Three days to go. The thought had popped into Malcolm's mind as soon as he was waking up.
He picked up his phone and looked at the date. It was the penultimate Tuesday of November, the last day of school before the Thanksgiving holiday. But more important, it was just three days before Black Friday. That's when he would go to Creek Side Center Mall and pick up the Visette Shell head-mounted display he had manipulated the contest for.
As he got up and prepared for school, he was still thinking about it. Virtual reality. What would it be like? He had read technical descriptions, he knew how an HMD worked. He knew about stereoscopy, field of view and resolution, but he had never actually used one himself. He could only attempt to imagine what it would be like, to put a device over his eyes and receive the illusion of physically standing inside a computer-generated environment, but until he tried it, there was no guarantee that what he imagined was correct.
It almost felt unreal. Just a brief walk to the mall, that's all it would take. Get in, squeeze through the crowd, pick up his prize. Maybe he would meet Elizabeth again. They would play together for a while...
He abruptly stopped his stream of consciousness. The next thought that popped into his mind was "Where the hell did that come from?" And then he recognized the trick his subconscious was trying to play on him. Misplaced optimism.
Yes, interacting with Elizabeth had been fun. Yes, it would be nice to repeat such an experience. However, that encounter had been a fluke: the probability to be again in a particular place at a particular time with a particular person was so low, it had to be disregarded. Imagining an unlikely outcome, only to feel bad when it does not occur, was the best recipe for disappointment, especially when a different happy outcome was certain. He was certain that before the end of the week, he would experience virtual reality.
The first class of the day was practical IT. As Malcolm walked around the corner to enter the computer lab, he saw most of his classmates in the corridor, standing around something or someone he could not see. Shortly after, they burst into laughter.
Malcolm walked around them, curious to know what was so funny. In front of them was Daniel Miller, a classmate of his, doing impressions of teachers.
"Millions of people died!" said Daniel Miller in a baritone voice. "Do you think it's funny?"
Daniel then moved a step to his left and spoke with a higher pitch. "Yes, I'm dying!"
He shifted to his right again. "Get out of my class!" he exclaimed in the baritone register again, with a wide gesture of his hand.
The others started laughing again, but stopped abruptly when they saw Malcolm. Daniel looked at him awkwardly.
"Go on" said Malcolm. "That was actually pretty funny."
Encouraged, Daniel continued. "And This is Mrs. Stone explaining the exercise of the day" he said. Then, in a screechy falsetto: "So now you format the petaflop with your megahertz and upload a blitter array to the registry, then open the accumulator interrupt to defrag the GPU. But don't overwrite the cache port when you save the FIFO stack to the coprocessor, or your chipset will run out of ROM!"
The random mishmash of computer jargon made Malcolm cringe, but he acknowledged that the IT teacher probably sounded like that to anyone unfamiliar with computers.
As the bell rang, Professor Ada Stone reached the class and everyone walked in. Daniel casually walked up to Malcolm. "Hey, open the window" he said. "It smells like updog in here!"
"Define updog" Malcolm replied.
Daniel groaned in frustration. "Oh, come on. It was a joke! You were supposed to ask, What's updog? And I would've said, Not much, you?"
Only then Malcolm laughed. "I know! I love ruining old jokes!"
"Damn it, Frink, you're not fun at all."
"Not true. My concept of humor is just different from yours."
"Prove it" said Daniel. He spoke softly, to make sure the teacher would not hear him. "Try pranking Mrs. Stone."
Suddenly, a mischievous idea popped into Malcolm's head. Of course, he had to try it.
"I know a joke that would make her look like an idiot in front of the whole class" he replied, "but if I did it, she would suspect something's up. It wouldn't be my usual behavior."
"Okay, tell me. If it's good, I'm gonna do it."
Malcolm whispered something into Daniel's ear. Immediately after, Daniel laughed. "So I was wrong" he added. "You have a sense of humor!"
Everyone sat at their desks, in groups as usual. Malcolm sat with Yoli again and switched on his laptop, leaving the computer on the desk to her.
The teacher switched on the projector. "Today's exercise will introduce a fundamental concept of structured programming" she said. "But first, did you understand everything I explained last time?"
From the desk behind Malcolm's, Daniel raised his hand.
"What is it?" said the teacher.
"Professor Stone" Daniel started, "would you punish me for something I didn't do?"
Malcolm snickered in anticipation of what was about to happen.
The teacher's answer was instinctive. "If it's something you were supposed to do, then absolutely yes!"
Daniel had just opened his mouth in surprise, when Mrs. Stone added "You didn't do your homework, did you?"
Malcolm lowered his head, trying to hold his laugh. Behind him, Daniel was turning ten shades of red.
"Actually, I did" finally said Daniel, meekly. "I was trying to play a joke on you, and it kinda... backfired."
"You think you're so original" the teacher replied. "That joke was already old when my teachers were students! Now be quiet and follow the lecture."
Daniel tapped Malcolm's shoulder. "Frink! This wasn't supposed to happen!"
Malcolm turned around. "I thought she'd buy it" he lied. "When my grandpa explained the joke to me, it seemed so funny."
