Alex Armstrong: Awakening

by Hayes Farley

  “You mean we all live on The Stub? Awesome!” Patrick said.

  “What’s The Stub?” Eva said. She looked at Alex but he just shrugged.

  “It’s our part of the hall,” Patrick said. “There are only eight rooms on our side. The other side has four times that many. Therefore, we live on The Stub.”

  “That works,” Alex said.

  “Yeah, I thought it had a nice ring to it. Why are we still standing? Come on, let’s sit down.”

  Patrick and Nate switched seats and swapped water glasses so that Eva could sit by Alex. She unrolled her napkin and placed it in her lap and separated her knife and fork. The boys followed her lead. And then the small talk started. They learned that Nate had a brother and Eva had a sister and Patrick had one of each, and although no one had a dog they all wanted one when they got older. They were all sixteen but only Patrick and Alex had cars; Nate and Eva would have to wait until summer. Nate had the most stamps in his passport, so he was deemed the most cultured. Patrick had the least. None of them had ever been away from their parents for more than a week.

  The talk was fast and it was easy and only started sputtering when their stomachs started growling. “So does anybody know what they’re serving tonight?” Nate said.

  “No clue,” Patrick said. “I ran into a senior today who’s here early and he said the menu changes every year. Said the main reason they get us together like this is to meet the president.”

  “That’s cool,” Nate said. “I remember seeing his last name. Joyce, I think. Don’t remember his first name, though.”

  They all nodded but no one had anything to add and so they sat there in silence. After a while Nate and Eva pulled out their phones. Alex followed suit. It was on the verge of becoming awkward, and Patrick couldn’t stand it. He took a sip of water and set his glass hard on the table and leaned forward with his elbows on either side of his plate and said, “Smokin the donkey.”

  Nate lowered his phone and stared.

  “What?” Eva said.

  “Smokin…‌the…‌donkey.” Patrick leaned back in his chair and folded his arms and smiled.

  “What does that even mean?” Alex said.

  “It’s slang.”

  “Slang for what?”

  “Slang for awesome. For being awesome. Maybe even something beyond awesome. Awesomeness in its purest form. As in, Patrick Jones is smokin the donkey.”

  “I’ve never heard of it. What movie’s it from?” Alex said.

  “Oh, you definitely haven’t heard it. And there is no movie. I made it up. I invented it. I am inventing slang.”

  “What do you mean, inventing slang?” Nate said. “You can’t just invent it. That kind of thing grows, man. It’s organic.”

  “Well, I just did. Smokin the donkey. Book it. Today is the start of something huge.”

  “But it makes no sense,” Nate said.

  “So?”

  “And there are hardly any people at this school,” Eva said.

  “So I start small, who cares? Once this thing goes public it’s gonna spread like wildfire. Smokin the donkey.”

  “Smokin the donkey…‌it’s got a nice ring to it,” Alex said.

  “That’s what I’m talkin about!” Patrick leaned forward and gave him a fist bump.

  “I don’t know, man.”

  “Yeah, I can’t see myself saying that,” Eva said.

  “Oh, you two just wait. It’ll grow on you. Just give it a try. Smokin the—”

  Thump-thump-thump

  Melissa tapped the mic behind the podium. “May I have everyone’s attention, please? Thank you. Tonight’s dinner will be served family style, but not until we have at least four students per table.”

  There was a collective groan from the students that had to move.

  “Oh, come now. You don’t want the food getting cold back there.” Chair legs squeaked and slid across the floor. Melissa left her post and aided in the introductions. She seemed to know everyone’s name.

  “You guys wanna move to one of the bigger tables?” Patrick said.

  “Nah, we’re good here,” Nate said.

  Eva looked at Alex and nodded. “Yeah, let’s stay put.”

  Alex twisted in his chair and watched Melissa shepherd Philip to one of the eight-person tables. He plopped down and put on his headphones and stared at his tablet without so much as glancing at the other students. Melissa stood there and was about to say something but she reconsidered and went to help another student.

