This triggered Murray. The bird squawked, “All alone! All alone! Pretty bird, all alone!” Diane rose, grabbed a Brazil nut from a dish, and shoved it into the bird’s maw. Then, sitting down again, she said, “Relax, Dad. I’ll never be alone. I’ve got you to keep me company.”
“But what about after I’m gone?”
Diane said airily, “You’ve got a lot of good years left in you, Dad. Doc says if you’d try that new therapy, you could—”
Lars batted at the air dismissively. “Therapy, shmerapy. My body’s more beat up than a piñata on Cinco de Mayo.”
“Dad, you don’t need to worry about me. I—”
Lars cut her off, saying softly, “Oh, I know you’re strong enough to get by on your own. But I want you to do more than just get by. I want you to be happy, and happiness is hard when you’re alone.” Lars looked at her with his gray eyes—eyes that matched her own—and Diane was absurdly touched. Once a hale, hearty man—a force—Lars Hansen was now a thin, stooped figure who sucked air through a hose four hours a day, and she was the one he worried about.
Diane smiled. “I’ll never be alone. I have Murray. Parrots can live up to seventy years, more sometimes.”
She laid her wrist on her father’s armrest, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “No offense, darlin’. But you can do better.”
9
DANNY Z’S INFOMERCIAL
At seven o’clock that night, the school auditorium was packed. Everyone wanted to get a glimpse of the great man. Daniel Zelinsky’s public relations people had smoothed the way for him. The Del Mar Times, the Carmel Valley News, even the San Diego Union Tribune had published fawning pieces about the Edutek CEO over the past month. They used cheeky headlines like “Danny Z Hacks Education” and “Innovation Is Elementary (School).” And, oh yes, they ran color photos of their suave, dishy subject: a tall fortyish redhead with dark-brown eyes, perfect skin, and a generous mouth. Here he is being handsome as he talks to rapt school children; here he is being handsome and leadery at some ersatz staff meeting, his sleeves rolled up to convey seriousness and virility.
And now, for one night only, he would be handsome in person. His lackeys had set up a large screen and a high-tech sound system. The school’s Flintstone-era one would not do for Danny Z. When he took the stage, the crowd murmured excitedly. He waved his hands to quiet them, but the whispering continued unabated. Exasperated, Maggie rose to her feet, put her fingers to her mouth, and gave her trademark wolf whistle. The room immediately fell silent, and Danny Z’s eyebrows shot up. She gave him a perfunctory smile and gestured for him to get on with it.
Danny Z started, “Thanks for coming out on a school night. It’s encouraging to see parents taking full charge of their children’s education. My name is Daniel Zelinsky. Zelinsky’s a mouthful, so my friends shorten it to Danny Z. We’re all friends here, so I hope I’ll be Danny Z to all of you.” He smiled, radiating warmth down at his three hundred new buddies.
“I can’t tell you how pleased I am that Edutek has been able to partner with Carmel Valley on its new software system. Carmel Valley’s public schools are the gold standard for academic performance in Southern California.” This was not exactly true, but close enough.
“That said, we can always make a good thing even better. As the late Steve Jobs once said”—Danny Z paused here to genuflect to Silicon Valley’s lord and savior—“‘There is always one thing left to learn.’”
Maggie thought rebelliously, Just one?
Danny Z continued, “Now, before I get started, I wanted to thank the two people who were instrumental in making all this possible. First, Superintendent Arlene Horvath.” Danny Z gestured toward Arlene in the front row. “When Edutek announced that we were looking for students to test the MathPal, Arlene reached out to us. And let me tell you, she was a powerful advocate for Carmel Valley. Please, Arlene, stand up and take a bow.” Arlene rose, a radiant smile on her lips. If the woman’s ego had been any more inflated, she would have floated away.
When Arlene sat back down, Danny Z went on, “And, of course, Principal Maggie Mayfield. When we partnered with the district, we had to make the tough choice of which school to use as our test site. We knew we’d need strong leadership to implement our testing program, and Maggie fit the bill. Maggie is Carmel Knolls Elementary. C’mon, Maggie, stand up. After that whistle, we know you’re not shy.” Maggie stood, a fake smile plastered across her face. She understood full well that if Edutek’s grand experiment failed, this little applause break would mark her as a target for blame. It was Danny Z’s way of ensuring Maggie’s full commitment to the project’s success—or as he’d call it in his Silicon Valley–ese, her “buy-in.” As she sat back down, her smile dissolved.
