocking caricature of his voice, lisp and all.
If that horrible searing laughter continued for another second, he wouldn't be able to bear it. Rich clenched his hands at the very sound of it, using every ounce of restraint he had to not punch their teeth out right then and there. Although, he seriously doubted he possessed the strength to do more than hurt his own hand in the process. Also, he was weak and stupid and would probably literally die if he tried to fight all of them at once. Not a bad way to go out, but still. He couldn't die right when the SQUIP had promised to get his life together.
As another red jacket passed by, one of the boys called out, "Hey, Jake! Come watch this!" With that, Jake Dillinger made his way over to the group, starting to laugh at whatever had held the others' attention before he even knew what it was. Honestly, Rich had had enough of this bullshit. Before Jake even caught a glimpse of him, he turned tail and vanished into the crowds in the hall, which had thinned out considerably as people entered their homerooms. He probably resembled a scared little mouse that retreated at the first sign of danger. How pathetic. God, he hated that. He vaguely heard the other boys' loud chattering as he walked away, but luckily, they did not pursue him.
The hallways were hell, so he made the first escape he could. He ducked into the nearest bathroom, checking first to make sure nobody was inside. Since it was empty, he stomped past the urinals and squared up in front of the nearest stall door. He made a fist and punched the door as hard as he could. The door reeled backwards before swinging into the stall divider with a satisfying slam.
THIS IS REPETITIVE BEHAVIOR. AS WAS THAT LITTLE ENCOUNTER IN THE HALLWAY. HOW MANY TIMES DID THAT EXACT SCENE PLAY OUT LAST YEAR?
As soon as the door swung back on its hinges towards Rich, he repeated the same motion. Hit. Slam.
IF YOU WANT TO TRULY CHANGE, YOU NEED TO BREAK THIS ROUTINE. YOU CANNOT KEEP BOTTLING UP YOUR ANGER FOREVER.
Hit. Slam. 'Like hell I can't,' he mentally told the SQUIP. 'And what's your grand plan on this, exactly? Sit around the campfire with them and sing Kumbaya?'
NOT AT ALL. IF YOU DO AS I INSTRUCT, NOBODY WILL DARE TO BOTHER YOU EVER AGAIN.
'I just hate those guys! They need to drop the goddamn innocent act already. How stupid do they think I am?' Hit. Slam. 'They could at least come out and say, "Hey, I'm the guy who trips random people in the hall every day because I have nothing better going on in my life and am also a giant asshole." Everything I say becomes some joke so they can get some amusement out of their own. Sick! Lives!' Hit. Slam.
He finally let his hands drop to his sides with a sigh, realizing how out-of-breath he'd gotten. Swinging open the door one last time, he reached inside the stall and pulled a wad of scratchy toilet paper from the dispenser. He then wrapped it around his knuckles to stop them from bleeding all over the bathroom floor. After trudging away from the row of stalls and towards the sinks, he came face to face with his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. His eyes were wild and unfocused, and red bloodstains had already begun to seep through his makeshift bandages. To cover them, he pulled his shirt sleeves further down over his hands.
YOU CAN'T BEHAVE THE SAME WAY AS YOU DID LAST YEAR OR ELSE PEOPLE WILL REMEMBER HOW HOPELESS YOU WERE. THE PERSON YOU WERE IN FRESHMAN YEAR HAS TO DISAPPEAR. YOU NEED TO COMPLETELY REVAMP YOUR IMAGE. ARE YOU WILLING TO DO THAT?
Disappear? Had the person he'd been in freshman year ever truly appeared in the first place? Did he do a single thing besides take up space and waste oxygen? 'Yes. I'm willing,' he told the SQUIP.
THAT'S WHAT I NEED TO HEAR. I NEED COMPLETE OBEDIENCE FROM YOU IF WE ARE TO PROCEED.
'I'll do whatever it takes. If you'll actually help me. If I don't have to feel like this ever again.'
DON'T WORRY. YOU WON'T. BY THE TIME WE'RE THROUGH, ALL ANYBODY WILL REMEMBER IS THE NEW, IMPROVED RICH GORANSKI.
Rich narrowed his eyes and nodded determinedly, losing sight of his reflection as he threw the bathroom door open and left for his classroom.
BEFORE YOU GO TO HOMEROOM, PROCEED TO THE SIGN-UP BOARD IN THE CAFETERIA.
He veered down the hall, cutting people off by the sudden turn. The cafeteria was just down the hall, and had already begun to come to life as people filed in for breakfast. On one wall, a colorful bulletin board had a myriad of sign-up sheets tacked to it.
