Right the Reset

By Ania Luckiewicz

Society has the technology and the tools to completely reimagine the education system, but sometimes, it needs a little push in the right direction to get started.

Right the Reset takes place in the year 2048, as Katie, Merritt, and Raegen attend Ivory College, a growing institution off the coast of the notorious, Amer

• Language: English
• Publisher: New Degree Press
• Release date: Aug 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781636763828

Book preview

Right the Reset

Ania Luckiewicz

new degree press

copyright © 2021 Ania Luckiewicz

All rights reserved.

Right the Reset

ISBN

978-1-63676-381-1 Paperback

978-1-63676-454-2 Kindle Ebook

978-1-63676-382-8 Digital Ebook

For my parents Paul and Halina,

who support me tirelessly.

And for Lauren,

who lived with me while I tried to figure out

this whole publishing thing.

God bless.

CONTENTS

---

Prologue

Chapter 1

Who Said Anything about Friends?

Chapter 2

Why Must You Be So Pessimistic?

Chapter 3

Do You Want Help with That?

Chapter 4

Where Do You Think He Is?

Chapter 5

Is There Anything Else That You Need?

Chapter 6

Where Has the Time Gone?

Chapter 7

Who’s in the Shadows?

Chapter 8

Who Did She Hang Out With?

Chapter 9

How Was Your Night?

Chapter 10

Is There Something Wrong with the Room?

Chapter 11

Who Would They Target Next?

Chapter 12

What Exactly Is Your Concern?

Chapter 13

Are You Still in Danger?

Chapter 14

Are You Working for Him?

Chapter 15

What Are You Looking For?

Chapter 16

What Have You Done?

Chapter 17

What Kind of Sacrifice?

Chapter 18

If Not Me, Then Who?

Chapter 19

Do You Understand What I’m Showing You?

Chapter 20

Who Would Bother?

Chapter 21

Do You Have a Better Plan?

Chapter 22

Have You Heard News?

Chapter 23

Have You Lost Your Mind?

Chapter 24

He Was Happy, Wasn’t He?

Chapter 25

Do You Know Why That’s Horrifying?

Chapter 26

Why Aren’t You Going?

Chapter 27

Impressive, Isn’t It?

Chapter 28

What’s the Solution to the Problem?

Chapter 29

Where Are You Headed?

Chapter 30

What’s Wrong with This Lady?

Chapter 31

How Were Your First Days?

Chapter 32

Have You Ever Climbed a Tree?

Chapter 33

How Do You Want Me to Tackle This?

Chapter 34

Where is She Going?

Chapter 35

Where Do We Stand?

Afterword

Acknowledgments

Appendix

Prologue

---

Tell me, Berta, is it more appealing if I wink with my left eye or with my right eye? Avery tried out both on his personal assistant as she adjusted his tie.

You better not do that in the conference, she muttered, unimpressed.

Avery frowned. He thought it might be charming. He winked again toward the mirror and realized, of course, she was right. His right eye winked better than his left, but it still caused the rest of his face to contract in an ugly way. He sighed, I was trying to seduce you.

The assistant scoffed. Don’t you worry about seducing me. It’s folks in suits you need to worry about. Trust me, they’ll see right through your charm and bravado. When they realize there’s nothing in it monetarily for them, they’ll drop you without a second thought. Get in and get out, I say.

She added, and next time you wink at me, I’ll slap you right into Nova Scotia, you understand?

Giving in, Avery nodded solemnly as Berta shuffled through a collection of cuff links, still muttering. When he first met Berta, he was a hapless teenage boy. Too smart for his own good and too poor to do anything with the time it gave him, she let him steal coffee from her failing café while he sat and drew up schemes for the future. The observant and resourceful barista intrigued him. At first, he had rejected her attempts at kindness, but with no other parental figure to turn to, he slowly opened up to her perceptive advice. They became a team. After her café closed, Avery believed she welcomed her changing role of a mother figure, to a confidant, to a trusted secretary and personal assistant with ease and grace. A bachelor to the grave, there was no one he entrusted his affairs with more and no one who so eagerly kept him grounded in reality. She alone looked after the affairs of his life, and he had many affairs to keep up with. He was forty-six years old—a grown man with a legend of 500 grown men. The savior of the entire world.