Danny Z had one of his minions dim the lights, and he began his PowerPoint presentation. Using a handheld control, he began with a slide with the words “CARMEL VALLEY” emblazoned over a gorgeous beach sunset—conveniently ignoring Carmel Valley’s inland status. Next came a slide of three strategically diverse, attractive children laughing wholesomely on a playground. Danny Z said, “Carmel Valley is home to a highly educated population, world-class engineering firms, and—I don’t need to tell you this—ever-rising property values.” The audience chuckled obediently.
Next came a slide of a colorful graph showing test scores for Southern California’s various school districts. “And as state test scores have proven time after time, Carmel Valley has some of the best public schools in Southern California.” Maggie noted that Danny Z’s graph included lower-performing districts, while judiciously omitting the few districts that outshone Carmel Valley. It was the statistical equivalent of a bride highlighting her beauty by choosing less attractive friends as bridesmaids.
Danny Z paused here, and Maggie—a veteran of countless “education in crisis” presentations—felt her stomach tighten. She knew what that pause meant. Danny Z was allowing the congratulatory appetizers he’d served to be cleared so he could get to his main dish: fear. “Now, all this would be great if our students just had to compete against kids down the block, or even kids in this state, but that’s not the case. No, today’s students will someday have to compete against students from other states, and other countries too.”
Danny Z now clicked over to a slide proclaiming: “A CHANGING WORLD.” Below that were three bullet points: “GLOBALIZATION,” “MECHANIZATION,” and “INCREASING COMPETITION FOR JOBS.”
Maggie whispered to Diane, “Horror movies playing now in a white American male’s brain near you.”
Danny Z said, “Now more than ever, we face a changing world. Globalization has made capital and labor fully mobile. A company here in Carmel Valley can use capital from Saudi Arabia to hire new workers in Thailand.” Danny Z clicked to a world map with green arrows to show money flowing into San Diego and blue arrows to show jobs flowing out. Maggie felt a palpable stillness in the room. The wounds inflicted by Gallcomm’s layoffs were still fresh, and Danny Z was poking at them.
“We are also losing ever more jobs to mechanization.” Danny Z clicked to a warehouse where robots were shown placing crates on shelves, no human being in sight.
Diane whispered, “It’s like Terminator, but boring.”
Danny Z continued, “And as communication becomes easier, companies are outsourcing highly skilled jobs too.” He clicked to a split-screen photo. On the left side, a Caucasian male in blue hospital scrubs ran an X-ray through a scanner. On the right side, an Indian female doctor examined the same X-ray while talking into a phone. Danny Z explained, “Here, we see a radiation tech in South Carolina, scanning a fresh X-ray into a computer. Moments later, a radiologist in New Delhi examines that X-ray and calls the South Carolina hospital with her diagnosis. The American radiologist is no longer necessary.” Maggie heard several parents murmuring. If a doctor could be replaced, no one was safe.
Danny Z went on, “In this hypercompetitive world, education is key.” He clicked to another slide. This one
showed a cartoon: a white-clad Princess Leia looking up at a building marked “COLLEGE.” Underneath was the caption: “Help me, Education, you’re my only hope.”
Danny Z said, “So, how does California—and, by extension, Carmel Valley—stack up against the competition?” He clicked to yet another graph. “This slide shows the relative ranking of the fifty states’ public school systems. As you can see, the top ten school systems are concentrated on the East Coast. Appropriately enough, towards the middle of the graph, we find midwestern states. And further over—much further over—we have California coming in fortieth, after Arkansas and just ahead of Alabama.” Danny Z shook his head, repeating, “Alabama.” The subtext was plain: “Yes, that’s right, folks, your kids are just a teensy bit sharper than the state that gave us Forrest Gump.”
Maggie felt her face redden. She knew these statistics. She also knew Danny Z wouldn’t bother with what lay behind them: money. The East Coast didn’t have any special sauce. It simply spent more on education. Maggie felt a mutinous desire to shout: “You get what you pay for, cheapskates!” Instead, she reached into her purse only to find that her emergency chocolate was gone.
