‘Hey Mr Fest you know these here grade forms, they—’
‘Not now, Geo. W. has to be George Washington, here they got it stuck in with all the global studies stuff.’
‘Yeah but how come everybody gets the same grade, like Norma Lee Dunne here, she’s real good at math and—’
‘Don’t read that stuff, just put it back on the desk. Now what’s this reel supposed to be the shelf label says Homecraft and the reel label says G. Stars, what the heck here — oh.’ He opened the box to release a shower of gold stars. ‘Damn woman couldn’t organize a cathouse on a Sunday morn—’
‘But shouldn’t she get a better grade than like Jimmy Rittle, he’s never even at school, he’s been sick every day but one.’ Roderick caught his eye. ‘Okay, I’m, look I’m putting ’em right here on the desk.’
‘Here we are, F. S. Key, Francis Scott Key composer of the Star-Spangled Banner, boy. Can’t learn too much about your own count — hmm, Lincoln? Naw, think we’ll leave the old hair-splitter for now, get some basics. No use you getting the idea all our forefathers looked like a buncha damn hairy hippies, eh? Come on.’
‘Lincoln.’ said Roderick, ‘is the capital of Nebraska, population—’
‘Yes, well fine.’ Fest locked the cabinet and looked for a place to put the key. ‘But don’t just uh learn this stuff like a parrot, eh? It’s gotta come from the heart.’
‘I don’t have a heart.’
‘Don’t get cute with me, boy, I’m warning you. Crippled or not, I don’t have to stand for no, any crud. Now get upstairs to your post and stand by for Francis Scott Key. On the double: Move! LEFT RIGHT LEFT RIGHT…’
The telephone receiver began making crackling noises as they left, and continued until Miss Borden, carrying a pile of green forms under one arm and a file in her hand, came to rescue it.
‘Yes sir, yes I have it here, Roderick Wood, hello? Why no one, Dr Froid, no one just one of the teachers looking up some training aids, teaching aids.’
‘—kind of an office you run there, Miss Borden, sounded like a roomful of stormtroopers doing callisthenics. I’m not at all surprised if your teachers behave like—’
At recess Chauncey and the gang had a new one for him.
‘Okay now, no means yes and yes means no. You want me to hitcha with these brass knucks? Yes or no?’
‘No,’ said Roderick, and got hit. Nat, he noticed, was hiding away on the other side of the playground, pretending to watch some younger kids playing Frying Pan, as though it were the most fascinating game he’d ever seen.
‘You want me to hitcha again? Yes or no?’
‘Yes,’ said Roderick and got hit.
‘Hahaha, gotcha again, you want me to hitcha again? Yes or no?’
‘LOOK OUT!!!’ Roderick screamed and pointed at the sky just at the back of Chauncey’s head. The flinch gave him time to get away to a safe distance from which he could call ‘I meant, don’t look out.’
‘Hello,’ said Roderick, but suddenly Hank Thoro II had no time for small-talk. The screen flared up:
‘Fundamental Systems Key 42. A programme for storing, reading, altering, re-addressing or deleting data system DC/4633333808824. File call?’
It seemed to be a question. Roderick pressed Y. (means N?)
‘No file Y. File call?’
N was no better, nor was any other single letter; after a while he tried typing words at random: ‘Indica’, ‘abacus’, ‘bishop’, ‘car chase’, ‘jispsy’, ‘robot’, ‘kale’, ‘sip’, ‘thud’. Finally he tried numbers, and when he happened to hit 42, the screen reacted:
‘Incorrect call. For systems key use FSKEY 42. Call?’
‘FSKEY 42,’ he typed.
‘Fundamental Systems Key 42. A programme for storing, reading, altering, re-addressing or deleting data system DC/746 information using 333 and 338 subroutines and/or manual file call.
‘System security is maintained by use of (I) User passwords, (2) System level match codes…’
By the end of the day, Roderick was able to call up more interesting stuff, like:
‘Wood, Roger Rick. Grade: 2. Med: No file. Assessmt: Schiz. tendencies. Teacher: Fest. Comment: Difficult adjustment, due to handicap. May need psy. couns. IQ:NR.’
He decided to change a few things.
On the way home from school, Chauncey beat him up. Nat went by on the other side of the street, pretending not to notice.
‘Look, a deal’s a deal, okay? I always help you, so—’
‘Yeah only we’ll be late to school. I mean sure I wanted to help you only I hadda get home early. My ma gets real mad—’
‘A deal’s a deal. Blood and oil and you never helped me once. Cripes some blood-oil brother you turned out to be. If you don’t look out I’ll delete you.’
‘Yeah? You’re not so tough — what’s delete?’
‘Like I take your name off the files, like the school don’t even know your name, how’d you like that?’
Nat picked up a twig and pretended to smoke it, blowing out steam in the cold air. ‘How come you can do that? You’re just kidding.’
‘No really, Mr Fest gave me this program, it’s supposed to be all about the guy who wrote the flag see, this Francis somebody—’
‘That’s a girl’s name! Anyway nobody writes flags, you’re just dumb.’
‘I don’t care, it’s what he said, and it’s not, it’s all about us it’s like files see, like it’s got your name and your picture and what grade you’re in, and like mine says I got the shits—’
‘Ha ha. Ricky’s got the shee-its, Ricky’s got—’
‘That’s all you know, I deleted that. I can delete stuff all over the place, I can do anything I want with anybody’s file. So you better come across on our deal, that’s all.’
‘Hey look, there’s Chaunce and Billy — and they got can-opners!’ Nat began to run. ‘I’m gonna be late, see you.’
The electric can-openers were nothing against the invincible strength of the Steel Spider, who managed to bloody Chauncey’s nose and send him fleeing for his life, then turned with a deep-throated snarl on the other bully:
‘You just wait till recess, boy. I’ll fix you.’
But at recess Chauncey and Billy had a couple of friends, one of whom was Nat. They followed him all over the school playground, telling everyone how he shit his pants, until the enraged man of steel turned on them and lashed out with:
‘Okay that’s it, you’ve had it, boy, I’m gonna fix your files.’
He hurried back to the janitor’s closet and flicked on the machine. ‘Bangfield, Chauncey,’ became ‘Bangfield, Piggy Dirty Bastard,’ and the accompanying picture, through the magic of a light pen, developed missing teeth, a bandit moustache and glasses. Under ‘Comments’ he listed every mean thing he could remember (or invent) and then went on to deal likewise with Nat, Billy, all his enemies… and what the heck, why not get old Pesty Festy while he was at it?
On Friday afternoon suddenly old Pesty ripped open the door. ‘Gotcha! Red-handed! And don’t try to bullshit me, son, that ain’t American history on that screen is it? IS IT?’ He grabbed Roderick’s neck and forced his face close to the screen which read: ‘Call allfile faculty allfile pupil delete…’