The man we were having dinner with was Benjamin Lloyd. He was Chair of Regions in Leader Simon’s administration, which meant he was very important. The whole family needed to appear perfect and be on our best behavior.
My father often entertained others in politics back home, but never as high as those in the administration of Leader Simon. Therefore, I was a little nervous about meeting the man, as were my parents.
I dressed myself in a white blouse and black, knee-length skirt, pulling my hair back. I was used to society parties and high-standing officials, but now that I was in Central and the person we were entertaining was of such high status, I felt that I was learning everything all over again.
My father came home around seven and hurriedly rushed upstairs to change and clean up, blurting a quick: “I’m home! I’ll be down in a minute!”
At seven-thirty the doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of our guest.
I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting of Mr. Lloyd, but I had not been expecting the small, thin man who appeared at our door. He was balding and his eyes were surrounded by wrinkles.
“Hello, I am Benjamin Lloyd.”
“Yes, it is a pleasure to meet you,” I greeted, having been the one to answer the door. “I am Lily, Thomas’ daughter. Won’t you please come in?”
I stepped aside, feeling more relaxed now that I saw the man we were entertaining was not of overwhelming stature. Even his obviously-expensive and well-tailored suit did not make his shoulders look any broader.
“Thank you,” he said. “I saw a picture of you on Thomas’ desk. It doesn’t do you justice.”
“Thank you very much, sir,” I said graciously. “Mom?” I called gently. “Mr. Lloyd is here.”
“Oh, Mr. Lloyd,” my mother greeted, walking into the foyer from the kitchen and extending her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you. I am Karen.”
“It is wonderful to finally meet you, Karen,” Mr. Lloyd said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. “I have heard so many wonderful things about you from Thomas. I was anxious to meet such an incredible woman.”
“Oh, you are being far too kind,” my mother giggled demurely.
This was the part I always hated. These meetings were always so flighty, denying compliments and skirting real conversation. I especially hated how all of the smiling made my cheeks hurt, but I dared not scowl or roll my eyes at the forced pleasantries covering the awkwardness of introductions.
“My husband will be down in just a moment. I do apologize, but dinner is not quite ready. It will still be about ten minutes.”
“That is perfectly alright, Mrs. Sandover,” Mr. Lloyd assured with a light chuckle. “It smells fantastic! What are you making?”
“Steak with steamed vegetables, mashed potatoes, salad, and an apple pie for dessert,” my mom answered with a beaming grin.
“Absolutely wonderful!”
“I hope it is to your liking,” she said, moving back into the kitchen. My father came down the stairs, dressed in a new suit and tie before I was left with Mr. Lloyd too long.
“Mr. Lloyd.”
“Come, now, Thomas, we’ve discussed this,” Mr. Lloyd chuckled warmly, taking my father’s hand. “None of his ‘Mr. Lloyd’ business. It’s Ben.”
“Ben, thank you for coming for dinner.”
“Absolutely. I always prefer to conduct meetings over food rather than in a stuffy office,” Mr. Lloyd said. I tried not to let the disappointment show on my face. This was not just a dinner party, it was a meeting, which meant that it was going to be even more boring.
“I see you’ve met my daughter.”
“I have,” he affirmed. “She seems like a wonderful young lady, Thomas. You must be very proud of her.”
“I am.”
We moved to the table where I asked Mr. Lloyd and my father what they would like to drink. While we waited for dinner to be ready, Mr. Lloyd and my father talked lightly, discussing their homes and how we liked living in Central. They did not talk about their meeting, or the purpose for the meeting.
I rarely joined the conversation as dinner commenced. My mother and father talked genially to Mr. Lloyd, asking him how long he had been in Central and if he had any children—all the normal questions. My mother asked what Leader Simon was like and if he was fun to work with, which Mr. Lloyd replied by saying that he was a kind and gentle man who was very easy to get along with.
For some reason, I had never pictured the leader of a country as strong as America to be “gentle.”
I only joined the conversation when I was asked if I liked Central and was adjusting well to my new school.
When the time was appropriate, my father started the meeting part of dinner.
“So, Ben, what did you think of my proposal for the seventh route into the North Midwest Region?” my father asked after we had wrapped up a story about traveling to the North-East Region. Ben nodded, finishing the bite of steak he had in his mouth before turning to my father.
“I thought it was brilliant,” he said. “Did you work with Samantha on this?”
“I did,” my father affirmed. “Mrs. Davis was the one who gave me the idea, actually.” I blinked, recognizing the name of Becca’s mother, who was the Official Regulator for the region they were discussing. “She told me that the northern most road was frozen for over six months of the year, and the transportation of goods becomes very difficult. Reconstruction of the northern roads has been severely lacking.”
“It is a problem we have been facing for several years, ever since the closing of routes twelve and seventeen after the reformation. And that northern border is particularly dangerous,” Mr. Lloyd nodded slowly. I was completely lost. “However, your thought of redirecting the seventh route is genius!”
