In the Real World

by Nōnen Títi

  Oops. I hadn’t thought about that.

  He puts the paper down. “I’m beginning to wonder if there’s anything at all that can humble or subdue a little lamb. Maybe somebody ought to give her a proper spanking.”

  It makes me gasp. “Are you volunteering?”

  “Would you like me to?” he asks.

  “Are you crazy?” I suddenly feel red-hot.

  “Maybe… maybe not.”

  I turn away from his piercing eyes and join the others who are waiting for me at the door.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Kathleen wants to know.

  “Nothing.”

  I catch Jerome’s look and, once again, I get the feeling that he knows.

  JEROME

  After lit group on Sunday I write the article for the SDF paper. In the meantime Kathleen’s father and Uncle Gerard are organizing a parent protest against the police presence and the inhibitions of liberties during lunch breaks – some kids didn’t have a drink all day Friday. “We have an appointment just after lunch. If we present the cause in reasonable terms they can’t reject us,” Uncle Gerard says. I asked if he could get Fred’s father to reconsider and he’s promised to try.

  Aunt Karen isn’t so sure. “I’m getting people I don’t even know asking me to keep my daughter under control because she’s allegedly preventing others from learning.”

  “And you believe that?” Mariette asks.

  “I have no idea what to believe anymore.”

  “I think we should stand behind them for now. I think they showed enough maturity last term to give us reason to trust them, and if not Mariette then certainly Jerome,” Uncle Gerard says, which makes me blush and Mariette looks up in feigned shock while stabbing a pretend dagger into her heart.

  I don’t know how much truth there is in the idea that the teachers are conspiring with PM to get the students to fail their exams, as Mariette would like to believe they do, but it sure influences people’s motivation. The math teacher might be the only one who still concentrates on actual work this Monday; everybody else just seems to be keeping up appearances. The atmosphere is tense and everywhere kids are telling stories of being cheated. Nobody really believes they have a fair chance in the exams.

  “For starters, attending PE classes is made a requirement for passing the overall grade, while everybody knows that people who aren’t naturally inclined to sports tend to be better at theoretical stuff and so this is pre-selection based on obedience to get into tertiary,” Mariette tells every student who wants to listen.

  The teachers are no more motivated than the students because they have to put up with remarks about discrimination and prejudice all the time. Students and teachers look at each other as if they’re enemies and even though people are going through the motions of everyday life, everyone’s aware of the underlying threat.

  An announcement is made just before recess informing us that Flatland High School has been named one of the five most student-friendly and tolerant schools in the state, with a high percentage going on to tertiary education and that we should be proud. This attempt to boost the spirits is countered when we hand out the latest edition of the SDF paper, which looks like a real newspaper page with columns. Pat’s drawing is fantastic; it shows students in prison cells with the police standing guard while PM interrogates one of them. When the bell announces the end of recess, the paper has sold out.

  In English Mr Shriver sits on his desk holding one of them and waits for everybody to be silent. “This class gives me such a headache. Every time I believe we’ve reached a ceasefire, one side starts up again. You can all have an F for failing to pay attention or else you would have known that newspapers are supposed to be unbiased and report the truth.”

  “Supposed to, yes, but don’t real world newspapers always show a picture on the front page of the so-called friendly soldiers helping the poor hurt children, without showing that they shot them first?” Mariette asks.

  “They do, but for some reason inexplicable to me, I was still hoping you had more class that that.”

  This shuts Mariette up so fast that it makes me smile.

  “And I had even higher hopes for you writing less one-sided articles,” he says to me. “‘Principal sends in armed forces’. What arms did they carry?”

  “The ones stuck to their torsos,” Kathleen replies, which makes most people laugh but I feel berated and a little guilty.

  “And you had better remember that cartoons are only funny if they highlight a culture’s own weaknesses, not those of others,” Mr Shriver tells Pat.

  At the end of lunch a group of parents arrive including Uncle Gerard, Kathleen’s dad and Fred’s father. So I decide that, if I’m going to be a reporter for one side anyway, I might as well do a bit of spying. Instead of going to InfoTech, I sit down on the ground under PM’s open window so I can listen to the conversation.

  Kathleen’s dad does most of the talking. Mick’s vandalism is mentioned. Apparently Mr Fokker didn’t want to take action, so the police let Mick go and the parents ask for Fred and Mick to return and sit the exams.

  Mr Moralis replies that Fred can come back since he was never expelled, but he says Mick needs psychiatric help. He’s a risk to the other students and their property. “I fear for the safety of those I’m responsible for. It isn’t only the car. I myself have been the target of one nasty accusation after another for which I’ve had social services on my doorstep. We’ve had rumours about abuse that still have not been resolved, we’ve had destruction of property and on Thursday after school, Mick gained access to the staff files by threatening one of the secretaries and he reported lies to the local paper. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

  Uncle Gerard replies, admitting that there was a reporter at the door late on Thursday claiming that Mariette had been abused. “I told him it was a misunderstanding because that’s what my daughter told us.”

  “And Bram turned him away as well, which is what caused the vengeance, but that was anger, not madness,” Kathleen’s dad says.

