Exousia - The Patron Saints of the Damned -Book II
Chapter 11 - Politics, Crime, and Punishment

Derrick Owens followed Principal Fowler to his office. With every step, his heart raced faster. Blood rushed to his face so that he was sure he looked like a pink and freckle-covered criminal. Sweat poured from his forehead, and he could smell his own body odor through his body spray. He suddenly wished he hadn’t worn his good button-down shirt over his tee. He thought about removing the over-shirt but decided that it would only make him look more suspicious when his pit stains inevitably seeped through the fabric. He would just have to endure the discomfort. What he really needed was to stop freaking himself out by over-thinking. But over-thinking was what he did, and there weren’t many ways to prevent it.

“Derrick,” Principal Fowler said.

Derrick jumped. Did he know? Had somebody had told him about Brennan’s plan? Had security seen something? Maybe he had suspected tampering from the beginning. It couldn’t be common for students to help set up the computer system for a school.

“If it’s alright for me to ask … is your brother-” Principal Fowler began, and then seemed to be at a loss for words.

Derrick was so relieved that he didn’t understand was being asked, at first. He very nearly exhaled audibly. “My stepbrother, sir?” he asked, before realizing that it was a stupid question. Of course, his stepbrother, what other brother did he have?

“I mean it’s nothing to be ashamed of, if he is,” Principal Fowler said, sounding nervous about the question but also somehow like he was trying to be reassuring. Surprisingly, this was as kindly as such questions came. While perhaps the rest of the country had gotten closer to acceptance of other sexual orientations, it was still considered a taboo in the middle of bumfuck Alabama. Principal Fowler went on, awkwardly. “He’s a good student … only as bothersome as his friends.”

Derrick bit his bottom lip as it almost curled into a scowl. He wasn’t mad at the bothersome comment, but at the cowardly insinuation and the sort of offensive curiosity that demanded that be sated even at the expense at others’ rights to privacy. It was something Derrick had heard countless times before.

“I just ask because we are in Hartselle,” Principal Fowler said, his face getting red with embarrassment. “And if parents find out, there could be … issues. Some might do crazy things like try to keep him out of the changing rooms, or worse. I’m just saying if he is … and it ever comes up between the two of you, uh. That is to say, we school administration would fully support him. But it could be … difficult. Especially with your dad.”

Derrick felt a difficult mix of anger and defensiveness brew up inside of him, just like it always did. He cared about his brother and, if anything, wished could be a little more like him. Suave, smart, confident enough not to care what everyone else thought. But at the same time … a secret part of him wished Ted tried a little better to hide the obvious. It was bad enough that he was always in the spotlight, did he have to take up all the secret and unspoken attention too? At times, Derrick could admit to feeling wholly overshadowed and hated it … as petty as that felt. But as per the usual, he swallowed his emotions and forced himself to keep his cool. He replied, “I don’t know, sir.”

Principal Fowler nodded and then didn’t say anything else about the matter, even when they reached his office. He unlocked the door, led them into the office, powered up his computer, and pulled up the intercom software. On the screen, there was a vague error report. He then turned and said, “They were working fine when your dad showed me before. I thought maybe something needed to be updated or turned on. Or maybe someone accidentally kicked a wire.”

Ironically, he was more right than what he realized with this last statement. The problem was in the wiring and Derrick knew precisely which wires had been undone just enough so that they wouldn’t work. He knew because he had been the one to loosen them just before he and his dad had finished the job. But instead of fixing them, he sat down at the desk and got to work performing troubleshoots. It was the only thing he could do to stall for time. Until he had a moment alone, he couldn’t reach into his backpack and pull out the flash drive.

“Hurry up.” Derrick thought to himself. He was listening out for the arrival of the distraction that was supposed to come any second. And just when he thought that it wouldn’t come, Derrick heard a wild shout.

It was Jodie Neil, one of the best players on the school football team. As such, he had a free pass when it came to causing minor trouble. And he used this privilege to its maximum potential. Unfortunately, being so well-liked also meant that he had a distinct lack of will when it came to staying on any task and resisting the powers of whimsy … or the power of shiny things, for that matter.

