Truancy Origins Read online

  Umasi blinked. The room was empty except for him, Mr. Benjamin, and a silhouetted student sitting in the front row. The teacher was writing something on the blackboard, and Umasi reflexively began to copy it down. But as soon as Umasi seized his pen, he found that he couldn’t concentrate. No matter how hard he tried, whatever was on the board just wasn’t interesting enough to keep his attention. Frustrated and bored, Umasi began scribbling idly until he felt a hand touch his shoulder. Umasi looked up, and a wave of panic surged through him as he saw Mr. Benjamin glaring down at him.

  As Mr. Benjamin began to shout, Umasi found his gaze drawn to the other student in the classroom. The boy seemed not to notice his plight, completely intent on copying down what was on the board. Umasi blinked again, and found that Mr. Benjamin was no longer shouting, but handing back tests. Umasi stared at his score, a sixty, and then glanced over at the other boy, who was smiling ear-to-ear at a hundred. This wasn’t fair, Umasi realized. He knew that he was smarter than the other boy. All the other boy was doing was repeating what the teacher wanted him to, like a trained parrot.

  Angry tears began welling up in his eyes. Umasi blinked them away, and found that he was standing in his room. His father was yelling at him, and though Umasi could not hear the words, he knew that he was being told to be more like the other boy. As his father fell silent, Umasi turned to find the boy looking up at him from his desk, surrounded by piles of finished homework.

  “It’s really not that hard, you know,” the boy said condescendingly.

  “Speak for yourself,” Umasi retorted.

  The other boy smiled at that. “Come on, let me help you.”

  “Help me do what? Be more like you?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not you!” Umasi screamed. “I can’t be someone I’m not! I can’t be like you! I don’t want to be like you!”

  “But don’t you see how happy I am? Don’t you see how easy things are when you sacrifice your pride? Here, let me show you.”

  Umasi was back in school, Ms. Hill screaming that he was an inferior as the other boy sat back at his own desk, unscathed. Then his father appeared, presenting the other boy with a new bike for his outstanding report card. Umasi relived memory upon memory, but from a new perspective. Their first day of high school . . . the last test they had taken . . . their third-grade report cards . . . his own birthday. Always the other boy was there, a model student, an ideal son, a flawless example of mindless obedience. Everyone loved that other boy, everyone showered him with praise and affection—the way one might pet a well-behaved dog.

  “Enough!” Umasi shouted. “You’re right—it’s easy to sacrifice pride, which is why I won’t do it!”

  “That’s too bad for you,” the other boy said sadly. “Because then you’ll never be happy in this City.”

  The words were like a slap in the face. Umasi heard the truth in them, a truth that robbed him of his breath and flooded him with hopelessness. For a moment Umasi felt certain that he would just give up, that he would just lie down and die . . . but he was not so weak as that. Frustration, bitterness, and hate quickly filled the void in his heart, driving him towards a logical, yet mad, conclusion.

  “If I cannot be happy in this City”—Umasi laughed—“then I’ll just destroy it! I’ll make a City that suits ME! I will rule the City, and there’s not a single soul in it that can stop me!”

  The other boy vanished before his rage, and Umasi felt exhilarated, liberated, free for the first time in his life! All the hatred that he had bottled up through his ordeals came pouring out—hatred for the adults, for school, but most of all for the other boy, who he could never be . . . .

  And then Umasi woke up in a cold sweat. As he sat up in his own bed, gasping for air, warm tears ran freely down his cheeks—for he knew that other boy was himself.

  6

  LEARNING A LESSON

  Umasi adjusted his glasses and looked over at Zen’s desk. His sleep had hardly been peaceful, but Umasi had awoken on Monday morning with a remarkably clear head, along with some troublesome feelings. Though he couldn’t remember precisely the details of his dreams, Umasi had retained enough of the emotions to feel pity for Zen. What’s more, for some reason he felt terribly uncomfortable with himself.

  Umasi shook his head. While he was somewhat disappointed to return to school, he was glad that he’d have the chance to keep an eye on his brother. Umasi never did see Zen return to bed, and couldn’t know exactly how much sleep he’d had gotten—but Zen’s general inertness, the dark rings under his eyes, and his sluggish movements all indicated that the answer was “not much.” Umasi’s sympathy now outweighed his curiosity, and so during their free period Umasi had dragged Zen to a hallway bench where he could rest—or so Umasi had thought. It hadn’t taken long for a pair of security guards to accost them, rudely awaking Zen as they screeched at him for violating student boundaries.

  Umasi had forgotten about the recently instituted “free period rooms” simply because it didn’t make any sense to him considering that benches had been laid out in the hallways for student use. But in light of Zen’s revelation, Umasi now understood the true purpose of the seemingly pointless rule. Some of the bitterness from his dream—Zen’s bitterness, Umasi sensed—had followed him into consciousness, and for a moment Umasi considered defying the guards. Ultimately, Umasi decided that it wasn’t the right time to make a stand, especially since he was worried that Zen might do something rash. However, Zen merely rose, flashed the guards a chilling “just you wait” smile, and then lumbered off to rest in the nearest bathroom.

