The Paladin Prophecy

#81: NEVER TAKE MORE THAN YOU NEED.

Three pairs of pants. Five navy and gray shirts. A week’s worth of socks and underwear. A pair of heavy-soled winter boots. A navy watch cap. Fleece-lined gloves and a gray wool scarf. Two sets of long underwear. The only luxury he allowed himself was a dark blue winter parka with a fur-lined hood, but he easily convinced himself he needed that for survival.

A friendly cashier rang it up, asked for his card, and passed it over a scanner that made the card glow. Will didn’t have to sign anything. He never saw a total. No prices appeared on the receipt she gave him.

“How long have you been here?” asked Will.

“My second year. As a freshman, I was roughly the size of this slice of chicken.” Ajay laughed again, infectiously. Will found it impossible not to laugh with him, especially when he made jokes at his own expense.

They were seated in the food court, over teriyaki rice bowls and sunomono salads made to order, fresh and flavorful, and paid for with a single flash of Will’s magic card. A full stomach did wonders for his mood. So did the fleece sweatshirt.

“So what’s with the big noise about cells and laptops?” asked Will.

Ajay’s brow knit together and his look darkened. “So you’ve met Lyle.”

“Yes.”

Ajay leaned forward. “At first I assumed it was a rule they imposed to show they’re in charge and it would be more honored in the breach than the observance. That proved not to be the case. They take this very seriously indeed.”

“But for what reason?”

“They don’t want our faces buried in phones or our heads stuck up the Internet all the time. They really do want us to talk to each other.”

“Texting is a form of talking,” said Will. “And usually it’s a lot more efficient.”

“I wouldn’t argue, Will, but I don’t make the rules. And honestly, after a while you’ll find that face-to-face communication works entirely to your personal benefit.”

“How?”

“It forces you outside your comfort zone,” said Ajay. “Refines social skills, in a good way. Believe it or not, I used to be quite the introvert.”

“You’re making that up.”

“It’s true, I swear to you! And now look at me, a regular chatterbox. I’m completely out of my shell.”

Ajay took a small rectangular black box from the folder Brooke had given him and pushed it across the table.

“Clip that onto your belt. It’s a pager. If anyone tries to reach you on the internal phone system, this beeps. Pick up any phone on campus and the operator instantly connects the call.”

It was a bit bigger than a matchbox and had a metal clip on the back. On the right front corner was a small grill, and there was one small recessed button in the middle. Otherwise it was seamless and solid, with surprising weight. He couldn’t even find a slot for batteries.

“So I’ll have to deal with the texting thing,” said Will. “What about email?”

“You’ll get an email address with your tablet. It’s connected to the main servers for the school’s internal network.”

“Wait, you mean it only works on campus? What about Internet access?”

“Limited. No Wi-Fi or networks out here. You can sign on using ports in the libraries, for specific research, but outside websites are severely restricted.”

Will’s anger rose. “We can’t even get on the Net from our own rooms?”

“No surfing, no social networking, no console or online games—”

“What about TV?”

“There’s one in the student union, but I’ve never seen anyone watching—”

“But these are basic principles of free speech. The right to access useless information and mindless, mediocre entertainment—”

“The Center’s a private institution; they can set any rules they like.”

“This isn’t Communist China. They can’t just shut down the pipeline and cut us off from the rest of the world—”

“The point is there’s hardly time for such things, Will. They work us like sled dogs, and in case you never noticed, sled dogs love the harness! You’ll see. Don’t underestimate the joy of being challenged or losing yourself in work. I’m talking one hundred percent immersion: classes, labs, homework, and field assignments. Add to that all the social activities: sports leagues, clubs, concerts, and dances—”

“Dances?”

Ajay lowered his voice so no one would overhear. “As part of the Fall Hayride festivities last month, I even attended a square dance.”

“Get out of town.”

“It was insanely fun! Call me crazy. The girls, man, the girls.” Ajay jumped up and demonstrated his square dance.

Will’s mind drifted to Brooke, and from her to Todd Hodak. He needed deep background on that situation, but for all he knew, Ajay blabbed like a talk-show host to everyone in their pod. He didn’t want word of his “crush” getting back to Brooke.

When they finished eating, Ajay led him to the soda fountain by the bowling alley for a chocolate milkshake, which was handcrafted by a server wearing a white peaked cap, like the soda jerk in a Norman Rockwell print. Frost formed on the silver goblet as Will poured his shake into a tall fountain glass. He devoured the sublime concoction, which was laced with buttery nuggets of ice cream. Agreeable pop music issued from a jukebox. The muted swell of pins crashing next door sounded as soothing as a waterfall. Life, for whatever reason, felt worth living again.

Proving Rule #84: WHEN NOTHING ELSE WORKS, TRY CHOCOLATE.

“Why a bowling alley?” asked Will.

Ajay mimed throwing a bowling ball. “Apparently the headmaster read a study that tied the decline of American happiness to the disappearance of organized bowling leagues. A few weeks later, voilà.”

“Are you on a team?”

“Yes. You’ll love it. You even get a shirt, with your name on the pocket. Although for aesthetic purposes, I insisted that mine read ‘Tony.’ ”

So far, everything about the Center looked and felt fine-tuned to perfection, as dreamlike as a movie set. Wherever Will turned, he saw nothing but content and happy faces, exactly as advertised.

“Ever wake up and feel like you’re dreaming?”

“Will,” said Ajay, suddenly serious. “My mother came to America from India at the age of nine. Her impoverished parents worked as domestics in an Atlantic City casino and eventually bought a dry cleaners. My father’s from an old aristocratic Polish family that lost everything but their luggage in World War Two. He grew up in Milwaukee, a penniless immigrant. Worked his way through Duke University and eventually bought a small chain of drugstores in Raleigh, North Carolina, called the Pill and Puff. My mother attended community college at night to train as a pharmacist. She landed a job in one of his drugstores, where they met and fell in love. Which led to me, their only child.

“As a result of this unusual heritage, of which I’m immensely proud, I am an odd duck by any reckoning. I stand barely five feet tall, and if you think I’m puny now, you should have seen me at six. It won’t surprise you to learn that I was bullied in school, unmercifully, from my first day of kindergarten all the way through junior high, by every redneck Neanderthal who ever laid eyes on me. Girls found me to be, throughout these years, invisible to the naked eye. I knew, secretly, that I was smarter than all of these knuckleheads and survived by my wits alone, with no way of knowing that I had anything worthwhile to offer any other living creature, that I was someone who could have friends and meet girls and experience something resembling a present or a future. Until the day I arrived at the Center.”

Ajay held his gaze, openhearted and sincere. Will felt ashamed of any impulse he’d had to doubt him.

“If this is a dream, I’m begging you,” said Ajay, “don’t ever let them wake me.”

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