Fantasy Making of a Starship Captain

Michael went for a long walk. It just so happened that he lived a few blocks from Harvard University. Of course, that was no longer its official name. Thirty years ago, recognizing the school's legacy of racism, classism, genderism, and sexism, the trustees unanimously voted to rename the school as the Simon Bolivar Institute of Higher Learning.

But everyone still called it Harvard.

Michael walked under its leafy paths. He saw young coeds giggling and talking animatedly to each other as they walked by. He walked by the statue of Jane Harvard, the reimaged founder of what used to be called Harvard University. He admired the majestic white pillars on the Center for Gender Studies. The color of the bright red bricks of the Department of American Racism popped out at him as he walked by it. He saw the small, dark entrance to the underground Pussey Library, a library which boasted over 200,000 ebooks about sexual orientation and gender studies as well as the Declawed Gerbil Study Center.

His father said that if he really applied himself, he could still get into Harvard. His family would love it, he could still live at home. And it would probably be easy enough to do. He had seen the kind of homework that Darden, a year ahead of him and now attending Boston Fairness College, had been given. Most of it involved writing repetitive essays about social, political, and moral consciousness. Once one learned the right response for a particular theme it would be easy enough to repeat it in slightly different ways. It would be much, much easier than Solar Chemistry.

Michael let his feet carry him around aimlessly, and he found himself walking after dark. And then, before long, without fully realizing it, he was back in the small, cozy control room at Robolawya.

Hal, as always, was there to greet him.

"You seem to have a lot on your mind," said Hal. Hal was always like that. It was as if Hal knew what he was thinking.

Michael didn't hold back. He told Hal everything, about his grades, about the choice he had to make, about the offer his Dad had made. Hal listened quietly and attentively, as he always did, only nodding from time to time.

When he was done, Mike said breathlessly, "So? What should I do?"

Hal smiled. "I don't know, Mike. What do you want to do?"

"I.... " His voice faltered, but only for a moment. "I want to join the Survey Service."

"Then do it!" said Hal, in a voice so hard that it almost made Mike jump.

"Mike, could I ask you a favor?"

Michael's heart jumped as he saw Shanice Robinson standing by his locker. Suddenly it felt like every student in the hallway was staring at them.

"W-what, Shanice?" Mike stammered.

"Could you give me some help with chemistry?"

"Chemistry?" Chemistry was one of his worst subjects.

"Basic Chemistry," said Shanice, smiling at him. She was wearing a tight blouse which showed off every curve of her large, slightly African-American breasts. She really looked so beautiful with her dark eyes, slender nose, and high set cheeks.

Shanice was having trouble with basic chemistry. Mike knew that the C's he was getting in Solar Chemistry would easily translate into A's for Basic Chemistry. He could help her.

"I'd really appreciate it," said Shanice, smiling at him.

Michael felt like a knife was twisting inside of him. "Sure," he managed to say.

"Great!" said Shanice. "Come over to my place after school. Ok?"

Shanice's house?

"Sure," said Michael hollowly, suddenly aware that the entire school was listening in on this conversation. "If that's, uh, all right with you, Shanice."

"Great! We can walk it. See you at the bus stop at three!" And then she bounced away, and was gone. Mike looked around, and saw all the eyes on him. He hadn't imagined it.

Somehow Michael found himself being introduced to Shanice's parents. "So you're Michael! I've heard so much about you!" her mother said.

"You have?" said Michael. Shanice's mother was large, heavy, and white.

"Yeah, you're the smartest boy in the school, according to my little girl," said Mrs. Robinson.

"I am?" said Michael.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "You're going to join the Survey Service and make us all proud."

Michael looked at Mrs. Robinson, and Shanice, who were both grinning at him, and he felt like he was going to melt. "I'll... I'll try, Mrs. Robinson."

But his introduction to Shanice's dad was altogether different.

"Shanice? Is that boy here? Bring him in here, let me get a look at him," said a deep, masculine voice from the study.

Be careful. That's what Shanice's raised eyebrows clearly said to Michael, as she brought him into the study.

Michael saw a large, bald black man sitting in a chair. Mr. Robinson looked like a body builder. His arms were easily thicker than Michael's legs.

"So you're the boy," said Mr. Robinson, staring down at Michael, even though he was seated and Michael was standing up.

The boy?

"My little girl is fond of you. But you're just here to help her with her homework, you know that." It was not a question.

"Of course, sir."