“Do you really think so?” my father asked, his eyes alight with pride.
“Absolutely!” Mr. Lloyd said strongly. “In fact, one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you is because I want to submit this proposition to Leader Simon and the Commission of the People to see if we can get it approved as soon as possible.”
At this, all of our eyes went wide. While I didn’t really understand the technicalities of their discussion, I understood what an incredible honor this was for my father. It took him several minutes to speak.
“You really think…you think it could work?”
“I do,” Mr. Lloyd chuckled, seeing our shocked faces. He leaned over and playfully hit my father in the shoulder. “It was about time you showed up in Central, Thomas.”
The rest of dinner and dessert was spent discussing how the procedure would work and the revisions that my father would have to make before it was submitted to the eyes of Leader Simon and the Commission of the People. I was shocked that my father’s first major proposal in Central would create such a stir. We had only been in Central for a week and a half.
Mr. Lloyd went home late in the night. We bid him goodbye at the door as he thanked us. He complimented my mother’s cooking and told my father, once again, that he had been very lucky with his family. He told me to keep having as much fun as possible, but not to let my grades slip. As he was walking to his car, he turned to my father one last time.
“I’ll see you in my office on Monday, Thomas,” he called. “And, just so you know, this kind of action is the kind that gets noticed quickly. I wouldn’t be surprised if you got your invitation into the Commission of the People for this.”
My heart stopped.
I knew what an immense honor it was to become a part of the Commission of the People—it was like an exclusive club. However, the entire family was brought into the Commission, and I saw the way the “Commish Kids” were treated and how they acted around everyone else. I didn’t want to be part of that group. My feelings were twisting around the food inside my belly. I knew my father wanted to do something great in Central, and being in the Commission was obviously something he wanted.
We bid Mr. Lloyd goodnight and, when the door closed, my mother smi
led broadly, throwing her arms around my father’s neck, giggling happily as my father chuckled, relieved.
“I knew you would do great…” she whispered.
Chapter Nine
Monday was like any other Monday at any other school.
Becca asked me if I had recovered from my experience at Archangel. Jill became tense when Devon was mentioned, particularly when anyone said that we looked good dancing together. I wasn’t sure if the other girls really understood that they were pushing buttons or if they were testing boundaries before the issue was finally brought up.
Classes started before Jill had a chance to say anything.
I was happy class gave me a reason to be away from Jill. I was worried that we were getting into rocky territory in our new friendship and that it would only be a matter of time before it would turn into a fight. I wanted to tell her that I had no interest in Devon. But I didn’t want to cause unnecessary drama by approaching her. I would wait for her to say something first.
“Okay, everyone, how was the party?” Mr. McDermott asked at the beginning of Lit class. There was a chorus of answers as some shouted stories of events. Our teacher finally got the class to quiet down, holding up a book.
“Did you all read the first chapter?”
“Yes,” the class answered collectively.
“Great!” he beamed. “Alright, so, overall thoughts on the chapter?” He looked around the room, waiting for someone to raise their hand. After several long, silent seconds, Becca’s hand went up.
“Becca.”
“I thought it was interesting that the author told us that Thomas Ankell really didn’t like anything about the country. He didn’t want to save it when he was younger but he actually hoped it would fall.”
“Excellent,” Mr. McDermott said. “This is a detail many have wondered about since this book was made public. Let’s start with that. Do you think that it’s true that he hoped the United States would collapse? Or do you think that the author’s making that up for the sake of good storytelling?”
A girl raised her hand.
“His feelings make sense, in a way…”
“Why’s that?”
“Because he was so unhappy with what he was seeing that he didn’t see any way to save it,” the girl elaborated. “He ended up rebelling instead. He wanted to create a whole new system. The old one had to fall.”
“That’s a very good point, Jessica,” Mr. McDermott agreed. He saw another hand in the back of the room. “Yes, Kevin?”
“I’m confused about something,” he started. “The author says that there are some controversial things about Thomas Ankell’s life. Is it just that he didn’t like the government, or…”
“No, no,” Mr. McDermott laughed brokenly. “In the next few chapters, you will read some things that will make your eyebrows raise, that’s for sure. Drug abuse, teen pregnancy, and intense violence.” He sat on his desk. “This does bring up another very good point. Do you all agree with Jessica? That Thomas Ankell wanted to create a new system?”
Taylor raised her hand. “I didn’t really get that impression when I was reading it,” she disagreed. “I mean, there is a line…” she flipped through her book.
“Quoting!” Mr. McDermott grinned, also opening his book. “Quoting is good.”
“It’s this line, where he says: ‘I hate this country. I hope it destroys itself and burns itself to the ground. It deserves it.’ To me, that doesn’t sound like he wanted to rebuild anything. It said earlier in the book that he didn’t understand the government, and that meant he didn’t have any ideas for a better system.”