  Alex turned to the back of the room and saw what must have been four professors sitting together. Two of them were deep in conversation. The younger one was tall and lanky with a piercing, nasally voice. The older man had a thick neck and a bald head and looked something like a bulldog. He sat there rubbing his hands together, every once in a while nodding at his younger counterpart.

  “Food’s out,” Patrick said.

  Serving robots wheeled out of the kitchen and moved quickly around the room. They looked like matte-black versions of R2D2. Each had articulated metal arms they used to quickly and precisely distribute two platters on every table, one silver and the other porcelain. The first had a variety of sushi and the second had cups of tomato bisque and grilled cheese sandwiches, crust-less and cut into triangles.

  “You guys mind if I take all the vegetable rolls?” Nate said.

  “All yours,” Alex said.

  Nate half stood and stretched one long arm across the table and grabbed a pair of chopsticks and scooped up eight rolls onto the small plate he held in his left hand.

  Alex, Eva, and Patrick went with tomato soup and grilled cheese.

  “You guys don’t like sushi?” Nate said.

  “I do,” Alex said, “I just don’t have a taste going for it right now. Felt like something salty.”

  “You don’t like the other ones?” Eva said.

  Nate shook his head. “I try not to eat any meat or dairy. Do my best to stay vegan.”

  “Oh, no,” Patrick said. “I was just beginning to like you. You’re not some kind of animal lover, are you?”

  “Well, of course I like animals. Who doesn’t? But no, I don’t eat like this for any moral reasons. I just think it’s healthier.”

  Patrick rolled his eyes and went back to dunking his sandwich.

  They ate their fill and sat back in their chairs and watched as one robot cleared their table while another filled their water glasses. They came back with more platters. There was steak and grilled chicken and grouper and rice and grilled vegetables. Butter was still sizzling on the steaks and the smell was making Alex’s mouth water. He leaned forward and speared the largest cut.

  For the next ten minutes, the Dining Hall was filled not with talking, but with the sounds of forks and knives scraping and clinking on porcelain.

  “I’m stuffed,” Eva said. She was the last one at their table to throw in the towel. She sat back in her chair and zipped her jacket and closed her eyes.

  There was another moment of silence and before anyone could reach for their phone, Patrick leaned forward and motioned for the others to do the same. “Hey, I’ve been thinking…‌have any of you ever actually, you know, moved anything? Like, did you ever have a feeling that you were telekinetic? I know I didn’t.”

  “No, not a clue,” Eva said.

  “Me neither,” Nate said.

  “Yeah, I’m thinking we’re all new at this. It’s weird, though. You’d think that since they’re gonna be teaching us how to move things with our minds, that we’d have seen some flashes of it growing up.”

  “Maybe there’s a way to just flip a switch,” Eva said.

  “Yeah, I guess there has to be.”

  “You think all those professors back there are telekinetic?” Eva said.

  “Probably. Alex saw one of them levitating a book earlier today. Isn’t that right, Alex?”

  “Huh?”

  “He’s been z
oning out ever since he finished dinner,” Nate said.

  “No, I was listening. I was just thinking about the way you worded that question. You know, how you asked if we ever moved anything.”

  “And?”

  “I haven’t. Not a single thing. So the thought of being telekinetic never popped in my mind. But…”

  “But what?” Patrick said.

  “But I always knew something was different about me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s kinda weird. I’ve always been able to feel people. Not read their minds or anything. Nothing cool like in the comic books. It’s more like knowing when people are moving, even if I’m not looking at them.” He paused and saw the blank looks on his friends’ faces. “It’d probably be easier if I just showed you.”

  Alex turned around and memorized the outfits of everyone at the eight-person table behind him. He turned back to his friends. “Okay, watch that big table back there.” Eva, Patrick, and Nate nodded and Alex closed his eyes.