"You're going to be upstairs in her bedroom, but the door will be open at all times, you know that I or Matilda could walk by at any time."

"Daddy!" said Shanice.

"I just want the boy to be aware of the situation." He looked into Michael's eyes. "I don't want to walk by and see something I shouldn't be seeing, get me?"

"Of course, sir," said Michael.

Mr. Robinson smiled, and it was as if sunlight had pierced clouds in the dead of winter. "Good. Nice to meet you, young man." And he looked back down at his Pad again.

Midterms were coming up. It was the middle of Mike's sophomore year, and if his grades didn't start improving, immediately, he would stand no chance of getting into the Survey Service. He had tentatively decided to give it one more semester--if his grades didn't improve, he would seriously consider transferring to easier college track courses.

Mr. Komsomol had already hinted more than once that Mike should drop out of Solar Chemistry. He spoke to him about it once after class. "If you want to stay in my class, young man, you have to step up. You're not doing yourself any favors coasting along with C minuses or D pluses." He paused, seeing the dispirited look on Mike's face. "You're a smart lad, Mike. But Solar Chemistry isn't for everyone. You could do so much better if you transferred to an easier class like American Racism or Gender Equality. Think about it."

Mike thought about it, and it was on his mind that evening as Darden mocked him incessantly. "How's it going, Captain? Do you know how to build a Varonkov FTL spacedrive yet?"

Mike ignored him, staring at his Pad.

"You know, that act of yours is going to wear thin. If you end your sophomore year with another batch of B's and C's you'll never get into the Academy. Why don't you listen to common sense for once, brother, and switch over to easier courses?"

Could Darden actually be showing some concern for him? Or did he just want him to fail to obtain his most cherished goal? "I'm not ready to give up," said Mike.

Darden bit his lip. "Your loss," he said simply, walking out of the room.

Somehow, Mike found himself in the control room of the Robolawya plant that evening. Hal was there, of course. Hal was always there. Mike poured out his troubles. "I have midterms in a few weeks and I can't understand half this stuff!"

Hal sat silently, staring at him.

"Did you hear me?"

"I heard you," said Hal. "What are you going to do about it?"

"What am I going to do about it?" said Michael.

"It's just you and me, Mike," said Hal, smiling. "Try harder."

"How can I? Just look at one of these problems I have to solve. 'Demonstrate the continuous properties of a quantum rectangle in a second analysis.' I have no idea what continuous properties, a second analysis, or a quantum rectangle even is, and this stupid textbook is so vague that it doesn't explain everything," said Michael, holding up his Pad.

Hal was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Then look it up."

"What?"

"That Pad is more than a textbook. It connects to the global data network. If there's something you don't understand, look it up."

"But... Hal... there are hundreds of things I don't understand," said Michael. "I can't look up all of them."

"Yes you can," said Hal. "One by one."

"That will take forever!"

"Then let it," said Hal. "Do you want to be in the Survey Service?"

"Yes!"

"How much?"

"More than anything!"

"Then you must live Solar Chemistry, morning, day and night. You must uncover every mystery of Spatial Geometry. You must prove ever theorem of Particle Physics. You must live, breathe, eat, and sleep math and science."

Mike was silent.

"It's all up to you, Mike. I can't force you. No one can. It's a decision you have to make," said Hal. "You can come here, every night to study. All night if you like. I'll help you. I'll encourage you. But in the end, the decision will have to be yours. Do you have the willpower to get your dreams?"

Mike slowly nodded. "I will try."

And he did. He came to the factory for long hours, most of the night. He found he studied better there. He caught up on sleep, sort of, at odd times in the late afternoons and early evenings. More than once he would fall asleep on the comfortable brown carpeting in the control room, and Hal would shake him awake and say, "Hey, back to work!", or "It's almost light out, you'd better get home before the morning shift arrives!"

Hal never helped him with the work directly, but encouraged him to keep going. Slowly Mike started to solve the problems he had considered unsolvable. As he gained a greater and greater understanding of the subjects, more of what he didn't know became clear to him. All it required of him was determination. More than once he wanted to give up, but Hal was there, goading him to keep going, shaking him when he got drowsy, pushing him to go on. And slowly, he started to understand things. Soon he was understanding more than he wasn't, and before long he was working hard to understand everything contained in his lessons.

When Michael took his midterms, he ended up getting a B plus in Solar Chemistry, his hardest subject... but an A in everything else.