Kid Genius Turned Philanthropist. Elon Musk Protégé. Education Insurrectionist. Tom Cruise with a Brain. These were the headlines of the papers he framed over the years for the wall of his study. That’s how the American Partition knew him, and he assumed the EurAsian Partition had caught wind of his achievements here as well. Long gone were the days of NATO, WTO, and the United Nations. He needed to focus on the here and now. Whatever was happening across the ocean, that would be a problem to tackle later. Right now, the target was the ASPA, the American Spearhead Prevention Association.

After giving him another twice over, Berta opened the door to the hallway of his train compartment. Avery suspected she secretly enjoyed this novelty. Neither of them had traveled much in the past twenty years. It was a thrill to be on the move again, even if it meant being the only two people in the lone passenger car among a transport of corn, beans, and bread. Avery, on the other hand, had other matters to worry over.

As expected, no one greeted the two newcomers at the train station. The walk from the Miami train station to the courthouse was a hot one but not a long one. By the time they were processed, passed through the necessary tests, sprays, and UV light safeties, and arrived at the door to the conference, it was two in the afternoon. Avery was an invited guest and had only one hour to say his share. When the door opened, he marched in confidently, leaving Berta in the air-conditioned hall.

Thirty-five slimy blokes were stationed across the massive courtroom. One representative from each moiety in North and South America, each abiding by the health standards put in place in their respective localities. On the outskirts of the room sat a few extras, vice presidents, and secretaries that the moieties’ representatives chose to bring along. Everyone wore a transparent face shield. That was the local law. They weren’t meant to say anything during the meeting, but they took great care of their notes for later. The officials in the inside circle indicated his spot near the center of the room, nearest the entrance.

The man at the podium under the Brazilian label made the announcement. "Dr. Avery Daniels, PhD, msEd, notable founder of the Milton Home for Children, the SchooltopTM and its associated Levels program, and more recently, generous supplier of Vaxitol, for which we are, and I believe I speak for everybody present, indebted to you, sir. You have the floor."

Avery cleared his throat and smiled. He was more than aware even under this dreadful lighting, he looked like a buff, luscious god next to all these worn-down and balding men and women of state.

Avery addressed the recorded success of twenty-three years using the Levels program as an alternative to traditional education. He addressed the Milton Home students and the 100 percent employment rate posteducation that he felt true fatherly pride in revealing. Both were received with warm congratulations. He suggested a plan to expand the education reform strategy to the United States and Canada within the next year and to the rest of the world soon after. A few grumbles here and there, but still, the reception was cordial.

Fearing the next step, Avery doubled back to his rehearsed speech about the success of the Vaxitol and that the world does, in fact, owe him. As has always been the case, the thirty-five representatives squirmed at the prospect of being reminded of debt, but they acknowledged their gratitude in this case. He didn’t mention his late parents’ pharmaceutical empire or the little girl who had uncovered their vaccine discovery that had changed the world. He didn’t tell them he had not worked alone. He had an image to uphold and a message to deliver.

Avery expertly filibustered for the several remaining minutes until he saw his given hour was coming to a close.

Very good, very good. Interjected the Brazilian president. Duly noted. Anything else you would like to bring to the ASPA’s attention, sir?

Yes. I’d like to officially, for the record, proclaim that as of 14:55 on Friday, July 31, 2048, the island of New Foundland has become its own sovereign nation and requests membership into the ASPA, effective immediately.

Chaos.

1.

Who Said Anything about Friends?

---

8/24/2048

Katie awoke to someone pounding on her door.