THE FOOTBALL TEAM IS LOOKING FOR AN ASSISTANT TO CLEAN UP AND HELP THE PLAYERS. SEE THE POSTER EXPLAINING IT? GOOD. TAKE IT OFF THE BOARD AND GIVE IT TO THE COACH AFTER SCHOOL. TELL HIM YOU'LL TAKE THE POSITION.
'Basically everyone who's ever given me shit in this school is on that team. Not that I'm arguing with what you're saying, but-'
THAT TEAM IS THE SINGULAR MOST POPULAR GROUP IN SCHOOL. IF YOU SEE THEM ON A DAILY BASIS AND ARE A PART OF THE TEAM, THEY WILL SEE YOU AS AN INSIDER TO YOUR GROUP AND NOT AN OUTSIDER TO BE MOCKED.
He tore the paper off the wall before the SQUIP had even finished speaking. He narrowed his eyes. 'You know what?' he thought with a shrug. 'What the hell? This'll make everything better. I can't let them scare me forever. Whatever it takes, right?'
WHATEVER IT TAKES.
...
Maybe the team had already found someone else to fill the position. Maybe the coach hated him too much for whatever reason to look at him every day. Maybe Rich was being a dumbass who couldn't follow a simple instruction from his SQUIP. No, he had to do it. Just because he accepted that fact, though, didn't mean he wanted to go through with it. There were no cop-outs and no escapes. He was the only one to answer the poster, so he got the position with no questions asked. Maybe that was because he tore off the poster before anyone else could see it.
The SQUIP had made him arrive ten minutes early, just as school had let out and most of the players were still milling around their lockers. Slowly, people filed into the team's locker room. Since he hadn't been given any kind of task, there was nothing left to do but stand there awkwardly. That was, until a couple of seniors he didn't know came up to him. "I didn't see you at tryouts. You're not on the team, are you?"
"Isn't he a freshman?" the other one asked as an aside. Way to talk about someone like they're not there, guys.
JUST TELL THEM WHAT YOU'RE DOING HERE.
Rich rolled his eyes. "I'm here because of that poster you guys put out. The help one. And I'm not a freshman!" And they were already gone. Shit. This was already a stupid idea. Those guys saw him as nothing but a small annoyance. They were probably talking about him now. Look at that loser, thinks he can infiltrate our team from the inside.
WARNING. THOSE BOYS WHO TRIPPED YOU EARLIER TODAY ARE CURRENTLY PRESENT IN THIS LOCKER ROOM. UPON SEEING YOU, THERE IS A 96% THEY'LL TRY IT AGAIN.
Damnit. All his chances were ruined. How would this even help him? Everyone on the team had probably seen him get tripped and faceplant on the linoleum at some point, or at least had heard about it. Those guys were probably waiting for him now, waiting to use him as their next punchline. Without waiting for instructions, he turned tail and bolted out of the locker room. He sat down and leaned against a row of cool metal lockers. The football team's voices wafted through the vents.
'I can set your appearance controls to whatever I want, right?' Rich asked. All other problems aside, it was true. The novelty of watching Kermit the Frog spew insults had worn off. He had to change the settings eventually anyway. Everyone in his classes changed their hairstyles and ways of dressing. Some got piercings or tattoos, while others dated a different person every week. Those around him seemed to have a magical ability to become a different person by the time they walked out Middleborough's doors in June. If they could do that, he could manage such a small change as his SQUIP's appearance.
I KNOW YOU'RE TRYING TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT. I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW THE COACH WILL FIND YOU IN UNDER 5 MINUTES, SO YOUR LITTLE IDEA TO RUN AWAY LIKE A COWARD WON'T MATTER. TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION, THOUGH, YES, BUT MOST PEOPLE USE ONE OF MY DEFAULT SETTINGS. THESE INCLUDE-
'Whoa, what if you looked like that giant eyeball thing?'
(Search memories: giant eyeball thing. One result found.)
THE DESIGN ON ONE OF YOUR SHIRTS? WHY?
'Don't know, it would look cool. You can do it, right?'
(Switching appearance settings.)
In a shower of pixels, the SQUIP's appearance changed to match his description. It floated behind him, speaking in a male voice he couldn't recognize as any person he knew.
ENOUGH FOCUS ON THIS. GO BACK TO THE LOCKER ROOM.
The halls had grown calm. Even the locker room had quieted down, from what he could hear. He wasn't so far from where he had to be, so he simply stood up and flung the locker room door open. "Hey! Thomas! Just the guy I needed. I need you to pick up the locker room. I tell the boys to do it, but I know it's a mess in there," said the coach, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. He thrust a black trash bag into Rich's hand and shuffled out the door.
