Chapter 3. Reed
Reed
Tessa pretending she didn’t just collapse on top of me is the funniest thing I’ve seen all morning.
I’m not sure what’s more quintessentially Tessa, that she is always in such a frantic hurry to achieve something she couldn’t give me a second to put my feet down or that she’s now primly settled in her chair as if she hadn’t brushed herself off, then vaulted the remaining distance like an Olympic gymnast.
“Are you okay?” I slyly rub my aching knee where her backpack nailed me. “Maybe next time you could make more of an entrance.”
“Mr. McKeen said to come back here and work on speeches.” She stuffs her belongings into her bag with a look that says we will never speak of this again.
“Did you need some coaching?” I bat my eyes innocently.
“I think you have that backward. I’m here to give you pointers.”
“Since you’re my warm-up act, I figure we should make sure you set me up well.”
Her lips press together tightly while she sifts through a folder, probably for her speech. “Can’t ever let me forget you’re valedictorian, can you?”
“Oh, am I?” I tap my chin, feigning confusion, then snap my fingers. “That’s right. It’s all coming back to me. How you fought tooth and nail and still walk in my shadow.”
“You’re such a dick.”
“But I’m growing on you.”
Wait, did that sound like a weird innuendo? Blood rushes to my cheeks. She always throws me off my game. “Come on. Let me see it.” I reach out a hand.
She glances over and catches McKeen watching us. “Fine, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
I lift an eyebrow but don’t say more as we exchange papers, curious how her speech stacks up against mine. She’s my first test case.
We’re both quiet for a while, flipping pages.
Somehow, Tessa’s gone with the bright idea of interviewing local business owners, like she’s writing a town book report.
I can’t help my loud snort-laugh at the exterminator’s advice to “Do away with the metaphorical pests in your life.” Why exactly are we listening to this guy?
She clears her throat, shooting dagger-eyes at me. “Okay. I have some notes.”
“Yeah, me too. And they are: Are you kidding me right now? Is this what you’re really going to say?” This must be a prank. I’m on camera now, right?
“What’s wrong with my speech?” She crosses her arms and sits up higher in her chair.
“Um … life lessons from famous local business leaders?” I shake my head, laughing again. I think my eyes are actually watering.
“What’s wrong with that? I interviewed local leaders for the secrets to their success.”
“Do you honestly think anyone is going to want to hear what the head of Hyperion Realty thinks? Or”—I flip to the next page—“Mikey Jones’s Pest Removal? Oh my God, I’m dying right now. Tell me this is a joke.”
She blows out a hard breath. “Mikey Jones had some really nice things to say about believing in yourself and taking risks! It’s just like you to dismiss someone putting in a hard day’s work, something you’ve probably never had to do once in your cushy life.”
“Stop. I can’t.” I grab my gut, almost falling out of my chair. “You’re killing me.”
“You’re one to talk. Your speech is a dumpster fire.
Of course you worked your Harvard acceptance into the first line, but after that, it’s chock-full of vague graduation platitudes.
Nothing’s personal, it’s just a bunch of drivel like ‘We’ll always remember these times we shared together’ and ‘They’ll tell you it can’t be done.
Don’t listen.’ It’s full of ideas that make sense by themselves but strung together are total nonsense. No offense.”
Okay. That stings. Did she not read to the end where I explain how I created the speech?
And why? It took half a year of late-night coding.
“No offense taken. I didn’t write it. Or, rather, I wrote an AI algorithm based off the work of some MIT students that pulls from all the graduation speeches on the web and generates a new one out of the most common phrases.
” I thought she of all people would be impressed.
“Wait. What?”
It’s a hell of a lot more work than talking to the local plumber for life advice. “You need to give the people what they want. And on graduation day, all they want is some basic ‘keep it real, stay strong, we are the future’ BS.”
“So … you cheated.” She tosses my speech back at me. “Using AI like this is banned at our school.”
“No, I didn’t cheat. The AI generator re-forms sentences, rearranges content.
And I built it myself.” It was hard, and I did it around my regular school load because I plan to do something with my life.
And I’m not talking about making money, my stepdad’s sole motivation.
I’m going to change the world. Help people.
Keep the planet from burning up. Technology will be on the forefront of all that.
“I built it myself.” She mimics my voice back at me. “Like that gets you off the hook for cheating. Is that how you write all your essays, too? You’re unbelievable.” She snatches her paper out of my hands and begins packing her bag.
