Truancy Origins Read online

  The boy was flung forward, landing face-first on the hard ground. His textbook and binder landed in shambles to his left; his bottle of lemonade flew to the right and came to rest in a large, sticky puddle of its own contents. The shock disoriented him. His glasses flew several feet away, leaving him with a blurred perception of the world. Even so, he knew what was coming next, and instinctively tried to lift himself off the ground. A hard kick to his ribs floored him again, leaving him to clutch his side in pain. Before he could attempt any other movements, a heavy boot came to rest atop his head. It wasn’t applying much pressure yet, but the message was clear, and the boy remained still.

  “Hey guys, looks like we’ve found ourselves one of the princes of the City!”

  “Which one is it? They look the same to me.”

  “Don’t be stupid, this one has short hair and glasses,” a third voice snarled, this one belonging to the owner of the offending boot. “It’s obviously Umasi.”

  “Not Zen,” the first voice said, disappointed.

  “No, not Zen,” the owner of the boot agreed. “But I can’t say that I like this one much either. He’s a real teacher’s pet. Always sucking up in class. Isn’t that right, Umasi?”

  Umasi realized that there was no right answer to the question and opted to remain silent. But even as he clamped his mouth shut, he could feel anger bubbling up inside him. It was not a rational, focused anger, but more of a general fury that he knew could prove more harmful to himself than to his assailants. Umasi forced himself to be calm, even as his silence prompted the owner of the boot to remove it from his head and instead seize a fistful of Umasi’s hair.

  “Your brother’s got quite an attitude, you know that?” the boy said as he yanked Umasi upright. “Thinking he can run around like he owns the school and everyone in it, just ’cause his daddy’s the Mayor. What about you? Does it run in the family?”

  Umasi shook his head stiffly, his teeth grinding against each other behind sealed lips. Tears of shock and anger ran down his face, mingling with the dirt that had rubbed onto him from the ground. This reaction produced hearty laughter from the trio.

  “Aww, you made the baby cry!”

  “Anyone got some tissues?”

  “I think he’s had enough,” the third bully said. “I’m done wasting time here. Let’s let him off easy this time.”

  Without waiting for a response from his cohorts, the brute roughly shoved Umasi to the ground again, holding his head right above the newly formed puddle of lemonade.

  “You like that stuff so much, why don’t you have some more?” the boy suggested. “Lick it up. We just want you to drink a tiny bit, and we’ll let you go.”

  Umasi remained silent, but didn’t move. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t act rationally. Just a drop of the lemonade, dirty though it might be, wouldn’t do him much harm, and would save him a world of trouble. But what was left of his pride and dignity wouldn’t allow him to do it, and with the idea of fighting back being so obviously suicidal, Umasi was paralyzed with indecision for several agonizing moments.

  “Come on, do it!” the boy ordered again impatiently.

  Slowly, hesitantly, Umasi lowered his head as the boys jeered behind him. He halted just above the puddle, breathing deeply to steady his nerves, fighting one last battle with himself. But he would never know what the results of that struggle might have been, for another voice chose that moment to make its presence known.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen, but it appears as though you’ve confused me with my brother over there.”

  The three bullies spun around, instantly forgetting all about Umasi. Sitting up shakily, Umasi turned around as well, to see the three boys staring almost dumbstruck at a fourth. The new center of attention wore a black windbreaker jacket over his gray school uniform, with matching black boots and a backpack slung over one shoulder. His sleek, dark hair was tied back into a simple ponytail, and his cold, intimidating gaze radiated both strength and menace.

  For a fleeting second Umasi saw fear on the faces of his tormentors, but it swiftly passed, replaced by dogged determination.

  “Zen,” the first boy spat.

  “Correct,” Zen agreed, leaning against the brick wall behind him.

  “Still growing out that girl’s hair?” the second boy jeered.

  “That would seem to be the case, wouldn’t it?” Zen replied, his glinting eyes surveying each one of them thoroughly.

  “There’s three of us this time,” the third boy warned. “Think you can take all of us at once?”

