by Tim Floreen
PRAISE FOR Willful Machines
“From a first-person perspective, Lee fumbles from self-deprecation to self-confidence. As varied as his opinions are of himself, so too is the landscape, mixing technology with gothic settings à la Poe and Stoker. Gothic, gadget-y, gay: a socially conscious sci-fi thriller to shelve between The Terminator and Romeo and Juliet.”
—Kirkus Reviews, starred review
“Smart, brave, and utterly original, Willful Machines asks questions that matter. Tim Floreen’s unforgettable debut will stay with you long after you’ve finished reading.”
—Amie Kaufman, New York Times bestselling author of These Broken Stars and Illuminae
“Willful Machines is as exciting as it is heartbreaking. A deft mixture of science fiction, gritty action, and sweet first love, Tim Floreen’s debut is everything I want from a book.”
—Shaun David Hutchinson, author of The Five Stages of Andrew Brawley and We Are the Ants
“Willful Machines is a thought-provoking thriller wrapped around a fascinating concept—skillfully mixed in with basic human dilemmas. Tim Floreen’s tale convincingly depicts a world where machines can pass as human, but humans still struggle with age-old questions: ‘How much control do I have over my own life? Who can I dare to trust? Who can I dare to love?’ ”
—Margaret Peterson Haddix, New York Times bestselling author
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For Ada and Lucy
1
The first time I set eyes on the new kid, he’d just pressed himself into a handstand on the stone wall above the cliff. Right away my heart started pounding and my shirt collar seemed to tighten around my neck—I had a complicated relationship with heights—but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him either. His feet seemed to float there, as steady as a hot-air balloon, under the black, low-hanging clouds. Only the flexing and relaxing of his fingers on the rough stone hinted at the effort it took to balance like that. His hair, longer than regulation, hung down from his head in bronze-colored curls, and the dark blue necktie of his school uniform dangled to one side of his grinning face. Below him, the river that ran underneath Inverness Prep roared. I couldn’t see it from where I stood, but I could picture it on the far side of the wall, crashing down over the cliff face like shattering glass.
Beside me, Bex stood on the toes of her scuffed black combat boots to see over the crowd. An upswell of rapturous giggles came from a trio of girls on her far side. “That’s right, ladies,” Bex muttered. “Good looking and he can do a handstand. Obviously, this guy’s the whole package.” She hadn’t noticed me silently freaking out. Landing on her heels, she said, “What’s your expert opinion, Lee? Gay or straight?”
I cut a look at her.
“Relax, Walk-In. Nobody heard me.”
That was Bex’s name for me: the Walking Walk-In—a semiaffectionate allusion to my closetedness.
My gaze slid back to the boy. I tugged at my collar and tried to pull myself together. “How can you tell he’s good looking? He’s upside down.”
“I can tell.”
“All I can tell is he tied his tie wrong.” Trying not to sound too interested, I added, “Know anything about him?”
She shook her head. “He picked a hell of a day to start, though.”
By then everybody on the terrace had turned to watch the show. A loose crowd of students had formed around him, the FUUWLs and a few others. Their pucks hovered in a cluster over their heads, the palm-size disks held aloft by softly whirring rotors. Bex wandered closer to get a better look at the kid, but I kept my distance. I noticed Dr. Singh, the robotics teacher, hunched in her wheelchair near the school entrance, having a smoke and observing the proceedings. “What a goddamn idiot,” she muttered in her wheezy smoker’s voice. But she didn’t make a move to intervene, which didn’t surprise me. She wasn’t exactly a disciplinarian.
Meanwhile, my heart still felt like it might punch through my chest any second. In my mind, I could already see the boy losing his balance and vanishing over the edge. I imagined it happening fast, like a magician making himself disappear. I knew the FUUWLs must’ve put him up to this.