“Well, if you’d read to the end of my speech, which you clearly did not, you’d see that I mention it was created by an algorithm, we should embrace the AI revolution, and that we all have an important role to play in a changing world.”
Tessa grabs her backpack and stands. I do, too: The entire classroom is cleared out. Did McKeen forget we were back here? The clock on the wall says we’re already ten minutes into lunch.
“I was so distracted by your absurd bot-generated speech I lost track of time. Principal Evans is going to kill me. I’m supposed to emcee.” She marches toward the door. “Hurry up. You don’t want to miss your Cheater of the Year award.”
“Is that why you’re all dressed up today? The honor roll thing?” I hoist my guitar bag onto my shoulders and follow her out. “Who cares if some ancient crone hands over a check and some thanks-for-playing participation awards?”
The hall is oddly silent, a ghost town.
She races toward the teachers’ lounge. “Not all of us are legacy students at Harvard, bankrolled by dads who are loaded.”
“Stepdad. And no, I’m not a legacy. I worked very hard to be where I am.” I keep pace with her.
“And I didn’t?”
“I never said that.”
She rounds on me under the flickering fluorescents. “You know what your problem is, Reed?”
This should be good. “Please.” I wave my hand. “Enlighten me.”
“Everything gets handed to you. Your life is perfect—”
“Oh, is that so?” That hits like a gut punch. It’s just like Tessa to assume she’s the only person in the world with problems. For all her brains, she can be so self-centered sometimes.
“Yeah. And you think it always will be, but I have news for you, mister. Today is as good as it gets for you. Ever. You’re the kind of guy who peaks early. It’s a tough world out there, and you won’t be ready to face it.”
I laugh mirthlessly. “And I suppose you will? Are you serious right now? Everyone fawns over you at this school, and you eat it up. You love being a big fish in a small pond, but try finding your way when that’s not the case.
I think that’s really why you chose the state school down the road, because you and I both know you could have gone for the Ivies.
But you know what you didn’t have? The balls. ”
“Anatomy tip: I wouldn’t have those.”
I ignore her smug expression. “You’re scared out of your mind. You can’t stand the idea of being the small fish. You can’t stand not being special.”
“God, you’re insufferable. Just leave me alone.”
“Oho. You can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”
She storms down the hall, casting an annoyed look over her shoulder.
“Excuse me for trying to give you some advice,” I call after her.
“I don’t need advice from you. I’ll use AI for that instead,” she tosses back.
“Or maybe ask your boy, Mikey Jones. I’m sure you’ll be working alongside him setting out rat poison any day now.
It’s a promising future, Sinclair.” It takes only a few long strides to catch up with her again.
“Or, who knows, maybe you’ll follow in your dad’s footsteps and end up unemployed.
I’m surprised he didn’t make it into your speech.
I’m sure he has great advice to share about the job market. ”
As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I regret it. I got too caught up trading zingers. But why did I go there? Even I know that was a low blow.
“Shut up. Leave my dad out of it.” Tessa quickly wipes her eyes, like she doesn’t want me to see her cry. But it’s too late. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Guilt twists deep in my stomach.
I didn’t mean to be so casually cruel. Or maybe I did, but regret washes over me. “I shouldn’t have—” I reach for her to apologize, but she shoves my hand away.
“Don’t.” She turns for the teachers’ lounge, but before she can grasp the handle, Principal Evans yanks the door open.
“What the hell is going on out here?” he scolds us under his breath.
I want to answer, but I’m too distracted by the guest of honor herself, Marjory Fieldman, who’s appeared out of nowhere dragging her massive scholarship check, probably lost after the location changed for today’s luncheon. She reaches out a frail hand to tug on Tessa’s arm.
Tessa’s body pulses with fury as she yells, temper flaring, “I said don’t touch me, and shut your stupid face!
” As she swings around, fist held high, I catch her eyes widening when it’s clear it’s not me behind her.
But there’s no way to halt her momentum, only enough time for Marjory to squeak out “Where can I find the—” before Tessa’s fist connects with her jaw.
BAM.
Spit flies from Ms. Fieldman’s mouth as she stumbles back against the lockers. Evans rushes to steady her before she crumples to the floor from Tessa’s knockout blow. My body’s frozen in shock. Curious students and horrified faculty stare aghast from the lounge.
Holy shit.