Everything had happened exactly as planned.
The teacher started a long speech about the different kinds of loops in Pascal, and, as Malcolm expected, she made no mention of the Goto statement. Immediately after, she introduced the exercise of the day: writing a program to display the first n numbers of the Fibonacci sequence, n being a user-defined parameter.
Yoli switched on the computer on their desk. "Will you help me?" she asked.
"Yes" replied Malcolm. "Just give me a second, I have an idea I want to try. You can start writing the header."
Malcolm opened his text editor on his computer and activated the stopwatch app on his phone. He started writing code, and exactly three minutes and twenty-four seconds later, the program was successfully running. He stopped the stopwatch.
"What did you do?" Yoli asked.
"The whole exercise" Malcolm replied matter-of-factly. "Now you have my undivided attention. Let's see what you did."
Yoli had named the program, declared some variables and started writing code, up to where the first variable was initialized to 0, the second to 1 and their values summed.
"So far, so good" said Malcolm. "Now, what would you do?"
"I'd use an if" answered Yoli. "If the program has calculated the requested number of values, it stops. Otherwise it goes back to the beginning."
"Okay... and how would you send it back?"
Yoli hesitated. "That's what I don't understand. How do loops... work?"
Malcolm took a breath. "Right. The while loop is very similar to an if. It checks the condition, and if it's true, it executes the instructions inside. Otherwise, it skips them. Only, when it reaches the end, it automatically goes back to the beginning. The repeat/until loop is like a barrier. It executes the instructions, then it checks the condition. If it's true, the program continues. If it's false, the program is trapped in the loop until it becomes true. And the for loop... it just repeats the instructions for a predetermined number of times."
Yoli was wide-eyed. "That's... all?"
"Pretty much."
"Why does it sound so simple, when you explain it?"
"Because it really is this simple. She makes it sound complicated. So, which construct would you use?"
"For" Yoli said after a couple of seconds. "To count the repetitions and stop at the right time."
"Yes!"
"Let me try, then."
Malcolm sat back and watched Yoli write her program. She was slower than him due to inexperience, but she knew what she was doing. Sometimes, she stopped to think what to do next, and smiled in satisfacton when she came up with the answer.
Compiling the program returned no errors. She launched it, and it worked correctly.
"Very good" said Malcolm, and he lightly patted Yoli's hand in approval. Part of him was expecting she would back away, and another hoped she would not. He had a moment of honest surprise when she remained there. "You assimilated the concept, and you even discovered the correct algorithm by yourself!" he concluded.
"Is it done? Can we share it?" Yoli asked.
"Absolutely yes."
While Yoli did so, Malcolm opened a new text file on his laptop, and started writing. Around them, many of the other students were still working.
With nothing left to do, Yoli started reading her textbook. Few minutes later, she set it aside and looked at what Malcolm was doing. He was writing a long text, not a program. She came closer and read what he was typing:
There is no mouse, keyboard or joypad in the digital domain, so every power must be triggered by a gesture or sequence of gestures. The main power is flight, which can be triggered by kneeling and springing up for an explosive blastoff, or by jumping and extending the arms upwards for a slower levitation.
Plasma bursts can deliver precise, localized destruction, and they can be triggered by extending the right arm and...
"What are you writing there?" Yoli asked all of a sudden.
Malcolm was startled. "No!" he exclaimed, and reflexively closed his laptop.
"Frink! Learn to work together with your group mate!" intervened the teacher.
"Yes, Professor Stone" Malcolm replied automatically.
Now Yoli had backed away from him. He looked at her and regretted his impulsivity.
"I... I'm sorry for my reaction. I tend to do this when I'm focussed" he said. "I'm writing down all ideas I get for... VR games I'd like to make, because next Friday I will get a virtual reality headset."
Yoli was still perplexed. Few seconds later, Malcolm added: "I could let you try it, some time. If you want."
Yoli tilted her head. "Okay."
"And when you see my attention is somewhere else... please, try to be gentler" he concluded. "I don't want my reactions to scare you."
Meanwhile, Mrs. Stone had started evaluating the works that had already been shared. "Time's up!" she exclaimed. "Save, then copy all you've done into your shared directories."
She waited for the missing works, then she approached Daniel's group. "Miller. Shame on you" she said. "And don't blame your group mate, I know this is your doing."
"What?"
"You know. What did you write in the source?"
"I didn't write anyth... oh shit." Suddenly embarrassed, Daniel covered his face with his hands.
"Yes. Exactly."
Back at her desk, the teacher reached Daniel's shared directory. "And here's an example of how not to name a program."
Daniel's source code appeared on the projector screen, for everyone to see. The first line read:
program fibonaccishit;
A collective laugh rose from the class.
"I always start with that kind of names, then I change them" said Daniel. "That must have... slipped through."
"You two are getting an E, not an F, just because the program works." replied Mrs. Stone. She then showed the correct solution to the exercise, giving a long-winded explanation about how and why it was supposed to be done that way. Malcolm had resumed writing, tuning out what he already knew since grade school.
When the teacher asked for questions, Malcolm saved his text file with the name specs . txt, raised his hand and asked: "Can I go to the toilet?"
