Herrod began walking back and forth, stopping in front of each seated person, talking directly to them for a moment before moving to the next.
“Maybe you are fed up, too. Maybe you’re ready to learn a few things, and stop retreating from life like a scared rabbit. Maybe you’re ready for an education.”
Herrod looked around the room expectantly.
“Or, maybe not. Maybe you intend to leave here tonight and go home, and find yourselves in the same boat you were in before you came here. OK. That’s fine. You can do that if you want. However, if you’d prefer to be like me and learn a few things, you’ll be able to experience one of the most wonderful feelings life has to offer. I’m not talking about an education like you’re probably imagining…you’re thinking of classes, right? Because that’s all you know, education equals going to class. Well, I’m not talking about that. The education I’m talking about is a whole different kind of school. You know how they talk about the school of life? You know what they mean by that, don’t you?”
Herrod looked around the room.
“Someone tell me they know what that means?”
Aaron raised his hand. Herrod zeroed in on him.
“You know what it means?” Herrod asked.
“I think so,” Aaron replied.
“You think so?” Herrod said, leaning forward. “OK, tell us. When someone says ‘the school of life,’ what do they mean?”
“It means something you learned by experiencing it,” Aaron replied, “by living through it, rather than sitting in a classroom just hearing about it.”
Herrod leaned back and pointed at Aaron, making him feel uncomfortable. “‘Just hearing about it’,” Herrod repeated. “Did you hear that? That’s about the most succinct explanation of the school of life I’ve ever heard. Well done. What’s your name?”
“Aaron,” he replied, praying Herrod wouldn’t ask for his last name.
“Well, Aaron, congratulations. You must be a pretty smart kid to understand that. Here’s my next question for you. Are you enrolled in the school of life?”
Aaron wasn’t quite sure how to answer, and the confusion showed on his face.
“You’re enrolled in, what, middle school, right?”
“High school,” Aaron replied. “I’m a freshman.”
“Are you enrolled in the school of life?”
Aaron thought. “Well, I suppose so, since I’m living.”
“If you say so,” Herrod said, turning from him. “If you want to call what you’re doing living. Afraid all the time, unable to right wrongs, scared of people who are probably your inferiors. If you want to call that living, fine. If you ever graduate from high school, what will they give you? A diploma, am I right? And that diploma, they tell you, is a tool…something to help you get a job. You need it. You can’t get a job without one. That’s what they say, right?”
A couple of people in the room erupted with echoes of “Right!”
“Well, what are your tools from the school of life? Got any? When do you graduate?”
He waited for someone to reply, but the room didn’t seem to know how to respond.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Herrod continued. “You’re all enrolled in the school of life, but you’re not learning very much. No tools. Nothing to show for what you go through. There’s one tool you need if you’re ever going to have a normal, satisfying life. The tool is this: revenge.”
Aaron found himself sitting up in his chair.
“Cold. Sweet. Revenge is a tool that the school of life doesn’t just dump in your lap. You have to learn how to experience it. Right now you don’t have the slightest clue, because you think you’d have to do it yourself, and you don’t think you have the strength or the will to pull it off. Well, that may be true. But if you have the will to attend the School of Revenge and learn how this tool works, everything can change. No more fear. No more worried nights. Imagine going to school tomorrow with no trepidation, no aching agony and worry over when the next humiliation will occur. Imagine seeing the scales of justice swing back in your favor and balance out the wrongs that have been committed against you. Imagine how sweet that would be.”
Herrod paused, looking around the room. “We have a couple of open slots. Saturday we’re going to hold a lottery, and see who can enroll. I’ll tell you right now that you won’t all make it in. You have to want to learn; you have to yearn for an education, and we’re pretty good at figuring out who really wants it and who doesn’t. If you’re tired of being abused and picked on and treated like shit, you’ll want to think long and hard about what I’ve said tonight, and come back Saturday at 2.”
Herrod looked at Phillip. “Have you ever heard of the School of Revenge before?” he asked.
“No,” Phillip replied.
“There’s a reason for that,” Herrod said. “We’re a secret organization. We expect you to keep it secret, even if you don’t join us. If you don’t want to come back and see if you win an enrollment on Saturday, you should just forget everything I’ve talked about tonight, and never mention it again. After all, we’re really good at revenge, and you wouldn’t want us after you for indiscretion, would you?” He laughed. Uncomfortable laughter erupted in the room.
“But, if you want to learn, you’ll have to keep that a secret, too. You’re not allowed to discuss this with anyone, and that includes your father, your mother, your grandparents, your aunts and uncles, your brothers or sisters, or the pet gerbil! Got it?”
Heads nodded in response.
“Alright,” Herrod said. “Think about what I’ve said. I’ll see those of you who are serious about getting an education on Saturday. The rest of you, enjoy your timid lives — and remember, keep your mouth shut, unless you want us hunting you down. Good night!”
And with that, Herrod walked from the front of the room to the back, leaving through the doorway. The meeting was over.
Aaron turned to look at Phillip; his friend looked befuddled. He glanced quickly at others in the room; they seemed to be shaken as well, not interested in talking, all avoiding each other’s gaze. They moved hurriedly to the doorway, not saying anything.
