We dispersed. Silas and I walked back to our dorm to rest before our next class. As I lay in my bed, mixed feelings ran about in my head. So far, I neither hated the school nor liked it. That was strange for me. By now I should have been screaming to my parents to get me out of school.
The thought of my parents took hold of my attention. In all likelihood, they were waiting for a call from me, yet I had no way of sending one. I had no cell phone, and my room had no landline. I sat up and prepared to ask Silas if maybe he could supply a phone. He was nowhere to be found. Disoriented, I glanced at my watch: 4:25. The jerk had left without warning me about the time!
Cursing, I grabbed various supplies that might have applied to math and bolted out the door. I bulleted down the hall, through the gym, down the stairs, and to class. Five minutes sounded like a long time in retrospect, but at the time, my body urged me to hurry. I crashed into the classroom two minutes before the bell rang, panting and wheezing.
“What are you running from, kid?” someone yelled from across the room. I scowled, preparing my biting retort before I realized the idiot was just Tommy. He sat in the corner of the room, choking on his laughs and enjoying his cleverness.
“You think you’re funny, Tommy,” I said as I sat in a desk beside him. Silas, Eli, and Butch were nearby cracking up as well.
“Oh Warren,” Tommy gasped through guffaws. “The look on your face! Oh, man. Seriously, that was funny, but I won’t do it again if you get that aggressive.”
“I don’t mind your jokes, just watch when you throw them or you might end up dead,” I joked. Puzzled by my anger myself, I wondered what actually spurred my testosterone, eventually recalling what made me get up to go to math. “Tommy, have you tried to call your parents yet?”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve been trying to call them all day on my cell but I have no signal here,” he replied. “I’ve called from everywhere, but I haven’t gotten a single bar of signal! I haven’t found any pay phones here either, let alone classroom ones. I’m going to try using my cell in other areas, but I doubt I’ll get any-”
The classroom door slammed shut, drowning the rest of Tommy’s sentence. By the door, Deon stood expressionless. Quietly, he removed a key-card ring from his pocket, picked a card, and slipped it through the lock of the door.
He glanced over the class. “Listen closely, students. As you can see, I have locked the door. If you are late to my class, you’ll be missing all of it because that door stays locked until class ends,” he said tonelessly as he came to the head of the room. “Of course, anyone can leave the classroom, but you won’t be coming back. I don’t like interruptions, and frankly I don’t care if you are about to blow a hole through your pants. Hold it in or get out. If you wish to succeed, I suggest you learn how to come to class on time and hold your bladder for an hour and a half. Absence from my class will result in extra homework that will allow you no points. If you exhibit intolerable behavior, you can expect the same consequence. Do I make myself clear to everyone?”
The class nodded vigorously en masse. Deon smirked and continued, “Good, let’s move to math. We’re beginning with Geometry. If you think you were already taught it, you weren’t. Whatever drivel you learned in public school means nothing here. Take notes on what I say. I will not pause, and I will not repeat myself, so listen closely. To begin…”
When the bell rang and we were dismissed from class, everyone rushed out of the classroom, anxious to escape. No one was angry with the two pages of homework we received because we were all just happy to get out with our hides intact. Like many others, Tommy, Silas, and the rest of us celebrated being alive by bolting to the cafeteria for dinner.
Never before had I had the feeling that I was fat until I ate that last meal of the first day of school. Among all my talkative friends, I looked down at my full tray feeling nauseous. The plate was covered with French fries, a large burger, and a hefty salad. It looked disgusting. And I ate it all.
In a state of overfed fatigue, I somehow returned to my dorm, by myself possibly. I also managed, uncharacteristically, to do my math homework. Even with a garbled mind, my strange new work ethic persisted. My fatigue eventually overcame me once I had finished, and I collapsed on my bed, promptly falling asleep. And so ended my first real day, finished by painful overeating. I felt great.
* * * * * *
The next day was a repeat of the first, only with new classes and no appetite. My lineup included Mr. Drake for social studies, Mr. Tower for reading, Mrs. Shea for writing, and Mr. Grey for art. The teachers were nothing new except Mr. Drake; he was more than met the eye.
“Hello class,” boomed Mr. Drake at the start of our class on that second day of school. He trotted cheerfully to the head of the class while 60 eyes focused skeptically on him. With most of us bloated and still half-asleep, Mr. Drake’s optimism and liveliness was teetering at the edge of becoming unbearable.
“Are all of you still asleep?” he questioned sprightly after not receiving one reply. “Hello, people? Are you guys awake?”
A few children mumbled something that could be recognized as a greeting.