'How do you fuck up someone's name that bad? He wasn't even close,' he thought as he pushed open the locker room door. Not that the coach would even remember if he corrected him. If you weren't a star athlete, you might as well not exist. While the team had thankfully cleared out to the field already, the mess they'd made was still there. The floor was littered with half-empty bags of chips, a dirty sock, and countless styrofoam cups. Rich kicked the cup nearest to his foot, but it was too light to make a proper impact to hit the ground. Why couldn't they clean up their own shit? It was late, and he was tired, and he had homework to procrastinate on. What if they'd left the mess on purpose just to make him clean it up? He began muttering under his breath while picking up each cup and hurling it into the bag with as much force as humanly possible.
SOCIAL INTERACTION INCOMING. REMEMBER: CONFIDENCE IS KEY. LOOK HIM IN THE EYE. DON'T HOLD BACK WHAT YOU WANT TO SAY UNLESS I TELL YOU TO DO SO. DEFINITELY DON'T MUMBLE.
"You know, you kinda remind me of an angry chihuahua."
Jake Dillinger was behind him, striding to a row of lockers and opening his up. Jake was actually talking to him. Jake somehow knew he existed. He wasn't sure if that fact was awesome or terrifying, considering the guy was friends with basically everyone who tormented him on a daily basis.
WE'RE GOING TO TRY SOMETHING. CLOSE YOUR TEETH TOGETHER. PLACE YOUR TONGUE SLIGHTLY BEHIND YOUR TEETH. DON'T LET YOUR TONGUE AND TEETH TOUCH. NOW, ATTEMPT TO RESPOND WITHOUT A LISP. SUCH BUGS IN YOUR PROGRAM MUST BE ERADICATED FOR ANY PROGRESS TO OCCUR.
He did as requested. For every second that ticked away, the awkward pause in the conversation grew wider. He had to hurry before Jake thought he was crazy and left. "What? Maybe I wouldn't be so mad if your friends actually cleaned up. Are you gonna s...stand there and talk shit or are you gonna help me?"
KEEP YOUR CONVERSATION LIMITED TO IRONIC INSULTS, NOT REAL INSULTS. DON'T GO TOO FAR WITH THEM. ALSO, THAT LISP WAS AWFUL. WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU TO DO?
(Initiate pain receptors.)
'Ow! Did you just shock me? Damnit, I'm trying! This is literally the first time you've taught me this.'
TRY HARDER. I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO MAKE THE SAME MISTAKES OVER AND OVER. ANY SENSATION YOU FELT WAS SIMPLY A LITTLE SPINAL STIMULATION. IT'S USED TO MOTIVATE PEOPLE LIKE YOU INTO ACTUALLY FOLLOWING INSTRUCTIONS.
"Tell you what. Here's what I'll do," Jake said. He picked up a single cup and tossed it into the bag like he would a free throw. "There! I only dropped one cup, so I'll throw away one too. It's just what's fair, y'know?" He gave a goofy smile as Rich rolled his eyes.
"Can't you make your friends clean their shit up? I don't want to be here until midnight. Somebody left their socks on the ceiling fan. Who the fuck leaves their socks on the ceiling fan?"
"They wouldn't be my friends if I nagged them all the time like I was their mother," he replied as he pulled an extra shirt out of his locker and slammed it shut. "Anyway, I have a practice to go to. I have to go." At that, he sauntered off. Rich heard the locker room door open and close again.
He returned to tossing cups into the bag. 'Unbelievable,' he thought. Did any of that really just happen?
THIS IS WHY I MADE YOU SIGN UP FOR THIS. IF YOU BEFRIEND JAKE DILLINGER, YOUR OWN POPULARITY WILL INCREASE EXPONENTIALLY.
'And if I'm friends with him, maybe everyone else will leave me alone,' he thought as he tossed the last cup into the bag.
NOW YOU GET IT. FRIENDSHIP IS A TOOL TO MAKE CONNECTIONS. USE IT WISELY. NOW, I HAVE ANOTHER TASK FOR YOU. I CALCULATE THE COACH WON'T NEED YOU AGAIN UNTIL PRACTICE ENDS. THE TRACK FIELD IS EMPTY RIGHT NOW. GO THERE.
Rich sighed. 'Will this take long?'
THAT'S UP TO YOU.
Only pausing to throw the trash bag into the dumpster, Rich left the locker room and trekked across worn dirt paths until the backs of bleachers came into view. The gate to the track was unlocked, but not a single person was in sight. A strange look for a space that he only saw swarming with his classmates. Now, there was only him standing near the orange rubber that composed the track. He looked out to see the glimmer of golden setting sun on silver, stone-cold bleachers.
