Truancy Origins (5 page)

“Well you're not gonna be sticking your neck out to get it, are you?”

“Stop it,” Chris said, taking a step backwards. “You're getting first pick, yeah? And we'll take turns at this. Next time you go out with a partner, I'll make sure that you're the one looking out.”

Red might have been hungry, but he wasn't stupid. He knew that “next time” Chris wouldn't be his partner. Chris would be off with one of the others, pulling the exact same stunt with them. The kid never intended to risk
his
neck at all, Red realized in disgust. Smart, but slimier than a maggot.

Still, though Red wasn't stupid, he
was
hungry.

The only way to settle things now was to fight Chris right then and there, and Red didn't see anything to be gained from that. Red quickly decided that so long as he got his turn at lookout, it didn't really matter who the partner was. Mentally cataloguing the incident for later, Red nodded at Chris, and then turned towards the restaurant entrance. Chris, looking thoroughly smug, turned and walked over to the relative safety of the other end of the alley, standing watch on the off chance that someone might come that way.

It wasn't long before Red heard someone open a door and drag stuffed trash bags outside. As soon as the person stepped back into the restaurant and shut the door, Red bent down and removed a large wooden board from the bottom of the barricade that hadn't been nailed down properly. Red wormed his way through the resulting hole, unbothered by the filth of the alley floor. Emerging on the other side, Red fell upon the black trash bag resting on the ground, tearing a hole in its side so that he could rummage through its contents.

Much of the trash was useless stuff like napkins and empty cans, but Red was persistent in his search, and soon he had amassed a pile of scraps—a chicken bone with some meat still attached, a tin dish with a decent chunk of pie left in it, and a corncob that was only half eaten. Red grinned at his findings and wasted no time in devouring what he had found. A sharp hiss from behind the fence reminded him of his other duties, and he rolled his eyes as he gathered up some more scraps for Chris.

When he was finished, he crawled back out the way he came, replaced the wooden board, and presented Chris with the scraps he had collected in the tin dish.

“Good job, kid, you're all right with me.” Chris' eyes glinted strangely as he said this, and Red didn't believe his words for a second.

Still, Red wasn't bothered, not by having to feed an overgrown maggot like Chris, and not even by having to eat trash. His motivation was survival, not pride. After all, only the proud could be humiliated. What use did he have for pride? As a vagrant, pride could only get you killed.

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

 

P
ass 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.

 

U
masi 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.