“That’s better now,” Drake proclaimed, clapping his hands together. “As you should know by now, I am your humble social studies teacher, Mr. Drake. I have been appointed to teach you social study stuff, so…what do you guys what to learn?”
No answer came.
“C’mon guys!” yelled Mr. Drake, jostling us from our sleepy states. “I want responses now! What do you want to learn in this class! I will teach you anything! If you want to learn what early sex was like, I’ll teach you that! If you want to know how marijuana has affected culture, I’ll teach you that! Anything people! C’mon, say stuff!”
The silence continued until one kid joked quietly, “Screw history, look to the future, man.”
“I heard that!” Drake cried joyously. “And you know what? That’s awesome; let’s see what we think the future might hold for us! That’s great stuff, but I need more! I need a selection to choose from!”
“How ‘bout mythology!” piped another kid.
“That’s too basic, what about the Bermuda triangle?”
“Now we’re thinking people!” shouted Drake, a wide grin on his face. “We’re not done yet, think of more! More ideas! More!”
And the chaos continued.
The noise and shouting rang until one student stood up and let slip a long, loud, “Stop!” The monumental number of decibels in that cry shocked the rest of us into silence.
“What was that for?” Drake snapped. He glowered at the boy who stood up. “We were having a great group conversation. What’s wrong?”
“That was conversation?” retorted the boy, returning Drake’s glare. “That was stupid! What was the purpose of that? We are supposed to be in one of the best schools in the world, and you’re asking us what we want you to teach us? What are you going to do with this, teach us about the Bermuda Triangle and other fake things?”
“That is exactly what I want to do,” Drake replied quietly and deliberately. “I have to spend a total of four years with you, and if I taught you like any other teacher for four whole years, not only would I be a terrible teacher, I’d be killing myself slowly and painfully with boredom. I can guarantee you will know everything about history after this class. Just give me time to show you how I can do that.”
The boy was silent, his face reddening with every second that passed without him saying something.
Drake saved him with a question, “What do you want to learn?”
“Uhh…” stalled the boy, caught off guard by Drake’s question. With his chin to his chest, he mumbled, “The Salem witch trials?”
Drake continued to watch the boy. The class waited for an answer, but none came immediately. The boy fidgeted uncomfortably.
“That’s brilliant, kid!” boomed Drake unexpectedly. He clapped his hands together sharply, startling us. “We have something to work with now. I’ll start with your idea. Let’s begin our lesson of the Salem witch trials; get out a piece of paper and take notes from what I say. Today won’t be as fun as the others since I haven’t compiled anything, but I can assure you, this class will define fun.”
Fun, well, we’ll see about that.
* * * * * *
A few weeks passed. I actually found school to be fun, no matter how stubborn I was to admit it. I also was excelling in my classes voluntarily. I accomplished my goal of fitting into the middle class and I couldn’t have been any happier.
There were a few bad things about the school, but they weren’t terrible. The most noticeable setback was the amount of weight I gained. My athleticism was almost gone due to our super-sized meals and the unforgiving snack bar in the game room. Mann may have been trying his hardest to make us fit, but those meals ruined practically all of his work. Almost everyone had gained weight.
The bad cell phone signals were bothersome too. Students gradually became gradually more homesick, and both girls and boys tried madly to reach their parents or friends with their cell phones but unsuccessfully. We found that the cell phones couldn’t even contact other cell phones within the school. The school had no phones either. The only wireless communicator I knew of that could work within the school was a walkie-talkie Tommy owned, but even that could only communicate with its brother walkie-talkie.
The amount of panic each problem caused us would vary depending on the day of the week, but almost always the problems would be forgotten shortly after they had surfaced. I did find it strange that I would let these problems slide so easily, but eventually even that feeling was forgotten. Ultimately, it was this forgetfulness that would trouble us later.
It was a Friday when the first call came. The gang—Tommy, Butch, Silas, Eli, Wayne, and I—was having dinner. There was nothing special about the day; by now, everyone had finally settled into the school schedule.
Our group was exchanging small talk when the intercoms around the cafeteria crackled. The room quieted and turned to listen to the intercom. We waited, curious. This was the first time we had ever heard the intercoms come on since the first day of school.
“Good afternoon students,” came Ms Risped’s disembodied voice from the speaker. “Would Wilfred Mason please meet me in my office in Room 1 in ten minutes to discuss some matters. That is all. Thank you and good night.”
The intercom clicked off.
Everyone sat in silence, staring at the intercom as if expecting more. When nothing else happened, we turned back to our tables and continued out conversation. No one even bothered to consider why an intercom dismissal was required to call only one student to see Ms Risped.