  This starts an argument between PM and Kathleen’s father, in which the latter insists that Mick is nothing but a teenager with a broken heart who let his hormones dictate his actions. PM disputes Mick’s sanity, stating that he knows what he’s talking about since he has thirty years of experience – apparently unaware that Kathleen’s dad is a psychiatric nurse.

  The next argument between the two of them is about Mr Fokker’s position. Kathleen’s dad criticizes PM for his lack of resolve in keeping the situation under control.

  “It’s my job to respond to the worries of the parents,” PM replies, sounding agitated.

  “This has nothing to with child safety, but everything with him protesting your responses to the students. Somebody had to step in to prevent this from escalating any further in your absence. You’re not firing him for that alleged slap, you’re firing him to hide your own incompetence and I, for one, will not stand by and let that happen.”

  This exchange is followed by a silence, the weight of which even I can feel, until Uncle Gerard says that nobody wants to put the safety of the school community in jeopardy and mentions the children who weren’t allowed to get a drink or go to the bathroom on Friday. PM makes all kinds of apologies for that. He sounds insecure and emotional enough for me to reconsider what Nikos said about him. He does care, only he can’t live outside of the circle.

  The discussion ends with Fred’s father expressing his worries about letting his son return if the school can’t control the students. “He had too much free time; he rarely had any homework. I worry that he’s not learning anything.”

  “I will speak to the teachers about that,” PM promises.

  Even Kathleen’s dad doesn’t point out the flaw in their logic in presuming that homework guarantees learning.

  I report what I heard to the others on the way to the bus.

  At home Uncle Gerard admits to what we already know happened on Thursday nig
ht. “Those reporters are like piranhas. Once they smell blood they become all teeth and grab what they can.” He warns us not to talk to them, and though he must be aware by now that it was more than just a rumour, he never mentions Mr Fokker.

  “Less than eight weeks before summer holidays. I never thought I’d be counting down,” Aunt Karen confesses when I help her in the kitchen later.

  On Tuesday, Charlotte confesses to having been in trouble with her father for her behaviour, so now she’s mad at PM for reporting her, angry with her dad for the scolding and with Mariette for having let Mick take all the blame. “We need to put up resistance to them taking power, not defend them as if they’re our allies. That’s being a traitor!”

  Mariette denies that it has anything to do with PM. “It isn’t your business any more than it is his!”

  Kathleen tells them to calm down. “They’re trying to turn us against each other like your gramps said. But he can’t kick you out directly because he’s afraid that your parents will sue the school for that slap and he won’t dare contradict Charlotte’s father because of the influence he has in the neighbourhood and in the council.”

  On Wednesday morning Josh meets us at the bus stop with a message from Kathleen’s brother. “Edgar asked me to wait for you. He says the police found a bottle of petrol and some rags in Sean’s bag, so they took him in for carrying tools of destruction. When Kathleen came to his aid, they took her too.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know the details. Edgar says his family is being accused of plotting acts of violence. He’s gone to the station with his parents. The police are still at the gate. You’re better off going back home.”

  “PM put it there, obviously, because their father called him on his incompetence,” Mariette concludes.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Fuck, Jerome, he had to get rid of Kathleen’s father. Getting the police involved was his only chance. Shit, I should have warned her about that. I’ll kill him! I know I will.”

  The tears in her voice tell me there’s a serious risk she’ll actually do that, so I go with her when she decides to invade the office. “If they want war, this is it,” she says.

  Once again nobody is watching the back fence except a handful of other students who weren’t about to be insulted by being searched at the gate. Mariette briefly tells them what she’s planning, so they follow us to the administration building. By the time we get to the lobby there are almost twenty of us. The secretary goes into a panic and drops the phone.

  “We want to talk to PM – Mr Moralis.”

  “He isn’t here yet,” she says.

  “What, his car came alone?” Mariette asks.

  “He’s busy right now.”

  Mariette eyes the door to PM’s room. At best it’s about ten meters from the lobby, but the corridor is narrow and people will get stuck.

  “We’ll go to the teacher’s lounge,” I tell her. That corridor is about three meters long and wider. And the whole troupe fits inside the room.

  The teachers who are there jump to their feet when Mariette voices her demand. “We’ve come for your help. Convince PM to withdraw his soldiers and let Kathleen go or we’ll make sure you’ll all be out of a job soon.”

  “Okay, Mariette, back off,” Mr Shriver says.

  “No.”

  “I’ll do everything I can to help your friend but there are witnesses who heard them making threats and evidence was found in their bags. This is a serious charge and a matter for the police.”

  “But your Mr Leader, hiding in his office up there, planted the evidence, or if he didn’t he’s making the whole thing up.”

  “You’re making accusations you can’t back up with proof.”

  “So does he!”

  “Last warning, Mariette. I can’t keep bailing you out. Go to your class and let me do this my way. If you’re serious about having come here for help, you’ll trust me in this.”

  “No! I want you to act like a vice-principal should and take over if the guy in charge turns out to be an incapable asshole!”

  He suddenly steps close to her. “Be quiet and get out of this room or I will have you arrested.” Though he isn’t quite shouting at her, he isn’t far off, and when he looks at me, I can feel him asking for my help to try and keep this decent.

