The Perpetual Motion Club (12 page)

CHAPTER TEN

Just before Christmas break, the hardest day of geometry came. Elsa knew Mr. Brown would pull her aside to stay after the bell rang. She knew what he would want, but was ill-prepared anyway.

“Elsa,” he said, as he pulled her aside to stay after the bell rang. “Why have you declined the Science Society invitation?”

“I’d like to join,” she lied. “But I won’t have time. I’ve started a Perpetual Motion Club and I need to work on that.”

Big mistake. She hadn’t meant to say that, but the words seemed to come of their own accord. They rushed out of her mouth in her haste to be done with the uncomfortable scene.

“A what?” Mr. Brown’s glasses slid to the end of his nose.

She cleared her throat and nodded to assure him he’d heard correctly. “A Perpetual Motion Club. We study the history and possibilities and we’re going to build a . . . ”

“Hogwash! It’s nice to study follies, but you must progress with progress. That’s the motto. We are forward thinkers. Leaders of the technological front here. You shouldn’t be wasting your time with history. That’s for other, uh . . . ”

Mr. Brown hesitated.

“Lesser students?” Elsa helped him out.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way,” he diplomatically said.

“I suppose not,” she said, “but blind faith in progress sometimes keeps you, us, from true progress.”

Mr. Brown chuckled. “Faith in progress keeps us from progressing. Elsa, listen to yourself. Your argument is indefensible. True progress towards what exactly?”

“Towards, well, I’m not sure, but I don’t think the Science Society is going in the right direction.”

As if the Science Society was going in any direction.

Mr. Brown tilted his head a little as if to get a better understanding of the blasphemy Elsa had just uttered. “I see,” he said. “And your, your history club will be going in the right direction.”

“I don’t know as we’ll be going in any direction, exactly,” Elsa back peddled. She didn’t want to extend this argument further, but did not know how to get out of it quickly without offending Mr. Brown. Not that she worried about his feelings, but he was a teacher after all. The teacher/student dynamic demanded a certain respect. Especially considering the teacher handed out the grade. “I think what we need to do is look at things as they are and, and appreciate them,” she said softly. “Or maybe . . . ”

“You just don’t want to join the Science Society,” he shot back. “You don’t want to do any extra work.”

“No, it’s not that,” Elsa was truly hating Mr. Brown now. “I want to do other types of things.”

“Oh, I see. We’re not going in the right direction. You have a vision of what we should be doing. You don’t want to start out just being a member, you want to run the show.”

“No, it’s not that at all.” This discussion was never going to end.

“Well, Elsa,” Mr. Brown’s face lit up. Suddenly he was all convivial smiles. “I’m sure we can work out a spot for you on the—”

“No, Mr. Brown, that’s not it! I just want to study perpetual motion. That’s it. That’s all. It’s nothing else. I want to see for myself if there isn’t something that we’ve missed.”

There is nothing that can anger a teacher more than words like “see for myself.” That thought translates to “I don’t believe a word you’ve said. I’ve never believed anything you’ve ever said. Where do you get the nerve to stand before a class day in and out spouting empty words you’ve memorized from a text someone else wrote? How do you, indeed, even have the guts to look in the mirror in the morning?”

Mr. Brown’s lips stopped smiling. “Young lady,” he said. “Perpetual motion is dead. It’s a hoax. It is not true science. Someone like you should not be wasting your time. If you truly loved science you wouldn’t be defending that practice. I suppose you think lead can be turned into gold as well.”

Throughout his speech, his facial muscles seemed to be at odds with each other. They twitched every which way. He grimaced one second and then smiled the next. And his eyebrows jumped up and down. His cheeks puffed in and out, his jaw moved forward and backward. His nostrils flared at intervals. Elsa desperately sought an exit before smoke started coming out of his nose. She mustered, “I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Brown.”

Mr. Brown’s face came to a standstill. He breathed forcefully in and out through his nose. He opened his mouth and spoke slowly and clearly. “Usually an invitation remains open once it’s been extended. If an invitee declines at first, another invitation will be given the following year. I don’t think we’ll be doing that in your case,” he said, his eyes narrowing to accentuate the gravity of the matter.