Danny Z clicked to a slide showing planet Earth. “Sadly, California isn’t just losing the race against other states. It’s also losing the global education race.”
Danny Z pointed to a list marked “TOP TEN EDUCATION SYSTEMS IN THE WORLD.” “Now, as you can see, the United States is nowhere on this list. Instead, the top four spots all go to East Asian countries: South Korea, Japan, Singapore, and Hong Kong. And it’s not hard to see why.”
Danny Z clicked to a slide showing white-coated Asian high school students working in a well-equipped, pristine laboratory. He said ominously, “East Asian countries invest heavily in education and research.”
In a faux southern accent, Diane whispered in Maggie’s ear, “Run for the hills, folks. Those China people are taking all the science.” Maggie smiled bitterly.
Danny Z went on, “East Asian governments are also highly organized and disciplined.” He pointed to a panoramic photo showing thousands of Chinese drummers lined up in neat rows at the Beijing Olympics. Maggie frowned, whispering, “No fair. China didn’t make the top four.”
Diane answered, “Nah, but China scares the shit out of everybody.”
A hand flew up, and a parent blurted, “What about Finland? I thought Finland was the best in the world.” Other parents in the audience nodded at this. There was something vaguely reassuring about quaint, snowy Finland being number one. They’re white. They’ll be nice to us!
Danny Z answered, “Finland is ranked fifth. It hasn’t been able to keep up with East Asia.” He clicked to a slide titled: “TOP TWENTY EDUCATION SYSTEMS RANKED.” “As you can see, the United States does not even crack the top ten. Those spaces go to the United Kingdom, Canada, the Netherlands, Ireland, and Poland. Yes, that’s right, Poland is way ahead of us.” Danny Z teased, “So who’s stupid now?” This provoked slightly embarrassed titters from the audience. Danny Z quickly added, “Relax. I’m a Polack myself. So you don’t have to feel guilty laughing at that one.” This triggered a second, louder round of laughter.
Danny Z continued, “The United States comes in fourteenth, right behind Russia.”
Diane whispered to Maggie, “Dang. Russia’s scary too.” Maggie grimaced. Danny Z’s scare tactics were blunt but effective.
In a more hopeful tone, Danny Z asked rhetorically, “So, what do we do? We do what Americans have always done. We innovate.” He clicked, and the screen showed the word “INNOVATION” writ large.
“Old teaching methods may have worked in the past, but the past must give way to the future.” Danny Z clicked to a split screen. One side featured a black-and-white still of a pioneer woman using a butter churn. On the other side, a gigantic gleaming steel machine poured out tons of butter into a vat. “And in the field of education, the future belongs to Edutek.”
Danny Z motioned toward the Edutek logo with the company motto: “Hacking Education.” To Maggie, this slogan conjured images of a stooped, wizened schoolmarm hacking up phlegm. “Edutek’s new software aims to customize the learning experience. Each student will have a different learning experience each day, an experience tailored to that particular child’s academic strengths and weaknesses.”
Danny Z clicked over to a color photo of a delighted child pointing at some bit of wisdom displayed on the screen of an Edutek tablet.
“Edutek’s MathPal software uses a three-step process.” Danny Z’s next slide showed a group of children tinkering industriously with Edutek tablets under “STEP ONE: ASSESSMENT.” “It begins by creating an in-depth profile of each user. In just two twenty-minute sessions, the MathPal assesses the user’s math skills and deficiencies. And just as importantly, it gains valuable information about that user’s preferences, her tastes.
“This assessment enables Edutek to personalize its lessons.” Danny Z clicked to another slide saying: “STEP TWO: INDIVIDUATION.” Below that header was a photo of a female tailor hemming a little girl’s pink dress. “Each child receives a personalized lesson plan that varies each day in accordance with her ever-changing skill set.”
“What’s more, the lesson plan uses information about the child’s preferences to design stimulating questions. This turns bored, distracted users into fully engaged learners.” Danny Z clicked to another split screen. On the left side, a bleary-eyed child looked down at a stack of dull worksheets. On the right side, a computer-animated child dressed as a pirate was pointing his scythe at a group of six red parrots over a math question: “How many parrots if you add three?” Danny Z said smugly, “I know which lesson I’d rather sit through.” The audience murmured excited approval. Indulgent parents did not just like fun. They believed in it.
