Cragbridge Hall, Volume 2: The Avatar Battle (10 page)

Bubbles? Weird name for a mechanical dragon.

“This world can be a great place for you to practice your building and math skills. So, let’s hear it for
math
and
engineering
!” Abby couldn’t see her teacher, but imagined the same enthusiasm on her face. This time she got what she was looking for. The students howled and whooped. Abby joined in.

“Very good,” Mrs. Trinhouse said. “That’s what I like to hear. And it brings me to your assignment for today.” There were no cheers for the word
assignment
. Abby’s perspective through the visor automatically zoomed through the city to a place where there was a large river. It looked spectacularly blue, and too wide for Abby to want to swim across it. “Your assignment is to build a bridge. Any spot will do. I’ve included several possible designs with their weaknesses and strengths on the class site. You can see the list in the corner of your vision. Let me give you a moment to select your location. Be sure to leave a good amount of space, perhaps a quarter-mile or so between you and the next student.”

Abby used her specialized suit to survey the river. With other students selecting spots, she didn’t have as much time to decide as she would have liked. She found a location where the land jutted out slightly toward the water. It looked to be a solid enough place to build. She landed to stake her claim.

“It looks as though you’ve all decided,” Mrs. Trinhouse said. “Very good. You will have to choose which design you want and how to build it. Just select any of the materials here in your stockpile.” Immediately a fenced yard of cement blocks, metal beams and cables, piles of dirt and asphalt, and thick plastic supports appeared on the ground to Abby’s left. They seemed just as heavy as their real-life counterparts. She remembered building Lego sets growing up. This was Legos on steroids.

“I have also programmed a work force to put your bridge together as you instruct them, so you don’t have to worry about the labor, just the design.” A small army of people wearing hardhats, some piloting large equipment like cranes and bulldozers, appeared by the supplies. “I have also cheated and made it so they work extremely fast—almost as if I put them on time lapse. They can do in a half hour what would normally take months. Notice in the assignment info that your bridge should be able to carry a certain amount of weight. You might want to test it before the end of the period. And . . .
GO!
” Mrs. Trinhouse said. “If you have any questions, please just ask.”

Abby wanted to try to see if she could leave this world, the world her whole class was working in together, and put in the sphere her grandfather had given her. Could she? Did her booth have its own mechanical arm that would take her sphere and override Mrs. Trinhouse’s? It had to, right? But if she put it in, would her teacher notice? Would everyone notice? And would they discover that she already had a sphere? Would someone check it? It felt too risky, especially when she was supposed to keep it a secret. Besides, this assignment was due at the end of the period. No. She would have to wait.

Abby immediately got to work looking at the model bridges. She started by selecting the archway. A three-dimensional view of an old Roman aqueduct built of stone appeared in her vision. Abby read the accompanying information. The archway was one of the oldest types of bridges and naturally strongest. The Romans built them from shaped stones, but there were many more modern arched bridges, like the steel arch and concrete arch.

Suspension bridges like the Golden Gate used long cables attached to towers, the cables bearing the weight. Abby clicked on the image of the Golden Gate Bridge, its long towers shooting out of the billowy fog in San Francisco. The caption said it spanned over four thousand feet.

Abby had no idea bridges were so interesting. When she saw the Sunshine Skyway in Florida, she knew that was the kind she wanted to build. It was majestic and had a nice style to it—like art met architecture. Like the suspension bridge, it had tall towers, but the cables hooked to the towers differently—all in one spot near the top. The caption said that those cables put all the weight on the strong towers.

Abby used a measuring tool she found in her materials. It sent a virtual laser beam over the river and hit the land on the other side—the distance was less than 2,500 feet. According to the information Abby read, a cable-bearing bridge could work there. It was better for shorter distances.