STRETCH YOUR MUSCLES. YOU WON'T GET FAR IF I LET YOU PULL A HAMSTRING.
Rich followed the instruction, even as he liked the idea of what was probably to come less and less. The SQUIP continued its speech.
EARLIER I INSTRUCTED YOU ON HOW TO REMOVE YOUR LISP. SINCE THIS IS 96% CHEAPER THAN SPEECH THERAPY, YOU SHOULD BE GRATEFUL. AS PROJECTED, YOU DID NOT SUCCEED. SINCE YOU NEED TO IMPROVE BOTH YOUR PHYSICAL AND MENTAL ENDURANCE, YOU HAVE TO PROVE YOU AREN'T TOO WEAK TO BE WORTH IT. FOR EVERY TIME I CAUGHT YOU LISPING, YOU MUST RUN ONE LAP AROUND THE TRACK.
STOP WASTING TIME. GET TO RUNNING.
(Initiate pain receptors.)
The shock down his spine sent him careening off onto the track. He broke into a shuffling run, swinging his arms awkwardly against his sides.
ARE YOU EVEN TRYING? I KNOW YOU CAN GO FASTER.
'I think you know by now that I don't do this very often.'
THAT'S APPARENT. NOW, LET'S TRY AGAIN. SAY THE WORD "SUCCESS."
"Ss..uccess?"
WRONG. ONE MORE LAP. I TOLD YOU NOT TO PUT YOUR TONGUE AND TEETH TOGETHER. DON'T ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME; I DON'T SEE ANYBODY ELSE OUT HERE HELPING YOU. NOW, REPEAT AFTER ME. SENSE.
"Sense."
ASSOCIATION.
"Association."
CLASS.
"Class."
WRONG TO ALL THREE. THAT WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH. THREE MORE LAPS.
Rich's face crumbled. His sneakers slapped against the track, and he had already began to lose his breath. Not good enough. Not good enough. Fuck. More laps. Whenever he completed one lap, it was as if a million new ones still lay before him. He squinted as the setting sun bore mercilessly into his eyes. His throat burned. What would happen if he-
DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT STOPPING TO WALK. YOU ARE FINISHED RUNNING WHEN I TELL YOU TO STOP.
Gym class was a dream compared to this. Five laps now. At least there, he wasn't suffering alone. He gasped for air. At least he wouldn't look like a maniac if someone were to find him. He wasn't good enough. Wasn't fast or strong or hardworking enough. Faster. Keep going, or else. Six laps. He was going to die. They'd have to clean his body off the stupid orange rubber.
YOU HAVE FAILED AT EVERY TASK I GAVE YOU. NO IMPROVEMENTS WERE MADE TO YOUR SPEECH AND YOUR ATHLETIC SKILLS ARE ABYSMAL. YOU ARE NOW ALLOWED TO STOP RUNNING. WALK IT OFF. KNOW THAT THIS IS BECAUSE THE COACH IS PROJECTED TO NEED YOU AT PRACTICE, NOT BECAUSE OF YOUR OWN ACHIEVEMENTS. YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF. GO ON, WALK BACK TO PRACTICE NOW. WE'LL RESUME YOUR TRAINING LATER.
Rich slowed to a walk, using every ounce of strength he had not to collapse in a heap on the grass. Instead, he stumbled towards the gate leading out of the field as every muscle in his body screamed with pain. The coach wouldn't notice if he showed up looking like he'd just run a marathon and then died instantly.
...
No one appearance setting stayed programmed into the SQUIP for longer than a few weeks. Rich's days had started to slip into a comfortable routine. Wake up. Make it to school late enough to not look like a try-hard and early enough not to be a distracting mess that burst into school thirty minutes late with Starbucks. Sit through classes and get answers fed to him. Go to football practice four times a week. Work out. Go home. Sleep. Running laps and lifting weights got easier over time. Maybe he was used to the torture by now, after he'd been forced to do it every day for weeks.
With such a plan, something had to keep changing. Something had to keep monotony at bay. Besides, he had some crazy-advanced tech installed in his brain and he might as well make full use of it.
After Rich changed the SQUIP's appearance to an amorphous mass of pixels, he found he could no longer avoid every jerk in school. Before their first real football game, one of the usual suspects stood in front of Rich's locker and put something inside. Nobody else was anywhere in sight. Too early for them to show up. Damn them. Whatever the guy put in his locker was probably going to either explode or jump out at him. Not that he ever used the locker for anything ever, but it was the principle of the thing that counted. It was his locker and he was the only one who got to touch it. Was tripping him in the halls not enough anymore? Fuck this.