Katie! Katieeeeee! Time to wake up!

She bolted upright in bed and squinted her sleep-blurred eyes at the little red digital numbers flashing on the microwave across the room. Oh my god, it’s 7 o’clock. Not again. She threw herself at her door, revealing Sofa in mid-knock.

Shoot, I’m so sorry. I’m up. Did the team leave yet?

Team? Katie, what? said Sofa, the very vision of a ‘really put together gal.’ Sharp and competent at 7 a.m. I just wanted to make sure you’re up. The freshies will be here in an hour.

Katie blinked in confusion, and the groggy panic slowly faded away. It was August 23rd. Today was only the first day of orientation. The season hadn’t even started yet.

Oh gosh, sorry. My instinct for abrupt wakeups is usually rowing induced. I thought you were a rower.

Sofa rolled her eyes. Darling, the semester hasn’t even begun, and you’re already losing it. You know I wouldn’t last one day training with you guys, even if you paid me. I value my sleep and my sanity. But anyway, here’s your pompoms for the morning, she said. "Remember, you’re unloading Jenson North Parking Lot. Families should start coming in at eight sharp, and you better believe Kurn College House is going to win 2048’s Most Peppy House Award, so don’t be late. She gave Katie another one of her judgmentally standard matriarchal scrutinies. And look alive."

Sure, Sofa. I’ll be there. Katie demonstrated her mad pompom skills in her face, and Sofa managed to keep a gracious smile on show as she turned away.

Sofa Issokson was Kurn’s Orientation Planning Director, and it was her job to be the most spirited person in the room. She was a total people pleaser and a Milton orphan, so her entire life practically culminated in this one week. Over the past few days, Sofa communicated her high hopes to all the trainees for their upcoming work. Most of the new students will never have seen New Foundland before, she explained, so it was up to them to introduce and guide the newbies through this new way of life. Orientation, she declared, was the foundation for the entire year. The groundwork they would lay as HAs would shape the Kurn community and make or break the future of each individual first-year resident and this country, indefinitely.

Sofa was a huge supporter of this controversial new country of New Foundland, a friendly little island off the coast of Canada. The claim the island was a country was, to put it delicately, contentious. Countries were a notion of the past, and borders implied pretentiousness. The American Partition was strongly opposed to a spirit that threatened the idealization of globalism—even if their current globe ended at their oceanic borders.

New Foundland, under the direction of Dr. Avery Daniels, threatened to change the game and reduce the continent to the mess it had been twenty years ago. Recent events at the ASPA had allegedly culminated in multiple presidents and representatives being injured in a pitiful multination brawl. However, with a vote of thirty-two to two, with only Honduras abstaining, Dr. Daniels accepted and publicized the vote as a win. The fact that the two moieties voting not in favor were the United States and Canada, the two the island relied on for necessary shipments, policing, party membership, etc., could be conveniently disregarded for now.

Katie made her face presentable and pulled on some shorts and her orientation uniform shirt. It was a collared magenta polo with Kurn House’s compass logo on the breast, and the letters HA stitched in cursive on the sleeve. Grabbing a banana, her vadio, and her room key, she closed the door and headed toward the parking lot stairs.

Nisha, another HA, walked toward the same door from the opposite half of the building. She was a spunky little thing of Indian heritage whose parents were influential in New York real estate. Nisha did heavy research on her grandparents’ homeland at school and was skilled in making beautiful dresses by hand. The girl had never laid eyes on the EurAsian Partition and probably never would, given the circumstances, but Katie thought it was cool all the same.

Have you seen Justo? Nisha asked.

Justo shared a floor with Katie. In Katie’s eyes, they were the coolest HA pair any first-year could be blessed with. She assumed Justo was probably already outside.

Nisha disagreed. I’m going to call him because I don’t think Sofa stopped by his room. She’s scared of you both.

What? Why?