Elsa said, “Thank you,” and turned to go. She was glad it was over. She wanted to get out of there. She wanted nothing more than to simply survive the day.

She turned the corner from Mr. Brown’s room, leaned against the wall and grabbed the earbud out of the side pocket of her backpack.

A million thoughts raced through her head as she fumbled for the iHigh. Somehow a male voice coming from a huddle by the girls’ restroom cleared her short-circuiting brain. “Ask her, her mom’s a lawyer,” it said, but she barely heard it.

“Hey you!” A different, but still male voice called to her. It didn’t register with her anymore than the first one did. Nothing got through until someone hollered “Webb!”

She jumped a little and turned to the group dominated by a very tall basketball player standing in the middle and looking her way. Her eyes went out of focus for a moment, but then came back in as she regarded Jason Bridges. And then he spoke.

“Your mom a lawyer?”

Elsa blinked. “Yes. At the courthouse.”

One of Jason’s friends, John Twill, laughed. “A frickin’ public defender.”

The group scowled.

“She’s not a real lawyer?” Jason said.

“She’s a real lawyer.”

“Where’d she get her degree,” John Twill said. “Online?”

“No, she . . . ”

Jason had already turned away, the group followed him to the gym.

She took a step toward them and hollered, “She’s a real lawyer!” and then dropped her shoulders. Jason Bridges was worse than an asshole now. Now he was her mortal enemy. How dare he? Stupid basketball player.

Her mother. A public defender with high ideals that nobody cared about. What was the point? Really?

In English class, Elsa’s lip quivered uncontrollably. At one point a drop of water fell on the exam paper. She wiped it away, sniffed back the mucus in her nose.

***

After school she excused herself from the usual walk home with May, and hopped the city bus at the corner of Empire and Lambert. She punched her destiny, Delve Street, onto the autodrive’s keypad.

“That will be five nineteen,” the driver’s box stated. It extended it’s money slot toward her.

She threw in a bill, waited for the change, grabbed it when it fell down the chute, took a seat by the window.

As the bus took off, she saw pathetic Jimmy Bacomb on the sidewalk, trudging to some obscure class. Probably drafting, whatever that was.

She’d known the twerp since he was a kid. They were neighbors. Although he was finally growing up, she couldn’t help but still see him as the little snot-nosed brat that followed her everywhere. He was such a loser. He was talented enough to be earning money with his computer, but he was too stupid. He’d be lost for his whole life. She could see that about him. God, he angered her. But why? Because he was so utterly talented and nobody saw it? In her maudlin mood, her eyes welled up for the pitiful boy. So special and yet . . .

Why didn’t she have the kind of friends that could help her?

She shook her head from her thoughts of little Jimmy Bacomb, who was now taller than she, and returned to her own problems that were settling heavily into the pit of her stomach.

During the remainder of the ride, she took little notice of the workaday town around her: the frosty air, kids sliding along, trees decorated in bright lights, and the general good feeling Christmas break brings. All she saw was the wrist attached to the palm in which her forehead rested.

***

James Webb’s office was deep in the heart of “A” District. His firm had created the building, bought it, and then installed itself in the penthouse. The organization’s whiz kids had designed it tastefully yet with an avant garde feel. Classy. Indiana limestone rescued from the buildings that had previously stood on the site gave the façade a look of authentic old age, timelessness, a stolid nature, strength. Without the wall of glass most high-rises are encased in, the building was a throwback to more solid times. The windows had ledges and could be opened from the inside. Each one had a movable awning. The top floor beveled inward toward the top and round sun-filled windows illuminated its offices there. On the flat of the roof garden, ivy and grapevines overflowed to the floors beneath where they met large potted trees standing on a balcony that ran the entire perimeter. At 20 floors, each outfitted with a public InterConnect station, 3-D printer food service, and private security system, it was the largest, most advanced construct in A District.

“Delve Street,” the bus stated.

Elsa stepped off and walked down to Maple. She scanned the building and its numerous wall ads running from the first floor revolving door entrance up to the top floor and checked the penthouse level as if her father was waiting up there on the balcony. Perhaps he was looking down at her like he used to do when she’d come by with her mother. That was when she was very young. Now she was feeling old and life had become such a heavy weight. She needed more than a kiss on the forehead from Dad, but it was a start.

