RoboNomics

Chapter 7

I stand on the sidewalk opposite Crescent Street Public School. I stare at the stone pathway that leads to the double glass doors. None of the students are here yet. It's so early that there's still September dew stuck to individual blades of grass on the spotty lawn.

I don't want to go inside. When I called Principal Goodman yesterday, she was happy to schedule a meeting with me. So here I am in front of my late place of work on Friday morning. Friday of the same week that I left it, when I vowed not to return until the robot was gone. The things we do for love, I think. I take a deep breath and feel it shudder through my body. Then I cross the street quickly and head for the entrance.

Mr. Cabrera stands at the end of the wide main hall. His dark head, sprinkled with white, is down. He looks at a FlexScreen between his hands. I can't see his expression. The glare of the morning sun on the tile blurs his face. Maybe, since he isn't paying attention, I can just slip down the hall and he won't notice. But he walks towards me and lifts his head.

"Ms. Anderson!" He sees me. "I didn't expect to see you here again."

"Neither did I." We both slow our pace until we stop in the middle of the hallway.

"Back for the robot's job, then?"

"Yeah, I guess. I'll just sign the contract after all and just be its technician or whatever."

"What do you mean?" Mr. Cabrera asks. I'm surprised by the question. I thought, given how news travels at the school, that everyone would know about my job offer by now.

"Oh, I thought...didn't you know I'd been offered another job?" My cheeks are on fire. I just want to get to Goodman's office and get the humiliation over with.

"No. I thought maybe you were back because the robot didn't work out. That's what we were all hoping would happen, anyways."

"Nope. Not a teacher anymore. I'm just supposed to watch it, make sure it doesn't break or the kids don't break it. All that stuff. I get to be its keeper," I explain with mock enthusiasm.

"Oh. Well, okay. I'm sorry, Andrea. I really am." His face is painted with pity. I say a polite goodbye and scuttle down the hall. I want to get away from that look as fast as I can.

On my way towards the main administrative office, I pass wood doors with dark patches of rot. Behind them are all my old haunts: the staff room, the gym, and the library. There's a row of long lamps that line the acoustic tile ceiling. Without students to fill its halls, the school is so quiet I can hear the lights buzz overhead. Quiet conversations and staccato clack of heel on tile echo through the building. Despite the morning calm, adrenaline rushes through my body as I approach the school office. I picture Goodman's face and I dread seeing her, especially if she wears the same expression that Mr. Cabrera wore.

I step through the entrance of the outer office and I'm surprised for the second time this morning. Sitting in one of the seats across from the secretary's desk is a man is a charcoal suit. His clothes are finely tailored and neat. He stands out against the dusty rose blinds that cover the windows at the end of the room. He looks young; I don't think he's older than twenty-five. He sits on the edge of his chair and examines a FlexScreen. The chair, with its battered blue-gray cushion, is so low to the ground that his long legs are folded nearly in half. Early as it is, there is already a five o'clock shadow spread across his face. His skin is dark as rich earth when it's first tilled in the spring. His black hair is slicked up and away from his face with hair product that gleams under the harsh light of the office. Dark brown eyes look up at me through rimless glasses. On a chair beside him lies a spotless leather attaché case. Maybe Chris was right. Maybe it is easy to tell a teacher from other professionals, since everything about the man tells me that he's not a teacher.

"Welcome back, Ms. Anderson," says the receptionist bot in its computerized voice. It stares out at me from behind the long school secretary desk. "Principal Goodman is expecting you." The pixels that comprise its face display a facsimile of cheerfulness and welcome.

I decide to ignore the machine. I am disgusted by the sight of it. "Hello..." I stammer at the man in response to his gaze.

Goodman bustles out of her office. "Oh, great. You're both here. Andrea, let me introduce Jay Tharanga." I extend my hand to the young man and he shakes it firmly. "He is the I.I.U. program representative from RoboNomics."

I feel my smile fall. My hand goes limp in his grasp and I have to avert my eyes from his face. It's not true but I can't help thinking it: that it's his fault. That he's the reason I am not teaching anymore.

"It's nice to meet you, Miss..."

"This is Ms. Anderson," supplies Goodman when I say nothing. "She's come to talk about the technical maintenance job. I thought we could all talk together since the two of you will be working very closely with each other. That is, if you are still interested in the position, Andrea?"

I sigh, suppressing my emotion at discovering the name of his employer. "Yes. That's why I'm here."

"Excellent." Goodman gestures towards her office. I avoid Mr. Tharanga's eyes as I trot into the Principal's office and plunk down in one of the rickety chairs in front of her desk. He follows me and Goodman shuts the door behind her. The air in the room becomes close and stagnant. It's as if all the ventilation ceases when the door closes. Mr. Tharanga takes the seat beside me, but it wobbles and he nearly falls onto the floor. His lean limbs flail momentarily before he regains his balance.

"Careful with that one." Goodman squeezes between the windows and the edge of her desk. "It needs to be replaced."

"Sure does." Despite the awkward moment, he is completely composed. He is not flustered like I would have been.

"So," Goodman starts. She sets her broad frame into her metal swivel chair and places a hand over a FlexScreen that sits on her desk. "Andrea, we have the contracts ready for you here."

I need to say something. It's happening all so fast. A day ago I was determined not to come back here for any amount of money. I was determined that I would never sell out. Now I am sitting in front of Goodman, about to sign away my principles for the sake of employment.