  “Come on, Mariette. We should go home,” I tell my cousin.

  Having calmed down significantly, Mariette doesn’t protest when I usher her outside. “Of course there’s no board member here to witness this,” she scampers.

  The students who were inside with us tell everybody they meet, so instead of retreating to the back fence and leaving, we’re soon surrounded by a growing group of followers, all repeating that Mr Shriver threatened Mariette. When the bell goes for first period, Mariette suddenly jumps on one of the benches and raises her voice.

  “We will not go and be good little students any more. They can’t force us to go to classes. They can’t stop us from giving our opinion. We’re tired of being treated like pre-schoolers. We don’t need them to tell us what to learn. Or are you going to stay here and let them tell you how stupid you are day after day?” she asks her audience.

  “No!”

  “Will you carry on letting them tell you what clothes to put on, whether to use make-up and what shoes to wear?”

  “No!” they shout in unison. At least a quarter of all students must be here now and many more come running.

  “Will you let them grade your work according to whether they like you or not and decorate you with badges for being obedient little doggies?”

  “No!”

  “No, we won’t! From today on we’ll teach them instead. Let them feel what it’s like to be talked down on. Today the students run the school!”

  Her proclamation is met with cheers. “Students rule!” a voice shouts, followed by more cheers and then more shouting.

  “Power to the students!”

  The voices get louder and more organized, calling for freedom and equality.

  “So go and teach them!” Mariette finishes, and jumps down.

  And so they do, possibly more forcefully than even Mariette had intended. Charlotte and her gang go on a rampage, collecting school books and planning to make a bonfire. Pat and Lindsey contribute the contents of the woodwork room while the biology teacher ends up with a black eye after trying to stop others destroying the laboratory equipment. A group of students go into the secretaries’ office to disconnect the phones and sabotage the computers. I hear glass breaking in the distance and one of the librarians comes running out in tears.

  I don’t know where the police officers who were at the gate this morning went, but I’m sure it won’t be long before they’re back. I pull Mariette away from the bench she was on earlier. “We’re going home.”

  Clearly as shocked from the consequences of her words as I am, she lets me drag her away. We start to walk rather than wait for a bus. When I look back the first police car is driving through the gate. It still takes all I’ve got to convince Mariette to not turn around and go back. Only once we meet Pat, who tells us that most people fled when the police arrived, does Mariette give in. We spend the afternoon at Pat’s house trying to mobilize as many students as we can for a walk-in tomorrow to keep people from being stopped by the police again. Fred’s father still won’t let me talk to him, so I send him an e-mail. Mariette is restless all evening until her phone calls finally get an answer at Kathleen’s house just before midnight.

  “We’re home. Mum’s furious. She called her lawyer friend in the city and we’re going to see her tomorrow.”

  Mariette gives Kathleen a quick description of what happened this morning. “We’ll kill him, Kathleen, I swear. Are you with me, Jerome?”

  “In what, killing PM?”

  “Not literally, I’m not stupid, but yes.”

  I’m seriously worried now; worried for her, because she’ll drive this to the limit and no matter how right she
is, she’ll end up in trouble. “What are you planning to do once you get inside?”

  “I don’t know yet,” she says.

  “Why don’t we tell Uncle Gerard?”

  “What’s he going to do, Jerome? He’ll tell us to stay home tomorrow but we just called everybody. We can’t do that.”

  I can’t sleep that night and have to take headache tablets, which I then throw up and have to take again. By the time I know what to tell her it’s morning and I feel worse than yesterday. “I’ll back up your protest if you do it in words, but nothing else, Mariette. I can’t protect you from yourself, but I’ll go to someone who can if I need to.”

  “Like who?”

  “Mr Shriver.”

  “He’s the vice principal. He won’t help us.”

  “I don’t see it that way. He isn’t like that. You heard him yesterday. You know it is true.”

  “Well, maybe he’s different, but it’s still his job to support PM.”

  “That’s the same thing as saying that Mr Fokker is like PM or that you’re like Mick.”

  She frowns at me and puts on her shoes with a bit more force than normal. “Who says I need protecting anyway?”

  “Because you do. You’re like my dad when you’re upset. Mr Shriver says so too.”

  “He says I’m like your dad?”

  “He says you need protecting.”

  “You choose, Jerome. Like I said, you don’t have to come. I won’t blame you, but I have no choice.”

  I’d like to plead with her to stay calm, but she’s long since lost that. I’d like to call Grandpa Will, but I should have thought about that last night. All I can do is hope I can stop her from throttling him, no matter how much I’d like to watch that myself. So I leave her at the bus stop and go ahead alone.

  Just inside the gate I meet Charlotte’s father, who glares at me.

  MARIETTE

  We wait until we hear the bell before leaving the bus stop. I reckon close to half of the students are already with us, but more join along the way. All are dressed in as much dark clothing as they have without pockets that could be searched and with no bags. We march to the school gate all together, arm in arm, too many to be stopped by the pair of policemen standing there. They don’t even try. One uses a mobile, but they step out of the way and let us through. One point for us.