Soon she selected her material, solved several equations to estimate where to put the supports, and sketched out plans. As Abby worked, hints and pointers popped up through her rings to give her advice. Mrs. Trinhouse had obviously prepared her program to give some help. When Abby felt she was ready, she set her crew to the task. As promised, they were very fast. She watched them use their large machines to move the various materials into place. Every few seconds felt like a day’s worth of work. The program also kept a tally of her expenses. In the instructions, it said that she had an unlimited budget, but that future projects would be graded with financial planning in mind. Once she had over a thousand feet built, the array of cement and metal began to sway back and forth. Abby sent her crew to try and better anchor what they had built, but a large portion snapped from its cables and ripped from the tower, crashing with a monstrous splash into the deep virtual river below. The water rushed over it as it sank into the river bottom.

Abby saw a few other students stop working on their bridges and look over. How embarrassing. Abby sighed. At least one tower still stood. Time to get back to it.

She felt a tap on her shoulder. Abby turned to see a smiling face with shiny straight dark hair flawlessly framing it—Jacqueline, her former roommate. Though they were both in separate booths, they could see and speak to each other in the virtual world. “Hey, Abby. Congratulations on making it through one semester.” She sounded cheery enough. Jacqueline had kicked Abby out of their room at the beginning of last semester, refusing to let her back in because Abby’s grandpa had admitted her to Cragbridge Hall without all the achievements or grades the other students had. Jacqueline was incensed that Abby was in the school instead of one of her friends. “It surprised me,” she whispered. “I didn’t think Miss Average could ride her grandpa’s reputation that long.”

“Thanks Jacqueline, it’s great to see you too,” Abby responded dryly.

“Of course it is,” she smiled and flipped her hair. “But now you’ve been evaluated and graded for your first semester,” Jacqueline’s voice raised. “We’ll see how you did. We’ll see how we both did.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Abby said. She had learned not to care too much about Jacqueline’s opinions.

“Did you know,” Jacqueline asked, “that if you don’t meet a minimum grade performance in this school that you get kicked out?”

“Really?” Abby said, actually surprised. She had never heard that before. “That sounds a bit harsh.”

“Not really,” Jacqueline said, looking down at Abby’s bridge. “Some people are like that bridge of yours—broken. There’s not much use for something like that. Just let it go down the river.”

Abby wished she could come up with a quick comeback. She would probably think of one later. No one got on Abby’s nerves like the girl who never gave her a chance.

Abby couldn’t think about Jacqueline, she had to finish a bridge.

“Oh,” Mrs. Trinhouse interrupted. “I should also tell you that at the end of the class period, each of your bridges will have to survive a weight test.” Her voice raised and grew more guttural. “Just to give you a challenge.”

Abby hoped her virtual working crew could follow her adjustments and have it finished. She had to make quick decisions when they came to ask questions. She also had to double-check that she had enough supports for the distance the bridge had to cross and the right amount of cables. She thought she had it right.

She had barely finished when Mrs. Trinhouse said, “Time’s up. But don’t worry too much about this round. This is sort of a pretest. Now let’s see how well you did. I thought we should do so with a little flair.”

Flair?

“As you saw earlier, most of the personal transportation in this world happens on rapid light-rail trains. The train cars will need to cross the river on your bridge. Our test, however, isn’t train cars . . . too boring. This, though, will represent about the average number of train cars your bridge would encounter during rush hour.”

A deafening roar rang through Abby’s ears.

Oh no. Bubbles.

The large robot dragon approached Abby’s bridge.

• • •

Derick stood in a virtual booth just like Abby but in a different class. He looked down at his hand. He held a virtual word—
futebol
—just like it was a ball. Surrounding him were four different three-dimensional pictures: a man’s foot, a girl playing soccer, a pottery bowl, and two teams playing football. He threw the word across his virtual room until it collided with the girl playing soccer. It exploded into fireworks and points lit up in the corner of Derick’s vision.
Futebol
was Portuguese for
soccer
. He was hooked up to sensors in a virtual booth and had just gotten another review question right.