“Mr. Fowler,” said the school secretary. The thin lady with brown hair, who was known for sneering at those who arrived late to school, was standing at the door of the office.

“What is it?” replied Principal Fowler, not moving his eyes from the computer screen.

“A hall monitor caught Jodie Neil kissing Hannah Davidson in the hall, while class was in session.”

“That was fast; it’s only the second day of school,” Principal Fowler said, sounding more exhausted than angry. “Just send him back to class. I’ll single-handedly resolve the problem of adolescent mating instincts with detention and a stern lecture, later.”

“It’s alright sir,” Derrick said, stuttering a little bit as he tried to take advantage of the situation. “I found a corrupted file that’s infected the computer with third-party controller malware. I’m pretty sure I can fix it in just a few minutes.”

Principal Fowler shrugged his bony shoulders with visible disinterest at the matter. He opened his mouth to say something to the extent. But as soon as he did, the door to the office door slammed open again.

“Fowler, my man! How’s it going?” Jodie said, giving the principal a casual salute along with his signature, boisterous smile.

Derrick smiled, despite himself. There was definitely a clash between his friend’s cocky attitude, and his own shy and reserved one. But it was difficult to dislike the football jock. Sure, there was the fact that everybody likes a handsome, charismatic, and generally fun person. But there was something beyond that. Jodie had an aptitude for getting along with people and making them feel good about themselves. Of course, there were exceptions to the rule, a few select people that had somehow earned his ire, but he did try to treat people well. Oddly enough, but key to this distraction, this ability extended to even adults.

“Mr. Neil, I have told you repeatedly to call me Principal Fowler,” Principal Fowler said, giving a forced smile.

“Yeah, Teach, of course!” Jodie flashed a smile of perfect teeth and leaned against the doorpost so that he almost filled the doorway. He had the stereotypical jock’s body—tall, muscular, and with a face charming enough for one to want to either slap him or make him president. He wore his letterman jacket, only possible in the muggy heat of early Southern Autumn because of their overly air-conditioned school and the power of his ego.

A muscle in Principal Fowler’s face twitched.

“No disrespect here,” Jodie said, “I just thought that after being on the front page of the paper together, we were on a first name basis, you know?”

“Of course, Mr. Neil,” Principal Fowler said and gave a heavy sigh. But even as he worked hard to look annoyed, there was a stubborn smile that crept onto his face and wouldn’t go away. “Derrick here was just finishing up fixing my computer. Let me escort you back to class so we can have little chat about … professional boundaries between ‘friends’ in the workplace.”

As soon as the principal turned his back, Derrick inserted the flash drive into the computer.

-O-

Brennan watched as Mr. Kale erased the chalkboard. He did this because the substitute teacher did not just drag the eraser clumsily like any other teacher would have. He angled his arm and made three clean sweeps at the board in rapid succession, and then blew the cloud of dust toward the far window before it had a chance to settle. The smoothness of it was … almost eerie in a way.

Mr. Kale turned to face them, his blue eyes focused. “From what I understand, you were all supposed to give oral reports on a social issue that you investigated over the course of the summer. Fortunately for you, the prank which the more worthwhile members of your class are working on will likely result in the early cancellation of this class period. So, I’ll get to the point of today’s lesson quickly. Because, surprising as it might be from a substitute teacher, I do have something that will serve you well in your years to come.”

Brennan felt a chill as the substitute met his eyes and then those of each of his friends. Nobody in the class moved or even bothered to laugh. It was almost as if the first person to speak or giggle might indicate themselves of the crime. And this teacher’s nature was too bizarre for any of them to know if implicating themselves would be a good thing, despite what he’d said about them being ‘worthwhile’.

Mr. Kale slowly paced at the front of the classroom. “We will talk about society, as per the purpose of this class. More specifically, let’s talk about the nature of political power.” His eyes had narrowed on one of the members of Brennan’s circle of friends.