Mike was ecstatic. He told his parents, who had no visible reaction, and he told Darden, who just looked at him indifferently. He couldn't wait for nightfall to tell Hal. As he raced into the control room that night, he yelled, "Hal, Hal, I did it!"

Hal immediately understood. He gave Mike a strong hug.

"I'm going to do it! I'm going to get into the Survey Service!" said Mike.

"Just a moment," said Hal. "There are plenty of kids with A's who don't get into the Academy."

"I will. Just you wait and see," said Mike. He smiled. "And I owe it all to you."

"No, Mike," said Hal, shaking his head. "It all came from within you. I just helped you see what was inside of you."

Determination was like a raging bull, a battering ram made of steel, as it pounded away at the brick wall.

"What has happened?" Taking it Easy asked.

"Ambition won," said Loving the Survey Service. "Ambition persuaded Mike to try harder. The process changed him. He's become a more disciplined person. He can concentrate better. He's on the road to becoming a top student. Just look at him now."

They both watched as Determination, in the form of the battering ram, hit the brick wall again and again, sending bricks flying in all directions.

"That battering ram used to be made of butter. It would splat against the wall. But look at it now! Nothing will stop him. He's going to make it. I can feel it," said Loving the Survey Service.

"He can't make it," said Taking It Easy.

"Why not?" asked Loving the Survey Service. "You've been against this from the start. I get the impression this is more than just a matter of persuading him to take things easy."

"There are other interests at work here," said Taking It Easy. "Other interests who do not want to see Mike join the Survey Service."

"What do you mean?"

"His joining the Survey Service could have galactic significance," said Taking It Easy.

Loving the Survey Service looked at Taking It Easy like he was mad.

"So the nuclear elements all line up like that? Amazing!" said Shanice.

What was truly amazing was the way that Shanice's breasts half fell out of her shirt as she leaned forward over her Pad. That seemed to happen a lot while Michael was tutoring her. He tried not to look at her creamy, slightly Black breasts. They were as dark as a glass of milk with only a teaspoon of cocoa in it. Shanice smiled at him, making him aware that she was aware of what he was aware of, and Michael blushed all the more.

He had been tutoring Shanice on and off for several weeks. It quickly became clear to him that if Shanice did need help in Basic Chemistry, it wasn't very much. He would help her with her homework for a few minutes, and then they would somehow fall into conversation.

Despite his unease, Michael liked talking to her. It's not as if he had anyone else to talk to, except for Hal, of course. He had stopped talking to Bob after Bob had decided not to apply to the Academy. He couldn't talk to his brother Darden, his sister Val was only eight years old, and his parents were not exactly empathetic when it came to his needs and desires.

That left Shanice. She was an avid listener. He told her how he was doing better in his own classes. Shanice seemed genuinely pleased for him. "I just know you're going to make a great Survey Service officer," she said, smiling at him. Shanice had a very pretty smile. She had the whitest teeth he had ever seen. "Someday you'll be a great and famous Captain and Shabazz High School will build a statue to honor you, right next to the covered up one of Abraham Lincoln."

Michael very much doubted that would happen, but it pleased him that Shanice thought so.

"Do Survey Service Captains take wives, Michael?" she asked, her eyes glittering mischievously. She leaned forward again to show him her slightly black breasts, in case he hadn't been paying attention just a moment ago.

This was getting to be dangerous territory. He remembered the not too subtle warning of Mister Robinson. He and Mrs. Robinson had walked by Shanice's room more than once during his visits. They came less frequently now, satisfied that Michael was not inseminating their daughter, but they still appeared from time to time.

"Wives? I suppose so," said Michael. "Why do you ask?"

Shanice only smiled and tittered.

Michael worked at a part time job. He was very much aware that he would be paying his own way at the Academy, assuming he got into the Academy, so he had to raise money for tuition.

The World Government, under the administration of Elena Chow, promised a job to anyone who wanted it, and so Michael was given a part time position as Junior Social Media Monitor for the World Government. He reported to the World Government regional office in Boston and was assigned a cubicle and a holographic terminal.

His job was to review posts on message boards all over the global network and analyze the content of them. People who posted messages which reflected a positive attitude towards the World Government, or approved views on environmental matters, racial justice, sexual justice, gender justice, economic justice, or a variety of other topics, would be awarded virtue points. Michael had the authority to issue up to ten virtue points per post, depending on how truly virtuous the message was.