I guess if anyone in my group of friends actually knew Wilfred Mason, I would have done something sooner. All we knew of him came from teachers; he was ridiculously smart, absolutely kind, and “cool.” Understandably, we all thought he was a teacher’s pet and resented him. He may have been a good guy, but nobody cared. Nobody likes a teacher’s pet.
When Wilfred didn’t turn up a few days later, no one was suspicious or worried. In fact, eager for gossip, students began spreading rumors that the kid was expelled. The rumors were virulent. Soon more preposterous rumors were added to stoke the enjoyable fire of lies. Even I passed a rumor or two. With such good-hearted behavior masking the disappearance of Wilfred, his actual well-being was ignored, and when the rumors lost popularity, he was forgotten.
It was the disappearance of Michael McGowan that spurred our suspicions. The boy was an Ultimate Student dream child. He practically led the US. He was smart, beautiful, athletic, snobbish to his inferiors, and disgustingly kind to the teachers. Although he didn’t have the best grades in the school like Wilfred, Michael maintained an above-average GPA that caught the admiration of his teachers.
When Michael was called, my friends and I were in the cafeteria for dinner again. Just like last time, the intercom crackled. The summons for Wilfred was issued only eight days prior. Again, Goth, US, and middle class alike hushed their conversations and cocked ears to listen.
And it happened just as quickly. Ms. Risped called for a boy named Michael McGowan.
This time, however, we were unsettled. No one dared to talk; no one dared to move, for this time the boy who had been called wasn’t a nobody. The kid was a somebody, the biggest one at that. But most of all, Michael was in the room with us, sitting in the center of his gigantic US posse. Like us, he kept still and silent.
Even with only one experience lodged in our brains, we were cognizant enough to realize the last student hadn’t returned. Michael appeared to be experiencing the same realization. He looked like he was on the brink of a nervous breakdown. Many of his fellow US tried to comfort him with their shaking hands and empty words, but it seemed he already sensed its futility.
Unsteadily, Michael rose to his feet and stumbled out of the room. No one followed him. Instead, we watched the door swing back into its frame after he made his exit. Seconds ticked by. As the time passed, the tension began to fade. Conversations slowly started again. Remarkably, even those closest to Michael were soon softly giggling at the most recent joke.
Even our group continued our meaningless ramblings, me included. A thought festered within my head, however, and although it went unnoticed at first, it grew as time passed.
The next day, Michael had not returned. That night, I lie in bed when the festering thought finally surfaced. Clarity—after deserting me for weeks—had forced its way into my brain: Two kids were gone, and I didn’t care. I let them be forgotten. I let the entire matter be forgotten!
I lay there, determined to figure out what happened to those two boys and to stop whatever evil was in the school. The idea was pure and novel, but as my eyes closed, it started to leave me. Sleep slowly picked apart my thoughts, changing plans and aspirations into dreams. And then it was all gone.
The next morning, I had no memory of my thoughts. I once again didn’t care if Michael or Wilfred had ever existed.
A week later, another child was called. It was a girl this time. She was a wallflower, a no-name. I never even had a chance to remember her; no one did. There were no friends to cry for her or enemies to hate her. She just disappeared entirely. That night I didn’t even beat myself for not remembering. The night passed and the next morning came. My feelings and thoughts didn’t change.
It took another week and another student before I finally got it.
“Hello students,” crackled the intercom in its familiar static. Conditioned by the three earlier experiences, instinct now controlled us. The game room was set on pause. Video game plumbers were left to fend for themselves; foosballs rolled aimlessly among still men; vending machines spat out nothing; and everyone in that room froze in fear.
“Will Wayne Leonard come to my office so I may speak with him. That is all, students. May you all have a good night.”
My group of friends was in shock. One of us had been called; Wayne, our quietest member, was just called the office. Before he had even moved to leave, we felt our friend had disappeared. We recalled his quirkiness, wit, and optimism as if he was a distant memory.
As helplessness and frustration culminated within him, Wayne noticed our behavior with a scowl. “So I don’t exist anymore now?” he growled through clenched teeth as he turned to face the majority of his friends. He blinked repeatedly to force back his tears. “You’re all leaving me now, aren’t you? No one has the balls to help me? Is that it?” His voice rose, soon exceeding a shout. The only other sound in that game room was our shuffling feet as we tried to flee his voice.
Wayne’s temper exploded. Unable to properly release the anger, his face contorted sharply, and his gestures grew more rigid. “So you can bitch away all your problems to me, but you can’t help me with my problem?” he sneered, hunting each of our eyes. “Well, I got a problem guys, just like all you jerks do. You idiots. It doesn’t matter who’s called, right? You’ll let everyone be called and taken. You’re all disgusting, you pathetic—”
Mann and Deon barged into the game room, cutting through the stifling environment to Wayne’s side. “It’s time to go, Wayne,” Mann said quietly. “Let’s not have Ms Risped wait too long.”
