The School for Whatnots: Chapters 32–46

“He was a very nice rich kid,” Ivy said wistfully.

It’d been a little bit of a gamble for Josie to leave the note there—she was gambling that no maid would find it first in the midst of overzealous cleaning; she was gambling that Max’s parents (or maybe his new school?) would tell him about whatnots over the summer, and the note would be timed perfectly to let him discover the actual truth.

And she’d gambled that her note was vague enough to seem innocuous if anyone else saw it, but specific enough for Max to understand.

“Ivy, I know how you are,” Lucinda chided. “You do not have to draw Josie an entire elaborate portrait along with my phone number.”

Or had she just embellished the numbers with her own namesake ivy trailing from every numeral?

Under the tidy parade of numbers beside the notation “L’s #,” Ivy had instead drawn a building.

But it wasn’t a palace or a castle or a fairy-tale peasant’s humble abode—none of the types of buildings she usually drew.

But it wasn’t a palace or a castle or a fairy-tale peasant’s humble abode—none of the types of buildings she usually drew.

“I just need to send a text,” Nurse Beverly said, pulling a cell phone from the pocket of her voluminous tunic.

Ivy gave only a single curt nod.

Then she meandered over to lean against the opposite side of the pillar Josie was standing by.

“And the teacher stopped the story after Jack bought the beans, and she had the whole class vote on whether he’d made a good choice or a bad choice—and you, Max, and me were the only ones who said Jack made a good choice? This is like that. Like we just bought magic beans instead of doing the practical thing.”

Another time, at school, Max had given a rambling report about robots and androids, and he’d said, “But our chauffeur says robot drivers would make people uncomfortable, so jobs that take a personal touch have to be done by people, not robots or androids. We’ve got a new chauffeur now, and he’s funny. He says androids give him the heebie-jeebies.”

The android had two arms, two legs, and the basic shape of a young, athletic human being. But nobody would mistake him for an actual person. He looked too alien, too sterile, too humorless.

Then he saw what the figure was wearing: a shapeless dress that stretched below her knees, a matronly oatmeal-colored shawl around her shoulders.

This is really hard for me, because I was programmed to be modest and self-effacing and, truthfully, pretty much invisible.

This is really hard for me, because I was programmed to be modest and self-effacing and, truthfully, pretty much invisible.

It was during a time of social upheaval, a time when people became more and more afraid of one another.

I have studied history and sociology and anthropology—every society always worries about its children.

Bullies are a blight on society.

Little kids in particular were too inherently unstable.

I was also programmed to turn in my homework on time and be enthralled with everything the teachers told us.

He had a vague memory of seeing someone in this android’s type of bland, boring, nondescript clothes on the sidelines of school games and in the audience of school plays, always watching Josie from a distance.

The android’s face convulsed. For a moment, Max stopped noticing the torn-off parts and the electronics below. She seemed almost human in her anguish.

“It’s been a long time since my software was updated,” Lola said. “I can find glitches and gaps, and sometimes I can reason my way around...injunctions. But only some of them.”

Max didn’t know what the word “injunctions” meant, but he guessed they were rules.

The whole office felt emptied out, ready for the doldrums of summer.

He watched Lola’s face to see if she was about to shut down, or if she was still managing to override her programming.

A third voice answered, airy and careless: “Yes, and I could just as easily file a lawsuit against you for stalking me here. I’m certain that you would not appreciate the publicity.”

This was the voice he used when he took calls from all around the world, assuring his counterparts from Mumbai or London, Cairo or Seoul, that his latest business idea would be good for them all.

Another class of whatnots were bound to be starting in the fall, probably kindergarteners who’d have different needs than Josie and Max’s class had had as fifth graders.

“I thought that was Dr. Gonzagaga!” Mom exclaimed.
“No,” Lola said. “It was just her... emissary.”

She loved that moment when a whatnot’s eyes sprang open for the first time, and a brand-new voice box warbled the line she programmed all her whatnots to say first thing: “Want to be my friend?”

Or when customers made outlandish requests: “Can you make sure my little Johnny learns to love kale?” “Can you get my two-year-old to stop sticking out his tongue?” “I want my Priscilla to be fluent in at least ten languages and know calculus by the time she’s six!”

Then one day she was tinkering with the design of Model 82958 (sales pitch for this model: “She’s the confident classroom leader you’ll want your child to emulate exactly—assertive without being offensive; self-assured without being arrogant; conspicuously capable without being a braggart”), and Dr. Gonzagaga’s own veil slipped down over the Model 82958’s face.

Then one day she was tinkering with the design of Model 82958 (sales pitch for this model: “She’s the confident classroom leader you’ll want your child to emulate exactly—assertive without being offensive; self-assured without being arrogant; conspicuously capable without being a braggart”), and Dr. Gonzagaga’s own veil slipped down over the Model 82958’s face.

It really would have helped if she and Ivy had talked to each other—really talked to each other, human to human, friend to friend, not presumed whatnot to presumed whatnot—before yesterday.

Max’s mom was always so perfectly dressed, so articulate, so smooth.

She didn’t like how Mrs. Sterling said the word “android” like it was something to look down on, something to disdain.

My friendship with Max is what led to all of us being trapped in this room, Josie thought ruefully.