Truancy Origins Page 4

  And besides, it wasn’t bad, as far as trash went.

  Pass the gravy, please,” Zen requested.

  “Here you go,” Umasi replied, handing Zen the gravy tureen.

  “Thank you.” Zen poured a generous amount of gravy over his roast beef and mashed potatoes before setting the tureen back down onto the table.

  “Don’t forget to eat your salad,” the Mayor reminded, eyeing Zen’s plate.

  “Now, Father, have I ever forgotten to eat my salad?” Zen asked reproachfully after he swallowed a bite of roast beef. “Deliberately eschew, yes, but forget? Never.”

  “Don’t confuse the issue. Meat and potatoes all the time isn’t healthy.”

  “Confuse the issue?” Zen used his fork to mix the mashed potatoes with gravy. “You needn’t treat this like a policy debate, Father.”

  “You’re right, this isn’t a debate,” the Mayor agreed. “Eat your salad.”

  “If you insist.” Zen shrugged, spearing a piece of lettuce with his fork.

  Umasi smiled as he took a sip from his glass of lemonade filled from the carton Zen had gone out to buy earlier. Dinner was one of the few times when he could count on seeing his father and his brother together, which was usually an enjoyable event. Umasi and Zen had always known that they were adopted, but they neither remembered nor needed any other parents. Though the Mayor worked most of the day and was sometimes absent for long meetings, Umasi often forgot that he was adopted at all. To the twins, the Mayor was their father, absolutely.

  “Umasi, how’d you get that scratch?” the Mayor asked, peering across the table at Umasi.

  Umasi froze, halfway through the motion of bringing a piece of roast beef to his mouth.

  “What scratch?”

  “The one on your face,” the Mayor said.

  “Oh,” Umasi began, thinking quickly, “I tripped in the courtyard today.”

  “Tripped? Was there a hole or something? A brick out of place?” the Mayor asked. “I could get it fixed if so.”

  “No, Dad, I was just careless,” Umasi insisted, which had some truth to it.

  “I see,” the Mayor said, turning back to his meal. “Well, be more careful next time.”

  “Right, right,” Umasi promised.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Umasi saw Zen smirk at him. Both of them knew exactly why they would never tell their father about any fights they got into: They both had to deal with their reputation among their peers as the Mayor’s sons. If word went around that they were going home and tattling to their father, they would never hear the end of it. Well, at least not until Zen personally silenced every critic.

  “So, how was work today?” Zen asked, glancing at the Mayor as he cut another piece of roast beef.

  “Good,” the Mayor replied, stiffening. “And how was school?”

  “It was . . . fine,” Zen said, noisily crunching down on some lettuce.

  Umasi looked back and forth between Zen and his dad. For some odd reason that Umasi had never understood, the Mayor never seemed comfortable talking about his work with his sons. On the other hand, for reasons that Umasi completely understood, Zen was never comfortable talking about school with his father, though Zen made a great effort not to let it show.

  There were a lot of secrets there at that table, Umasi realized, only half of which he was privy to.

  The rest of the meal passed with idle conversation about current events in the City. Umasi joined in a little, though not much. Dinner conversation tended to turn into a sort of intellectual sparring match between Zen and his father. Umasi always thought it entertaining to observe, but not so much to actually participate in.

  “Oh, undeniably,” Zen said, wiping his mouth with his napkin as he pushed his empty plate away. “But wouldn’t it be more cost-effective to offer free property in the abandoned districts and allow any takers to handle the renovations?”

  “That’s been suggested before, but even if it does cost us more in the long run, it’s more efficient to fix up the districts ourselves and then sell the property,” the Mayor replied. “Renovations done by normal citizens tend to be shoddy, and require evacuation and repair again within a few years.”

  “That’s a good point,” Zen admitted. “But if you have these districts supervised by citizens, there will always be someone around to keep the vagrants out.”

  “The vagrants have never really been a significant problem,” the Mayor said dismissively. “If they start to bother a neighborhood, we just send in the Enforcers and they scatter like rats.”