  It was probably the most unpleasant place in the entire building to take a nap.

  Still, Zen didn’t seem to mind, and Umasi was glad that he had avoided getting into trouble. The rest of the free period passed without incident, leading them into science class. By this point Zen still looked so tired that Umasi had begun to wonder whether his brother had gotten any sleep the previous night at all. Remembering his ominous dream, Umasi resolved to ask Zen about what he’d been up to when they got home. That decided, Umasi unpacked his binder as the teacher began talking.

  “Can anyone tell me what these are?” the teacher asked, gesturing towards a cage placed upon her desk.

  “Rats,” came the monotonous, choral reply.

  “Yes, but these are not normal rats,” the teacher declared. “Can anyone tell me what’s wrong with them?”

  Silence.

  “Zen, how about you?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Umasi saw Zen jerk up his head, which had been lolling upon his desk like a wayward beach ball. Umasi knew that the teacher was punishing him for being exhausted; putting one’s head down in class was an invitation to be called upon, a simple tactic that was uniformly effective in getting students to act awake. Renewed pity surged through Umasi as Zen glared at the cage of rats.

  “Their eyes are red,” Zen murmured. Indeed, the rats’ eyes were blood-red.

  “Yes,” the teacher conceded, sounding disappointed as Zen’s head dipped a few inches. “Anything else?”

  “They’re white,” Zen added, his head sinking a bit further.

  “Correct,” the teacher admitted. “These are albino rats. Can anyone tell me what that means?”

  Seeing a chance to divert the teacher’s attention from his brother, Umasi raised his hand—predictably the only one to go up in the entire sleepy classroom. The teacher didn’t hesitate to take the bait.

  “Yes, Umasi?” The teacher pointed an approving finger at him.

  “It’s a condition caused by recessive genes. It can be inherited from the parents, or sometimes occur through random mutation,” Umasi explained as Zen’s head flopped silently down onto the table once more.

  “Very good.” The teacher nodded. “And what does it do?”

  “It prevents the body from producing pigment, which is what gives it its color,” Umasi quoted the textbook, watching Zen lazily raise his own textbook to shie
ld his sleeping head from view. “Aside from sensitivity to sunlight and some vision disabilities, albinos are just as physically fit as regular members of their species.”

  “Excellent,” the teacher exulted, turning back to face the class as a whole. “Albinism can afflict mammals, reptiles, fish, birds, and amphibians. Individuals with albinism usually appear white, and in many species the eyes appear red due to the underlying blood vessels showing through.”

  The teacher’s predatory gaze began to sweep around the room, coming dangerously close to spotting Zen’s head buried in his textbook. Thinking fast, Umasi raised his hand again. The motion caused the boy next to Umasi to mutter “suck-up” under his breath, but Umasi ignored the snide remark, as the sudden movement had succeeded in catching the teacher’s eye.

  “Are there albino people?” Umasi asked. He knew the answer, but out of desperation had seized upon the first question to come to mind.

  “As a matter of fact, there are, though you’ll seldom see them, especially in this City.” The teacher pursed her lips, as if discussing a distasteful subject. “In human albinos, the eyes are usually blue more often than red. Human eyes are typically deep enough to cover the blood vessels, though there are exceptions in certain types of lighting.”

  Umasi continued to jot down notes mechanically, keeping an eye on his brother’s condition out of the corner of his eye. What the teacher said next, however, stopped Umasi dead in his tracks.

  “However, all albinos regardless of eye color have significant vision problems that make them unfit for education, and thus unfit for normal life in this City,” the teacher finished. “It’s unfortunate, of course, but students must conform to education and not the other way around.”

  A moment of tense silence followed, indicating that some students in the class disagreed with the teacher—though no one cared enough to speak up. Then the silence was shattered by an outburst from the most unexpected of persons.

  “Unfit for life?” Umasi demanded. “How can you say that?”

  For a moment the teacher was taken aback at a model student arguing with her, but she quickly rallied and responded with a note of anger in her voice.

  “Education is the most important aspect of any child’s life. There is no place in this City for an educational liability,” the teacher said. “Some of these people can’t even do as much as look at an overhead projection. Their handicap guarantees substandard grades. It’s unfortunate, like I said, but they are unfit for school, and if you’re unfit for school, you’re unfit for society!”

  “That doesn’t make sense!” Umasi retorted. “You can’t judge a person’s worth based on their grades alone!”

  By now all the students in the class had shaken off their weariness, staring at this new phenomenon—a teacher arguing with her favored student. Out of the corner of his eye, Umasi spotted Zen looking at him with a mixture of surprise and approval.

  “You can in this City!” the teacher snapped. “And you need to show more respect! I’m surprised at you, of all people, talking to a teacher like that!”

  “I’m sorry,” Umasi lied, “but if education isn’t meant to conform to the needs of students, what should it conform to?”

  “The rules. And the rules are that a student is worth no more than their grade,” the teacher said flatly. “It’s harsh, but it’s the truth. And unless you want your personal value to decrease, I suggest you hold your tongue.”