It wasn’t until they were on their bikes and headed back home that they spoke to each other.
“What do you think?” Aaron asked.
“I don’t know,” Phillip replied. “He was a little scary, but I liked what he was saying.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Aaron replied. “Do you want to go back Saturday?”
“Do you want to?”
“Kinda,” Aaron replied. “Kinda not, too.”
“I feel the same way,” Phillip said. “I’d love to know what he meant by revenge.”
“Me too.”
“There’s one or two people I wouldn’t mind seeing get some.”
“Named Curtis and Dirk.”
They pedaled through the dark streets of the West Seattle neighborhood and split up a minute later, each heading to their own home.
Aaron thought about the things Herrod had to say the rest of the evening and as he was lying in bed, trying to sleep. Tomorrow was another football practice, and he was already dreading what might happen during it; the abuse he might go through. Considering what Herrod had to say made him feel much better, and he was able to fall asleep quickly.
Chapter Four
The day had gone pretty well until football practice rolled around. Thanks to his history teacher, he was running late and arrived at the locker room with little time to spare. He was just finishing up when he felt the ball hit him in the back of the head.
“You’re late, cheesehead!” He knew it was Curtis. As he turned to face the kid, his shirt slid off the bench next to him. He reached for it, but Dirk had it, and was taking off.
He ran after Dirk, knowing he didn’t have a backup shirt. If he didn’t get it back, he’d be practicing shirtless.
He followed Dirk through the locker room, too many steps behind to stop the kid from tossing the shir
t onto the top of several storage cabinets. Dirk didn’t even turn around to smirk at him as he ran out of the locker room. Everyone was heading to the field.
The cabinets were high, and he needed something to stand on to reach on top of them. There were no chairs anywhere; all of the benches people sat on in the locker rooms were bolted to the floor. He tried jumping, but only managed a limited view of the top of the cabinets. He knew if he didn’t get out on the field, he’d get extra grief from the coaches.
They’ll give me grief for no shirt, too, he thought. Can’t win either way.
He opted to run out onto the field and avoid being late.
“Where’s your shirt?” Phillip whispered as they stretched.
“Dirk,” Aaron replied. “He tossed it on top of a cabinet I can’t reach.”
“What a jerk,” Phillip said.
“Curtis called me a cheesehead, too.”
“Ouch!” Phillip replied. “That’s worse than having your shirt stolen!”
“Thanks for rubbing it in.”
“Rogers!” came the voice from one of the coaches. “Get over here!”
“Good luck,” Phillip whispered as Aaron rose from the ground and ran to one of the adult coaches on the sideline.
“Where’s your shirt?” the coach asked.
“I thought I had it, but it wasn’t in my locker,” Aaron replied.
“If you can’t remember your shirt, how can I expect you to remember a play call?” the coach asked.
Aaron didn’t know what to say. He knew he wasn’t going to rat on Curtis and Dirk, because he knew the coach would just consider it an excuse, and it would make him look bad rather than them. He also knew it would cause Curtis and Dirk to redouble their efforts against him.
“Nothing to say?” the coach asked, staring at him. “You know I have to start cutting. I’m looking for people who are on top of their game, not people who forget things.”
Aaron opened his mouth to speak, but he hadn’t quite come up with the right thing to say, and nothing came out.
“Get out of here,” the coach said, waving his arm at him dismissively. “No practice for you today.”
As he trotted back to the locker room, he glanced over his shoulder. Phillip was watching him go, his hands raised, mouthing “what?” He turned back around to run into Ryan, the backup quarterback on last year’s JV team.
“Watch it, loser!” Ryan said, giving him a shove. He fell to the ground.
He picked himself up and ran back to the locker room. He knew the coach considered kicking him off the field to be discipline, designed to teach him to not screw up and forget things. Had he been late to the field trying to retrieve his shirt, he’d have likely received the same fate. They set me up to get in trouble either way, he thought. There was no way to win this one.
After he changed, he found a yardstick in one of the empty coach’s offices and used it to fish his shirt from the top of the cabinet. Mercifully, no one was in the locker room while he jumped and swung the stick, trying to hook his shirt. It finally came down, bringing with it a cloud of dust. It was coated in dirt.
Even if I’d managed to get it down before going out on the field, he thought, coach would have noticed how dirty it is. He stuffed it into his gym bag and hurried to his bike. The bike rack was nearly empty, since only after-school extracurricular students were still there.
At least I can start my weekend early, he thought. It didn’t relieve any of the anger and embarrassment he felt, but it did mean he could play some GTA. He took the anger and embarrassment and compartmentalized it all, shoving it to the back of his brain as he normally did, so he didn’t have to think about it. Thinking about it just made him more depressed.
When he got home, the house was empty. His mother was still at work and wouldn’t be home for another hour. He bounded upstairs to his room and dropped his backpack and gym bag on the floor.
There, just under the window, was another balled-up flyer, the third one he’d received.
