The Missing Piece of Charlie O’Reilly
A novel excerpt by Rebecca K. S. Ansari ’94
Charlie O’Reilly was an only child. It therefore made everyone uncomfortable when he talked about his little brother.
Liam. The kid who sang incessantly, left his dirty socks on the floor, and messed up Charlie’s carefully arranged comic books. The one who both drove him insane and made him laugh until his sides hurt. That little brother.
But Liam didn’t do that stuff anymore, because he didn’t exist. And according to nearly everyone in Charlie’s life, he never did.
“Please, Charlie,” his father would say, removing his reading glasses and tipping his head to the ceiling. “Not again.”
After a year of seeing that look on his father’s face, Charlie learned to keep quiet. At home, anyway.
“People don’t just vanish from everyone’s memory, Charlie,” Dr. Barton had said at their first session. “And your parents could never forget one of their own children.”
But Liam had. And his parents did.
Charlie understood one important thing from his weekly sessions: no one was listening.
Today, however, was different.
Teammates: On Ice
A novel excerpt by Alison Sommer ’05
The Dart was long and narrow, most of it dimly lit by the neon beer signs, flatscreen TVs, and flickering fluorescent lights. But at the front of the bar, a few tables were bathed in the evening light that shone through the bar’s tall windows. The one in the middle was “their” table: Fitz, Tessa, Michelle, and Dawn, the four Hot Shots who still went out after games.
Fitz stretched, shaking any remaining post-game soreness from her limbs, and tried to read Tessa’s expression. She and Tessa were different in almost every way possible — outside of their love for hockey. Tessa was a true native Minnesotan; she had grown up watching Gopher hockey and skating on frozen lakes. Tessa was born to play; Fitz had fallen into it by chance.
Fitz had moved to Minnesota from North Carolina when she married Tom. She was athletic — an accomplished lacrosse player — and she enjoyed watching NHL games with Tom. But it wasn’t until her children started playing that Fitz gave hockey a try. She’d immediately fallen in love and quickly connected with her teammates.
Catfishing on CatNet
A novel excerpt by Naomi Kritzer ’95
I love it when I find a problem I can actually solve.
The English teacher at the New Coburg high school, Cathy Campbell, was thirty-two years old and had been a teacher for seven years. She hated The Scarlet Letter even more than Steph did, which is probably not surprising, as Steph was only on her third reading, and Ms. Campbell was teaching it for the seventh time. Ms. Campbell also hated teenagers, most other teachers, the administration of the New Coburg high school, and winters in Wisconsin. All of this was immediately clear from a quick look through her e-mail.
Apparently she’d gotten a teaching degree because her parents had insisted she get a degree in something useful. Then she’d gotten a job teaching because that was what she had a degree in. Then she’d continued teaching because she didn’t know what else to do with her life.
She spent a lot of time looking at real estate ads in other parts of the country. Many different locations, but predominantly locations where the average winter temperature was higher than 5 degrees Celsius, including Florida, New Mexico, California, and South Carolina. She had $41,328 in her savings account. What she needed was the will to actually make the jump. To anywhere.
Here is where I stopped to consider the ethics of my meddling.
Humans have written thousands of stories about artificial intelligences — AIs, robots, and other sentient beings created or constructed by humans, such as Frankenstein’s mother — and in a decisive majority of those stories, the AI is evil. I don’t want to be evil. In a typical 24-hour period, I take millions of minor actions that I don’t examine in great detail. For example, I clean out spam from CatNet and moderate the Clowders and chat rooms to ensure that no one is using them to bully or harass others.
If I’m planning to act in meatspace — in what humans sometimes refer to as “the real world” — that requires a great deal more consideration.
It is important to me not to be evil.
Homesteading
A novel excerpt by Missy Dehn Kubitschek ’72
Louise veered sharply out the office door to confront a screaming group of two- and three-year-olds.
“Where’s your Mama?” she demanded of the nearest, the Homestead Shelter mantra. Two children obediently ran down the hall to their mothers. One remained. “I said, where’s …” Louise began. Then, “Latoya, come in here.” Children were rarely allowed in the office. Latoya felt the privilege and sniffled in.
Julia leaned down to greet the child on her own level. Latoya reached out to snare a handful of Julia’s long, curly hair. This happened often in the shelter, with white babies wonderingly patting black, densely curly hair and black children stroking long red or brown hair with frank curiosity.
Julia picked up Latoya slowly, careful not to pull her own hair or force the child to loose her grip. Latoya snuggled. Phone. And someone wanted Pampers and baby shampoo. Julia scooted about on her wheeled chair, performing the myriad small tasks that made up front desk work. Latoya fell asleep.
As Julia crossed the threshold of Mariah’s room, an alert five-year-old girl accosted her. “That’s my sister. What you doing to her?”
“Puttin’ her down for a nap. That okay?”
“Yeah.” A grin. She pointed to a baby carrier on the facing bunk bed. “She my sister too.”
“What’s your name, big sister?”
“Marissa. What’s yours?”
“Julia.”
“Okay, Julia.”
The hallway was dark and cluttered. Marissa smelled a rat. “How come you eatin’ with us?” she demanded of Louise. “Why we not in the big room for grace, like always?”
“We decided to have a picnic,” Louise said. Marissa eyed her dangerously, knowing she’d been lied to.
Upstairs in the office stood Franklin, a cop, and a man from CPS. A man! thought Julia. They sent a man for these three little girls. And his face was completely blank — no welcome, no concern. An affect-less sociopath. Julia knew she was being unfair and didn’t care.
“This is Ed,” Franklin said to Marissa and Latoya. “He’s going to take you to a place where there are lots of children, and you can play there, and then you’ll have supper there, and then you’ll have an overnight there, okay?” His tone was matter-of-fact. He wasn’t trying to sound chipper.
Marissa gave Ed a slow once-over, chilling in its thoroughness.
“No! Want Louise! Louise!”
“Latoya, hush that! We goin’.”
Marissa had spoken; Latoya hushed. Marissa took her hand and waited for Ed to understand it was time to go.