Robert Sawyer - Wake

Not darkness, for that implies an understanding of light.

Not silence, for that suggests a familiarity with sound.

Not loneliness, for that requires knowledge of others.

But still, faintly, so tenuous that if it were any less it wouldnt exist at all: awareness.

Nothing more than that. Just awareness a vague, ethereal sense of being.

Being but not becoming. No marking of time, no past or future only an endless, featureless now, and, just barely there in that boundless moment, inchoate and raw, the dawning of perception

Caitlin had kept a brave face throughout dinner, telling her parents that everything was fine just peachy but, God, it had been a terrifying day, filled with other students jostling her in the busy corridors, teachers referring to things on blackboards, and doubtless everyone looking at her. Shed never felt self-conscious at the TSB back in Austin, but she was on display now. Did the other girls wear earrings, too? Had these corduroy pants been the right choice? Yes, she loved the feel of the fabric and the sound they made, but here everything was about appearances.

She was sitting at her bedroom desk, facing the open window. An evening breeze gently moved her shoulder-length hair, and she heard the outside world: a small dog barking, someone kicking a stone down the quiet residential street, and, way off, one of those annoying car alarms.

She ran a finger over her watch: 7:49 seven and seven squared, the last time today thered be a sequence like that. She swiveled to face her computer and opened LiveJournal.

Subject was easy: First day at the new school. For Current Location, the default was Home. This strange house hell, this strange country! didnt feel like that, but she let the proffered text stand.

For Mood, there was a drop-down list, but it took forever for JAWS, the screen-reading software she used, to announce all the choices; she always just typed something in. After a moments reflection, she settled on Confident.

She might be scared in real life, but online she was Calculass, and Calculass knew no fear.

As for Current Music, she hadnt started an MP3 yet and so she let iTunes pick a song at random from her collection. She got it in three notes: Lee Amodeo, Rocking My World.

Her index fingers stroked the comforting bumps on the F and J keys Braille for the masses while she thought about how to begin.

Okay, she typed, ask me if my new school is noisy and crowded. Go ahead, ask. Why, thank you: yes, it is noisy and crowded. Eighteen hundred students! And the building is three stories tall. Actually, its three storeys tall, this being Canada and all. Hey, how do you find a Canadian in a crowded room? Start stepping on peoples feet and wait for someone to apologize to you. :)

Caitlin faced the window again, and tried to imagine the setting sun. It creeped her out that people could look in at her. Shed have kept the Venetian blinds down all the time, but Schrodinger liked to stretch out on the sill.

First day in grade ten began with the Mom dropping me off and BrownGirl4 (luv ya, babe!) meeting me at the entrance. Id walked the empty corridors of the school several times last week, getting my bearings, but its completely different now that the school is full of kids, so my folks are slipping BG4 a hundred bucks a week to escort me to our classes. The school managed to work it so were in all but one together. No way I could be in the same French class as her je suis une beginneur, after all!

Her computer chirped: new email. She issued the keyboard command to have JAWS read the messages header.

To: Caitlin D., the computer announced. She only styled her name like that when posting to newsgroups, so whoever had sent this had gotten her address from NHL Player Stats Discuss or one of the other ones she frequented. From: Gus Hastings. Nobody she knew. Subject: Improving your score.

She touched a key and JAWS began to read the body of the message. Are you sad about tiny penis? If so

Damn, her spam filter should have intercepted that. She ran her index finger along the refreshable display. Ah: the magic word had been spelled peeeniz.

She deleted the message and was about to go back to LiveJournal when her instant messenger bleeped. BrownGirl4 is now available, announced the computer.

She used alt-tab to switch to that window and typed, Hey, Bashira! Just updating my LJ.

Although she had JAWS configured to use a female voice, it didnt have Bashiras lovely accent: Say nice things about me.

Course, Caitlin typed. She and Bashira had been best friends for two months now, ever since Caitlin had moved here; she was the same age as Caitlin fifteen and her father worked with Caitlins dad at PI.

Going to mention that Trevor was giving you the eye?

Right! She went back to the blogging window and typed: BG4 and I got desks beside each other in home room, and she said this guy in the next row was totally checking me out. She paused, unsure how she felt about this, but then added, Go me!

She didnt want to use Trevors real name. Lets give him a codename, cuz I think he just might figure in future blog entries. Hmmm, how bout the Hoser! Thats Canadian slang, folks google it! Anyway, BG4 says the Hoser is famous for hitting on new girls in town, and I am, of course, tres exotique, although Im not the only American in that class. Theres this chick from Boston named friends, I kid you not! poor things name is Sunshine! It is to puke. :P

Caitlin disliked emoticons. They didnt correspond to real facial expressions for her, and shed had to memorize the sequences of punctuation marks as if they were a code. She moved back to the instant messenger. So whatcha up to?

Not much. Helping one of my sisters with homework. Oh, shes calling me. BRB.

Caitlin did like chat acronyms: Bashira would be right back, meaning, knowing her, that she was probably gone for at least half an hour. The computer made the door-closing sound that indicated Bashira had logged off. Caitlin returned to LiveJournal.

Anyway, first period rocked because I am made out of awesome. Can you guess which subject it was? No points if you didnt answer math. And, after only one day, I totally own that class. The teacher lets call him Mr. H, shall we? was amazed that I could do things in my head the other kids need a calculator for.

Her computer chirped again. She touched a key and JAWS announced: To:cddecter@ An email address without her name attached; almost certainly spam. She hit delete before the screen reader got any further.

After math, it was English. Were doing a boring book about this angsty guy growing up on the plains of Manitoba. Its got wheat in every scene. I asked the teacher Mrs. Z, she is, and you could not have picked a more Canadian name, cuz shes Mrs.Zed, not Mrs.Zee, see? if all Canadian literature was like this, and she laughed and said, Not all of it. Oh what a joy English class is going to be!

BrownGirl4 is now available, JAWS said.

Caitlin hit alt-tab to switch windows, then: That was fast.

Yeah, said the synthesized voice. Youd be proud of me. It was an algebra problem, and I had no trouble with it.

Be there or B^2, Caitlin typed.

Heh heh. Oh, gotta go. Dads in one of his moods. See you which shed no doubt typed as CU.

Caitlin went back to her journal. Lunch was okay, but I swear to God Ill never get used to Canadians. They put vinegar on French fries! And BG4 told me about this thing called poontang. Kidding, friends, kidding! Its poutine: French fries with cheese curds and gravy thrown on top its like they use fries as a freakin science lab up here. Guess they dont have much money for real science, cept here in Waterloo, of course. And thats mostly private mollah.