It's hard to fathom which is worse; all the torture I've received throughout my scholastic career (and being that I'm eighteen and graduating in less than a month, it is quite extensive) or the sheer unadulterated complete and blatant mockery of the absolute ignoring of every word I say by this uninterested collection of people known as the Young Inventors Commission from Ingenious Ingenuities? A group whose sole purpose is to find and locate upcoming inventors to help Ingenious Ingenuities stay on the cutting edge of technology. A group who had the foresight to hold an Inventors Exhibition to encourage young inventors to come to them. A group who is supposed to have an open mind to all possibilities that are presented to them. A group who - Oh look, the guy on the far left, a Mr. Richards, actually moved, albeit to yawn. Seriously, why have a fair if all you're going to do is play games on your phone, like Mr. McNally, or take a nap as the Ms. Trapper on the right was doing?
"We've heard enough, kid," the guy in the middle, Mr. Penterly held up his hand. "Why don't you come back when your older than twelve."
"I'm eighteen... I"
"You're not even in college," Mr. Penterly interrupted. "And you don't have any trials to back up your claims."
Did this guy really think I could just perform tests in my bedroom? Perhaps he thought I had a colony of lab rats in my Mom's basement? "But..."
"Next," Mr. Penterly called, and then went back to looking at his phone. "Come back when your older. This is an exhibition meant for serious inventors, Mr... ah..."
"Jeremiah. Jeremiah Willingham."
"Whatever." Mr. Penterly finalized our meeting by waving me along.
I gathered my Star Wars helmet with the blast shield permanently fixed down, taking care to fold the rear connected injector needle with attached microchip (similar to what you would put into your pet to locate them if lost) inward as to not cut myself and made my way toward the exit.
I take it back; this was definitely worse than all the torment I suffered throughout my school years. Those people I don't give a crap about, but this? This was my future. My way of helping my Mom out as well as the only way I'd be able to afford to go to college. I have good grades, above average grades, really, but that is only against my classmates at Hilldale High. But compared to the rest of the state and even more so the country, or as I like to call; actual students, I wasn't getting any sort of scholarship. As I closed, and then re-closed, and then re-closed the door to my Mom's rusted, decrepit Ford Escort - like either of us could afford to fix the door - I couldn't help the tears.
Now, I can understand that Ingenious Ingenuities isn't exactly known for virtual reality gaming, but I still thought my simple design - helmet, shield to block out light, insert needle with attached preprogrammed microchip to manipulate data into the brain with the desired information; was fairly straightforward and something that could open up possibilities outside of games - and therefore be of interest to Ingenious Ingenuities. I was clearly mistaken.
As far as flaws go, there were only a couple, and I would deem them minor, though Mr. Penterly made it seem like they were the equivalent to climbing Mt. Everest. First of all, was durability - I mean I did make it out of a Star Wars toy after all. Secondly was player interaction. All Non Player Characters were either myself or my Mom - A complete lack of a social life really narrowed down the people I could ask to program in their information for the game. Third, the selection of games I created for the device was small to say the least - three. That's it. I had a racing game (Mom and I are your opponents), a one level fantasy game (I'm the evil boss and my Mom is a Fairy that guides you), and a relationship simulator - one where a female gets to date a male character and when it progresses far enough, it can even lead into sexual acts. It could have easily been a female character, but I was not about to have my Mom be defiled in any way, virtual or not. I only created the last game to show all possibilities, and perhaps open other venues to wanting my device. Lastly, were the lack of test subjects - Like I was qualified to insert anything into anyone. But that was it. That was why I was demonstrating my concept to a multi-billion dollar company.
Only to be turned down because I was too young?
Without even consideration?
My hopes...
My dreams...
I was heartbroken.
*
"All right class," Ms. Johnson, my smoking hot, red haired, hour glass figure, Life Management teacher announced. "To finish the school year we are going to have a team project in which the pair of you will have to determine the long term care of..."
Oh Dear God... Ms. Johnson held up a baby.
"This baby has the same weight as a real baby, needs to be fed, nurtured, and cries, so have fun. And seniors; this will count as your final exam."
I just hung my head.
"Partners for this wonderful experiment are up to you. We have twelve girls and twelve boys in here so I now pronounce you husbands and wives!"
It didn't take long for my partner to be decided for me. Kiara Marchant... the only other person to not even bother to get up and find a partner.
Not that I could blame her. Kiara was a Goth girl who was into anime... Or she was an anime girl who dressed as her favorite Goth characters - Who could really say? She had shoulder length hair that I assumed was naturally black, but was dyed to a very un-natural color of it that also had purple and light blue dye highlighted into it. She wore black lipstick and matching eye shadow, and had her ears pierced several times along with a matching one in her nose. She didn't run in the same crowd as - well, anyone, really.
"C'mon Jeremiah," Ms. Johnson smiled. "Go sit with Kiara."
It was a lonely walk to the other side of the classroom. All eyes were on me and gossip was flowing between making fun of me for being with the "weird Goth girl," feeling bad for the outcast for being stuck "with the nerd," or piling on both of us saying we were a "perfect match."
I was uncomfortable, to say the least, when I finally arrived. "Hey, Kiara," I squeaked out her name, barely above a whisper.
Kiara just stared at me, as if sizing up my intentions.
I had no idea what to say to Kiara as I plopped into the chair next to her.
"I expect a paper laying out your plans for your marriage, how you plan on raising your child, as well as your combined futures. It should be detailed with financial culpabilities as well as who handles simple household chores. I'm leaving you the rest of this hour to get a general outline accomplished, but as you leave, one member of your marriage must take your child with them."
Well, that helps with the "what to say" dilemma. "So, are your parents married?"
Kiara stared at me carefully, what she was looking for, I was unsure... "Whatever fucking jokes or snide asshole comments ya want to say about me, just fucking forget it. I heard them all before and I don't need to hear them again."
"Uh..." I stammered as I tensed up.. That was defensive and uncalled for, but after hearing our classmates be complete imbeciles, oddly understandable. I took a breath and tried again, "So, are your parents married?"
Kiara seemed taken aback before she hesitantly answered, "Yeah." She was obviously waiting for the punch line.
"Okay," I chuckled. "Mine aren't, so why don't you tell me what you know about your parents. Do they both work?"
Kiara's defenses seemed to crumble, just at the knowledge that at the very least, I wanted to work on our assignment. "Yeah, my Mom is a real estate agent and my Dad is in construction. They like to say, "He builds 'em, she sells 'em."
It was a good hour. We didn't delve into each others personal lives, but we didn't need to either, though I did get the impression that her Mother and her were not close. We just worked well together. Kiara was willing to work on the project with me and I with her. That was enough. Besides, Ms. Johnson seemed more concerned with the financial aspect of the relationship as well as stressing our "child" so that was where we concentrated our efforts. Yes, it was a good hour.