Bex and I called them FUUWLs (pronounced fools) because you could practically see the words “FUTURE UNSCRUPULOUS ULTRAPOWERFUL WORLD LEADER” tattooed on their foreheads. The pack of them had conquered Inverness Prep the way other kids might conquer a video game, ruthlessly mowing their way to the top in every category: academics, sports, popularity. Just seeing them around school, with their flawless hair and calculating eyes, never failed to turn my stomach.
A ragged wind gusted across the terrace, ruffling the boy’s curls and whipping the cuffs of his khakis around his ankles. The crowd gasped. One of the trio of girls let out a thrilled scream. Several pucks shot higher, ready to capture the kid’s final moments on video. My heart jackhammered against my rib cage. But his legs didn’t budge.
I edged closer to Dr. Singh. “Do you think I should go find Headmaster Stroud?”
She exhaled a dribble of smoke but didn’t answer. Her salt-and-pepper hair, in its usual messy ponytail, stirred in the breeze. Her eyes, still fastened on the boy, had taken on a strange intensity.
The FUUWLs had also appointed themselves enforcers of Inverness Prep’s time-honored traditions, including the Freshman Stand. At the start of each year, while everybody waited on the terrace to be ushered inside for the Welcome Assembly, the upperclassmen would dare the boys from the incoming freshman class to stand on that wall—not on their hands, just on their feet. That was terrifying enough, especially when the wind kicked up, which it always did. The older kids would laugh and hurl insults at the petrified freshmen half crouching on the wall, and they’d torture the ones who hadn’t had the courage to do it even more mercilessly.
Although in my case, things had played out differently. I suppose that year’s upperclassmen couldn’t resist the temptation after everything they must’ve read about me on the Supernet. When I refused to climb up, three of them grabbed me and deposited me there themselves. When I tried to scramble back down, they formed a barrier to block me. So there I stood, my body shaking, my glasses misting with spray, the wind shoving at me as if it wanted to join the game too. The whole time, the boys standing below me chanted the nickname the sleaziest gossip sites had coined for me a few weeks earlier: “Leap. Leap. Leap.” Probably knowing they’d get in serious trouble if Headmaster Stroud caught them taunting me, they repeated the name—or was it a command?—in a whisper, their voices blending with the brutal smashing of the waterfall.
Before the Welcome Assembly my sophomore and junior years, I’d made sure to skulk in the main hall so I wouldn’t have to watch the ritual. Today, though, it had taken me by surprise. The school year had started a month ago, and the new boy didn’t look like a freshman, but the FUUWLs had clearly decided the tradition still had to be observed in his case. They were sticklers that way. And it appeared he’d taken them up on their dare and gone one step further.
My hands in fists at my sides, I glanced up at Stroud’s office window, all the way at the top of the school, wishing he’d look down and see what was happening and put a stop to it. He always seemed to see everything. But today he must’ve already come downstairs for the special assembly.
A mechanical thundering filled the sky, drowning out even the noise of the waterfall. I looked
up again. A black helicopter slid into view above the school. While everybody else gaped at the huge chopper hanging over our heads, my eyes jumped back to the boy.
“Oh, God,” I murmured.
Another blast of wind, much bigger this time. The kid’s legs wobbled, then scissored frantically back and forth.
“No!”
Before I could make a move, a hand grabbed my wrist, the fingers digging into my skin like an animal’s claw. Dr. Singh peered up at me with eyes that had turned huge and wild. “Please, Lee,” she rasped. “Just let him fall.”
“What?” I sputtered. No time to make sense of it. I wrenched my arm out of her grip and barreled forward, shoving people out of the way. Others had noticed the boy flailing now, but they were hesitating, unsure what to do. The wind smashed into him. His hands staggered a few steps to the left. Ten feet from the wall, my shoe caught on a flagstone. The floor flew up and slammed into my cheek. All the air blew out of my lungs.
I rolled onto my back, my eyes squeezed shut. I knew what I’d see when I opened them: the boy, vanished.
My eyelids lifted. Above me, dark clouds. The boy’s feet, as steady as a hot-air balloon. His grinning upside-down face. “Gotcha.”
