The Entirely Fabricated Story of Lizzie Nickerson

Chapter 66

One of the benefits of enrollment at the academy was that the student body was 99.999% totally into their studies. Nobody colored outside the lines. These were rule-followers of the highest order. The only renegades were Lizzie and Scooter with their post-lunch secretive make-out sessions.

They sat at the same lunch table every day. Without making small talk they focused on the task of quickly devouring their lunches. For Lizzie, it didn't take much time to consume one baggie filled with apple slices, the other with carrot sticks while anticipation built. Scooter would eat a light lunch, leave the lunchroom first, and five minutes later, Lizzie would follow. They'd sneak up the back stairway to the second floor, check that the coast was clear, and then slip, unnoticed (hopefully) into the janitor's supply room.

Wedged against the metal shelving unit where cleaning products were stored, they fell into each other's arms. Their mouths found each other's and their hands roamed. Lizzie was extremely particular about kissing. She enjoyed lips–on-lips contact with Scooter but drew the line with tongues. To her way of thinking, kissing was pleasurable contact with the outside layer of the human body. Interior appendages (like tongues) should stay where they belong. Tongue kissing was revolting and entirely out of the question. She also required adherence to an acceptable level of saliva. Sloppy kissing absolutely killed the mood and upset her sensory sensitivities. Scooter was willing to comply with Lizzie's kissing guidelines and, for the most part, agreed with her. He'd had a girlfriend in Atlanta named Valentina who was tongue crazy and it was one of the main reasons they broke up.

When Scooter's kisses had just the right amount of moisture and remained tongue-less, Lizzie's brain was so fully electrically charged that it couldn't find available space for other thoughts.

With her lips puffy from kissing, Lizzie whispered, "Did you hear that?"

"What?"

Someone tapped on the door again before a quiet voice said, "Lizzie. Professor Iverson wants to see you."

"Thanks, Sebastian," she said, composing herself. "I gotta go, Scooter." She leaned in for another quick kiss. 

"You're not in trouble or anything are you?" Scooter asked.

She replied, "Oh, geez. I don't think so," but she began to worry. On her way down the hall, she reminded herself that the anxiety she felt in the pit of her stomach was a natural response to stress. She had read that if you put a smile on your face even during the most stressful situations you can fool your brain into thinking it was happy. But Lizzie's brain was having none of it. She couldn't generate a smile.

With the taste of Scooter on her lips and her electricity buzzing, Lizzie entered Vinka's office to find Hans Perlmutter red-faced and waving his hands about like he was shooing away bees. A grad school computer scientist, Hans took issue with Lizzie's dissection of his data sets.

"Algorithms can crunch databases and extract information far more quickly than any human ever could. Including you," he said to Lizzie.

"Hans," said Vinka. "Let's keep this discussion civil."

"Oh, geez," said Lizzie. "I didn't know we were having a race. That doesn't even make sense."

"Stop saying that. It makes perfect sense."

"Control your temper, Hans," Vinka said.

Most of Lizzie had forgotten about her anxiety except for her right foot, which began tapping. "I thought the whole point of our work was to find all the patterns and look for connections," she said. "Is it better to be fast or to be right?"

"Both!"

Lizzie noticed that his fingernails were those of a compulsive fingernail-chewer and she noticed the razor-sharp part in his hair and thought, "This explains so much."

"Well, your algorithms are making mistakes," she said. "Your software uses algorithms to find patterns, relationships, and trends so it's sifting but it's not really looking."

"I am not going to listen to this from some little kid." He was clearly desperate for validation.

"Lower your voice, Hans," said Vinka. "This room is far too small for shouting."

"Thanks," said Lizzie. "He was hurting my ears." Her foot tapped faster.

Lizzie had made great strides in managing her temper, which was an impressive accomplishment considering that she lived in an environment where there was a high probability of coming into contact with extremely irritating people, such as Hans Perlmutter.

"Humans can't compete with algorithms," he growled. "Without algorithms, the world would come to a screeching halt. Science and research would virtually collapse."

"Oh, geez. Science can't collapse."

"Look at the apps on your phone," he said, pointing to her phone as though she didn't know what a phone was. "Algorithms find the most efficient routes from one point to another. They can predict the weather."

"I don't know much about maps," said Lizzie, "because I don't drive. But the weather app is wrong a lot. Really a lot. And aren't algorithms behind those 'based on your history, we think you might enjoy' suggestions?"

"What are you even talking about?"

"Like Netflix. I don't watch TV but Scooter and my Aunt Sonya do. Netflix makes suggestions based on what they watch and a lot of the time, the Netflix suggestions are totally wrong. Not even close. It happens to me with book recommendations. Why would I want to read a book about restoring sailing ships? I've never read a book about sailing ships or restoring sailing ships, or restoring cars, or buses, or bikes, or airplanes in my whole life. Oh, geez. How can an algorithm be so wrong? It has all my reading data."

"Please stop talking," said Hans. "I can't listen to any more of this." He turned his back on Lizzie and addressed Vinka. "I can fix the algorithm. I can course correct. We don't need her."

"That doesn't even make sense," said Lizzie.

"Stop saying that!" His face had gone almost purple.

"Maybe it makes you feel better to yell at me," said Lizzie. "But I'm not the one making mistakes. Blame yourself." Her foot tapping accelerated.

"Were you always this stupid," he said. "Or is this a recent development?"

"Enough!" Vinka rose to her feet. "Hans, wait for me in the lab!"

He stormed out of the room.

"I'm sorry, Lizzie," Vinka said. "That was disrespectful and childish."

"I'm not stupid."

"No, you're very much the opposite of stupid. We all recognize that."

"I'm not good with people and especially not with loud, yelling people and especially not good with people yelling at me."

"I apologize. I didn't expect a temper tantrum at a team meeting."

"It looked like a meltdown to me. And it's not fair. Lots of autistic people have meltdowns especially when they're kids. But when an NT gets out of control, he's  just called a guy with a bad temper."

"I won't let that happen again, Lizzie. I promise. Please don't be upset."

Lizzie broke eye contact and looked at the wall while she took deep cleansing breaths.

"Are you okay?" asked Vinka.

"I'm trying to be okay. I got a bad cramp in my toes." She winced. "So, is this meeting over?"

Vinka nodded. "But before you go back to your desk, you need to zip up your pants."

"Oh. Yeah. Thanks." She zipped her jeans.

"I'd hate to see you expelled from the academy for violating the conduct code."

"Scooter was just–"

Vinka raised her hand. "I don't need the details, Lizzie. Don't do it again."