President Washington Is Waiting

"Don't forget your history assessment is due by midnight tonight," Ms. Parker reminded her eleventh-grade American History class as the dismissal bell rang. "This replaces your quarterly essay, so take it seriously."

Casey slung his backpack over one shoulder with a groan. "This is so weird. I'd rather just write the stupid essay."

Beside him, Lin rolled her eyes as she packed her laptop. "You're only saying that because you can't BS your way through a conversation like you can with five paragraphs of fluff."

"It's not that," Casey muttered, though they both knew it was exactly that.

Ms. Parker overheard and approached them. "Remember, this isn't just a test—it's an opportunity to engage with history directly. Each of you will have a personalized conversation with our AI George Washington. The system knows your strengths and weaknesses from previous assessments and will tailor the discussion accordingly."

Zoe joined them at the door. "Ms. Parker, is it true the AI can tell if we're looking up answers during the conversation?"

"Yes," Ms. Parker replied with a knowing smile. "The system tracks response patterns, typing rhythms, and time delays. But more importantly, it recognizes when you're genuinely thinking through a concept versus reciting memorized information. That's the whole point—we want to see your authentic understanding, not how well you can copy and paste."

Later that evening, Casey procrastinated until 10 PM before finally opening his laptop. He logged into the school portal and stared at his screen, watching the loading animation of a quill pen writing across digital parchment.

"Welcome, Casey Armstrong," appeared on his screen, followed by: "The President will see you now."

Casey took a deep breath and clicked "Begin Assessment."

His screen transformed into what looked like a period-accurate office at Mount Vernon. Seated at a desk was a remarkably lifelike George Washington who looked up from writing a letter and fixed Casey with a penetrating gaze.

"Good afternoon, young man," the Washington avatar said, his voice deep and measured with a hint of Virginia accent. "I understand you've been studying the early foundations of our republic."

Casey shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, yes sir, Mr. President."

Washington nodded, setting down his quill. "Tell me, what do you believe was my greatest concern when helping to establish this new form of government?"

Casey frantically searched his memory for anything about Washington's presidency. "Um, I think you were worried about the country splitting into different factions? Like, political parties and stuff?"

Washington's expression changed subtly—impressed, but cautious. "Indeed. Can you recall any specific warnings I may have given about this danger?"

Casey couldn't remember anything specific. He started to reach for his phone under the desk.

Washington cleared his throat. "I sense hesitation. Perhaps we might approach this differently. Tell me what you understand about how political disagreements function in your modern era."

Casey blinked, surprised by the shift. "Well, everything's super divided now. Democrats and Republicans basically hate each other and can't get anything done because they're just fighting all the time."

"Interesting," Washington leaned forward, seemingly genuinely curious. "And do you see any connection between this current situation and the concerns I expressed in my Farewell Address of 1796?"

Casey realized the AI was leading him toward something specific. "I guess... were you warning about exactly this happening? The two-party system becoming a problem?"

"You're on the right track," Washington nodded approvingly. "Let's explore that further."

At the same time across town, Lin was at her desk at home, deep in conversation with her own Washington.

"Your analysis of the Constitutional Convention's compromises shows commendable depth, Miss Lin," her Washington said. "But I'm curious about your thoughts on my decision to suppress the Whiskey Rebellion in 1794. Was this action consistent with the revolutionary ideals I had championed earlier?"

Lin smiled confidently, sipping her tea. "It reveals an interesting tension, sir. You fought against taxation without representation, yet as president, you enforced federal tax law with military force. I think it demonstrates how governing responsibility shifted your perspective from revolutionary to institution-builder."

Washington raised an eyebrow. "A thoughtful observation. How might this pattern apply to other revolutionary leaders throughout history?"

Lin hadn't expected this comparative angle. The AI had found her blind spot.

In her bedroom, surrounded by history textbooks, Zoe was visibly frustrated with her assessment. Her Washington kept circling back to questions about executive precedent and separation of powers—topics her profile showed she had struggled with on previous tests.

"Let us try again, Miss Thompson," her Washington said patiently. "When I established the practice of a two-term presidency, I was not merely making a personal choice. What larger principle was I attempting to demonstrate?"

Zoe sighed. "Something about preventing a monarchy or dictatorship?"

"You're circling the concept," Washington nodded encouragingly. "Consider this: what message did my voluntary relinquishment of power send to both American citizens and European monarchies watching our experiment?"

A light dawned in Zoe's eyes. "Oh! You were showing that peaceful transfer of power was possible—that our system wasn't built around one person!"

