“How old are you?” asked Will.
“Fifteen. But chronological age is a most unreliable method of evaluation.”
“Okay, so I think Brooke is a flat-out slammin’ babe and will someday rule the world. That better?”
“Yes! We’ve established that you’re not a robot.”
Ajay slapped him on the back, laughed heartily, and led them into one of the larger buildings. A substantial sign read STUDENT UNION. It did nothing to prepare Will for what awaited inside.
The student union was the size of a shopping mall. A grocery store took up the southwestern corner. He saw a laundry and dry cleaners next door to a bank, a massive sporting goods store, and a store offering every art or academic supply imaginable. The school bookstore seemed to go on forever. It opened into a busy food court offering eight different cuisines, none of which looked fast, cheap, or unhealthy. Across from that was a duplex movie theater; one showed a film that was still in general release. Ajay explained the other theater ran only classics from the “Golden Age”—way back, before Star Wars—as part of a film studies course. The marquee read HITCHCOCK’S “REAR WINDOW.” Next door was the six-lane bowling alley and soda fountain that he’d seen in the school’s promotional materials.
Will followed Ajay into a clothing store as big as a football field, with row after row of every item you could imagine in variations of the school colors. Will felt overwhelmed and intensely aware he had only a hundred dollars left in his wallet.
“Start your engines,” said Ajay, handing Will a wheeled shopping cart. “I’ll be right back.”
Ajay hurried off. Will pushed the cart to the winter wear section. He didn’t see any price tags, but the piece he wanted most—a heavy blue fleece sweatshirt with a gray CIL embroidered on the chest—had to cost half of what he had to his name. Reluctantly he tossed it into the cart. He was trying to decide whether to spend the rest on a pair of khakis or a rugby shirt when Ajay returned.
“This was waiting for you at the counter,” said Ajay. “You didn’t tell me you were on full scholarship, man. That’s a horse of a different color.”
Ajay handed him a thick plastic credit card. It was blank, with the same deep blackness he’d seen in Robbins’s expanding tablet. Ajay ran a finger along its outer edge, activating a sensor. The school’s crest appeared, floating in its center. Below that was a sixteen-digit code number and the name WEST.
Will turned it over. A standard magnetized credit card strip ran along the back. His parents had explained how these strips worked, how banks and companies used them to store confidential information they’d gathered about you. He wondered how much information was already embedded here.
“Do they take cash?” asked Will.
“Cash? For heaven’s sake, man, you don’t need cash anymore. You have the Card now. You can use it everywhere.”
“Did they mention what my limit is?”
“If there is a limit, it will now be your job to find it,” said Ajay.
Living expenses, books and supplies, all included. Once again, Dr. Robbins had delivered what she’d promised.
“Let’s do it,” said Will.
Will dropped the pants and the rugby shirt into the cart. He’d never shopped anywhere without the pressure of a budget. The prospect made him giddy, but despite Ajay’s encouragement to break the bank, he still felt like he was taking advantage. Ajay kept tossing things into the cart and Will kept putting them back.
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#81: NEVER TAKE MORE THAN YOU NEED.
Three pairs of pants. Five navy and gray shirts. A week’s worth of socks and underwear. A pair of heavy-soled winter boots. A navy watch cap. Fleece-lined gloves and a gray wool scarf. Two sets of long underwear. The only luxury he allowed himself was a dark blue winter parka with a fur-lined hood, but he easily convinced himself he needed that for survival.
A friendly cashier rang it up, asked for his card, and passed it over a scanner that made the card glow. Will didn’t have to sign anything. He never saw a total. No prices appeared on the receipt she gave him.
“How long have you been here?” asked Will.
“My second year. As a freshman, I was roughly the size of this slice of chicken.” Ajay laughed again, infectiously. Will found it impossible not to laugh with him, especially when he made jokes at his own expense.
They were seated in the food court, over teriyaki rice bowls and sunomono salads made to order, fresh and flavorful, and paid for with a single flash of Will’s magic card. A full stomach did wonders for his mood. So did the fleece sweatshirt.
“So what’s with the big noise about cells and laptops?” asked Will.
Ajay’s brow knit together and his look darkened. “So you’ve met Lyle.”
“Yes.”
Ajay leaned forward. “At first I assumed it was a rule they imposed to show they’re in charge and it would be more honored in the breach than the observance. That proved not to be the case. They take this very seriously indeed.”
“But for what reason?”
“They don’t want our faces buried in phones or our heads stuck up the Internet all the time. They really do want us to talk to each other.”
“Texting is a form of talking,” said Will. “And usually it’s a lot more efficient.”
“I wouldn’t argue, Will, but I don’t make the rules. And honestly, after a while you’ll find that face-to-face communication works entirely to your personal benefit.”
“How?”
“It forces you outside your comfort zone,” said Ajay. “Refines social skills, in a good way. Believe it or not, I used to be quite the introvert.”
“You’re making that up.”
“It’s true, I swear to you! And now look at me, a regular chatterbox. I’m completely out of my shell.”
Ajay took a small rectangular black box from the folder Brooke had given him and pushed it across the table.
“Clip that onto your belt. It’s a pager. If anyone tries to reach you on the internal phone system, this beeps. Pick up any phone on campus and the operator instantly connects the call.”
It was a bit bigger than a matchbox and had a metal clip on the back. On the right front corner was a small grill, and there was one small recessed button in the middle. Otherwise it was seamless and solid, with surprising weight. He couldn’t even find a slot for batteries.
“So I’ll have to deal with the texting thing,” said Will. “What about email?”
“You’ll get an email address with your tablet. It’s connected to the main servers for the school’s internal network.”
“Wait, you mean it only works on campus? What about Internet access?”
“Limited. No Wi-Fi or networks out here. You can sign on using ports in the libraries, for specific research, but outside websites are severely restricted.”
Will’s anger rose. “We can’t even get on the Net from our own rooms?”
“No surfing, no social networking, no console or online games—”
“What about TV?”
“There’s one in the student union, but I’ve never seen anyone watching—”
“But these are basic principles of free speech. The right to access useless information and mindless, mediocre entertainment—”
“The Center’s a private institution; they can set any rules they like.”
“This isn’t Communist China. They can’t just shut down the pipeline and cut us off from the rest of the world—”
“The point is there’s hardly time for such things, Will. They work us like sled dogs, and in case you never noticed, sled dogs love the harness! You’ll see. Don’t underestimate the joy of being challenged or losing yourself in work. I’m talking one hundred percent immersion: classes, labs, homework, and field assignments. Add to that all the social activities: sports leagues, clubs, concerts, and dances—”