  “If you say so.” Zen shrugged.

  “Well now, have you both finished your homework?” the Mayor said, looking back and forth between Zen and Umasi.

  Zen flashed Umasi a knowing look before responding.

  “Yes, of course,” he replied.

  “Good, then you should probably think about heading to bed early,” the Mayor suggested. “You’re always too tired in the mornings. An extra hour or two will do you good.”

  Without much better to do, Zen and Umasi decided to heed this advice as an attendant came around to collect the dishes. They both knew that it wouldn’t make them much less tired the next day, but then again, few things ever did. School just had a way of sapping the strength and spirit out of a person.

  3

  CROSSING THE LINE

  Umasi and Zen awoke the next morning, groaning as though they hadn’t gotten any extra sleep at all. By the time the limousine delivered them to school, they were both quite testy. Their moods were somewhat improved when they entered their first-period classroom, where they found that their regular teacher was absent and that a substitute had filled his place.

  Substitutes were always a bit of a wild card, though students were usually glad to see them. Few substitutes dared to actually try to teach anything, lest they interfere with the real teacher’s syllabus. Some substitutes, however, would attempt to teach something, but lacking proper knowledge about the class and its subject, would succeed only in wasting everyone’s time. Still others neither taught nor allowed a class to fool around, but were just strict for the sake of being strict.

  And so all the students in Umasi’s class waited in trepidation to see what type the substitute would be. Umasi’s spirits fell as he determined that the woman, who had declared her name to be Ms. Hill, fell into the last and least desirable category. She looked like she was taking a bite out of a lemon with each name as she called the roll. Umasi sighed and removed his glasses so that he could rub his tired eyes. It became painfully clear that the substitute would rather be elsewhere as she came upon a name that appeared to give her difficulty. She frowned at the list so deeply that her face wrinkled like a prune, and paused for several long seconds before taking a stab at it.

  “You-mashy?” Ms. Hill called out.

  Umasi was used to his name being mispronounced, both intentionally and unintentionally, though he never found it any less irritating whenever it was botched. Still, he knew that teacher was referring to him, and that was all that really mattered in class. He was about to brush his annoyance aside and announce that he was present when an indignant voice cut him off.

  “What’d you call him?” Zen said loudly.

  Umasi’s heart dropped as he heard his brother speak. There was no need for him to do this, to risk getting himself into serious trouble over something so petty. Turning to look at his brother, Umasi shook his head desperately in an attempt to dissuade him. Zen ignored him and instead crossed his arms over his chest as he glared at the teacher.

  Ms. Hill instantly rounded on Zen. “Is there a problem?”

  “Yeah, that’s not his name,” Zen replied bluntly.

  Ms. Hill inhaled, inflating her chest like a blowfish as her eyes widened with outrage.

  “You are incredibly rude, you know that?” Ms. Hill snapped, letting her breath out all at once.

  “I could say the same for you,” Zen countered.

  Umasi cringed. Ms. Hill stared. Zen looked
utterly unconcerned.

  “You are really hideous,” Ms. Hill said in a shocked tone. “I suppose you never make mistakes?”

  “At least I have the decency to acknowledge when I do.”

  There was complete silence. Umasi, along with the rest of the class, stared at his brother in disbelief. Ms. Hill’s jaw hung wide open as she gaped at Zen blankly. Her ears had received Zen’s message, but her brain was refusing to process it. Everyone knew that Zen had crossed the line, and they all waited to see what would happen when Ms. Hill returned to her senses.

  “You better make good with me now,” Ms. Hill said at last, seething, “or I will call security on you!”

  “Make good with you?” Zen asked amusedly.

  “I’ve never met a student who was so hostile and rude!” Ms. Hill was shaking with anger now.