“Excellent point!” Mr. McDermott said. “And, actually, this is a perfect lead into what I wanted to talk about today. The author makes a point to start out this book by saying that Thomas Ankell did not know anything about politics. Did anyone notice the way the author talks about the Ankell family?”
“They’re called ‘ordinary’ and ‘typical,’” one boy said.
“Exactly. The author makes a point to stress that Ankell came from perfectly ordinary roots. This holds true to the American notion of the self-made man who makes his own way. This sort of description of the family and the background of Ankell eludes to other great historical narrations of pre-Second Revolution American heroes, like Benjamin Franklin, which I think you all read a few years ago.
“So, why do you think this language was used in this first chapter to introduce Ankell’s background?” Mr. McDermott asked. “If Ankell hated America and the Washington System, why would the narrative of his heroism be told in the same fashion as older American heroes who founded the very system he wanted to tear down?”
No one answered immediately.
One girl raised her hand in the middle of the room. I recalled that she was a Commish Kid, and a nasty one at that.
“Yes, Karmen?”
“Well, it’s true that he didn’t like what the government was doing, but when he was running the revolution, he was fighting for the ‘true American Spirit,’ and he rallied the people by talking about the founding fathers of America and how the American Spirit used to be one of the most powerful ideals in the world.”
“Perfect,” Mr. McDermott praised. “We must understand that Ankell became immortalized with the other American heroes because he fought mostly for the American Spirit and America as a whole. He looked at America as if the country was a person and, as we look further into the book, you will find one of his speeches where he talks about the ‘Life of America’ as if America was a human being, and not a philosophical ideal of a country.
“Now, what do you think about the way the state of the world is described in this chapter? Why do you think the author chose to include that section? Greg?” he motioned to a boy who had his hand raised in the back of the room.
“Well, this was written after Ankell died, so the state of the world had changed drastically between the time he was a boy and the time he died. The Second Revolution sent the rest of the world into a similar revolutionary state.”
“Excellent. Yes, Karmen?”
“Going off of what Greg said, it also seemed to me like the author is trying to say that Ankell’s idea of revolution was brought to the world at the right time. All leading countries were ready for a change and, since America is a huge powerhouse with a lot of political influence, when Ankell organized the Second Revolution, it wasn’t just a revolution of Americans, but it allowed the whole world to rally behind the change, and to bring change to their own countries.”
“You mean that everything was really all about timing?” Mr. McDermott pressed.
“Well, it just seemed that way from the way the author elaborated on the subject.”
“No, that is an excellent point, it was all about timing. If Thomas Ankell had tried to launch that revolution at any other time, it would have never gotten off the ground. This is absolutely true.”
Mr. McDermott went to the front of the room and turned on the projection screen to show a map of America divided up into the six regions. “I hope you all know what this map is,” he teased. “This is what America used to look like.” He clicked a button on his computer and an older map of America came up. The fifty states America used to be compiled of were outlined in relation to the current regions. “One of the greatest things Ankell did with the revolution was denouncing the idea of the United States. He claimed that America was no longer united as one and that the name was inappropriate. He stated that Americans needed to fight for America as a whole, not for their particular states.
“For the first several months of the revolution, this idea was considered preposterous, and many unified with their states, forming state divisions of the revolution. I know no one is familiar with this map, so I will explain it to you. In the book, the horrible state of affairs started with Texas. This,” he pointed, “is Texas.” He pointed to the former state of California. “This is where Ankell is from, and this,” he pointed to Washington D.C., “is where the former
capital was.” He motioned across the map. “Does it make sense why the revolution started in the western states?”
“Because the government was so far away…” I murmured before I could help myself. As teachers often did, Mr. McDermott heard my comment all the same.
“What was that?”
“The government was too far away from the states on the west coast,” I repeated louder.
“Absolutely right,” Mr. McDermott said. “Ankell claimed that western representatives were too far away from their home states and they could not relate to their constituents at all.”
He explained the order of states that committed to the Second Revolution before class was finished and ended class by telling us that he would discuss the workings of the United States government with us throughout the week in order to understand the root of the Second Revolution.
I had never expected to learn that the bringer of the Third Revolution, the man Americans idolized as a hero, had been so angry toward his own country. I supposed the motives of some heroes had to remain secret to preserve their image.
After class it was difficult not to think about what life must have been like before the Second Revolution. I tried to imagine the deep-seated hatred in the American people, and relate that anger to the known facts about the bloody Second Revolution.
I found myself flipping back and forth between the pages in my personal sketchbook during art class, turning over those thoughts. I looked over the picture of the angel waving his flag to rally the people. Then I turned to the face of the man with eyes so full of emotions it was hard to believe all those feelings could be experienced at once. To me, the pictures connected to the Second Revolution. The man was America, full to the brim with anger, sadness, and general frustration about his helplessness. The angel was flying high above all of it to rally people toward a better life.
I was thinking too much into things.
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