For example, if someone simply posted the message, "The World Government is doing a good job", that person might be awarded two or three virtue points. But if someone posted a detailed message explaining why people who wanted lower taxes were greedy, and why the World Government had a more virtuous claim on their income, that person might get nine or ten virtue points.

Virtue points showed one's social standing in society, and were increasingly becoming an important part of the Global Community slowly being set up by the World Government.

The job was childishly easy. But Michael quickly became bored sitting in the cubicle, hour after hour, reading hundreds of posts and assigning virtue points. But he kept at it. It gave him a steady paycheck, and the money he would need to make it at the Academy.

Her name was Cathy Esposito, and the three giant moles on her face had names too. The kids in school called the one on her forehead Everest. They called the one at the tip of her nose McKinley, and the one above her left lip the Jungfrau. They were all big and brown and they really stuck out.

Michael was not attracted to Cathy Esposito, but given her... physical situation, figured she might be attracted to him. Michael knew that no normal girl would be attracted to him, given the stain that Sister Audra had put on him. He was damaged goods, tainted in the eyes of all women. Except those who couldn't attract a normal man on their own.

Michael thought that Cathy Esposito might be one of those women, and he wasn't wrong. He saw her smiling at him in class one day, and Michael took it from there. He struck up a conversation with her. At first, it was hard to talk to her without staring at the moles, especially the Jungfrau, on the edge of her upper lip. For some reason that seemed the worst of the three, the biggest, brownest mole on her face. If they made bras for moles, surely the Jungfrau would fill a D cup.

Michael's Dad had an interesting theory about moles. One day Michael had asked Edwin why some people had moles and some didn't. Edwin replied that when pregnant women had sex, sometimes the man's liquid would squirt the baby in the face, and when it dried up, the skin irritation created moles: in other words, it was the result of dried sperm burn marks. His mother Sara had gasped at this explanation and looked enraged. It should also be noted that Michael's mother had a mole on her cheek.

Anyway, Cathy agreed to go on a date with Michael. Michael felt a bit conflicted, as he not only was not attracted to Cathy, but just the opposite: he was decidedly unattracted to her! Still, they went out for ice cream and talked and chatted. Everything was nice and fine, but when it came time to ask for a second date, Cathy said he was nice but that they should see other people.

Michael was stunned. He thought he had carefully selected the ugliest girl in all of Malik Shabazz High School. But even she didn't want him. Was the taint of Sister Audra so apparent to everyone?

"I tried, I really tried," said Lust. "But even the ugly girls don't want me!"

"Look in the mirror. That will tell you everything," said Despair, putting a friendly arm on Lust's shoulder.

They watched as Self-Image looked in the mirror. What he saw wasn't pretty, a version of Michael with oozing sores all over his body.

"This is what women see when they look at you," said Despair. "They see all the ugliness within. All the ugliness that Sister Audra put there."

"Can't I get rid of it?" Lust asked.

"You can never be rid of it. It will always be with you. Women will avoid you and you will never, ever have one. You will die never having experienced the insides of a woman," said Despair.

Self-Image, looking into the mirror, was close to tears.

Michael wasn't paid per hour on his new job. He was paid every time he awarded virtue points. That's where the trouble started.

Sometimes fifteen or twenty minutes would go by before Michael would find a post by someone worthy enough to award virtue points. He felt more and more frustrated because he only earned money when he awarded points. He talked to one of his coworkers about it, a fellow high school student named Andrew Kaylic.

Andrew laughed when Michael told him that twenty or thirty minutes could pass between awarding of virtue points. "You actually read those posts before awarding points?"

"Of course. How do you do it?"

Andrew gave him a cynical look. "I just award them at random."

"At random! But what if someone checks up on you?"

"Mike, this is the World Government we're talking about. No one checks up on anyone. The concept of quality control is alien to them."

"How often do you award virtue points then?"

Andrew laughed. "Every two or three minutes, usually."

"Every two minutes! And you've never been caught."

"No, and you won't either."

"This is wrong, you shouldn't be doing this," said Integrity.

"What does it matter?" Taking It Easy said. "Virtue points are meaningless. No one in or out of the World Government cares about them. This entire job is make-work, in case you haven't noticed. The World Government promised jobs to anyone who wanted them, but no real work is being done here. You know that."

"That may be so, but there are rules we are supposed to obey when we took this job. We would only be pretending to be working."

"On a pretend job. It fits perfectly," said Taking It Easy. "How much money do we still need to pay for three years of the Academy?"