The wind had slackened. The helicopter had disappeared. It must’ve circled around to land on the school’s front lawn. A few kids snickered, like they’d known all along he’d been faking the wobbling. A soft purring came from my inside blazer pocket: Gremlin, trying to calm me down.
A voice growled, “Mr. Medina, get down from there at once.”
I lifted my head. Headmaster Stroud glared at the new kid from the entrance to the main hall, the grim expression on his craggy face matching the one on the stone raven carved into the wall above him. The boy’s feet smacked the terrace next to me. He grabbed his blazer and shrugged it on, his flushed face still wearing a breathless grin. “Sorry, sir.”
Stroud frowned a second longer but didn’t say anything more to the boy, or to the FUUWLs, either. Officially, the school administration condemned the Freshman Stand, but I hadn’t ever heard of anyone actually getting in trouble for instigating it. “You may come in,” he told us, “and line up to enter the auditorium.” Then, to me, “Get up, Lee.”
“Yes, sir.”
Technically, Stroud was also my grandfather, but that didn’t mean I was entitled to special treatment—unless you considered an extra share of contempt special treatment. While the other kids crowded toward the doors, their pucks swarming along with them, a hand appeared above me: the new boy’s. I flinched as I took it. His skin felt hotter than I’d expected.
“Thanks.”
He gave me a wink and melted into the crowd. For a second I stood staring after him like an idiot, my face burning. Then I remembered Dr. Singh, and her hand clutching my wrist. Just let him fall. A cold breeze blew in from the lake, chilling the back of my neck. I looked for her, but she’d disappeared too.
2
The Spiders had left the main hall even more immaculate than usual. The dark wood paneling gave off an oily shine, and the crystals dangling from the drapey, oversize chandelier glittered. Even so, a gloom hung in here, and not just because of the dark clouds outside. Inverness Prep was always gloomy.
A line had formed at the auditorium entrance. We didn’t usually have to line up for assemblies, but today a body-scan machine had appeared in front of the door. Students had to step into a glass booth one by one and wait for a green light to flash before a guard waved them through.
“You okay?” Bex drew up next to me and brushed off the front of my blazer. “That was very gallant of you.”
“Try mortifying.”
I almost started to tell her about the weirdness with Dr. Singh, but her attention had shifted to the hall around us. “This place is a circus. Just think, Lee: all this for your dad.”
I glanced at my father’s staff cutting back and forth across the hall like they owned the place, all of them in sleek dark suits, their heads bent down, their pucks glued to their ears, their shoes ticking over the worn stone floors. And then there were the burly men in sunglasses standing here and there, failing to look inconspicuous. All this for Dad—it did feel strange to think of it.
“Hey.” Bex elbowed me and lowered her voice. “I told you he was good looking.”
Ahead of us in line, the new kid had just entered the body scanner. Bex was right: he was handsome. Not in a boring way, though. His good looks contained a hint of strangeness that made you think of words like “striking” instead of words like “cute.” Maybe it had something to do with his fuzzy ethnicity. He had one of those faces that could’ve passed for black, white, Pakistani, or Eskimo. Or maybe it was the huge mop of twisty hair that sat on top of his head. With his friendly face and bronze curls and tan skin, he seemed too warm for a cold place like Inverness Prep. Even though he wasn’t balanced above a cliff anymore, I still felt my heart pick up speed as I watched him. “He’s going to get in trouble for the tie,” I said.
The red light above the boy’s head flashed, which meant the body-scan machine had found something. The guard glanced at the light, frowning. A split second later, the machine changed its mind: the red light flicked off and the green one came on instead. The guard gave the control panel a couple of sharp raps with his knuckle, shrugged, and waved the boy through.
“Damn,” Bex said. “I was hoping we’d get to watch a strip search.”
A few minutes later, when the time came for her to step into the booth herself, she fussed with her bobbed hair and smoothed her pleated skirt like she was about to have her picture taken. Inside the glass chamber, she looked even tinier than usual, like a doll in a display case—albeit one that wore combat boots and smudgy black eye makeup.
