At exactly three o’clock, Leo sat alone in the physics room. In front of him on the table stood the coffee-soaked Q-Fluctuator 3000, next to a pack of cotton swabs and a bottle of special cleaner. Mr. Kringel had briefly gone to the teachers’ lounge to get some “nerve-soothing herbal tea.”
“Well done, Leo,” he muttered to himself, carefully wiping a sticky gear. “Other people get detention tasks like ‘I must not make paper airplanes.’ I get to clean the theory of relativity.”
Suddenly the machine made a strange noise. It no longer sounded like an offended “Bzzzt,” but more like a cheerful chuckle, followed by a loud *Ping!*, strongly reminiscent of a finished toast. The small digital display on the casing, which had been completely black before, lit up bright green.
“System update successful. Coffee drive activated. Please select your destination”, appeared in pixelated letters on the display.
Leo blinked. “My destination? What destination?”
He stretched out his hand and cautiously tapped the directional pad of the old Gameboy element. At the same moment, a thin, neon green laser beam shot out from the front of the device. The beam zipped across the room and hit the large, mobile whiteboard standing next to the chalkboard. The complicated math formulas from the advanced class this morning were still drawn on the board.
The whiteboard began to vibrate. Then something happened that Leo could hardly believe with his eyes: The aluminum legs of the board bent elastically outward, the wheels started to move like little paws, and the entire frame shook like a wet dog. The mathematical formulas on the surface quickly rearranged themselves to form two large, square eyes and a slightly jagged mouth.
“Hello Creator!” said the whiteboard. The voice sounded like a metallic voice assistant that had had a bit too much sugar.
Leo almost fell off his chair. He pressed his back against the wall. “You… you talk?!” he stammered.
“Negative. I communicate visually and acoustically based on the mathematical constants assigned to me!” explained the whiteboard proudly and rolled a bit closer to Leo. “My current status: Extremely motivated! Would you like to conduct a curve discussion? Or shall I calculate world domination?”
“No! No, no math formulas!” Leo shouted in panic. He realized the scale of the disaster: He had not only repaired the machine, he had brought a piece of furniture to life. And the worst part? In exactly two minutes Mr. Kringel would come through the door with his herbal tea. If the teacher saw a talking, walking whiteboard, Leo would probably have to serve detention until retirement.
“Okay, listen, buddy,” Leo whispered, trying to sound as authoritative as possible. “You have to hide. Immediately!”
“Understood. Search mode activated,” replied the whiteboard, spinning on its wheels in a circle and heading full speed toward the door – just at the moment when the handle moved down from the outside.