Geez, they must really want me! he thought, picking up the paper and opening it. The same grains of sand sprinkled out of the ball as he flattened it, and the ones that didn’t he brushed off.
“Once-In-A-Lifetime Opportunity!” the headline at the top of the flyer read.
Huh, he thought. Slightly different than the last one.
“Lottery tomorrow, 2pm. Don’t miss your chance to learn the tools that can change your life!”
He fell onto his bed and let the paper drop to the floor. He assumed Phillip would come around after practice, and he’d talk to him about attending the lottery as soon as he arrived.
But regardless of whether or not he wants to go, Aaron thought, I’m going.
—
“What did you tell your dad?” he asked Phillip as they walked to the side entrance.
“That I was going to the library,” Phillip answered, “which isn’t a lie at all.”
“I said the same thing!” Aaron replied. “Let’s hope our parents don’t go to the real library looking for us.”
“Mine’s headed to the bar,” Phillip said. “He’s got a dart tournament.”
They opened the side door and descended the steps into the basement. The same teen who’d met them the night before last was there with his clipboard.
“Ah! Aaron and Phillip! You’re both back!” he greeted them warmly.
“Hi!” Phillip said.
“How does this lottery work?” Aaron asked. “Do we just take a number, like a raffle?”
“Ah, well,” Jeremy answered, “not quite. They’ll draw names, but that’s a little later. First come the interviews.”
“Interviews?” Aaron asked.
“Yeah,” Jeremy replied. “You remember Herrod mentioned that they don’t take everyone?”
Aaron turned to Phillip.
“Yeah,” Phillip said. “I seem to remember something along those lines.”
“Well, the lottery will only be for the ones who make it past the interviews. There’s no sense in allowing people to participate who don’t meet our standards.”
“Standards?” Aaron asked.
“Aptitude, that kind of thing,” he answered. “If you score high enough on the test, you’ll be automatically enrolled in the lottery. Ready to get started?”
Aaron turned once again to Phillip. “Sure,” he replied.
Phillip nodded. “I guess so.”
“Good. Come with me.”
Jeremy led them down a hallway, away from the room where they’d heard Herrod speak. It was lined with small rooms, and he stopped at one.
“Phillip, this will be your interview room.” He held out his hand, motioning for Phillip to go inside. “Just sit at the table. Someone will be along to administer the test in a few minutes.”
Phillip stepped into the room, and Jeremy pulled the door closed.
Aaron was a little nervous to be separated from Phillip, but he followed Jeremy down the hallway until they came to another room.
“This one’s yours,” Jeremy said. “Just wait until someone comes around to give you the test.”
Aaron didn’t reply; he just walked into the tiny room and sat on a chair. Next to him was a short table, and there was a chair on the other side of it. He heard the door close, and he was sealed inside.
I hope this wasn’t a bad idea, he thought. They didn’t say anything about a test. But they did say they didn’t take everyone…I guess they have to have a way to decide whom to take and whom not to take, just like football tryouts.
He sat for a few moments, looking around the room. A bank of abandoned filing cabinets lined one wall, and the paint had begun to peel from a corner near the ceiling. He wondered what the room had been used for when the library was open.
The door opened. “Aaron?”
He turned; a tall woman who looked in her early twenties walked in, closing the door behind her. She had long brown hair, and was wearing glasses and carrying a briefcase.
“
Hi,” Aaron replied.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Angela,” the woman replied, shaking his hand. She positioned herself behind the table in the other chair, facing him. She placed the briefcase on the table and opened it; inside was a patchwork of metal rods and gears. She reached for a small lever and pulled — the insides rose up, unfolding into a machine with a display. She turned the briefcase so that the display faced her, and pulled two round metal balls from recesses in the display. She handed the balls to Aaron.
“One in each hand, please!” she said pleasantly.
Aaron took the metal balls. They were shiny silver, about the size of a tennis ball. He placed one in each hand, and could feel them vibrate slightly.
“Now, I want you to relax,” Angela said, leaning back in her chair with a clipboard. “I’m going to ask you some questions, and I want you to answer me honestly. The questions might seem weird and you might wonder what they have to do with the lottery. Don’t worry about any of that. I’ll be making notes as you respond. OK? Any questions?”
“No, I guess not,” he said, feeling nervous.
“OK, let’s begin. I want you to count to twenty silently in your mind. When you’re done, nod, and I’ll ask you the first question.”
Aaron let the numbers sequence through his brain, and after he’d reached twenty, he nodded at Angela.
“If an important birthday party for you was held in a place where you couldn’t attend, how would you feel?”
He considered the question.
“What do you mean, a place where I couldn’t attend?”
“There’s no more to the question,” Angela said sweetly. “Just answer it based on how I read it to you.”
“Could you read it again?”
“If an important birthday party for you was held in a place where you couldn’t attend, how would you feel?”
“How would I feel?” Aaron repeated. “How would I feel…I don’t know.”
Instantly he knew that wasn’t a good response. Angela looked at the machine, and began to write on her clipboard.
Get it together, he thought. If you want to pass this test, you can’t just say “I don’t know!” Don’t be lame!
The School of Revenge Page 3