He hadn't so much as noticed Rich yet. However, as he rounded the corner, he finally caught notice of what that guy, and possibly other assholes too, been using his locker for. Trash. They had dumped trash inside whenever they were too lazy to find a real can. His hands clenched into balls, knuckles turning white. So that was where that awful smell had been coming from! As much as he wanted to race over there and shove him to the ground and tell him off, the SQUIP would probably shock him just for the idea of-
NO. YOU ARE READY. YOU'VE TRAINED VIGOROUSLY ENOUGH TO DO THIS. IT'S TIME TO TAKE ALL THAT RAGE AND FRUSTRATION INSIDE YOU AND FOCUS IT OUTWARDS TO THE WORLD. PUT IT TO GOOD USE-SO NOBODY WILL TORMENT YOU EVER AGAIN.
Rich strode closer to the locker. He turned his head, but otherwise didn't pay him any mind. "What, don't want to use your own locker?"
He laughed. He actually had the nerve to laugh in his face! "It's not like you were actually using it, dude."
HE THINKS YOU'RE NOTHING. AREN'T YOU ANGRY? DON'T YOU WANT TO SEE HIM GET WHAT HE DESERVES?
'Heh. You know me too well,' Rich thought.
CATCH HIM OFF GUARD. HE THINKS YOU'RE TOO SCARED TO FIGHT BACK. GRAB HIS ARM AND TWIST IT BEHIND HIS BACK.
He covered the remaining distance in no time. Before he could manage to contemplate himself out of doing so, he snatched his wrist just as the guy was about to throw another bit of trash into the locker. He yelped in surprise as Rich somehow managed to twist his arm behind his back and shove him against the row of lockers. "Anyway, what were you saying?" Rich asked through gritted teeth.
HE'S NOT AS STRONG AS HE SAYS HE IS. DON'T LET UP.
"Let go, you little asshole! I'm gonna beat the shit out of you."
HE'S BLUFFING. TELL HIM HOW HE'S LOSING TO YOU RIGHT NOW.
Rich twisted his arm harder, and a whimper of pain escaped his lips no matter how hard he tried not to. "Go ahead. Make me let go," he said. A razor-edged smile split his face. His eyes widened just a little too much, clearly showing the whites. "The coach will be here any minute now. You'll get suspended if you beat me up. Even if you did, you'll have to admit you would totally lose in a fight to an underclassmen half your size."
YOU'LL TELL THE WHOLE TEAM UNLESS HE LEAVES YOU ALONE.
"I'll tell the whole team you're weaker than me," he continued. "Just don't mess with me and I won't mess with you."
"God! Fine! You're crazy. Just let me go." When Rich released his grip, he rubbed at his arm and stretched it out, scowling. "You're no fun to mess with anyway. Not anymore." He slunk off to some unseen corner of the locker room, muttering curses the entire way.
'That was awesome!' he thought. He felt like he could take whatever the SQUIP could throw at him after practice! He could run a marathon and still be hyped beyond measure. He was strong, and powerful, and not somebody to be walked over and pushed around.
HE WON'T BOTHER YOU AGAIN. YOU'RE WELCOME.
After Rich changed the SQUIP's appearance to Danny Devito's head on Dwayne Johnson's body, his dad finally took notice. Took him long enough. With the way his son was always either out of the house or holed up in his room, he barely ever managed to catch a glimpse of him. That was, until Rich trudged into the house on the night after a football game. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he dumped his backpack on the floor and made a beeline to his room. "Is there food in the fridge?" he mumbled to his dad, not even turning to face him.
"Wait a minute," he replied. Rich slowly turned around to meet the eyes of the man slumped across the couch. "Your voice. What happened to you? You've been different lately. That lisp finally go away?"
JUST SAY YOU'VE BEEN WORKING ON IT.
"Uh...yeah. I've been working on it lately. Looked it up on the Internet and stuff."
"You're out at all hours of the night. Staying out of trouble?"
He really wasn't out all night. Compared to the guys on the team, he was practically a shut-in. "I've been helping with the football team this year. Working out, too."
His dad nodded. "Least you're finally getting up and doing something." As Rich was about to vanish into his room, he heard him say, "Good talk." One of the most annoying phrases in the English language. It always sounded sarcastic. Always. Even so, things could've gone worse. He knew better than to expect sycophant-level approval from the man, but he didn't get sheer disappointment from him either. It wasn't a victory, but a truce. He accepted it. A year ago, he couldn't have expected so much as that.