Marshal Stevens had olive skin, combed chestnut hair, and a strong jaw. He wore a green jacket and a pair of loose khaki slacks, which both looked somehow grungy and classy at the same time. He was was widely considered the most handsome guy in their class by the standards of almost any girl asked.

The corner of Mr. Kale’s mouth momentarily twitched in an amused way. “You, child, what is your name?”

Marshal’s brown eyes flared only enough for a friend to have possibly noticed. This was strange because he did not show his emotions, ever. He was a stoic musician with a seeming disinterest in all other things—the premier example of ‘cool’ that their school had to show. And for him to react to something an adult said created a profoundly unusual situation.

“Marshal Stevens. And I’m seventeen,” he replied in a low tone, and he shifted his eyes so that he met the teacher’s stare. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “Sir.”

“Seventeen. Right.” Mr. Kale replied, his face suddenly expressionless. “Well, Mr. Seventeen. Let me propose an idea to you. Whether liberal or conservative, the center of power in this … country … is maintained by the division of the people. A population governed by fear or hatred of itself is the easiest to control. Easy question to start, who do we find as the source and beneficiary of this division?”

“The leaders,” Marshal replied, smiling a little as he did. It was unclear whether he was pleased by the question itself or because he suspected he had answered correctly. Knowing him, it was probably a mix of both.

Mr. Kale gave a small smile as well. “Indeed, Mr. Seventeen, the leaders. And for leadership to gain the power they need and crave, they must defeat their opponent. They must demonstrate to their followers that the enemy camp is inept and evil. Often even by swaying them to actually become so.”

Marshal gave a small nod.

Mr. Kale continued. “And you, the very handsome Seventeen. With all your dreams, your future, your popularity, your considerable intelligence, and your friends. What are you to these leaders, ideological groupings, parties of power, and to the people whose allegiance is given to them?”

Somehow, Brennan had a feeling that the question was neither just for Marshal nor for the entirety of the class. The teacher was looking at them, the circle of friends who he had referenced from the beginning.

“A number, sir?” Marshal asked, cracking a small smile. At this, the tension was partially broken, and a few giggles came from some of their classmates.

Mr. Kale quietly waited for the laughter to die down, waiting expressionlessly until there was nothing but uncomfortable silence. “In a way … though only potential contributors of wealth or power count as actual numbers. Children are illiteracy rates in because of the opposing party’s effect on schools, state costs, bodies for ideological warfare, faceless lives needlessly lost for the sake of your parents’ facorite toys, and maybe even suicide rates if the leadership even cares to bring the matter up. The powers of this world use the idea of you to manipulate your parents through their fear, while making sure to put as little actual care into you as they can. All for votes and financial contributions. So, really, you’re not even a number. It is the generalized idea of you that matters, an indeterminable number of bullets in a war that will inevitably eat you alive.”

Mr. Kale’s cold expression softened, and it looked like he might have even shown a sympathetic frown. But then it was gone as quickly and completely as it had appeared. He just watched them for a minute, and then another, in complete silence. Then he said, “The grand question then becomes this. In the face of a collapsing world that cares nothing for you and which will gladly extinguish your flame before you even get a chance to really live, what are you going to do about it?”

Nobody answered; the silence of the classroom was somehow thicker even than before. Minutes passed. A mechanical voice on the loudspeaker was what eventually broke the silence. “Attention classmates. As some of you know, the members of the Junior class were forced to create presentations about a social issue that we care about. Perhaps an attempt to make us socially conscious citizens … but most likely just our teachers giving us extra work during our break.”

In his head, Brennan said the words along with the scrambled voice on the speaker. He knew every word. But it felt empty. Something about what the substitute had said was dulling the sense of enjoyment he felt he should have been getting out of this.

The mechanical voice continued. “I am a student of a school that was built on formerly protected wetlands, through the abuse of the wetland credit system. I have decided that this definitely counts as a social issue that deserves all of our attention.”