  “Probably,” Zen said, his gaze coming to rest upon the first boy, who reflexively took a step back. “But the real question is ‘Are you brave enough to find out?’ ”

  There was a moment of silence, as all three of the bullies faced the same indecision that Umasi had experienced moments before. On one hand, Zen had made a challenge that couldn’t be ignored. On the other, each of them had experienced humiliating defeat at his hands before. But with them outnumbering him three to one, there was no way for them to back down without losing face. Almost simultaneously, the three boys reached the same decision and lunged forward from all sides, charging Zen with arms outstretched.

  Theirs would prove to be a very painful mistake.

  Zen shed his backpack and smoothly ducked the first boy’s assault from the left. He then stepped forward, bringing his fist arcing upwards into the boy’s belly, the whole motion taking less time than it took his backpack to hit the ground. The impact of the punch was tremendous, and the hapless boy made a noise halfway between a whimper and a wheeze, followed by a gurgling sound as Zen jabbed at his throat, cleanly tipping him backwards like a domino.

  Zen was still in motion and changing targets even as the first boy fell. Deftly seizing the second boy’s oncoming arm to deflect the blow, Zen grasped the boy’s shoulder and yanked, using the boy’s own momentum to send him crashing right into the brick wall. The last boy was more cautious, pausing a few feet in front of Zen before attempting an ungainly kick. Zen grabbed the boy’s leg and kicked the other out from under him. The boy, finding it suddenly impossible to stand, fell onto his back. Hard.

  Seeing that the first boy was showing signs of stirring, Zen seized the opportunity to deliver a swift kick to his ribs, insuring that he wouldn’t be reentering the fight anytime soon. By that time, however, the second boy had already risen from the ground, blood dripping from his nose. Letting out a roar of rage, the boy charged forwards, quickly but clumsily. Zen remained still until the last moment. Then he sidestepped, catching the boy’s leg with his foot and delivering a blow to the boy’s back with his elbow. The boy dropped to the ground face-first. This time he did not get up.

  By now the third boy had also risen, and attempted to attack Zen with a running kick while his back was turned. Hearing the boy’s footsteps, Zen gracefully spun aside, swinging his arm around in an arc as the boy’s leg lashed out. The boy was already unbalanced, and as Zen’s palm came into contact with the boy’s head, Zen was able to comically swat him aside. The boy fell sideways, landing humiliatingly in the sticky puddle of lemonade.

  “You might want to dry that off before your next class,” Zen suggested as he passed by his soaked victim. “You know what the teachers say about bringing drinks into the classroom.”

  The dripping boy did not respond, but rather sputtered and swore loudly as he rolled over and out of the puddle before coming to a rest, his chest heaving. Meanwhile, Umasi found that he could do nothing but sit there as Zen approached him, the three groaning boys strewn over the ground behind him like fallen leaves. A sudden breeze kicked up, sending the actual leaves flying forward like confetti, the brilliant colors streaming all around Zen.

  In that moment, Umasi thought that it was the most impressive thing he had ever seen in his life.

  Zen wasn’t even breathing hard. He scooped up Umasi’s glasses, then calmly pulled Umasi up, dusting his brother’s clothes off in the process.

  “So, how
’re you doing?” Zen inquired as Umasi wiped his eyes and face with his sleeve.

  “I’m—”

  “Minor scratches to the face, dirt everywhere, maybe some slight bruising if you’re unlucky, and, judging by how you keep clutching them like that, some sore ribs,” Zen observed, handing Umasi his glasses. “All things considered, you’re fine, and lucky. Those fools back there don’t have the guts or the ability to do anyone serious damage.”

  “Did . . . did you do them any serious damage?” Umasi asked tentatively as he slid his glasses on to look over Zen’s shoulder at the three motionless boys.

  “Nothing that a trip to the school nurse can’t cure,” Zen replied. “One of them has a bloody nose, and that’s probably the worst of it. I do imagine that their egos have taken a blow, however.”

  “Aren’t you worried that they might tell on you?”

  “They might,” Zen said. “Not that I would particularly care. But frankly, I doubt that they would.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Zen cocked his head and grinned at Umasi. It wasn’t a pleasant grin, but rather one that managed to be both vicious and cheerful at the same time.

