the cycle.” Ms. Gilly demanded as she stood to join Declan at the front of the room. When she reached Declan, she pulled on his arm until he leaned in to hear her over the continued chanting.
“You know I can’t stand Andie, but if not for the good job you’ve done, we’d be moving on to our math lessons. Next time, leave some of your writer’s imagination up here,” she told him, tapping her hand to his head. He fixed a smile, and then left her side to fetch Andie.
“Do we have someone to cycle up? We need twenty minutes, at least. Those energy-cells aren’t going to charge themselves!” Ms. Gilly shouted over the chanting.
Declan raised his chin enough to see the cycle. He hated that thing. He hated it when it was his turn in class, and he hated it at home. In every classroom, and in every dwelling, there was a cycle. They came from the old world, a design handed down over many generations. At one time, they were used for recreation, but today, the design was used to put energy back into the energy-cells. “A big battery charger,” Ms. Gilly had once called it. Declan didn’t much care for the history; he just hated sitting on the thing for twenty or thirty minutes, pumping his legs up and down until his thighs burned, his stomach turned, and he sweated up a stink that carried on for the remainder of the day. Nobody was exempt, either: once you were old enough, you were required to put in your time on the cycle.
The chanting faded to a low rumble, as the older students sought out a volunteer to hop on the cycle. When nobody in the class stood up, Ms. Gilly addressed them.
“No cycle, no Andie. Declan, stay here; leave Andie alone.”
Charlie Tabbot stood up from the last row, and raised a reluctant hand. The classroom broke out in a cheer, and applauded.
Taller than anyone in the class, Charlie was at the cycle within a few steps. It looked awkward beneath him, and Declan wondered how much of a struggle it was for him to push the pedals. Charlie began the twenty minutes. His knees pumped up and down, nearly hitting the handlebars. When the motor behind the cycle started to hum, a thin yellow light began to burn, like an incandescent flame. The more Charlie pumped his legs, the hotter and brighter the light became, and with each faster turn of the cycle, the bulb grew brighter. Twenty more minutes, and the energy-cells would hold enough of a charge to last a week.
“There, you see. That wasn’t so bad,” Ms. Gilly began. “I know I wasn’t getting on that thing,” she joked, and placed a gentle hand on Declan’s back, nudging him toward Andie. “Go on, now, get Andie.” Most of the excitement was in waiting to see the android, and to see what would happen. Andie was a bit of a little miracle, as most androids had only lasted a few years before being scrounged for parts. Declan’s own excitement grew, and he joined the children in the chant.
2
The saying must be true , Sammi thought to herself, as Declan played with the children. Sometimes we do find our soul mate. Her face warmed with the thought, and she felt an excited flutter inside. Her momma had once told her that the feeling meant she had butterflies in her belly. Sammi had never seen a butterfly; not a real one, anyway. She’d seen them in the classroom’s electronic photographs though, and sort of understood what her momma had been saying. She watched Declan kneel down, and rile up the kids into a grander chant for Andie.
“He’s so handsome,” she mumbled. I’m feeling the butterflies . She laughed at the silliness of it.
Innocent round faces followed Declan’s steps across the room. Sammi could see some of their eager faces; their lips were pursed, and their eyebrows lifted in anticipation. She tried not to laugh; after all, she had been like that once—they all had. Images as clear as the butterfly in the electronic photograph came to her: she remembered sitting in the first row with Declan, squeezing his hand, as