“She can wait forever for all I care!” Wayne screamed hysterically into Mann’s face. “I don’t care about her, or this school, or my stupid friends. I don’t freaking care!”
“Is that how you speak to a teacher?” Deon snapped. “Control yourself or Mann and I shall bring you to Ms Risped forcefully.”
“Screw you!” Wayne spat in Deon’s direction, missing entirely as Deon swung around the trajectory and to his side. Mann moved to Wayne’s other side. Together, they grasped his upper arms. Wayne struggled and yelled, but he did nothing more than tighten Mann and Deon’s hold. After finding a stable grip, Mann and Deon swept Wayne off his feet and carried him out of the game room.
As his form diminished, Wayne unleashed one last tirade, “You’ll all be called! Then you can all see how many friends you have! You’ll all find out who cares! No one!” His voice broke in a cry of defeat, leaving the game room choking with a heavy aura of guilt and vulnerability.
My friend group seemed frozen. The other students in the room gradually returned to their activities. We couldn’t seem to shake off the moment.
“He didn’t mean it, did he, guys?” wheezed a frightened Butch, breaking the silence. “He couldn’t have. I’m still his friend, right? Right?” The burly kid looked about helplessly for an answer. When no reply came, he crumpled to the floor and cried.
The sight was horrendous. Wayne’s attacks had frightened us, but seeing this giant toppled and weeping disturbed us. Butch was usually a teenager of testosterone, a terrible force of masculinity, but now before us he whimpered like a scared and hurt child. We all recognized losing Wayne, his best friend, must have been horrible, but his reaction was vastly unexpected.
“He couldn’t have meant that,” he babbled on the floor. “We were such good friends.” Many of us tried to call out reassurances to him, but he just kept mumbling. “He can’t even take back his comment now. He’s never going to return. I’m not even doing anything to save him.” Our consoling silenced as the truth of his words reached us. We all had instinctively known the truth, but now it was verbally acknowledged, an action that traumatized us deeply.
We let Butch lay on the floor in silence until Eli finally found the guts to hoist the giant up and take him to his room. Even then, the rest of us remained silent, staring at the spot where Butch used to be. Slowly, the remainder of the students listlessly returned to their games and conversations. If it wasn’t for Tommy, I would have remained there longer. He had to almost drag me back to our dorm.
“It’s affecting you that badly, huh?” he said quietly when we reached our room.
“Of course, it has!” I exclaimed angrily as I sat on my bed. “This has gone on for too long! People have disappeared and none of us has done anything to find out what has happened. We’ve just been forgotten.”
“Warren, you can’t tell me you believe that people are actually disappearing,” he sighed as he sat on his bed. “Just because Wayne had a tantrum doesn’t mean what he said is true.” He met my eyes with a steely gaze.
“There is a possibility his ‘tantrum’ was true, Tommy. We have to figure out what happened to those kids.”
“Just forget about all this crap. Someone will figure out what happened and we won’t have to worry about it.”
“We can’t forget, Tommy; that’s the problem!” I cried exasperated. “Everything important seems to be forgotten. Traumatizing events are being forgotten! That just doesn’t happen! We have to take action! Not some-“
“I can’t take this anymore!” Tommy yelled as he jerked himself out of his bed, his anger shocking me into silence. He flung himself towards the door, stopping just as he was about to leave. “When you start thinking right, you can join us for dinner.” The door slammed behind him.
As Tommy’s presence faded away, my shock turned to anger. That little jerk wouldn’t even listen to me! After all this time, he showed his true colors. He wasn’t as cool or nice as he had acted.
My anger surprised me, not because it was unwarranted but because it was…clear. It caught me then; I was thinking perfectly. I didn’t feel light-headed anymore. The combination of the horror of the calling and the anger of the argument had awakened my senses. I seized the moment while I could still think.
First, I realized I had to figure out why I was so forgetful, or why the rest of the school was. Second, I had to make sure I would never become forgetful again. Then, when I could rely on my memory, I needed to find out what had happened to the students who had been taken away.
I let my head fall on my pillow. Although I was thinking clearly, my stomach was roaring. I wanted to eat, but that meant seeing Tommy. Right now, I didn’t even want to think about him, so I would have to starve for one night. I threw the covers over my body, not caring that I still had my clothes on. He may have robbed me of a meal, but I still had my thoughts. I had the gift of knowing.
I knew four kids had disappeared. I knew that left 1,228 of us.
Chapter Three – End