  Zen raised an eyebrow, and Umasi knew that his brother was silently laughing at the teacher’s hypocrisy. Umasi, on the other hand, wasn’t laughing at all. His brother had a knack for aggravating teachers, but he’d never done anything like this before. Umasi knew that Zen wouldn’t apologize. Once he started something, he always saw it through. This time, though, Umasi didn’t even want to imagine how far that would be.

  Surprisingly, however, Zen’s next utterance was an attempt at reconciliation.

  “We’ve both had rough mornings,” Zen pointed out to Ms. Hill.

  “That’s probably true . . . but I am the adult,” Ms. Hill said. “You are a student, and I am a teacher. When I was growing up, I was taught to respect adults!”

  “Respect should never go one way,” Zen said. “If you have to force someone’s respect, then you’ve probably lost it forever.”

  Ms. Hill stared at Zen as though he were a stubborn stain that she would dearly love to wipe away, but couldn’t, no matter how hard she scrubbed.

  “But we are not equals!” Ms. Hill sputtered. “I’m your superior!”

  Zen sighed and scratched his head with one hand, which meant that he was frustrated.

  “If you had just corrected—” Zen began.

  “I DON’T NEED A CORRECTION!” Ms. Hill suddenly screamed, losing all traces of self-control.

  “Look at this from another point of view—”

  “I DON’T NEED TO SEE YOUR POINT OF VIEW!” Ms. Hill shrieked as she stormed over to the classroom phone.

  Zen watched Ms. Hill with apparent indifference as she gripped the phone with shaking hands and called for security and the Disciplinary Officer. She flashed Zen a triumphant grin as she hung up, but the grin soon faded as Zen yawned. Zen’s indifference served only to infuriate Ms. Hill even further—but Umasi knew that that was Zen’s intention.

  Umasi, for his part, was terrified. Disciplinary Officers were high-ranking Educators who meted out punishment for all sorts of infractions. Their inspections were feared all throughout the City, for they were the only ones who had the authority to expel a student. The luckless District 1 School, being where it was at the heart of the City, was probably the only school that had a Disciplinary Officer on duty at all times.

  Umasi couldn’t help but feel guilty as he sat in his seat sweating. If it weren’t for him, Zen wouldn’t have gotten into trouble. By the time a uniformed security guard showed up in the classroom doorway, Umasi was cringing. Zen calmly went along with the guard as he was escorted down to the Disciplinary Officer. Zen did, however, spare Ms. Hill a defiant smirk as he left, which calculatedly put the substitute teacher in a bad mood for the rest of the period . . . if not the entire day.

  As the bell rang, Umasi raised his head and groggily slipped his glasses back on. Rather than spend the rest of the period worrying about what horrible punishments Zen might be facing, he had decided to take a nap. The substitute, who was still fuming in her chair, didn’t object, and there wasn’t much else to do. The rest of the students had been far from talkative after watching Zen’s awe-inspiring display.

  Umasi wasted no time in seizing his backpack and joining the queue to leave the class. As soon as Umasi stepped into the hallway, a low voice addressed him.

  “Hey.”

  Startled, Umasi froze in midstep. His abrupt halt triggered an instant pileup in the doorway, and a number of students began to open their mouths to complain. A second later, they all shut their mouths without saying a word as they realized who had just spoken.

  “Perhaps we should talk a few feet to your left,” Zen suggested, eyeing the congestion of students. “You seem to be blocking traffic.”

  Umasi didn’t need to be told twice. He hurriedly backed aside, allowing the procession of students to slowly leave the classroom, all of them casting reverent looks at Zen as they passed. Umasi knew why—Zen’s standing up to the teacher like that wasn’t something any of the students were likely to forget before the day was out. Zen had awed the whole class, largely because all of them had dreamed at one point or another of doing what he had actually done.

  Zen nodded at each of the students in turn as they passed, and then finally exchanged glares with Ms. Hill, who exited last and didn’t stick around to maintain eye contact. As the substitute strode away without saying a word, the hallways filled with students on their way to their next classes. Now no one paid any attention to the twins as they huddled together by the wall.