Once inside the building she submitted her thumbprint to the front desk located between two elevator banks of polished brass. After she keyed in her destination, Floor 20, the desk pad stated, “North bank. Straight off the elevator. Have a nice day.”

When the lift stopped she stepped into the hallway and momentarily watched the people on the other side of the rosewood and glass doors. They spoke to each other as they passed in the corridor. She could not hear their words. Only the sounds of their feet clicking on the floors slipped under the door and out to where she stood.

She buzzed for entry, and when the autocept asked for information, stated her name and that she wanted to see James Webb. She forgot to smile into the camera, too troubled to think about such stupid things.

The door opened with a “Welcome, Elsa Webb. James Webb will be here shortly. Would you care for a round of Killer Bees while you wait?”

The iScreen in the reception area displayed an ever-changing scene of the game bees flying around and attacking the head of a hapless victim whose eyes followed the bees and often looked cross-eyed. It would have been funny if Elsa hadn’t seen it a thousand times already and wasn’t just now on the verge of tears.

“Hey Champ!” her father called to her, using his favorite illogical nickname for her. James Webb was wearing the casual office attire of cargo pants and blue shirt as he walked swiftly down the hallway toward her, holding out his arms for a hug. A tall and handsome man, confident and wise, he easily caught her up in his arms when she ran to him. He held her tightly until he felt her body heave. Immediately he said, “let’s get some privacy.”

In his corner office the windows on two sides were opened and allowing the honks of the city below to intrude. Elsa plopped into a chair and sniffled. For several moments she rested her forehead in her hand and tried to regain composure.

He knelt down on one knee and looked up into her face. “What is it, Honey?”

She stared at her feet, trying to unscramble her thoughts. Unsure of exactly what the problem was, all she could think of to say was, “Why isn’t Mom a real lawyer?”

James’ face lost its smile full of love and strength and fatherly devotion. It changed shape, the eyebrows pinching together and the jaw dropping slightly to reveal a man caught by surprise.

“What?” he asked in a small almost whispery voice.

Elsa looked up into his face. “Mom. She’s not a real lawyer, is she? Like Mr. Davidson or Shelly Clepp’s dad.”

Then James’ face let out a little laugh and his smile returned. He put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and gave a quick squeeze before standing and taking a seat behind his desk. “Why on Earth are you asking that? First off, of course she’s a real lawyer. A damn good one.” He had a habit of talking in numbers: first off, secondly, third of all. That sort of thing. Often, like now, he never got beyond “first off.”

“She’s just a public advocate,” Elsa said.

“That has a law degree same as everybody else. Same as Mr. Davidson. Who’s been bothering you about that?”

“Nobody. It’s just that I decided not to join the Science Society and now Mr. Brown won’t let me in, and now maybe I want to join, and people keep saying things about Mom.”

James held his wrist up to his mouth and spoke aloud. “Northawken High Information.”

“Don’t call them Daddy. I don’t want you to do anything.”

“Honey, what you’re saying is clear discrimination. Mr. uh, Brown, is it? can’t prevent you from joining a school sanctioned organization because of what your parents are, do, or believe in.”

“No!” Elsa shouted.

Startled, James looked up at her with his eyebrows pinched again. The autovoice answered on the other end of the line.

He turned to his daughter. ”Did you just want to talk?”

“I think so. I mean, this is not one of those things that you can fix like you used to.”

Her father said “cancel” into the wristApp and then to Elsa: “Okay, so tell me what happened.”

She looked at the floor and expelled a little breath. She didn’t know exactly what it was that he couldn’t fix.

“Well, they have this Science Society. It’s dumb. You have to go to meetings and then do coding stuff. Stuff I’m not interested in. Mom wants me to join. May wants me to join. Mr. Brown wants me to join.”

He settled back in his chair in listening mode. “And what does that have to do with your mother not being a real lawyer?

“Nothing really. It’s just that . . . ” Elsa struggled to make the connection. “ . . . I mean, she’s just a public advocate. Why would I listen to her advice? She doesn’t know anything; she just wants me to join this thing that everybody else wants to join because they won’t get into college unless they have this on their resume.”