The Great Interactive Dream Machine by Richard Peck Page A

realize is that so far we’ve been dropped on a dune; we’ve been nailed for pilfering upper-school lockers; and the meanest woman in Manhattan has just given us a life sentence with a shih tzu.
    â€œNot only that, Aaron, but a really scary Watcher is monitoring our every move. Possibly as we speak.”
    That got to him. He glanced around the elevator like it might need debugging. His eyes were haunted.
    â€œAaron, let me give you some advice. Pull the plug permanently on your technopolis. Ban yourself from the Black Hole. Take up something else. Get a hobby. Get a life.”
    â€œYou crazy?” he said. “Things are just getting interesting.”
    I got off at twelve. The next day summer school started. It’s just one thing after another.

13
    Backward Is Forward
    In summer school you get a few people whose lips still move when they read. But a lot of us were just dodging soccer camp. We weren’t a big group. Some of the other guys from our grade were Dud Dupont, Pug Ulrich, Wimp Astor, Zach Zeckendorf, and Fishface Pierrepont. It was a fairly laid-back atmosphere. The dress code was Huckley golf shirt and khakis. Without Daryl and Buster, a lot of the pressure was off.
    You only do a couple of classes, so it’s not a full day. I was in Mr. Thornburg’s Math refresher class called “Discovering Decimals.” Aaron did an independent study in the Black Hole on “Next-Generation Cybernetics.” You can’t do an independent study until upper school, but Aaron cut a deal. He has a lot of creative ways of keeping school from interrupting his studies.
    For the other class though, everybody including Aaron had to do a History seminar with Mr. L. T. Thaw.
    Mr. Thaw clutched his craggy old brow when he saw Aaron strolling in with his new IBM ThinkPad for classroom use. The ThinkPad replaced his old one-chip Toshiba laptop. Aaron has never been that popular with teachers for some reason.
    Even before he could find a seat, Mr. Thaw was on his case.
    â€œOur subject this summer is the 1940’s and World War II, and so we will maintain military discipline in this classroom,” Mr. Thaw announced in his croaky voice. “There will be no absence without leave. There will be no oral reports without notes. Deserters will be shot. This goes for everybody and double for you, Zimmer.”
    Aaron crumpled into the nearest seat, and Mr. Thaw cranked himself up at the front of the room: “December seventh, 1941, Day of Infamy, when the attack upon Pearl Harbor found America asleep at the switch...” Already he was beginning to drone.
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    He didn’t run down till one o’clock. By then I could have personally consumed Cleveland. The school lunchroom wasn’t open in the summer, but I was ready to hit the deli on Madison Avenue.
    â€œYou hungry?” Aaron said on the way out of class.
    â€œI could eat.”
    â€œBecause I want to drop by the Black Hole first.”
    He would.
    Officially, the media center was closed, but they leave it unlocked for summer school. The headmaster’s secretary is supposed to be the paraprofessional in charge, but she’s never in there. To be on the safe side, Aaron had borrowed Mrs. Newbery’s keys and had a set made for himself.
    He hung the BOTH COMPUTERS DOWN sign on the Black Hole door. Then he went in and started hustling around, plugging his ThinkPad pigtail into the phone line to see if he had e-mail, checking to see that his formula was stored on the computers. I can read part of his mind, and he was worried about The Watcher.
    He was keeping busy, but then he froze.
    â€œListen,” he whispered.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI said listen.” He was definitely jumpy.
    I didn’t hear anything. Aaron pointed to the closed door and put a finger to his lips. I still didn’t hear anything. But I was right by the door, so I jerked it open.
    Fishface Pierrepont fell in. He spun around to leave, but