  Umasi did was he was told, but fumed on the inside. He wasn’t sure what had set him off like that. The teacher had upset him with her callous statements, but he had never been one to talk back to a teacher, no matter what. Still, somehow his anger felt good, as though a long-dormant part of him was finally asserting itself. Umasi smiled; maybe losing your temper once in a while wasn’t so bad after all. Then he remembered the anger from his nightmare, and his smile vanished, replaced by a thoughtful look.

  Zen was up to something, he knew, which was good; Umasi now agreed that something had to be done. And Umasi had the utmost faith in his brother. Zen’s plans were always effective ones. Whatever it was that Zen was planning, Umasi resolved that he would make his brother tell him about it.

  And maybe, just maybe, Umasi would help him.

  I’ve looked at the latest proposition.”

  “And?”

  “It’s unacceptable.”

  “I had a feeling you’d say that, sir. Do you mind if I ask why?”

  “Not at all. Reinstating physical punishment is completely counterproductive. It’s a regression, an insult to decades and generations of progress.”

  “Our system did start with it, sir.”

  “And that was before my time, if you’ll recall. Since then we’ve refined our methods so that we don’t have to be so . . . crude.”

  “Crude methods can be effective.”

  “And destructive. There will be official complaints from all sides with something as blatant and dramatic as this. Not to mention that our more subtle tactics have produced much better results.”

  “If this were phased in over the course of several years, even decades . . .”

  “It wouldn’t be worth the trouble, or the risk. We have much more promising venues to pursue.”

  “And I imagine that you’re concerned about your own sons.”

  “I wouldn’t be much of a father if I weren’t. As a matter of fact, I’m not much of a father anyway—I hardly have time to see them these days, and when I do, it’s clear that our work has been taking its toll on them.”

  “It taken its toll on all of us at one point.”

  “A common rationalization.”

  “I know, sir. And I don’t actually support the proposition, I was just curious.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I . . . apologize for lying to you before, sir, but I actually do have children.”

  “I see. And why didn’t you tell me?”

  “If you’ll forgive me sir, I just wanted to know if your heart was in the right place.”

  “I’ve fired others for less, but as one parent to another I can understand your concern. Besides, I knew you were lying.”

  “You . . . you did, sir?”

  “I personally examine the backgrounds of all my staff, no matter how minor they are. But now that you’ve come clean, I can assure you that though some have accused me of lacking a heart, my intentions are noble.”

  “I believe it.”

  “Good. Now, let me see if I recall correctly . . . you have one daughter and one son, right?”

  “Yes, sir, their names are Tack and Suzie.”

  Satisfied with his work, Zen collected his papers into neat piles, rolled them up, and then stuffed them into the various coat pockets hanging above him. He was making good progress; by now he had to use six different jackets just to hold it all. He had lists detailing every conceivable item he’d need, their exact costs, and how he might procure them. He had circled critical government buildings on his map. He had even determined which potential Truants would be most beneficial to his cause.

  Zen didn’t think that funds would be a problem. With his and Umasi’s special accounts combined, they easily had enough to sustain a sizeable army for a decade, if not longer. And Zen knew that there would be ways to generate income and offset expenses once the Truancy was established. In a few days, he would finally be ready to pass the point of no return—to leave home, hit the streets, and see the abandoned districts for himself. After he’d secured reliable hideouts, the recruitment could begin.

  Zen stood up and stretched amidst the various garments. Allowing himself a deep sigh of satisfaction, he made his way to the door, pushed it open . . .

  And found himself face-to-face with Umasi.

  “Greetings,” Zen said, swiftly masking his surprise.

  “What were you doing in there?” Umasi asked innocently enough, though Zen could see Umasi’s eyes narrow slightly behind his glasses.

  “Homework,” Zen said.

  �
��I see,” Umasi said. “Well, that’s odd, because I have your homework here. I just did it for you, as a matter of fact.”

  Umasi held out a roll of papers, which Zen slowly reached out to accept before changing his mind halfway through.

  “Thanks for the thought,” Zen said, withdrawing his hand and narrowing his eyes, “but I think we both know that I won’t be needing them.”

  “Quite so,” Umasi agreed. “What are you up to, Zen?”

  Zen contemplated Umasi for a second before smirking.

  “I suppose there’s no reason not to tell you now. After all, in a few days it’ll all begin.”

  “What will?”

  “The Truancy.”

  “Truancy?”

  “The Truancy,” Zen corrected. “The organization that will stand against the Educators.”

  “How can I help?” Umasi asked without hesitation, prompting another smile from Zen.

  “You won’t need to do much, of course,” Zen assured his brother. “I will need your account card, but frankly you’re not much good in a fight and—”

  “Wait,” Umasi interrupted, frowning. “What do you mean by ‘fight’?”

  Zen looked at Umasi incredulously.

  “Fight, battle, conflict, war, whatever you want to call it,” Zen explained as though Umasi were dumb. “What, did you think that the Truancy would be all pickets and picnics?”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not?” Zen repeated. “Surely you’re joking. You can’t possibly hope to change anything in this City that way.”

  “You can’t know that until you try,” Umasi pointed out.

  “And if you try and fail, enormous effort would’ve been wasted only to have the Educators crack down so hard that you won’t be able to piss without having something breathing down your neck,” Zen spat.