You didn’t put that together yet? She sees you two as threats, Nisha explained as she dialed his number. If either of you ever challenged her perfectionism, her grip over the rest of the HAs would reduce to nothing. Not that the two of you ever would cause trouble. Justo doesn’t care enough about what happens with this week—ugh, he’s not picking up—and you’re too sweet. You’d probably offer to help her before criticizing a word she says.

Katie snorted. I’m not looking for a fight, and besides, Sofa’s doing a good job. She’s a nice girl.

"Yeah, okay. If nice is synonymous for oblivious, rigid prick. Just because she graduated from Milton High School as a Level 20 Mathematics nerd and can basically write a book on her expertise in twenty-first-century economics, that doesn’t mean she should have total control over the rest of us. I hate her little orphan sob-story backside. Queens girls don’t take crap from nobody. I’d fight her."

You’d fight anyone.

Nisha shrugged in agreement. It really was true. Nisha was the kind of girl who appeared slightly rough on the outside with the dark eye makeup and plentiful ear piercings, who preferred to roam campus as a lone wolf. It gave her an aura of mystery, and Katie liked that. And Katie appreciated that Nisha let her guard down around her and Justo.

The two HAs stepped out into the sunshine and were greeted by a mess of music, laughter, and movement. Sofa ran in circles shouting orders into a megaphone and hyping people up. Sweat made her dark hair stick to her face, and if the families didn’t show up soon, Katie feared that she would die of heat exhaustion before move-in began. Props to her, though, because it was definitely not a job anyone would want to have.

The male HAs all turned in Katie’s direction and cheered stupidly in unison, and as she turned around, she saw Justo running up behind her, still with an air of sleepy dishevelment. He gave a regal wave to his cheering fans and, smiling, stopped beside the two girls on the sidewalk. His dark brown hair stuck up in every direction, and the collar of his HA shirt was bent in strange angles, but he jokingly puffed out his cheeks at Katie as he crossed his arms and swung them against his back, like a swimmer prepping for a big race.

What’d I miss? Justo asked in his Spanish accent.

Katie laughed and moved in to fix his collar. You slept through the whole week, kid. But don’t worry. The freshies know to call you Poppa Justo if you ever emerge from your lair.

He shook his head. Give me a break. I’m so on time.

You could’ve at least brushed your hair.

I did! he protested. Turning for a second opinion, he asked Nisha. Is it really bad?

Well, your hair has definitely seen less tussled days, but you could work it if you act like it’s intentional. I’m sure some moms might really dig it.

Whatever, Justo replied in a dismissive tone.

Katie laughed internally as he noncommittally ran his hands through his hair a dozen times, eyeing his reflection in the side window. It seemed as if there’s one thing an Argentinian rich boy boarding school teaches a kid, it’s that appearance is important. Always.

They watched as Dean McCry circled the parking lot like a masked hawk, passing out Vaxitol aerosols and muttering instructions to all the HAs under his wing. A group of HAs from another house were waving a full-size New Foundland flag with excitement. He radioed to that house to take it down. Mostly he could be heard repeating it will be fine, everything will work out, and everything is okay aloud to himself.

Nisha raised an eyebrow at her two friends as Dean McCry came toward them and then walked away, still mumbling to himself. I forgot how much orientation week made me feel like a child last year. These are college students. They’ll definitely be fine.

Of course they will, Katie replied, fully believing it. They don’t even really need us.

Then, the cheering broke out, and the first victim’s car was swallowed by a mass of maroon.

Three hours and about 500 flights of stairs later, Katie caught up with Justo. We should probably introduce ourselves and tell them to say goodbye to their parents and meet us in the kitchen in an hour, Katie suggested.

Justo rubbed his face with both hands and let out a groan but smiled. They climbed the stairs again, what’s one more flight anyway, knocked on each door, and said their hello’s. In each room, moms were busy folding their kid’s clothes and rearranging furniture and wiping their wet eyes. Dads were closing the blinds and measuring the