Dodgeball

Chapter 37: A too-perfect face

"Twila," Easter says, resting her hand on Dr. Fronk's desk top monitor. "I know you can access basic grades from the class network, but what if we could get onto the greater network and get a look not just at everyone's grades, but their assessments?"

"To see who made a massive improvement after Justin transferred here?"

Easter nods.

Been there, thought of doing that. Or at least, Mickey did. And it is a pretty mind-blowing prospect. But getting into the greater, school-wide network is a whole different animal from just entering the class network.

"We'd need an access code for that," I say, thinking out loud. "And those are top-secret."

Then all at once, Easter and I look up at the square root of Pi. I think we even swallow in unison.

"You think?"

Easter gives me her lopsided smile, putting her dimple on display. "Only one way to find out."

"Watch the door," I whisper.

She looks out into the hallway and gives me the all clear while I sit at Dr. Fronk's desk. His computer couldn't boot up due to the storm and the power being out a few nights ago, but today, the network is up and running, so it should be no problem. And now I've got an opportunity to do what Mickey wanted to do in the first place - and then some.

Cracking my knuckles, I power up the computer and wait. It doesn't take long as Mr. Tuttle has made sure our technology is up to the minute. When the security bar pops up, I bite my lip, but I don't hesitate. I type in the network key, and am presented with a choice. I can either continue onto the class network, or enter an access code to go deeper, where I can find out what our teachers really think of us. For a moment, I just sit back and breathe. Easter puts her hand on my shoulder.

"Maybe we shouldn't," she says. And maybe she's right. I have to admit that I don't feel good about the prospect of accessing proprietary information like this. I mean, sure, since I do help grade and input grades, I'm technically allowed into the class network, but there is an assumption that I won't go looking where I don't have any specific business looking. Sort of like if you have the key to someone's house - to water their plants when they're away or whatever - you're not supposed to go into their underwear drawer.

Except that Justin's dead. He died on the floor of our gym, when he never should've been here in the first place. He should still be playing all the sports he was so good at, whipping dodgeballs at his opponents, making disruptive cracks during class, being a shoo-in for the Prom King. If he'd never come to Putnam he'd be doing all of those things. Instead, his parents are getting up every day wondering how they're even going to go on with the rest of their lives.

Lifting my finger, I type in the square root of Pi and press enter. Easter squeezes my shoulder as the screen goes temporarily blank, but then flashes bright blue with a header displaying our school dictum, "Lead with intellect, serve with honor."

I click onto Dr. Fronk's comprehensive class file first, selecting Gerard's name. As I read through his assessments, it is really so instant that it's sick. The fact is, Gerard's papers, the one's Mickey and I read at Snow Ball, really did tell the story. Last year, Gerard Yu was barely hanging on. His grades were average - unacceptable in the Putnam milieu. And the comments his teachers made on his papers and report cards were filled with words like, "careless," "incomplete," and "disorganized." His work "lacked rigor" and "zeal." They were words that would make me hyperventilate if I ever saw them written on any of my assignments. Words I have been terrified will be used to describe my Junior Masters project if it is up against a work like the one I read, the one claiming to have been written by Gerard.