Green light. My turn. The booth’s overhead light blazed down on me, and I could feel all the kids behind me in line watching. I imagined what they saw: a skinny guy with chunky black glasses and cropped black hair that made his already big ears appear even bigger. Bex always claimed she liked my look. In my school uniform, she said, with my dark hair and pale skin and serious face, I reminded her of a cute mortician. But when the other kids at Inverness Prep looked at me, I knew they thought only one thing, and today more than ever: That boy is Henry Stroud’s grandson and John Fisher’s son?
The green light flashed. I shuffled out through the booth’s far door. Inside the auditorium, more suits sliced up and down the aisles, shouldering their way past students, and more hulking men with suspicious gun-shaped bulges under their jackets lined the walls. I noticed Trumbull among them. He gave me a grim nod, but I knew he loved days like this. It had to beat following me around from class to class, that was for sure. High over our heads, news cameras wobbled through the air, watching everything. A mahogany podium stood on the stage, with a banner above it that read, JOSEPH P. INVERNESS PREPARATORY SCHOOL TERCENTENNIAL, and below that, FOR THREE HUNDRED YEARS, SHAPING THE LEADERS OF TOMORROW.
Bex and I found places and settled in, at least as much as we could. The hard wooden seats, though polished to a shine, hadn’t been replaced in at least a century. The way they dug into your back and forced you to sit up straight, they felt like antique torture devices. I always figured that was probably the whole idea.
Just about everybody had made it into the auditorium by now. I slid forward and scanned the crowd, searching for a head of curly, bronze-colored hair. Bex leaned behind me and called to the person sitting on my other side, “Hey, nice handstand.”
“Thanks.”
I glanced to my left, and my insides lurched. The new boy had sat down right beside me.
“Welcome to Inverness. This is Lee. I’m Rebecca, but don’t call me that. Call me Bex. We’re juniors.”
“Nico. Also a junior.” I noticed an accent. Italian? Spanish? “Sorry for scaring you back there, Lee.”
I gave a shrug I hoped looked nonchalant. “You didn’t really scare me.”
Probably the most transparent lie I’d ever told
, but he was kind enough to let it pass. He motioned at the stone walls, with their narrow windows and gruesome carved ravens. “I feel like I’m in Transylvania.”
Bex nodded and crossed her legs, going into know-it-all mode. “Understandable. This building went up in the early twentieth century, after the original school burned down. The headmaster at the time wanted the new Inverness Prep to look like a medieval Gothic monastery. Apparently he was a little eccentric.”
“Let me guess,” Nico said. “He was also the one who thought of building the school on top of a waterfall.”
“For added drama,” she confirmed. “And to terrify the students. Fear was an important part of the teaching method back then.”
“Still is,” I muttered.
Nico threw his head back and laughed. He had the kind of booming laugh that seemed to say he found the world incredibly interesting and funny. A couple of students sitting in front of us turned around to stare at him.
“A lot of kids are convinced this place is haunted,” Bex continued. “It probably doesn’t help that the school mascot is a raven and the school color is basically black.” She tugged on her necktie, which was, technically, midnight blue. “And then, of course, there are the Spiders.”
“Right,” Nico said. “The Spiders. I’ve heard about them.”
Up on the stage, the faculty marched out in the silly-looking midnight-blue gowns they wore for formal occasions, which meant the assembly would start soon. They all sat down in chairs lined up behind the podium. Dr. Singh trundled after the others in her motorized wheelchair. That crazy look had left her eyes, but I still couldn’t shake the memory of it from my mind. I knew the accident seven years ago had pretty much wrecked her, and not just physically. Could that explain what she’d done on the terrace? Had it been some kind of mental lapse brought on by the trauma?
“Okay, you two.” Bex grabbed her puck out of the air. “Talk amongst yourselves. I’m on duty now.”
