Page 23 of Atticus
“I’m not policing anyone,” I reply. I’m already annoyed that Atticus was excluded from the meeting completely. “Words have meaning and purpose. Calling him a bot and a garbage can isn’t okay.”
Sullivan scoffs. “It’s just slang. He doesn’t have feelings, so who cares?”
“It’s condescending,” I reply. “And it sets a poor example for the students.”
The derision in Principle Carlisle’s face is plain. “And what would you suggest we use to describe him instead?”
“I suggest avoiding using harmful terminology.”
“Okay. So he’s not real. Is that better?”
“No. Saying he isn’t real can be just as harmful. He’s obviously real and present and here with us. So rather than say real or not real, why not say artificial and organic? It’s not so hard to make a small change to our vocabulary, is it?”
“If it’s condescending, why doesn’t he defend himself?” Bryant points out. “Sullivan calls him a bot every day. Haven’t heard him speak a word against it.”
“I don’t think he can. It’s not in his programming,” I reply. “And since he wasn’t allowed to be here, his opinion can’t be known.”
“A machine can’t have an opinion or feelings.” Sullivan shrugs.
“If we’re not offending him personally, why change? Sounds like you’re defending your own sensibilities, not his,” Bryant says. “The moment he tells me or anyone else to stop, I’ll think about it.”
I really like Bryant, and we work well together, but sometimes he frustrates the hell out of me. And Renee doesn’t say a word to back me, either, just types her notes. So much for support.
But I’m not deterred. If there’s one thing I know better than anyone, change comes slowly. I focus instead on Atticus. There are days when he seems childlike in his curiosity about the world and the people around him, and then there are days where I simply can’t ignore the fact that he is absolutely a grown man.
Like when wash day came around last week, for example.
Apparently, it’s good protocol to allow androids to wash themselves every once in a while, synthetic skin, hair, and all. He equates it to computers and how they occasionally get dusty or pick up particles from their surroundings. Granted, they don’t need any help with this task, only access to the supplies necessary.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more surprised in my life, walking in on Atticus shirtless as he washed himself down. Water trickled down his olive skin, covering his defined muscles in a light sheen. He has no scars, no nicks to speak of. Just synthetic flesh, soft and flawless. It hardly seems fair. And I just stood there, staring at him with my mouth agape like an idiot, drinking him in visually and wishing I could drink him in...in other ways.
Dammit all.
Daily activities and duties at school have gotten a little easier as the days roll by. Principal Carlisle seems to have gotten used to me and my “big city sensibilities,” as she likes to call them. Other teachers either tolerate Atticus’s presence, now realizing he doesn’t exist to replace them, or they pretend he doesn’t exist, like Phil Sullivan. He still hasn’t forgiven Atticus for showing him up at the basketball tryouts, when he invited me to observe and Atticus tagged along.
Sullivan tried to make a three-point shot while boasting, stating the robot couldn’t hope to even hit the frame. Atticus made the exact same shot.
Backward.
Sullivan hates him now more than ever.
I’ve made a friend in Renee by simply allowing her to gossip around me as much as she likes without contributing to the conversation. I’ve also made friends with two locals also employed within the district: the school nurse, Denise Cartwright, a single mother with a young son, and Rebecca Curtis, one of the account managers who works in administration. They were born and raised here and have plenty of amusing stories to share about their time together in high school, where they met. Becca comes in to have lunch with Denise every so often.
Denise is a breath of fresh air, someone who can and will speak her mind at any time. She seems to be the only person on the entire campus who isn’t terrified of Carlisle. Becca, by stark contrast, is meek with a live-in boyfriend Denise can’t stand—and honestly, by the sound of him, I don’t think I can, either.
It’s the middle of the week, and I’m counting down to Friday, same as everyone else. The school lunchroom is bursting at the seams with hungry kids. Trey stands nearby, watchful and chatting with a couple of the young boys, and it’s my period to eat.
“Did you see that new ‘Eve Initiative’ some of these big companies are rolling out?” Denise asks as the three of us sit together in the cafeteria, keeping close watch on the noon-to-one-o’clock lunch crowd. So far, the kids are behaving, but one can never know on a Wednesday. “I’m so fucking jealous. Where was that shit when Lucas was born?”
“The district won’t do it. They don’t have enough funding as it is,” Becca replies, mouth half full with a pathetic and wilted little salad she’s barely enjoying. Although I don’t know her exceptionally well, she strikes me as kind, sweet, and incredibly pretty. But I can spot self-image issues from a mile away. “They can’t even pay to replace all the computers in the lab room, so don’t get your hopes up.”
I push my tray forward. It’s spaghetti-and-meatball day, complete with a few slices of garlic bread. I usually pack a lunch, and sometimes Atticus packs it for me too, but today I was in a hurry for an early meeting, so I forgot it on the counter on our way down to the parking lot.
“I can’t eat anymore. Becca, do you want any?”
She eyes my tray warily, swallowing. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I couldn’t eat another bite. Help me?”
