Chapter Twenty-One
When I get to the seat that Hal has saved for me between Rani and him, I’m still pulsing with adrenaline. It could not have
gone better. Between us, Hal and I showed everyone there exactly how AI could be a force for good—not to steal from humans
but to support them, to give them a more equitable and fair life. I’m not normally a competitive person, but I did get some
satisfaction from receiving my own standing ovation once the presentation concluded, and it hadn’t even been Hal or Rani who
started it off—I checked.
Even the horde of kids at the back of the hall were whooping and whistling like I was Taylor Swift and not some geeky ginger
nut. For the first time in my life I feel like I might even be bordering on cool. Not literally cool, but cool adjacent anyway.
Now we are going straight into Forrest’s presentation and I notice how he runs up the central aisle and leaps onto the stage.
The teens fall silent as they wait. And when Forrest starts to clap, they start to clap, in four-four-two rhythm as they file
down the centre aisle and the sides of the chairs, literally waltzing to the front. And as they move, they start to recite
a poem with one voice.
If you believe the children are the future
You might want to take a look at us now
You treat us like we’re some alien creature
But we’re your tomorrow, right here, right now.
The chant goes on until all the kids are packed onto the stage, and I have to admit it is effective, even if they have rhymed
“now” with “now.” Just to see them working so well together and looking so proud gives me goosebumps. Forrest has really given
these kids something in the last week, he’s given them a sense of self, and for some of them it might be the first time ever.
Everyone cheers and whoops as the kids finish, no one more than Artie, who stands on her chair, jumping up and down with enthusiasm.
Then most of the kids file quietly to the back of the room, as Forrest talks about what he wants to achieve with his work.
He’s passionate and engaging, and sexy as hell.
It’s very annoying. No one wants a nemesis that’s hot.
He calls one girl back to the stage. She seems to shrink to half the size as she is separated from her pack, looking down
at her feet as she hurries to his side, hiding behind the pink streak in her blond hair, sleeves drawn down over her knuckles.
As she joins Forrest, he flashes her an encouraging smile, and she scowls back at him, at everyone in the audience, at her
feet. Just the sight of her makes me feel like hiding in a cubicle in the girls’ loo.
As they get onstage, her friends at the back of the room are getting restless.
Phones ping, the volume on whispers is turned up to full.
Seemingly unbothered, Forrest is finding the right page on his notebook and messing about with his laptop.
The girl looks at the kids as if they are there to witness her execution.
I mean, they might be in a metaphorical sense.
As the kids mess around, the adults in the room, including me, sigh and turn around and give them Paddington Bear stares,
but they don’t care about that. The more we huff and sigh, the louder they get. Of course, I should know this is how basically
all kids their age respond to goody-two-shoes of all ages, because that was even me when I was a teen. That this audience
is mostly over fifty, and rich as fuck, doesn’t exactly encourage their silence.
“Please be quiet,” I’d say back in school. “I’m trying to listen to the teacher.”
Apparently, I never learn.
“I want to thank the kids from our nearby school for coming out and working with me on my project to make art everyday again,” Forrest begins, ignoring the chatter from the back of the room with his heroic smile.
“The other candidates for the Beaumont Prize have a lot of bells and whistles to play with.” Bells and whistles.
Cheek. “A lot of impressive technology and a lot of demonstrable potential results, and I’m not gonna pretend that the solutions they offer won’t make the world a better place for a lot of people, they will.
But I’m here to remind you all about what it takes to be human in the first place.
From when we first sparked fire, and sat around its warmth to ward off the dark with stories up until right now.
We are imaginative creatures. It’s our imagination that has built all of this.
This house, those gardens, the painting on the walls, the books in the library—even the scientific breakthroughs you’ve heard about today couldn’t have been imagined without someone imagining a better future.
Humanity is where it is today because we experience the world, not just with our regular five senses but with our souls. ”
“Arseholes?” a kid shouts out from the back. There’s a mixture of laughter and disapproving gasps. Rani stifles her fits of
giggles behind her silk scarf.
“A pun,” Hal explains softly, leaning towards me. “‘Arseholes’ sounds like ‘our souls,’ you see?”
“Got it,” I say. He smells of lemon and jasmine. His breath tickles the hairs on my neck.
“Because whether you like it or not, human beings need an emotional connection to the world around them to thrive, and our
world needs it too, in order to survive,” Forrest says, his tanned skin vivid against the white of his shirt. “Look, I know
the real world is divided, and too often unkind. It’s overwhelming. Of course, it feels better to immerse yourself in a virtual
world, or play games, or watch endless funny videos in your own bubble. But I’m here to tell you that happiness can’t be found
behind a screen, that’s just an illusion. And powerful AI, even if it’s ecologically friendlier, or perfect cheap organ transplants,
even if they save a millions lives, counts for nothing if we can’t appreciate and protect what we already have.”