  “The girl in the brown jacket is reaching down into her purse. And now she’s pulling it into her lap. I forget what the girl beside her is wearing but now she’s leaning over to help. And now on the opposite end of the table—the guy in the hoodie, I think—he’s getting up. Walking this way, actually. Okay, he’s gonna walk right past us so I’m gonna quit talking.” Alex opened his eyes and looked at his friends as the guy in the hoodie walked by their table on the way to the bathroom.

  “How did you do that?” Eva said.

  “I have no idea, but I’ve gotten better at it the last few years. I’m still limited to people in the same—”

  Thump-thump-thump

  Melissa was at the mic again. “I trust everyone has enjoyed the food so far, but before we move on to dessert, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. It is my great honor to introduce Pal Tech’s president, Christopher Joyce. Everyone, please stand and give President Joyce a warm welcome!”

  Alex looked at Patrick and smiled. “Smokin the donkey.”

  6

  The President

  President Joyce was short. Surprisingly short. He also looked a bit like a frog. His appearance was such that his walk across the room was marked not by cheers, but by a noticeable stutter to the rhythm of the clapping, the sound of preconceived notions fizzling into oblivion.

  “I suddenly feel taller,” Patrick said.

  President Joyce pulled a scrap of paper from his coat pocket and laid it flat on the podium and gave it a once-over. When he looked up, he was smiling. He took a sip of water and scanned the room. And, for just a second, his gaze lingered on Alex.

  “He looked right at you,” Eva whispered. “Does he know you?”

  Alex shook his head.

  President Joyce cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “For anyone who’s interested, the weather forecast tonight is dark. Continued dark overnight, with widely scattered light by morning.” There were a few chuckles from the professors’ table, but not much else.

  He glanced at his notes. “How about this one: Beethoven was so hard of hearing, he thought he was a painter.” When no one else laughed, he laughed at himself, his face bunching up and his eyes turning to slits. He turned to the professors. “I found those on the way over. Apparently, I’m the only one who appreciates a good George Carlin joke. Of course, no one ever laughs when I open with a joke, so perhaps I’m just a poor joke teller. But alas, where are my manners?”

  He faced the students. “My name is Christopher Joyce, and as president of this great institution, it is my sincere pleasure to welcome you to our beautiful campus.”

  He took one more look at the scrap of paper before tucking it back into his pocket. He smoothed his lapel and readjusted his collar. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to walk around a bit. I find I think more clearly if I’m on the move. I believe my colleagues would agree to that.” He looked at the four professors and smiled. The one with the nasally voice gave a thumbs up.

  President Joyce ran his hand across some phantom strands of hair as he moved away from the podium. “So, I could make small talk and ask you about the food, your dorms, the drive up here, maybe even Gus at the gate—I’m sure he gave some of you a hard time.” He had a calm, soothing voice, the type of measured cadence suitable for Christmas stories around the fireplace. “But if I were a betting man, I’d wager that you don’t want to hear any small talk from me. You want to know what you’re doing here. And you probably want to know why this place is hidden on the side of a mountain.”

  He paced back and forth in front of the tables. He patted a student on the back and shook the hand of another and then stood just in front of the podium and took a deep breath. “Pal Tech is a secretive institution with ties to the government—although they would never admit it—that specializes in the acquisition and training of individuals with exceedingly dense synaptic structures within their cerebral cortices.”

  President Joyce grinned and looked at his professors. “How’d I do?”

  “Textbook,” said the one with the nasally voice.

  “It ought to be; I wrote it. But, God, it’s a terrible sentence. Startsman, you don’t actually make the students memorize that drivel, do you?”

  “Never!”

  “I can see why; I’m faced with a sea of blank faces. My young students, the reason you’re here is because each of you was discovered at birth to be a latent telekin. And now that you’re of age and your minds are sufficiently ripe, you are here to unlock your abilities and train in the art of telekinesis. But I’ll let Startsman tell you all about that on Friday. Until then, you have three days to get settled on campus. Three days of total freedom. And I will argue until I’m blue in the face that the friends you make during these next three days will go further in shaping who you become as a person than all your experiences at Pal Tech put together.