Danny Z clicked again, this time to a slide marked “STEP THREE: CONSTANT GROWTH.” The slide showed a young, pretty teacher in a yellow twinset, sitting across a table from a small boy and his two parents. The teacher held forth while the parents and child listened in fascination. “Once we assess your child and tailor a perfect lesson plan for him, we will constantly grow his skill set. To do this effectively, we will need help from this school’s most valuable resource: its teachers. We will work with your school’s dedicated educators to constantly refine and remold our software to maximize results.”
Danny Z clicked to another screen showing dozens of smiling schoolchildren. “Your children’s education is Edutek’s mission. And we will not fail you.” The lights came on, and the room burst into applause. Danny Z smiled down at the crowd, letting his gaze linger a beat too long on Maggie. Unsure of what to do, she gave him a tight smile and a thumbs-up, but she vowed Danny Z would never have her “buy-in.”
10
THE FUTURE HAS ARRIVED
The next morning, Maggie found a brand-new MathPal tablet atop her desk. Attached to its screen was a yellow Post-it Note saying, “The Future has arrived. —Danny Z.” Maggie groaned. Danny Z was turning out to be the Mount Everest of male pomposity. She balled up the note and tossed it in her wastebasket.
After the morning announcements, she fired up the MathPal and took it for a spin. As promised, it was a gaming system. The MathPal icon—Buzzy Bear—was a cuddly bear in a hip-hop outfit. Buzzy asked Maggie all about herself. Name and grade were just foreplay. Buzzy wanted to know where her family vacationed, how often they went to the movies, and what cereals they ate. Maggie guessed this invasive vetting was part of the “individuation” that Danny Z had promised. Irritated, she posed as a third grader named Smelly Donut.
Once Smelly had shared her information, Buzzy Bear helped her set up her avatar. Again, the MathPal wanted details: gender, age, race, face shape, hairstyle, outfit, musical tastes, and on and on. Maggie was bracing herself to provide the date for her avatar’s most recent Pap smear when the MathPal pronounced the avatar complete and then—finally—turned to the subject of math.
The MathPal offered
five different, beautifully animated “worlds” to enter: Wild West, Superheroes, Dance Team, Summer Camp, and Lifeboat. Maggie clicked on Lifeboat out of sheer curiosity, and the MathPal deposited her on a skiff in the middle of the Atlantic. The Titanic was sinking in the background, but—this being a sanitized reality—Maggie saw no passengers flailing in the waves and heard no cries for help. Instead, there were frolicking dolphins, sun-dappled bright-blue water, and puffy white clouds. Maggie’s lifeboat had ten passengers, counting her avatar. The game introduced each passenger, complete with backstories and sassy catchphrases. As Maggie progressed through the story, the game rewarded her every move with “flare points”—each flare point buying a chance to shoot a flare gun in hopes of rescue. And every time the flare gun went off, the characters held a (pointless) two-minute dance party.
Maggie couldn’t help noticing how little math she was asked to do. Over thirty minutes, she did just two fraction problems: If the ten survivors agreed to equally divide two loaves of bread, how much bread would each person get? One-fifth of a loaf. What if two of the survivors can’t eat gluten, how much would the remaining eight get then? One-fourth.
Maggie tried the other worlds, and her worries blossomed. The MathPal did not teach math concepts. It name-dropped them. It introduced principles without discipline, key points getting lost in a frenetic rush of noise, jokes, and color. Learning from the MathPal was like trying to understand art by sprinting through the Louvre in search of a bathroom—you might glimpse a painting or two, but you wouldn’t have actually absorbed anything.
After an hour, Maggie pushed back from her desk and called out for Diane.
Diane sauntered over. “So how’s the future?” Diane had obviously read Danny Z’s note.
Maggie grumped, “I’m older there.”
“And saggier,” said Diane.
“Thanks. Have you got a minute?” Maggie gestured to one of the chairs opposite her desk.
The Very Principled Maggie Mayfield Page 6