  “If you were in their position, would you want anyone else to know what happened here?”

  “No, definitely not,” Umasi admitted.

  “Good. Now here, hurry up and wash off your face. I’ve got some water with me—it’s much more useful than that lemonade you’re always drinking.” Zen drew a bottle out of his jacket and thrust it into Umasi’s arms.

  “Why the rush?” Umasi inquired as he rinsed off his face and wiped it again with his sleeve.

  “Because it’s almost time for biology class,” Zen replied. “Why do you think I came looking for you?”

  Umasi froze, then turned to stare at Zen.

  “We’re not late, are we?” Umasi asked.

  “As of now, I doubt it,” Zen answered. “But if the clock I saw on my way here was accurate, we probably don’t have much more than three minutes left.”

  “We’ll never make it,” Umasi groaned. “Help me get my stuff together.”

  Umasi dived to retrieve his textbook as Zen picked up the binder and unceremoniously shoved its contents back into place. The two brothers briskly returned the items to Umasi’s backpack, which was still lying on the bench where Umasi had been seated. As Umasi zipped up his backpack and clumsily fitted his arms through the straps, Zen walked over to his own backpack, seized it by one strap, tossed it into the air, and slid his arm through a strap as it came down.

  “What about them?” Umasi asked, gesturing towards the fallen thugs, who were only now beginning to stir.

  “I’m sure that they’ll be able to come up with some interesting excuses when their teachers ask them why they’re late,” Zen said. “But I doubt that you’re in a similarly inventive mood, so perhaps we should hurry up.”

  Umasi did not object to this reasoning, and followed Zen at a run towards the subdued brown school doors. The school building itself was made out of reddish bricks, and seemed to have been literally styled after a prison. The few windows of the school were tiny, rectangular panes cut infrequently into the sheer brick face. The building’s sole concession to flashiness was right above the plain main doors of the school—the number one, wrought of some kind of shiny metal, with a sign beneath it declaring proudly that the building housed the school of District 1.

  As they ran through the massive courtyard, Umasi noticed that area was already mostly empty, with only a few students still running for the doors as Zen and himself were. Umasi briefly wondered how he hadn’t noticed the silence, even from his secluded corner over at the farthest end of the yard. Silently scolding himself, Umasi swore that he’d be more alert next time. As they reached the doors, another student heaved them open and rushed inside. Zen’s foot snapped forward, stopping one of the doors, allowing Umasi to go in first.

  Upon entering the building, the two quickly presented the backs of their arms to the waiting security guards. All students in the City had a unique identification tattooed onto their arms. The Educators, who ran the City and its schools, made sure that students were scanned whenever they entered or left school, so that they could be kept track of.

  After the security guards had cleared them to pass, the two brothers ran through the dimly lit hallways and stairwells so fast that everything seemed a blur. Finally, just after the bell rang, they reached their classroom. Umasi was out of breath as he stumbled through the door, but Zen was coolly collected.

  “You two are late,” the teacher observed as they entered.

  Umasi, knowing better than to respond, quietly headed towards his assigned desk. Zen, however, paused by the doorway to make an ironic bow towards the teacher.

  “My most sincere apologies, Mr. Benjamin.”

  The teacher scowled, knowing that he was being mocked.

  “For that, Zen,” Mr. Benjamin snapped, “homework for the whole class is doubled, just so they can be mad at you. If you’re expecting special treatment because of your father, you’ve got another thing coming, boy. Now follow your brother’s example and take your seat.”

  “So be it,” Zen murmured as he walked over to his desk, taking the angry glares of his classmates in stride.

  Satisfied, the teacher turned to face the blackboard and wrote noisily upon it with a piece of chalk. Umasi had already unpacked his bag and was doing his best to look attentive, though he couldn’t help but glance at Zen out of the corner of his eye. If Zen had a fault, it was his attitude towards academics; he was already scribbling idly on a piece of paper, his sharp eyes wandering everywhere but the blackboard.