A ripple of agreement and light applause travel around the room.
“Megan”—Forrest addresses the girl, who’s been picking at her nails for the entire time he’s been talking; she starts a little
and looks anxiously at the audience—“what do you think the point of art is?”
Megan thinks about this for a moment and shrugs. “I dunno.”
“Okay, so how does art make you feel?” Forrest asks.
“Bored,” Megan says. “I wanted something to do over the holidays, but this is even more boring.”
“Are you afraid of being bored?” Forrest asks her.
“No.” Megan is defensive. “But being bored is boring, duh.”
The kids laugh, and the adults exchange wry looks. I see why he chose this Megan now; she’s a smart cookie. Of course she’s
terrified of being in the spotlight, but she’s also doing her best to hide her fear. Who in this room hasn’t felt like that
at one time or another?
“Where do you live?” Forrest asks her.
“Scarborough.” Megan rolls her eyes.
“What colour is Scarborough?” Forrest says.
“Shit coloured,” Megan says. The words “Shit Coloured” appear on a screen behind Forrest’s head. The crowd murmurs and the
kids at the back applaud and whoop.
“Okay, that’s valid.” Forrest is unfazed. “That’s how you feel about your town. But if you were going to just think of one
colour that described the town, what would it be?”
Megan sighs deeply and thinks for a moment.
“Blue,” she says finally, with a world-weary shrug. The word “Blue” appears on the screen.
“Why?” Forrest asks.
“Sea, innit?” Megan says.
“Elaborate, Megan,” Forrest says with a small smile.
“Well.” Megan pauses for a moment. “It’s like it doesn’t matter where you are in the town, even if you can’t see it, you know it’s there.
And it’s always blue. Sometimes grey blue, sometimes green blue.
Sometimes . . . angry like, with big waves that can sweep you into the sea if you’re not careful.
And sometimes smooth, like what you see on a postcard.
Smooth and warm. Looks fake, but it’s real. ”
As she talks, her words appear on the screen.
“And what does the sea mean to you?” Forrest asks.
“Nothing,” Megan says. “It’s just a lot of water. I’m not mental.”
“It has to mean something if you know it’s always there,” Forrest says. “Look, there’s no wrong answer here. You can say what
you like, and you won’t be wrong.”
“All of this is a waste of time.” Megan crosses her arms. “I don’t mind it when we are all doing it, but this is stupid.”
“It might well be,” Forrest says, “but would you mind just giving it a try?”
Megan turns her face away from him, staring out of the window for the longest time. I’m almost certain that that’s how this
presentation is going to end, until suddenly, out of the sea blue, she starts to talk. And it’s like another kid has arrived
onstage.
“I suppose it’s like a constant,” Megan says.
“A lot of shit changes in our town, nothing ever stays the same. Like after the pandemic, all these shops closed down and never re-opened. No new shops came. It feels dead sometimes. Even in the summer when the tourists come, they don’t really care about the place.
People just come and go, right? Like we, the town, don’t really matter.
My mum came back for a bit last summer, said she was home for good this time.
But she went again when the weather turned.
But the sea is always there, right?” She looks at Forrest, who nods.
“And some sometimes it’s a laugh, to go down the beach with your mates and that.
Sometimes it’s just something to look at when you feel fucked off.
Like you can throw all your bad feelings in it and drown them.
” Megan puts her phone down in her lap. “But also, it’s sort of like .
. . hope? Sometimes I do look at it, and I think one of these fucking days I’m going over that horizon and having a look at what’s on the other side.
I think it’s Denmark. Denmark is probably shit, but I’m going there one day anyway. ”
Forrest nods, and Megan, suddenly aware of the people listening to her, shrugs, her shoulders folding inward, her chin dropping.
“Or not, I don’t give a fuck.”
“Megan”—Forrest hand her a tablet—“have a look at your words. Which ones express how you feel, about Scarborough, about your
mum and the sea? Can you put them together in way that reflects your feelings?”
“We are still going Burger King after?” Megan asks.
“As promised, we are all going to Burger King after,” Forrest says as all the kids cheer. Forrest smiles at the audience.
“Pray for the local Burger King.”
“All right then.” Megan lifts her chin, looking not at the tablet but at the big screen.
“It’s all shit coloured, most of the time
But the sea is always some kind of blue
Constantly moving, but constant.
She waits for me, never leaving.
One day she knows I will go flying over the edge of the world
To see what’s there.
But even if I go, she will stay.
True Blue, the sea is a better mum to me
Than my mum is. The selfish cow.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then the kids at the back cheer and whoop with a kind of animal recognition of their own feelings, roars of anger and approval.
Forrest offers Megan a hand, and she takes it, shaking it.
Gradually the adults join in standing one by one.
I am the last to stand. Not because I’m not impressed.
But because there are tears in my eyes and I don’t want anyone to see.