  “Did you get expelled?” Umasi asked, voicing his worst fear.

  “Expelled? For that?” Zen snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just told the Disciplinary Officer that the substitute was making fun of my dear brother’s name, and that I got called down for standing up for him.”

  “And he just let you go?” Umasi said incredulously.

  “Oh, he asked a few more questions and I told him what he wanted to hear,” Zen said. “They added a note to my record, of course, and I suppose that they’ll notify Father. Speaking of which, I don’t think Ms. Hill knew who our father is, but the Disciplinary Officer surely did.”

  “I guess you were lucky,” Umasi said, relieved. “Why did you do that, anyway?”

  “I wasn’t in the best of moods,” Zen said, scratching his chin. “And that substitute got on my nerves from the start. Besides, I’ve always wanted to do something like that, but I’ve never had a good excuse.”

  “But that wasn’t a good excuse,” Umasi protested. “It didn’t bother me that much, really.”

  “Well, by the time I was through telling the story, I’d made it sound like she had thoroughly bullied you.” Zen grinned. “And I did get away with it in the end, didn’t I? Success is what makes a good excuse.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Umasi conceded, sighing deeply.

  Umasi realized that the hallway was just about empty now, and he cast his gaze upwards at the clock hanging on the wall. He turned rigid upon seeing the time.

  “We’re going to be late!” Umasi blurted.

  Zen looked at him without saying a word, and as Umasi glanced at his brother’s eyes he realized that Zen had some crazy idea, and that he would inevitably be drawn into it.

  “Speaking of things that I’ve always wanted to do . . .” Zen began slowly.

  “No. You’re not thinking of cutting class, are you?” Umasi demanded.

  “How perceptive,” Zen’s eyes glinted. “But you’re only partly right. I think the both of us deserve a good day off. Let’s cut all of our classes for the day.”

  “Impossible. We can’t,” Umasi said.

  “Why not?”

  “You’ve just been down to see the Disciplinary Officer!” Umasi hissed. “If you get into trouble again, right after that . . .”

  “The Disciplinary Officers don’t handle attendance,” Zen said dismissively. “That’s an entirely different department. He’ll never even find out.”

  “But what will Father say?” Umasi demanded.

  “Father is busy with his work, and probably will be until dinnertime,” Zen pointed out. “I doubt that he’ll find out until the next attendance report, if I don’t manage to tamper with it by t
hen.”

  “But . . . but the limo will be waiting!”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time we decided to walk home. When we don’t show up after a while the driver will go on his way.”

  “Rothenberg’s been stepping up the Enforcer patrols. What we’ll be doing . . . it’s illegal!”

  “So is killing, but hey, people still die.” Zen shrugged.

  Umasi opened his mouth to renew his protests, but even as he did the bell rang again shrilly, indicating that they were both late for class. Umasi slowly shut his mouth and looked over at Zen, who was now smirking triumphantly. Umasi suddenly realized that Zen had meant to keep him talking until they were both already late for their next class. It was too late now, and Umasi knew it.

  “All right, fine,” Umasi sighed, admitting defeat. “But how are we going to get out? If the security guards scan us, they’ll know that we’re cutting class.”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” Zen said confidently. “Follow me.”

  With no other choice, Umasi followed Zen as he led him to one of the dim staircases and down to the basement, where the cafeteria and gymnasium were located. Instead of heading to either of those places, however, Zen led Umasi down a side corridor he had never ventured down before. The fluorescent lighting gave the basement an eerie ambience as they walked through the hall, mercifully without running into anyone. At the end of the corridor, Umasi saw a forklift and what looked like loading trolleys grouped around a big set of double doors. Large signs on the doors warned that an alarm would sound if they were opened.

  “These are the service doors. They bring in all the supplies and food for the cafeteria through here,” Zen explained. “Ignore the signs, that alarm is actually broken.”

  “How do you know that?” Umasi asked.

  Zen cocked his head and glanced over at Umasi, the fluorescent lighting flickering oddly overhead.