"A lot," said Integrity.

"Will anyone in the world know or care if we award virtue points randomly?"

"Mike will know."

"But he won't care," Taking It Easy grinned.

"This isn't the way Survey Service officers would act."

"Take it easy! He's not in the Survey Service. Not yet, anyway."

And so Mike started awarding virtue points at random. At first, he awarded them every ten minutes. Then every five. Then, like Andrew, every two.

He was caught two days later, and fired from his job.

Jill Hardiman was pretty, and she was interested in Michael.

That alone was enough to cause him to sit up and take notice. After the ego draining debacle with Cathy Esposito, he had begun to think that no one could be attracted to him. But Jill Hardiman came up to him at lunch and talked up a storm. She seemed genuinely interested in him. And before he knew it, he had a date with her, on Friday evening. They were going to go for a walk together in Boston Common.

Michael was all excited. A walk, with a girl, in the park in the evening! He tried not to think of the possibilities. But then Jill commed him at the last minute. Could they go to the Mall instead?

Michael, feeling crestfallen agreed. Jill met him there. They walked around and Jill did some window shopping. But then, suddenly, Jill looked at her Pad, and said, "Well, it's been fun, Michael, but I have to go."

Michael checked the time. It had only been thirty minutes. He thought he was being summarily dismissed, and that he would never see her again.

He was wrong. Jill agreed to go on three more dates with him. But the dates were short, always under an hour. The shortest one was twenty two minutes (Michael was timing them.) Sometimes she would cancel at the last minute. Quite often she would call him right before they were to meet and change what they were going to do, or where they were going to go.

"She's a mean girl, Michael. She's not the right girl for you," Shanice warned him.

Michael knew Shanice's agenda. She wanted him for herself. But he also knew he wasn't worthy of her. Shanice was an incredibly attractive girl. Once she saw the darkness inside of him, once she saw what the other girls saw in him, she would drop him, and it would hurt him terribly.

"Don't you see what she's doing? She's using you as a placeholder," said Shanice. "She sets up a date with you, and then looks for something better. If she finds someone else to go out with, she'll cancel on you, or just go out with you for a few minutes, and then go on her real date."

That had never occurred to Michael, that Jill might be dating other men, men she would be seeing for more than thirty minutes.

So he gave Jill one more chance. "Listen, Jill, we always have really short dates. I'd like to do something more... substantial."

Jill blinked once. Twice. Thrice. Then she smiled. "All right, Michael. Why don't we go out to dinner?"

Out to dinner. That sounded more substantial! Naturally, he would be expected to pay, but he had some money saved up, from his (former) job with the World Government. But what if Jill chose an expensive restaurant?

"We can go to the Shake House. On Friday night," she said.

The Shake House! He could certainly afford that. He readily agreed.

That Friday, right before they were to meet, Jill commed him. She changed her mind. She wanted to have dinner at The Circle instead.

The Circle was one of the fanciest restaurants in all of Cambridge. Michael knew that it would make a serious dent in his savings. He was torn.

"Do it!" said Lust. "It may be the only chance we ever have with a girl. She's agreeing to go out to dinner with you. The more you pay, the more she's indebted to you."

"No," said Ambition. "She's just using you once last time, Michael. Don't do it."

"If you don't go, you may never get another chance like this," said Lust. "What other women are willing to go out to dinner with you? Name them."

So great was Michael's need, and so poor was his self-image, that he agreed.

Jill was very talkative during dinner. She talked all about herself, her plans for the summer, what she and her girlfriends were doing this weekend, about the holoshows she was watching, and more.

Michael sat and watched her consume the most expensive food on the menu. He knew it would cost a lot, but was hoping afterwards he could take her to Librarian Hill. Lust was eager to get things moving. So far Jill had only let him kiss her once, on the cheek, after their last date. Lust was hoping for more. A lot more.

After dessert came, big slices of chocolate mousse cake, Mike watched Jill wolf it down. She seemed eager to get to the end too. She was ready to get to the next stage in their relationship. The thought excited him. Jill was a sultry blonde, with thick, plush lips who would undoubtedly-

"Oh, look at the time," said Jill, checking her chrono. "I have to go! Thanks for dinner!" And she kissed Mike on the cheek, got up and left to let Mike pay the bill. Michael was too stunned to say a word.

Michael got another job. After getting fired from the World Government social media position, he still needed money to pay for the Academy. So he got a part time job with the local police department.