After Rich changed the SQUIP's appearance to a sentient turkey leg, the football team somehow kept winning. And winning. Somehow it had lead to this. He pulled his thin jacket closer around him, sitting on the cold bleachers and shivering in the chilly air. Before him, players sprinted around a turf-green field. More seats were filled than he'd ever seen, all to see if the team actually won this game and advanced to the championship. As the seconds on the scoreboard clock ticked down, the audience provided a constant buzz of excited noise.
MIDDLEBOROUGH'S TEAM HAS APPROXIMATELY A 67% CHANCE OF-
'No, wait, I wanna find out myself,' Rich replied. His teeth chattered, both from excitement and the harsh winds. With the crowd, he rose to his feet. Sports were never his thing, but the fervor around him was contagious.
Ten seconds on the clock, with Middleborough down a single point. Coach sat next to Rich along the bleacher closest to the field, intently studying the game and chewing his fingernails to stubs. The players called their last timeout, with the coach running over to their huddle. Although he had no idea what they discussed, they seemed deathly serious as they nodded their heads and wiped the sweat from under their helmets. When the huddle broke, they went back to the field.
Both teams got into formation. Middleborough's kicker lined up to aim for a field goal. This was the last play. On his kick, the ball soared through the air. For a split second, the crowd was silent as they all collectively held their breath.
The football sailed through, straight between the yellow poles of the goalpost. A perfect kick. The crowds lost their shit. Even Rich had to let out at excited whoop. The scoreboard's display changed to match their winning score.
While the other team gathered their bearings and vanished into their locker room, the Middleborough players swarmed the sidelines and the field, while Rich stood next to the Coach and his assistants. Some threw their helmets in the air or enthusiastically high-fived their teammates. The audience tossed confetti and blasted all their annoying plastic horns at top volume.
Something was dumped on Rich from behind. He yelled out as the icy liquid rushed over his entire body. The deluge lasted only a moment before trailing off. After he'd wiped the stuff out of his eyes and pushed away the tracks running down his face from his hair, he saw what it was. An entire orange canister of Gatorade had been dumped on him. One glance at Coach showed even he hadn't come out unscathed. The players responsible for it had already run off somewhere else, of course.
THIS IS A POSITIVE EXPERIENCE. KEEP IT UP AND THOSE PLAYERS WILL SEE YOU AS A MEMBER OF THEIR IN-GROUP. I ASSURE YOU, THE GATORADE DUMPING IS A TRADITION STEMMING FROM RESPECT.
Coach and Rich took one look at each other's soaked hair and clothes before they both burst out laughing. Rich couldn't breathe, having too much laughter to contain. He didn't even bother to care how awful his laugh sounded. His cheeks hurt from smiling. "You guys better win the championship now. This has gotta be worth it," he said, bursts of laughter escaping between sentences. "Damn, that was freezing."
...
They lost the championship. Horribly. The game was a total train wreck. Rich had learned more about football from listening to his SQUIP list off every minuscule mistake made in the entire game than he'd ever wanted to know in his life. He had no idea what had happened between the last game and this one. The team had walked off the field looking like they wanted to kill something. Since they were all towers of muscles and shoulder pads, they probably had the ability, too. "Yo, the after-party at my house is still on," Jake had exclaimed to a somber crowd in the locker room. "There's a ton of booze there. We can, I dunno, drink our sorrows away or something."
DON'T RESPOND TO THAT. HOWEVER, THIS PARTY WILL BE IMPERATIVE TO YOUR SUCCESS. YOU MUST GO.
Rich had changed his SQUIP's appearance yet again by that point, this time for good. The SQUIP had claimed his previous choices were "too distracting" and made him pick something normal for once. He'd switched it to Jack Nicholson and left it at that. The weird shit he'd been picking before that had been dumb anyway.
He found himself stuffed into a car with six other guys that soon pulled up in front of Jake's house. As he wasn't actually on the team, he was unsure if the invitation extended to him or not. But hey, nobody really stopped him, so he continued forward anyway. The sprawling lawn was trampled over by a trail of people who were all headed towards the front door. He blended in with the crowd until they entered the house. A banner had been strung across the doorway, loudly proclaiming their predicted championship win in red Magic Marker. As Jake jumped up and tore it down, Rich surveyed the rest of the house. And he liked what he saw. Christ, Jake was loaded. Not even the presence of a teenage boy prevented the house from looking like a furniture catalogue, complete with shiny floors and what looked like a hot tub out back.
The partygoers had begun to file inside, most of whom were underclassmen since the seniors were too crushed by defeat or some shit. Rich hung back, crossing his arms. If he said the wrong thing to the wrong person at this party, any semblance of progress he'd made would be flushed down the toilet.