  “Okay, class.” Mr. Benjamin finished writing and turned around. “While you copy down these notes from the board, I’ll be going around to hand back your last tests.”

  Umasi wasted no time in flipping to a fresh sheet of paper and copying the notes down industriously. He unconsciously leaned forward as he worked; even with glasses it was sometimes difficult for him to see, and his handwriting was fairly small. With his attention buried in his binder, time passed quickly for Umasi. It wasn’t long before the teacher came around to place a paper on his desk.

  “Excellent work, Umasi,” Mr. Benjamin commended.

  Umasi inspected his test paper, noting his perfect score with satisfaction. There was always something about being rewarded with a good score after rigorous study that made him feel . . . content. Remembering that not everyone was so easily satisfied, Umasi glanced over at Zen, who was just now receiving his paper. Zen barely gave it a glance, shoving it into his binder indifferently—but Umasi knew from the dirty look that the teacher gave Zen that the grade couldn’t be good.

  Umasi had always wondered about his brother’s academic indifference. Umasi knew that Zen was smart. In fact, outside the classroom Zen sometimes made him feel slow and stupid by comparison. And yet, Zen’s test scores were mediocre at best, he often got in trouble with the teachers, and he never seemed able to pay attention in class. The only time that Umasi had ever asked Zen about it, Zen had told him “academics have little to do with intelligence,” and then gave him such a severe look that Umasi had never asked again.

  At least Zen was smart enough to behave before he got in serious trouble, Umasi reflected. Some of their classmates were still shooting Zen dark looks over their extra homework, but Umasi had heard of other classes having entire tests failed owing to one student’s misbehavior. Umasi shook his head at the unfairness of it all and turned towards the teacher, who had begun speaking again. The rest of the class passed uneventfully, and once the ending bell rang Umasi joined Zen outside in the hallway. As he walked out the door, Umasi felt a dull pain throbbing in his ribs. It wasn’t seriously discomforting, but it was enough to remind him of what had transpired out in the courtyard. As he leaned against the wall of the hallway for a moment, Umasi felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Zen asked.

 
; “I’m fine,” Umasi assured. “It’s just the bruising acting up.”

  “Well then, let’s get going,” Zen suggested. “School’s out, and I’ve had enough of this place for today.”

  The dull throb in Umasi’s side showed no signs of ceasing, and he found that he couldn’t help but agree with Zen. The hallways were crowded and noisy now, and the two brothers had to shove their way through the masses to get to the entrance. As they did another boy called out, hurriedly pushing his way through the crowd.

  “Zen! Just the guy I wanted to see,” the boy said. “I heard you got jumped outside.”

  Zen nodded. “The usual suspects. Apparently they couldn’t find me, so they decided to go after my brother instead.”

  “Idiots.” The other boy snorted, ignoring Umasi completely. “I saw one of them in my history class just now. Kid had a hell of a bloody nose.”

  “Becoming personally acquainted with a brick wall will do that to you.” Zen smiled.

  “So you didn’t have any problems with three of them?”

  “They’re pushovers, Gabriel,” Zen said dismissively. “You’ve never had any problems dealing with them yourself.”

  Umasi felt left out during the conversation, something that he’d gotten used to over the years. The student that Zen was talking to, Gabriel, was a dark-skinned boy that Umasi had seen once or twice in the hallways, but he hadn’t learned his name until now. At school Zen seemed to know everyone, and everyone knew him, for better or worse. If anyone knew Umasi, it was usually due to the novelty of him being the twin brother of a more infamous student.

  “Good job, man,” Gabriel congratulated, slapping Zen on the shoulder. “You know I’d have helped if I were there.”

  “Of course,” Zen said as the crowd around him seemed to swell. “It’s time to go. I’ll see you around.”

  “Watch yourself, Zen!” Gabriel called as he vanished back into the packed crowd.

  Zen and Umasi reached the doors and allowed the security guards to scan their arms. Moments later, they burst through the doors and outside into the open air. The current of moving students, almost like a river, swept them away from the school and down the street towards the subways that most students used to travel to and from school. The two brothers, however, fought against that current and emerged from the masses at the other end.