"There's nothing like deep breaths after laughing so hard. Nothing in the world like a sore stomach for the right reasons." -- Steven Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower
Summary: In which we meet J4RD3, and he jumpstarts the plot.
“Can anyone tell me what our bubbles are for?”
“I can!” A small hand with five long, thin fingers rose into the air and waved about like a distress signal, accompanied by a thin, reedy voice that lacked volume but not conviction. The little boy that the voice and the hand belonged to seemed determined to have his voice heard, sounding even more insistent when he wasn’t called upon immediately. “I can do it!”
“Yes, J4RD3, please go ahead,” the Educator smiled, pointing the tip of their tail in his direction.
J4RD3, an eternally smug looking boy with slick, shiny orange skin and constellations of black freckles, allowed himself a moment to preen, basking in the attention of his teacher and classmates, before he began to speak, with the practiced air of someone who spent far too much time lecturing those around them. It appeared his classmates had been the targets of these lectures, as many of the children around him were yawning and covering their ears before he’d even begun.
“Memory bubbles are like boxes to put our memories in when we don't need them.” J4RD3 said, looking around the classroom to ensure his classmates were paying attention to him. He glared at one particular boy, L3N0X, who was known for his neat and tidy dismissals of J4RD3’s theories and thoughts. L3N0X, as expected, was not paying attention, and instead trying to lick the tip of his tail without the people around him noticing. “We can take them out when we want through our neural link, or put some more in during the nightly backup.”
“Why J4RD3, what an amazing thought!” The Educator said, aglow with pride. “Where did you learn about neural links?”
“I heard the older kids talking about them.” J4RD3 said confidently. “I know lots more bigger words than they do.”
He had always been smarter than his Broodmates, and, on occasion, smarter than those of older Broods as well, and he knew the Educator valued him above the rest for that. The rest of his Brood was rather pitiful at times, in his opinion, if “times” meant all the time, and “pitiful” meant unworthy to even sniff the air of the room in which the Promotion Exams took place. He was privately rather excited at the thought of them failing, knowing it would only make his inevitably high scores look even better. A more competitive Brood, he was beginning to realize, would have been tougher to excel in. He truly had been handed success wrapped in shiny paper.
“Now J4RD3, it’s not nice to brag,” the Educator said, wagging the tip of their tail back and forth. “If you want to make more friends, you have to be nice.”
“Bein’ nice is cool!” Another boy, who had climbed up onto his desk to see a little clearer, chorused.
BRC3N had been the smallest of their Brood ever since J4RD3 could remember, his short stature compounded with stubby arms and legs and strange, bulging eyes, and J4RD3 had often pitied him. BRC3N didn’t seem to understand the concept of pity and, somehow, seemed ecstatic about his lot in life, unaware that few actually liked him save for the Hall Monitor and their Educator, who were required to, and ARM3L, who had taken him on as something of a charity case.
“I agree, BRC3N! But it’s also cool to sit down on your chair in class,” the Educator laughed, wrapping their tail around his middle and gently lowering BRC3N back into his chair.
“I got a ride!” BRC3N whispered to himself, boundlessly joyful, high fiving the tip of the Educator’s tail before they returned to the front of the room. “A ride!” He turned to face the desk to his right. A slender, sharp featured girl sat there, one of her hands buried in a bag of potato chips. She didn’t look over to BRC3N, only acknowledging him with a sneer and the crunch of her chips. “Did you see, Armie?”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re special or whatever,” ARM3L mumbled, bits of food spraying from her mouth onto the floor as she spoke.
ARM3L wasn’t pathetic, in J4RD3’s eyes -- she just had no idea what she could be, and displayed a remarkable lack of initiative to get there. All she wanted to do was boss their classmates, especially BRC3N, around and get her way -- she would make a fine Mid Level Manager someday, but J4RD3 couldn’t see her climbing the ranks of the Board System to the very top, as she claimed she would.
“I am special!” BRC3N declared happily, as J4RD3 grimaced in disgust. Did BRC3N even understand that he was being insulted? “I am a very special boy, right, Educator?”
“Of course you are, sweetie! You are very special too, ARM3L,” the Educator said, smiling in their direction. BRC3N cheered to himself, while ARM3L rolled her eyes and grabbed another bunch of chips from her bag.
“We know.” J4RD3 growled, losing patience with this charade. He wanted to learn something real, and their school day was turning into coddling BRC3N yet again. It seemed to be a favorite activity of the Educator’s, though they claimed to have no favorites within the Brood. “We're all special. Can we talk more about bubbles?”
“You're quite interested in these bubbles, J4RD3. Maybe you'll be a Memory Mechanic someday.” The teacher said, rather proud that one of their students had higher pursuits than eating in class and chasing their own tail. “Those are lofty pursuits!”
“I don't want to be a Memory Mechanic.” J4RD3 sat up straighter in his chair, head held high and voice thick with emotion. He’d known what he wanted to be since the very first day the Educator had told them about the bubbles. He wanted to be at the top, the ultimate authority, the one everyone asked their questions to. J4RD3 knew he was meant for great things, and getting there would be simple enough, if he continued on his current trajectory. He smiled at the Educator. “I want to be Head Exterminator.”
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