SAY SOMETHING TO ONE OF THEM BEFORE TOO MANY PEOPLE SHOW UP. YOU DON'T WANT TO GET LOST IN THE CROWD. I'D BETTER NOT CATCH YOU MUMBLING AGAIN, EITHER.
Rich pushed his way into the nearest group of people. Having to yell over the music and chatter, he said, "Man, Jake, you're lucky. My dad would kill me if I tried to do all this." His voice was going to be completely shot by morning, wouldn't it?
"Hey, it's not like mine are gonna find out! They're gone on some shady-ass 'business trip' thing. They said they'd be back this Sunday, which is really code for next Thursday at the soonest. I've got this place all to myself!" he replied with a cocky smile. So that was why he was Designated Party House. Come to think of it, had Rich ever actually seen Jake's parents? It was like the guy had sprung fully-formed out of the ground one day wearing a varsity jacket.
No matter. They were gone, and his own dad hadn't even bothered to call him. He didn't have to worry about those assholes they called parents for the rest of the night. There were plenty of assholes his own age to worry about, after all. He continued speaking to Jake, but his eyes wandered across the growing crowd. Some people's friends and girlfriends had begun to show up, bringing the atmosphere up to something a little less funeral-like. It was still a party after all, still a ticket inside a rich kid's house and a chance to get a head start on becoming a raging alcoholic. "Hey, wait, are you joining the team next year or what?" Jake asked, just as Rich fully tuned back in to the conversation.
TELL JAKE YOU WON'T BE ON THE TEAM AGAIN NEXT YEAR. IT'S SERVED ITS PURPOSE FOR YOU AND IS NO LONGER NEEDED.
"Dude, there is no way I'm doing this again. All this school spirit bullshit isn't my thing."
"Well, I haven't told anyone this, but I'm not playing next year either. Next season, I'm joining the Frisbee Golf team."
LIGHTHEARTED REBUTTAL. DON'T BRUISE HIS EGO TOO MUCH.
"Really? Why?" asked Rich.
"I gotta stay well-rounded. That shit looks good for college. And maybe the Frisbee Golf team won't disappoint me forever and lose."
EXIT CONVERSATION. DON'T APPEAR TOO CLINGY.
Rich gave one final nod before slipping away into the crowd. Once again, he was just one person in a sea of others, most of whom loomed over him in height. The lights went down, bringing everybody into a comfortable dimness punctuated only by flashing neon lights in Day-Glo greens and purples. Unlike the halls of his school, the sense of anonymity was sure to end once the lights came up. At school, somebody could go completely unnoticed forever.
The crowd began dancing. Well, "dancing" was a bit of a charitable word for the efforts of untrained and mostly-drunk teenagers. Still, Rich joined in, imitating the movements of the people around him. His heart boomed to the thrumming of the bass coming from the speakers. Loud music drowned everything out except himself and the party. He was surrounded by other people on every side, and a sheen of sweat began to form on his brow. One thing was certain: he'd never experienced anything like this.
He didn't know how long he went on like that. Eventually, though, his throat was dry and his body tired out enough to the point where he wanted a break. Pushing through the crowd, he had to dodge the dancers to avoid getting smacked in the face with a stray arm. He made it to the table, which was covered in a cheap plastic tablecloth and enough booze to kill a man. Avoiding the wet spots where alcohol had already been spilled on the table (or at least he hoped it was alcohol), he leaned over to catch his breath.
TAKE A RED CUP AND FILL IT WITH ICED TEA. IT'LL MAKE YOU LOOK AS IF YOU'RE DRINKING ALCOHOL, SO AS NOT TO LOOK LIKE A PRUDE. BUT I CANNOT HAVE YOU ACTUALLY GETTING DRUNK AT THIS PARTY. BEFORE YOU ASK WHY, IT'S BECAUSE ALCOHOL WILL MESS UP MY PROGRAMMING. I NEED YOU TO STAY UNINEBRIATED TONIGHT.
Rich followed instructions and poured the drink before downing it in one go. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a few people bounding up a staircase while giggling drunkenly. That in itself didn't seem unusual, so he glanced away, crushed his empty cup in one fist, and then tossed it on the ground.
GO UPSTAIRS. MY PROGRAMMING PREDICTS AN OPPORTUNITY FOR A FAVORABLE OUTCOME.
'Me? Upstairs? I don't know about this. Bedrooms are probably up there. And whoever's up there will probably be pissed at me if I walk in on them while they're having-"
YOU KNOW I WOULDN'T PUT YOU IN A SITUATION THAT WOULD DAMAGE YOUR PROGRESS.