Professor Stone scowled at him. "Oh geez, I don't know! Can you?" she said, in a tone that betrayed her anger.
"Oh, gee golly whiz" he replied in a mocking tone, exaggerating his gestures. "I don't know yet, but I'm gonna perform an experiment!"
With no more fanfare, Malcolm got up and left the class.
Few minutes later, he was back. "It turns out I can!" he exclaimed, smugly. Just as he finished the sentence, he noticed the teacher was no longer there.
He heard a hiss from the intercom, and then, the principal's voice announced: "Student Malcolm Frink, please report to the principal's office immediately."
Malcolm's face lost its color. In that moment, he knew he had just crossed the line. Light-headed, he left the class again.
The door to the office was open. "Come in" said Principal Pratchert.
Malcolm did so. The principal was at the other end of the room, sitting at his desk. Mrs. Stone was standing beside him.
"Sit" said the principal, pointing to a chair on the other side of his desk. Malcolm obeyed.
"What did you do?" asked Mr. Pratchert.
"I have reason to believe you already know" replied Malcolm.
"I want to hear it from you."
"Fine. I left the class without proper authorization."
The principal shook his head. "You have displayed hostility toward Mrs. Stone for the entire time you've been at this school" he said. "You know there is a code of behavior, right? Even if you hate computers, you cannot disrupt the class for everyone else."
Malcolm sprung up from his chair. "What?! No, you got it all wrong! I love computers!" he exclaimed.
"Then... why, Frink?" asked the principal. "You should be the best student in the class."
"I am!" replied Malcolm. "Just look at my grades!"
The principal nodded. "That's what I don't understand. You demonstrate a perfect understanding of the material, yet you're constantly showing disrespect toward the subject and the teacher."
Malcolm looked straight at the principal. "May I speak frankly?"
"Sure."
He sat down again. "My father is a computer engineer" he started. "I've been around computers forever. For me, using a computer is just as natural as breathing. I am hungry for knowledge, but all I get is stuff I've known for ages! Everything Mrs. Stone explains is something I learned by myself ten years ago. I used to watch my dad work at his computer, I asked questions, and his answers just made sense! Everything fit together, and it was so simple!"
"So, why the bad behavior?"
"My brain craves stimulation. I want it desperately, but Mrs. Stone's classes are just the opposite of that. She explains every simple, self-evident concept, that even a first-grader could understand, as if it was super-complex, as if we should somehow be in debt toward her, for the privilege of being bestowed a piece of arcane, advanced knowledge, from the majesty of her celestial throne!"
The teacher intervened. "I must explain like that. I need to be sure that even someone who has never seen a computer understands what I teach."
"But that doesn't work either, don't you see?" replied Malcolm. "Yoli is intelligent, but she lacks experience with computers. When she hears your explanations, she doesn't understand at all! Then she asks me, I explain the same concepts in few seconds, and then she understands, because your method does not stimulate the minds of your students. That's why I act like that, do you understand? To stimulate myself! Only once, in your class, I felt sufficiently stimulated. Do you know when? When you gave me a program to write as a punishment."
"You were not supposed to be able to write it. You were expected to fail, and I would have given you an F" replied Mrs. Stone.
"See? That's precisely why your classes are unfit for me!"
The principal spoke up. "It's just few hours, you can stimulate yourself at home. All your classmates can stand it, why can't you?"
Malcolm was shaking his head while Mr. Pratchert was talking. "I'm not like them" he then said. "And it's not just few hours. It's day, after day, after day. If I was any other student, and I was complaining that a teacher wants me to sing the alphabet song over and over, would you tell me the same thing?"
"Information Technology classes are part of the program. The alphabet song is not."
"The declared goal of Information Technology classes is to make people computer-savvy, is it so?"
"Yes, and?"
"And they are complete failures! They feel like deliberate efforts to make computer-savvy people, like me, hate computers! Well, I don't want to hate them! I don't want school to kill my passion, I want it to be nurtured and grow! It's what I want to make a living with!"
"I cannot send you home for two hours just because you don't like how a teacher explains the subject."
Malcolm took a deep breath. "Mister Pratchert, I don't want to be sent home. I want to do something more advanced."
"Like what?"
"Since the first class with Mrs. Stone, I wished you would set up a class where I can learn computer science at a university level. Surely there are others like me in this school! Or you could make me an IT laboratory assistant! Or... here's an idea that would benefit others as well. How many students are failing IT?"
Mrs. Stone turned to Malcolm. "More than I would like."
"More than you would like" repeated Malcolm. "So... mister Pratchert, why don't you start an IT recovery course, with me as the teacher? Even your daughter says I have a talent for teaching!"
"Can you prove you can do it?"
"Put me to the test! Set up a challenge, a problem for me to solve. And if I succeed..."
The principal remained pensive for a couple of seconds. "Yes, a test could be organized" he said then. "But I need a promise from you. From now on, your behavior with Mrs. Stone must be absolutely flawless."
"Actually, I've always been reluctant to make promises, because..."
"Promise. Or nothing will become of it."
Malcolm sighed. "I promise, then." he finally said. With that, he was sent back to the class.