"Excellent," Washington smiled. "Now apply that principle to the broader Constitutional framework..."

Forty minutes later, Casey glanced at the timer in the corner of his screen: only five minutes remaining.

His conversation had meandered through Washington's military leadership, his relationship with Alexander Hamilton, and eventually circled back to the dangers of partisanship—each topic carefully selected to probe his understanding while reinforcing key concepts.

"Before we conclude, Mr. Armstrong," his Washington said, "I'd like to hear your thoughts on one final matter. What parallels might you draw between my concerns about foreign influence in American politics and similar challenges in your modern era?"

Casey paused, genuinely considering the question. "I think... social media makes it easier for foreign countries to influence our elections now, which is kind of like what you were worried about with France and England trying to pull America to their side back then. It's harder to stay independent when information and influence flow so easily across borders."

Washington nodded, seemingly impressed. "A perceptive observation. The mediums change, but the fundamental challenges of governance remain." The figure stood, signaling the end of their conversation. "I've enjoyed our discussion, young man. Until we meet again."

The screen faded to a "Session Complete" message.

The next morning before homeroom, Ms. Parker scrolled through the assessment dashboard on her tablet. Each student's conversation had been analyzed and scored across multiple dimensions: factual knowledge, critical thinking, contextual understanding, historical empathy, and conceptual connections.

The system had flagged Casey's initial attempt to look up information but noted his "significant engagement improvement when redirected to relevant modern parallels." It recommended focusing future instruction on primary source analysis to build his confidence with period-specific references.

For Lin, it suggested "more comparative history exercises to expand application of concepts beyond American context," while Zoe's feedback highlighted "meaningful breakthrough on constitutional principles when approached through concrete examples rather than abstract concepts."

Ms. Parker's colleague, Mr. Winters, peered over her shoulder in the teachers' lounge. "Impressive data. Still, don't you miss reading their essays? There was something about seeing their thoughts laid out on paper."

"I thought I would," Ms. Parker admitted, "but I'm seeing deeper thinking in these conversations than I ever got in their five-paragraph formats. The AI doesn't let them hide behind memorized facts or fillers. It keeps pushing until they demonstrate real understanding."

"Or until they give up," Mr. Winters countered. "And what about creativity? Writing teaches structured thinking."

Ms. Parker swiped to a new screen showing transcript excerpts. "Look at these exchanges. Casey never would have made these connections in an essay. He would have regurgitated dates and names, then called it a day. The system caught him trying to cheat, then redirected him to a line of inquiry where he actually had something meaningful to say."

"So we're letting AI teach critical thinking now?" Mr. Winters asked skeptically.

"No," Ms. Parker replied, "we're using AI to create the conditions where students have no choice but to think critically. The Washington they talk to isn't just a script—it's responding to their specific misconceptions and building on their unique interests."

"And tracking their eye movements and keystrokes while doing it," Mr. Winters muttered. "Doesn't that bother you at all?"

Ms. Parker hesitated. "Sometimes. But I also have twenty-eight students with different needs, gaps, and learning styles. I can't simultaneously hold twenty-eight perfectly adaptive conversations about Washington's presidency. This system can."

She scrolled to the class overview, which showed a heatmap of concept mastery across students. "Look at this—it's already identified three topics the entire class is struggling with and generated personalized reinforcement activities for each student."

"And if they learn to game the system?" Mr. Winters asked.

Ms. Parker smiled slightly. "The AI reported that five students tried various evasion techniques. But unlike an essay where they can dance around what they don't know, the AI just kept redirecting until they either demonstrated understanding or revealed their confusion."

"Still feels like we're outsourcing our job," Mr. Winters said, turning to leave. "What happens when the AI decides it can teach better than we can, too?"

Ms. Parker's smile faded as Casey approached her desk before first period.

"Ms. Parker?" he asked hesitantly. "Is it weird that I kind of want to talk to Washington again? There was this thing about his Cabinet that I didn't fully understand, and now I'm curious."

She looked at her veteran colleague's retreating back, then at Casey—possibly showing genuine historical curiosity for the first time all semester.

"Not weird at all," she replied. "That's exactly the point."

This collection of short stories uses AI to explore technology and security in a more engaging and accessible way. Each narrative transforms complex ideas into relatable human experiences. By harnessing artificial intelligence as a collaborative storytelling tool, the collection re-imagines how we explore and illustrate potential outcomes of technology, security, and social issues.