Sophie looked over her shoulder. “Why is Mrs. Moritz on TV?”
Val backed up a couple of channels, to the local news broadcast she’d gone past. Sophie was right: her principal sat in a row of people on a dais behind the superintendent of schools, Quentin Marshall. The camera angle was such that Val was able to count six Pilots among the ten seated, not including Marshall’s.
“That man is a giant,” said Sophie.
“A giant jerk,” muttered Julie under her breath. Val knew there had been some political issue he’d gotten himself involved in that had not endeared him to her wife.
A news anchor’s voice spoke over the scene. “In another controversial move, Mr. Marshall has announced the city school system is partnering with Balkenhol Neural Labs to bring their Pilot implants to underprivileged youth.”
Cut to Mr. Marshall. “Our city has an obligation to its students. We need to give them every opportunity to succeed. Right now they are being left behind more and more every day. If we are going to close this gap, we need new advantages.”
The voiceover returned. “BNL’s CEO, Sylvia Keating, was also on hand to discuss this momentous decision.”
A fiftyish white woman in an impeccable blue pantsuit stepped to the microphone. Her perfect hair swept back from the right side of her head in a way that showed off her Pilot’s light, which matched her suit. “This partnership is an opportunity to bring our children into a future in which they are competitive, in which they are current, in which they . . .”
The piece cut to reactions from others who had been in the room. A west side mother told the reporter, “My daughter has been asking for a Pilot since they first came out, but we haven’t been able to afford one. This is a blessing, a real blessing. I’d like to hug Mr. Marshall.”
“I want my kids to have opportunities I didn’t have, but that’s always felt out of reach,” said a father from a southern neighborhood. “I thank the people responsible for this.”
One of the principals, an older woman, spoke next. “Our school is one hundred ninetieth out of two hundred in the city, which is consistently last in the state. We teach to the tests, and we set high standards, but they are continually unreachable. We are blessed to have the opportunity to try this.”
Back to the studio, and Val muted the newscasters, who both had Pilots of their own. She turned to face the dining room.
“Fair and balanced reporting, huh? They couldn’t find anybody skeptical of the idea?”
Julie shrugged. “I think it’s the best thing Marshall has done since he took over the district.”
“Really?”
“He’s right. The schools are underwater. The buildings are falling apart, they’re hemorrhaging teachers. Private schools have a thousand advantages. Why shouldn’t they try to reduce that number?”
“My school is falling apart?” Sophie looked alarmed.
Val glared at Julie. “No, Soph. Your school is in okay shape, but a lot of schools need repairs. I don’t see how this will help get repairs or teachers.”
Julie brandished her tablet, some random spreadsheet on display. “Money. Students with Pilots get better grades, better test scores. Better test scores, more grants, more cash flow. Super long view: more students graduate, more students go on to college, more students get better jobs, make more money, more students look back fondly on the advantages their school gave them, more students donate back to their alma maters, more students return to the city with ideas that create jobs and improve the local economy. Schools finally have money to put where it’s needed. Where’s the downside?”
“They should have interviewed you. The school system should hire you to do their spin.”
“Hey!” Julie frowned.
“Counterargument. We know Pilots don’t make anybody smarter. They don’t teach good study skills. They aren’t a replacement for teachers or books. If a kid is in tenth grade and reading on a third-grade level, he’s not going to magically start comprehending quantum physics or To the Lighthouse just because he has a Pilot. It’s a superficial fix. A bandage for a paper cut on a finger when there’s a sucking chest wound, too.”
“Eeew,” said Sophie.
“Exactly. Gross and pointless and super sketchy in my book.”
“Your paranoid book.” Julie came over to sit beside Val, leaning into her. Val recognized the move as appeasement, not apology. She sighed. “I guess we’ll find out one way or another, but what about all the Sophies?”
Sophie turned around from her puzzle again. “How many Sophies are there?”
“One is plenty, I’m sure,” said Julie, nudging Val in the ribs.
Val ignored the hint. “You know what I mean. What about the kids who can’t get Pilots? What about the Orthodox Jews and the Seventh-day Adventists, for that matter?”
“I don’t think there are many Orthodox Jews in this school system.”
“Fine. The Adventists?”
“. . . but if there were, I guess they’d opt out. I’m sure there’s an opt-out. For Sophie’s class, too.”
Val let it go. She didn’t ask her last question, because she didn’t want it answered in front of Sophie. What happens to those who opt out? There would always be somebody left behind. She wished it weren’t the little girl at the table, still determinedly matching indistinguishable puzzle pieces, still refusing help.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SOPHIE
Sophie continued writing until the moment Mr. Kenworth came past to take her test, slamming her pencil down with a flourish to make sure he knew she was done. Technically she was allowed as much time as she needed to finish, but she hated playing that card if she