Mike was so excited. To work with the police! He had felt the excitement before, when he tipped the police off to the Virtue dealer. Hopefully the work they had planned for him now would not be nearly as dangerous.

It wasn't. They wanted Michael to police... the trash.

Each home in Cambridge had eight different recycling bins, one for plastic, one for metal, one for glass, one for meat, one for vegetables, one for zycron tablets, one for white paper, and one for paper of color.

It was Mike's job to go around and peek into people's recycling bins to make sure they were recycling properly. If not, he could issue a fine.

This didn't make him popular as he roamed the streets of Cambridge. Residents who saw him sometimes yelled "Garbage snitch!" and other derogatory terms at him.

But it was a job, and it paid. But it didn't pay by the hour; it paid by how many bins he inspected, and it relied on accurate self-reporting.

Once again Mike was tempted to over-report the number of bins he inspected.

"The garbage police will never know, can never know how many recycling bins you inspected. Unlike our last job, we can never, ever be caught," said Taking It Easy.

"I don't care," said Integrity. "Cheating is not right."

"Who cares about these recycling rules? You and I both know that all the trash is sent to the same atomizer. This whole recycling effort is just to make people think they are helping the environment," said Taking It Easy.

Michael knew this was true. He had read that recycling was primarily promoted for its psychological effects. Real recycling had ended way back in the early 21st century.

"I don't care," said Integrity. "These are the rules I agreed to, and I will follow them."

And so he did, going from bin to bin, occasionally levying fines, and, bit by bit, earning money for the Academy. Of course, after the Income Fairness Tax, the Social Security Tax, The Social Insecurity Tax, and a variety of other levies, Michael was lucky if he kept a quarter of what he earned.

Mike completed his second year of high school with top grades and entered his junior year. He had just turned 17. If Mike's personal life lacked successes, his school life was just the opposite. Suddenly he was getting A's in Particle Physics, Basic Electronics, and even Solar Chemistry. Mr. Komsomol noticed the difference and praised him. "You really got your act together, Mike. I'm surprised. And very pleased."

Now the student who was lagging the most was Allyson Harshbarger. Mike's jaw dropped when Mr. Komsomol asked him to tutor Allyson after school.

"So, you have two students now," said Shanice, at one of their after school study sessions. They barely even studied any more. Mostly they just talked. Their relationship had evolved, and they had become good friends. Even Shanice's Dad smiled at Mike as he walked by her room, once he was confident that Mike wasn't performing the ritual of reproduction with her. "Is Allyson friendly with you?"

Allyson was always friendly to Mike. Sort of. She told him how happy she was to be tutored by him, but as always, she did it in a backhanded way. "I'm so glad you've finally found something you're good at. You've floundered for a long time but I think you're finally finding your footing," she said. He was the one helping her, but she made it seem like she was helping him.

"I'll bet she flirts with you constantly," said Shanice, her eyes sparkling as she slowly moved a hand down her thigh. She was wearing the tight pantesses that teenage girls preferred, which showed every curve, every bend, every crease.

"No," said Mike truthfully. She didn't. In fact, if anything, it was Shanice who flirted with him. Mike was still trying to understand Shanice's attraction to him. She must know that he was tainted. If they started to do something romantic... he was sure she would reject him. And he valued her company. To even be sitting in the same room with an attractive girl, one who smiled and flirted with him... it was paradise. He didn't want to jeopardize it.

The next day in school Mike noticed that the other students were looking at him funny. They were pointing at him and whispering and laughing. "What?" he asked Jenn Neuberger. She tittered and turned away.

It was Allyson Harshbarger who provided the answer. She came up to him. "Mike, I am so sorry for you."

"What do you mean?"

"All your trouble with your studies, and girls. I never knew," said Allyson.

Michael's eyes narrowed. "Allyson, what are you talking about?

"Your diary," said Allyson. "What I don't understand is why you posted it to the school's virtual message board. Is this some kind of plea for help?"

"I didn't post it to the school's message board!" said Taylor. He frantically operated his Pad, and his jaw dropped open.

The entire contents of his personal diary had been posted to the school's virtual message board. All of it. Every last intimate detail.

There was an announcement on the holocomm. "Will Michael Taylor please report to the Principal's office. Michael Taylor, to the Principal's office."

All eyes were on Mike as he started the walk of shame. He saw their mocking smiles, heard their whispers, their cackling laughs, as he made his way there.​