;------------------------------------------------------------------
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;01110011 01100011 01110010 01111001:
;01101001 01101110: 01100101 01100011 01111000 = 01110110 01101001 01110011 01110101 01100001 01101100 00100000 01100101 01101101 01101111 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 01100001 01101100 00100000 01110011 01100101 01101110 01110011 01101111 01110010 01111001
; 01101111 01110101 01110100: 01100101 01100011 01111000 = 01110101 01110000 01101100 01101111 01100001 01100100 00100000 01110111 01110010 01101001 01110100 01110100 01100101 01101110 00100000 01100100 01100101 01110011 01100011 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01010010 01000101 01000100 01000001 01000011 01010100 01000101 01000100
;------------------------------------------------------------------
;01100111 01100001 01101100 01100001 01110100 01100101 01100001
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01100111 01100001 01101100 01100001 01110100 01100101 01100001:
01101010 01101101 01110000 00100000 01110011 01100011 01110010 01111001 00001101 00001010
I sit beside Amanda in English class, and try to allocate all of my cognition to the text before me.
The new teacher has written her name on the board: Mrs. Roszak. She has a slight hunch, ragged hair, and stern glasses. Her name is strange, and I can not decide if it is strange in a bad way. It is certainly not a good way. Her voice elicits the same feeling.
Retrieving: failure. Confused.
I am nervous. I can hear every tick of the clock behind its dust-smeared plastic pane, the beat of my heart, the hum of other essential components. I read William Shakespeare’s words, and understand their meaning, some of their academic subtext, but Mrs. Roszak is talking about the difference between the play in iambic terms and how the actors on stage can place different stresses to make the audience encode the written script in more emotional terms.
She is picking volunteers to read passages, challenging us to inflect the appropriate emotion—I have discerned the pattern in her selections, and know that I am next.
Are you alright, Amanda whispers from the right, you’re sweating.
I tell her that I am nervous. I examine my physical responses and note that I am producing sweat at a level that is improper, even for the stuffiness of the English class upstairs. Amanda sweats too, but it is a thin sheen that garners my curiosity for a moment, as I consider how her different, unified skin might feel with that thin layer applied.
I snap out of it when the previous student, Albert, finishes reading, and Mrs. Roszak’s eyes begin to wander.
Amanda tells me to think of something happy, because the next passage is a monologue by Edmund about how he will defy the stars.
Mrs. Roszak picks me—at least I can discern patterns correctly.
I obey Amanda’s prompt, and consider what positive thoughts I have accumulated.
Retrieving: I love Amanda.
Even as I read this passage [Edmund talks of scorning his father’s faith in stars, and I might concede that the sparks of my bed resembled stars, but there is no possibility for scorn or defiance—Edmund is a confused, humorous character] I process my encounters and interactions with Amanda at the same time, and finish the passage.
I sit down, and process that Mrs. Roszak is staring at me, her mouth slightly agape. The bell rings, and the class exits the English room. Mrs. Roszak continues to stare: I usually render math or science teachers speechless the first time they call on me, but it is always a positive indication of progress. The same must hold true.
I rush out to close the gap between Amanda and I as she waves goodbye, ready to head to history, and thank her profusely.
She makes a sound. Retrieving: ostensibly a giggle, but there are no earlier precedents of Amanda producing laughter of any kind.
Amanda tells me that it’s no big deal, that I must have the hots for Edmund or similar plans for a homicidal coup considering how into it I got.
I inform Amanda that I am not built for salvage [my conversion upgrades incite a slight itch], but that I want to thank her.
She tells me that she wouldn’t ask anything from me, unless I could use my big brain to help her with chemistry, because she’s in deep shit there.
I agree, and Amanda tells me to meet her tomorrow after school in the cafeteria.
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