The kids from the high school theater club killed someone and buried them atop the hill behind the school. It's part of a ritual-- an initiation into the theater program. If you are a good enough actor to lie to the bio-imprinted lie detectors, than you can join the crew- or so the drunken delinquents thought. They were puffed up with pride, foolish to a fault, and begging for disaster.
To mark the momentous occasion, Norland orders us all to bury our neon school ID jackets in a circle around the body, like a protective circle. Then we skitter away, the boys giggling at how sly they were. The dead man was a new teacher, Mr. Durey, who advocated the rule of the Globalzine Corporation. (As much as I disagree with sweatshop labor, this is NOT the way to deal with contrary opinion.) Just as we reach the bottom of the hill, a siren starts up. Someone in the area must have alerted our presence! We scatter across the lower hills, running home.
The next school day, the whole student body titters with the silent gossip of the eyes. I can feel it everywhere. As I sit down in history class, digging through my bag, I hear an unfamiliar voice. I look up, see a substitute teacher, and remember what happened the night before. The moment school gets out, I rush over to the other theater kids, and realize why everyone is staring: we’re not wearing our ID vests. Outside the Dean’s office, a deep red Police corvette lurks, empty. “They know!” Josiah cries. “They know we killed him! They’ll hang us for sure!”
“Calm down,” replies Norland, “They’re not gonna kill us if they can’t catch us. We’ll stay hidden. The Dean doesn’t have any concrete evidence. It’ll all blow over soon- you know how these things go. It’ll be blamed on the rising taxes for public schools. Angry citizens kill teachers all the time nowadays.”
“Yeah, but not those in with the head honchos at Globalzine!” says a kid who’d been reading some confidential papers he just nicked from the police car…bad news.
“Wait…Norland…if they know he’s missing, it’s only a short time before they go out with dogs and find the body…and if they find the body…” We run back up the hill, dig up our neon jackets, and flee. I fly home, get Mum and Gran and Lyle, and we hideout under fake names at an obscure little hotel. “Remember- you can’t leave the hotel premises in case someone recognizes you and informs the authorities.”
“Whatever,” replies Lyle, going to do homework in the Jacuzzi. A Jamaican dude starts hangin’ around her. Agent in disguise? I stalk him suspiciously. Turns out, he’s just a tourist.
But- wait: why was I part of a murder? I’m supposed to be a hero, to save people and right wrongs! Heroes don’t succumb to peer pressure! Or do they…
No comments:
Post a Comment