  “And you know what? Some of you would do well to step outside your comfort zone.” President Joyce looked at the two circular tables nearest the podium and stretched out his arms and made like he was flipping on two light switches. Instantly, the outer four students at each table—still seated in their chairs—floated five feet…‌seven feet…‌now ten feet into the air.

  There was a collective gasp and then the room went silent, everyone focused on the eight floating students. “Please stay still up there,” Joyce said, as if that was necessary. A boy with red shaggy hair gripped his seat so tightly his arms quivered.

  President Joyce turned to the rest of his students. “Are any of your minds drifting to other possibilities? Mine sure is. How about an obnoxious drunkard yammering away in a restaurant? Rather than let him ruin your meal, wouldn’t it be satisfying to just pick him up and move him aside? Maybe drop him into a fish tank? Wouldn’t that be fun? Of course, I’ve never done it; that would be wrong on many levels. But the thought is there, and I must admit it’s getting harder to resist as I get older. Perhaps I’m becoming a bit of a curmudgeon. Hmmm. Melissa, would you tell me if I were becoming a curmudgeon?”

  “I tell you that all the time!”

  “Well, I guess that’s true. Of course, half the time I probably don’t even hear you. Or maybe I just don’t listen. Speaking of which, I believe our floating friends are becoming a distraction.” President Joyce walked to the podium and looked up at the eight students suspended in the air, sitting still as statues. “Don’t worry; it’s been awhile since I dropped anyone.”

  President Joyce grinned and winked. Then he raised his right hand and made a twisting motion as if he were tightening a light bulb and the eight students went into a slow orbit, stopping on the opposite end from where they started. When he lowered his hand, they descended into their new positions, chairs touching down noiselessly. The transplanted students greeted their new tablemates with meek smiles and waves.

  “Oh, you guys were great sports. Everyone, let’s give them a hand!” President Joyce let the applause go on f
or a while. “Okay, so who’s ready for dessert?” The serving robots entered the room and arranged in a line along the wall, each balancing a platter on shiny metal arms. “Gentlemen, I’ll take it from here.” At least a dozen plates lifted off each platter and hovered in the air. The robots’ arms retracted back into their bodies and they all zipped back into the kitchen.

  “Why don’t we start with our high-flying friends?” Eight of the dessert plates began spinning in place until all at once they took off and traced through the air and onto the two tables directly in front of the newly seated students. The boy with red hair looked up at President Joyce and smiled.

  “And now for the rest of you.” The plates whizzed through the room like miniature UFOs and within seconds every freshman was staring down at a thick slice of warmed apple pie topped with a melting blob of vanilla ice cream. A dash of cinnamon and powdered sugar was sprinkled on each plate. The Dining Hall was again filled with the clink clink clink of silverware on porcelain.

  President Joyce snuck a few bites from his own plate before sending it through the air and into the kitchen. He walked back to the podium. He took a sip of water and adjusted the mic. “Allow me a few more words as you finish your food. I’ll keep it brief, as I’m sure most of you are tired.

  “The Freshman Dinner has always been one of my favorite events of the year. Because as I look around this room and see in all of your faces that familiar mixture of excitement and anxiety, I can’t help but feel exhilarated. Young again. And even though I’m not on campus as much as I used to be, seeing you here, tonight, reminds me of all the fun discoveries awaiting you on this beautiful journey.

  “But with those discoveries comes change. Every day. For the next four years and probably far beyond, your life will be in a constant state of flux. You are going to encounter situations that you never knew existed. Some of them may excite you. Others…‌others may scare you.

  “Which brings me back to my first point. And that’s the importance of making new friends here at Pal Tech. Hopefully, some will become lifelong friends. Because while everything around you may change, your family and friends will be there for you. The one constant in your life. Your guiding light through the unknown. And they will always be there for you, just as you will always be there for them.”