'Ugh, fine,' he replied, leaving the table to trudge up the stairs. He found himself in a hallway that tapered off into darkness the further he got from the staircase. Most of the doors were closed and locked with the exception of one. Towards the end of the hall, the door had been swung wide open and seemed to blow back and forth from wind. Shouts and laughter came from the room, but sounded muffled. When Rich stepped up to the doorway and peered inside, he saw that not a single person was actually in the room. Instead, the back window had been opened to reveal a group of guys standing on a part of the roof that was accessible from the inside. Jake's voice was audible, as was Dustin Kropp's, and a few others he only vaguely recognized. He went to the window and peered outside. "Dude, wouldn't it be awesome if I could just jump and land on the trampoline?" one of them had been saying, slurring his words. "I bet I can do it. Hold my beer." When he stumbled to the edge of the roof, Rich gasped.
HE'S NOT INTENTIONALLY TRYING TO HARM HIMSELF, SO STOP BEING PARANOID. HE WON'T EVEN DO IT IN THE FIRST PLACE.
Rich breathed a sigh of relief. Sure enough, just as the other drunk kids began cheering him on, he swayed dangerously at the edge of the roof. The guy was probably incapable of walking in a straight line, let alone jumping off a roof in just the right way in order to safely land on Jake's old trampoline below. The others managed to grab him by the arms and pull him safely away from the edge.
STEP OUT ONTO THE ROOF AND TELL THEM YOU CAN DO IT.
'I'd look cool as fuck if I land that, I'll admit. But what if I miss?'
I'LL HELP YOU. THERE'S A 97% CHANCE YOU'LL COME OUT COMPLETELY UNHARMED. SHOULD THE OUTCOME FALL INTO THE REMAINING 3%, ANY INJURIES YOU GAIN CAN BE USED TO GARNER SYMPATHY.
'Uh, this isn't making me feel better.'
YOU NEED TO DO SOMETHING TO IMPRESS YOUR PEERS. SOMETHING TO MAKE OTHER PEOPLE REMEMBER YOU EXIST. SO DO IT ALREADY.
No arguing with that. Rich stepped through the window and onto the part of the roof where the others were that was flat enough to stand on. He sighed, breath becoming visible in the November chill. "I bet I could do it," he said while the window curtains billowed behind him and the wind tossed his hair. Goddamn, it was like a scene from a movie; one where he looked badass and strong and fearless for one moment in his life.
He maneuvered around the others until he stood at the edge of the rooftop. From the second story of the house, he saw the trampoline below him. Meanwhile, the other guys broke into excited whispers.
"Oh my god, Rich?"
"He's actually gonna do it!"
"Somebody better be getting this on video."
PLACE YOUR LEFT FOOT AT A 45-DEGREE ANGLE TO THE EDGE OF THE ROOF. LEAN FORWARD, BUT NOT ENOUGH TO LOSE YOUR BALANCE. KEEP YOUR HEAD UP; EYES FOCUSED ON THE TRAMPOLINE. ANGLE YOUR BODY TO RUN PARALLEL TO THE TRAMPOLINE'S FRONT END. THERE. YOU'RE READY.
Holding his breath, his feet left the rooftop. For a split second, he fell. His stomach dropped out as if he was on a rollercoaster. The wind rushed past him as he descended. The whole time, he kept the target in his line of vision. He stuck the landing, finding himself right in the middle of the trampoline. Perfect.
Scrambling to his feet, he spun to face the roof where the other guys stood. There was a moment of stunned silence before they broke out in cheers and laughter. An infectious grin spread across his face as he whooped and punched a fist upwards into the empty air. After climbing off the trampoline, he sprinted across the lawn and back into the house, bounded up the stairs two at a time, and re-emerged to meet the others just as they were beginning to come back through the window. One of the guys chanted Rich's name. Another played an air horn remix of "Turn Down for What" on his phone, and it was awesome. They'd actually noticed him, and cheered for him! He felt like a rock star, surrounded by adoring fans.
Just as Jake was about to return to the party, he said, "Hey, you're actually pretty cool. You wanna sit with us at lunch on Monday?"
PLAY IT OFF. KEEP CALM.
"I guess. I mean, what I did back there was real easy, so-"
(Initiate pain receptors.)
In his excitement, his lisp had come out a bit. Flinching at the shock, he shut his mouth, nodded yes to what Jake had said, and plastered a smile to his face. Rich, too, went back into the crowded first floor of the house. He just hoped he wouldn't turn out like those rock stars who burn out after their career dies and wind up dead in an alley from heroin.
Whatever. He could do anything so long as the SQUIP gave the okay. And he wasn't about to stop everything he was doing now. The world was his.