Another word appeared in his hand—
forte.
He looked at his choices and threw it at the man flexing his muscles. More fireworks and more points.

“Round one complete,” a voice said. Derick glanced at his score. Not bad for reviewing his first Portuguese vocab list. “Round two!” the voice said.

The world changed. Derick stood in front of an array of sleek racing motorcycles, designed for the air to streak over them and their riders. He picked a dark red one with silver flames painted on the side. As he mounted it, he noticed that his virtual self was dressed in a racing suit and helmet. He started it up and could hear the quiet purr of the engine. He could get used to this.

An announcer said something Derick couldn’t understand in Portuguese. Maybe he could understand later after he had studied more. A man with a checkered flag waved. Derick twisted the throttle and jolted forward.

The same narrating voice spoke another Portuguese word, this time slowly and deliberately: “
rápido.
” It then gave the definition: “fast.” Derick was living that definition. As he looked ahead on the track, he saw a series of words floating over the race course. He found
rá
pido
and drove through it.

More points.

Derick continued for another five minutes, driving through all twenty of his vocab words of the day. Then after the race was complete, his motorcycle and its world faded. “It’s almost time to go,” his teacher said. “Please exit your booths and gather any belongings.” Derick obeyed. On his way out, he checked the console again; he’d found where he could insert the sphere his grandfather had given him. He hoped
that
world was at least a fraction as awesome as his Portuguese review had been.

“Thanks for your work today,” the teacher said. “It’s a good start to learning a beautiful language.” It was kind of pretty, but Derick hadn’t switched his schedule just to learn a beautiful language; he was tired of not understanding Rafa.

“We may use other game tools to review in the future, but the booths are mainly used to put you in scenarios where you have to speak Portuguese with people who speak like real natives.” Interesting. “Before you go,” his teacher continued, “I believe your student body officers have an announcement.”

A group of five students wearing matching jackets appeared in the virtual room. “Good morning, Cragbridge Hall!” a blond girl said. “And welcome to your second semester.” She had a little too much pep in her—or maybe hanging around Carol had just made Derick hypersensitive. “There are going to be a lot of great activities coming up soon, like the virtual games for those in ninth through twelfth grades.” A long groan echoed through the room. Their class were all in seventh grade. Derick could just imagine how fantastic it would be to use the virtual booths for contests. “But the big news is, of course, the dance.” The room suddenly filled with images of royal balls, castles, parties at the White House, dance halls from the early 1920s. “We need suggestions and some decorations for this year’s theme—so submit them to dance committee through your rings.” A boy chimed in: “And remember that boys in grades nine and up should ask a girl out for the occasion, while those in seven and eight should not. For you, it’s a large group event.”

Derick wouldn’t have to ask anyone for a few years. Good. No pressure from Carol. Wait. Scratch that.
Less
pressure.

A different girl, this one with a streak of green in her hair, continued, “I get the best—or perhaps the worst—of the announcements for driven students like us. You’ll all be distracted for the next several minutes. Here it is: Your first semester grades have just been posted. Simply sync up to your Cragbridge Hall account.”

Immediately all the students in the class began typing with their rings. Derick thought he might be one of the quickest. He was usually the winner in a search battle. And there were his grades—an impressive array of As. He did feel his heart sink a little as looked at an A minus. Who would give him an A minus?
Music?
Of all his classes he got an A minus in
music
? He wasn’t even playing an instrument—it was music appreciation. Did his teacher not feel that he appreciated music enough? Derick could tell this was going to bother him for a very long time.

• • •

Abby moved slower than her classmates as she guided her rings. Not only had Bubbles destroyed her bridge, but now she had to look at her last semester’s grades. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Before punching in the last few letters of her password, she paused. She was going to have to see them sometime. Might as well get it over with.

She looked at the list:

English: B minus. Good. Ms. Entrese had liked her Sherlock Holmes report. At least her grade was higher than it had been at midterms.