Nightmare Academy (15 page)

. . . Mr. Booker grabbed a fistful of
Alex's perfectly combed hair
and slammed his head down on the desk.

Mr. Cruise leaped, ran, planted his hindquarters in that desk, then sat at attention.

Booker put out his palm toward Alex. “Your tokens. All of them.”

Alex, his face red, his eye tearing from being smacked on the desk, his hair still disheveled, dug into his blazer pocket and produced a handful of KM dollars. With obvious resentment, he dropped them into Booker's palm. Mr. Booker confined Alex to his desk with only a look, then returned to the front of the classroom, his dignity unruffled. “Mr. Cruise, I believe these belong to you.” He gave the tokens to Mr. Cruise, then turned, rested against his desk, and surveyed the class, meeting every eye. “Surely there are questions?” There was only silence. He shrugged it off, lightly throwing up his hands.
"Of course. If there is no truth, how can there be questions?"

His fiery eye fell upon Elisha, who looked back only when she felt him looking at her. “And this is the new student, I presume? Answer me.”

“Yes, sir. I'm calling myself Sally.”

He took a moment to chuckle at that. “Sally. A nice choice.

Are you a movie star? A rock star?”

“No. I'm just Sally.”

“Well. First of all, thank you for wearing proper attire. There are those in this class who have had to be reminded—Mr. Jackson! Your collar is up! Thank you, that's better!—who have had to be reminded what ties and blazers are for.” He dug a KM dollar from his pocket and set it on her desk. “Now Sally, since you seem to be such a center of attention, would you please stand and recite.”

Elisha hesitated. “Uh, excuse me?”

His eyes narrowed. He repeated slowly, “Stand and recite.”

She laughed nervously. “Sir, with all due respect, I just got here. This is my very first day.”

His eyes could melt an iceberg. “Sally, I'm hearing an excuse. You know my policy regarding excuses!”

“No sir, I'm sorry. I don't know any of your policies because I've never been here before.”

He crossed his arms. “And how would I know that?”

She could come up with only one answer. “Have you ever seen me before?”

He nodded confidently. “Every day.”

I'm in fantasyland again,
she thought, then said, “That's im­possible.”

Elisha could sense the silent gasp from the rest of the class.

Booker approached her desk, his eyes threatening. He took back the KM dollar. “You have contradicted me. You do realize that?”

His eyes could melt an iceberg.

She didn't want a debate. She was just trying to find some sense in all this. “Mr. Booker, it would be contradictory for me to say that I've always been here when I've been somewhere else.”

“And now you're telling me what to think!”

“I'm just telling you the truth.”

“Your
idea
of truth, you mean! But you forget, child, that I might see things another way.” His hand went to his desk. His fingers curled around a yardstick. “I might prefer to believe that you have always been here, that you knew good and well what the assignment was, and that you are trying to challenge my authority!” He brought the yardstick around. “You will stand and you will recite.” He raised the yardstick, ready to bring it down on her shoulders. “You will stand, or—”

Elijah jumped to his feet so fast his desk dumped over with a horrible clatter. “I'LL RECITE!”

Heads spun around. Eyes—wide, intense eyes—locked on him. Over on the right side of the class, a girl broke into tears.

Time froze. Still holding the yardstick, Booker stood motionless like a still photograph from a scary movie and glared at Elijah. He shot a corrective look and a pointing finger at the girl who was whimpering, and she immediately stifled herself. Finally, he turned and walked down the aisle, his heels loudly marking each step on the hard maple floor. “I did not call on you.”

Elijah could look past Booker and see the frightened face of his sister. Nothing would turn him back. “I'll recite, anything you want if I know it, and if I don't know it, you can go ahead and hit me.”

Booker raised an eyebrow, impressed. He stole a glance at Elisha. “You have quite the power to charm, young lady.” Then he looked at Elijah and cradled the yardstick in both hands, clearly relishing the thought. “Very well. Recite. But I warn you: Try your very best to please me.”

Elijah didn't think he'd be able to look Booker in the eye, but there was something about the words he began to recite that gave him the nerve. “Exodus, chapter twenty: You shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in the heavens above, or in the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth. You shall not—"'

“The audacity!” Booker growled and raised the yardstick—

A loud scraping of a desk across the floor! Elisha was on her feet, calling out, “You shall not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain! Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy!'”

Now, in front and behind Booker, they spoke in chorus: “'Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be prolonged. You shall not steal. You shall not murder. You shall not commit adultery—"'

“RUBBISH!” Booker roared, looking from one to the other.

There was silence.

“Do you want us to keep going?” Elijah asked.

“NO!” Booker studied both of them, looking back and forth, and finally, he lowered the yardstick to his side, tapping it absentmindedly on the floor as he returned to the front of the room. “That will be quite enough. Please be seated, and I commend you for a remarkable demonstration.”

“The audacity!” Booker growled
and raised the yardstick—

“Thank you—”

“Of rubbish. Pure rubbish.” Booker tossed the yardstick on his desk and addressed the class. “Did you notice? Once again, we find ourselves having to confront the same old idea, that somehow, as if from the heavens above, there is Truth, there is Right, there is Wrong.” He looked angrily at Elijah and Elisha. “Once again, we have to endure someone putting forth definitive statements of truth!”

“As you have just done, sir,” Elijah replied, righting his desk.

He simply laughed that aside. “Oh, yes. You're one of those 'either/or' thinkers, aren't you? Either my truth or yours. Well, I say your Truth is rubbish!” He spread his arms toward the class. “I'm even willing to put it to the group! We are a group, are we not, with the power to agree on what is true? Let me ask you, group: Would any disagree with me?”

No one disagreed. Hardly anyone even looked his direction.

He laughed, basking in victory. “Rubbish!”

The class took turns reading aloud from Hemingway for the rest of the hour. Some read well, were commended, and given KM dollars; some could hardly read at all, were humiliated, and had their dollars taken away. Booker certainly made no friends, but like it or not, it was his hour, his class, his kingdom. He ran things the way he pleased, and though he invited questions—once—no one dared ask any.

When class was finally dismissed and the students were a safe distance away, there were plenty of questions. “Who does he think he is?” “That guy's a psycho!” “I thought classes here were optional! What's this mandatory stuff?” “Man, this place is no fun. It's just like school again!”

Elisha's nerves were frazzled. “Do you think he really would have hit me?”

“He wouldn't have had the chance,” Elijah told her.

Elisha just sighed, calming herself. “Well, better day tomorrow.”

Warren, a quiet but strong young man with reddish hair and freckles, approached Elisha and Elijah on the sidewalk. “I just want to tell you, you've got nerve, man. I couldn't have faced down Booker like that.”

Ramon agreed. “You're one bad dude, Jerry—but I wouldn't let him hit me. I'd cut him up first.”

Marcy was crying a little, and touched her forehead to Elisha's shoulder. “I felt so awful for you.”