A melodramatic track often heard in pet shelter donation commercials began to play. The television monitors—the one in the classroom and all of those in the halls used for announcements—all turned on. They started to cycle through pictures of frogs, all photo-shopped to look sad.

Laughter erupted from all over the school, echoing up and down the hallways. Brennan willed himself to join in and ignored how forced it felt.

-O-

Derrick had successfully transferred the slideshow of the frogs and fixed the wiring. The video would play until the computer shut down from the timer he had set. Then he turned on the antivirus and had it run again for show. He was about to remove the flash drive from the back of the computer when the door opened behind him.

Principal Fowler entered the office with his hands on his ears “What happened!” he shouted through clenched teeth.

Derrick backed away from the computer to show him that the antivirus was running. “Whoever was running the third-party software was probably alerted when I tried to remove it. They probably made this part of the virus just to have a cover in case it was caught … to make it look like nothing but a prank. I’ve isolated its control and am in the process of removing it.” The explanation wasn’t that great, but he was counting on the principal’s computer illiteracy.

“Can’t you just unplug the sound connection?” Principal Fowler asked and pointed at the mainframe.

“I could try,” Derrick replied, reciting the nonsense explanation he’d practiced over the last few days. “But the extra processing power needed to deal with the disconnection might cause the anti-virus to crash. That might give the third-party controller a chance to regain a foothold in the software. If that happens, I may not be able to remove it again. Could you cover up all the speakers with plastic bags to muffle the sound?”

Principal Fowler shook his head, wrinkled his forehead, and stuck his fingers in his ears. He seemed to be in deep thought. Then his eyes lit up, and he said, “Get back to class. I’ll come back to get you in a moment.”

Confused, Derrick nodded and walked out the door at a quick pace. He was trying hard to keep his legs’ involuntary skipping to a minimum. But when the sound of the music ceased, before he’d even reached his classroom, his heart began to race.

-O-

Brennan sat at a desk, along with his friends David, Sam, Jodie, Derrick, Ted, and Marshal. They were all in a small empty classroom and in various emotional states. David was looking around nervously. Sam was biting his lower lip until he accidentally made it bleed. Derrick seemed very sweaty as he ran his hands through his red hair. Jodie was just sitting back in a relaxed posture. Ted looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. And Marshal was looking at his watch impatiently.

As for Brennan, he still couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that had set in during the strange lecture. But he forced himself to mentally put that aside as much as possible, and deal with the current situation.

Principal Fowler was standing in front of them, rubbing his temples. He exhaled deeply and waited a moment before he said, “So, your junior year prank.”

“I deny everything,” Jodie said, lifting a hand.

“That would be fine if this were a court of law,” Principal Fowler replied.

Jodie thought about this and then said, “You don’t have any proof that it was us.” He looked more like he was having more fun antagonizing the man than like he was trying to make any sort of legitimate effort.

“Again, not a court of law, and no you do not get an attorney.” Principal Fowler rolled his eyes and looked at each of them in turn. “You six are in the junior class, expected by tradition to perform a junior year prank. One of your essays is on the flash drive in question, one of you was directly handling my computer, and one of you is dressed as a woman. Adding that to the fact that the six of you are the biggest trouble-makers I’ve ever dealt with, and this becomes the least complicated mystery to have ever existed.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” Marshal said, with a tone that communicated that he was tired of his time being wasted.

“Ooh ooh, I definitely did!” Ted said, waving his hand in the air.

“Ted, don’t say ‘ooh ooh,’ it makes you sound like a monkey,” Principal Fowler said. “And Marshal, I’m sure you are telling the truth, but collective punishments build character and make friendships stronger. I may be an asshole, but I’m not the sort of monster who is going to let you sabotage your friendship with your pals by being the only one unpunished.”

“Really?” Marshal said, lifting his nostril in an expression of disgust, though there was a bit of surprise in his tone.

“No,” Principal Fowler said, with a droll tone. “I just consider you guilty by association. And a couple days without any of you little pests around will be heavenly. Now, all of you get out.”

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