Nightmare Academy (22 page)

“Where is Alex?” Booker asked.

For a moment, there was no answer.

Then Brett spoke up. “Sir, I heard Alex say he was going to get some sleep.” Then he added, “He, uh, he said he needed sleep more than he needed your class.”

Booker raised an eyebrow, leaning back against his desk, sufficiently theatrically offended. “Rory. Tom. Jamal. Clay. Bring Alex here, place him in his desk, and make sure he stays there. Oh! And make sure he brings all his KMs with him.”

Four big guys rose from their desks. Elijah knew Rory, Tom, and Jamal—they'd met under last night's unfortunate circumstances. They were big, tough, and ugly. Clay, the fourth guy, looked even worse. None of them were wearing a complete uniform, but Booker didn't seem to notice. Elijah could guess: Each had had his own little meeting with Booker in the tool room, and now Booker was “changing the game to their advantage.” They left the room with gleeful, hungry looks on their faces.

Brett was looking a little gleeful himself. The first three guys were from his dorm, weren't they? But what about Clay? He was supposed to be one of Alex's buddies. Forty bucks a day must have looked pretty sweet.

Booker went on with business. “Tonya, you will be fined five KMs, as of right now.”

She was devastated. “But—”

“NOW!”

She dug in her pocket and produced five coins. “It's not my fault. . . .”

“I heard an excuse. Two more. Samuel! Five KMs for the missing shirt, five for the missing tie! And Marvin! Five for each missing shoe!”

It took a lot of class time to collect fines from so many lawbreakers, but this was Booker's way. He seemed to enjoy punishing people as much as teaching them. The KMs jingled into Booker's wooden “penalty bowl” like doubloons into a pirate's treasure chest.

“You will replace whatever you are missing by purchasing it at the Campus Exchange, using, of course, your KMs.” He gave the penalty bowl a knowing look as he added, “If you have no KMs, the cafeteria will issue a ten KM credit for skipping a meal.”

The kids would have moaned, but that would have cost them.

“And, of course, you will abandon all thoughts of protest or appealing to fairness. I require uniforms and I exact penalties because I rule your lives. Period. Are there any questions?”

The room was silent.

“Of course not.”

Then Rory Tom, Jamal, and Clay returned, bursting through the door with Alex walking—sometimes—between them, some bruises on his face and some blood on his forearm. He wasn't dressed for class. As a matter of fact, he was hardly dressed at all, wearing only a tee shirt and jogging shorts. The four big bruisers dropped him in his desk and then stood there, defying him to get up. He'd learned better than that and chose not to, but sat there glowering, huffing through clenched teeth, holding the wound on his arm.

Booker saw the blood and tossed a box of tissues to Rory, who gave them to Alex. Alex dabbed the wound but didn't say thank you.

“Things got a little rough. He hit the corner of a table,” Rory explained.

Booker extended his open palm, and Rory tossed him Alex's bag of KMs. The bag was full and heavy, landing in Booker's hand with an audible
chink!
"You will never avoid my class again.
None
of you will avoid my class—ever!”

Alex's voice was hissing, almost weeping, with anger. “Who are you to tell me what to do?”

“ARE YOU BLIND!?” Booker's voice was so loud, so intimidating, that everyone in the room flinched. “You have just experienced the answer to your question, Alex! How many different ways must I demonstrate it?”

Booker tossed the bag of KMs back to Rory. “Divide it amongst yourselves.”

As Alex watched his KMs counted out and tossed from hand to hand right over his head, he nearly spit the words at Clay, “You traitor!”

Clay only shrugged and jingled the coins around in his hand.

A chuckle from across the room turned Alex's head.

It was Brett, smiling, gloating, in full uniform, nice and neat, enjoying every moment. He even produced an extra tie from his pocket. “Missing something?”

“You think it's over?” Alex asked him.

Brett just wagged his head slowly. He knew where Alex was going.

“You and me,” said Alex.

“Anytime, anywhere,” said Brett.

Booker stood there listening, observing. “We appear to have some ongoing, irresolvable issues here.”

Just then, the door opened, and Mr. Easley stuck his head in. “Excuse me, Mr. Booker. Don't mean to interrupt. I was wondering—”

Booker was jubilant. “Mr. Easley! Just the man we need!” He indicated the two seething combatants. “We have two kings here, two nations at war. Perhaps you can help them resolve their differences without killing each other.”

Easley eyed the two boys knowingly and said, “I guess it's about that time, isn't it?”

“You may as well take them off my hands, Mr. Easley Take them all. They're useless to me today.”

Easley took charge. “Okay, everyone. Let's gather outside, on the fifty-yard line. Form a wide circle and wait 'til I get there. Brett, better swing by your room and get out of that suit. Let's go.”

The class rose hurriedly to their feet.

“This is gonna be
good!”
said Clay.

9

THE STUDENT
KING

T
HEY MOVED INTO THE FIELD , scattered clusters of concern and anticipation, whispering, bantering, wondering.

“What's happening?”

“You mean they're going to fight?”

“You think Brett can take this guy?”

“You're the man, Alex.”

“Does this mean we get our stuff back?”

“Where do we go?”

“The football field, fifty-yard line.”

Mr. Easley arrived in time to direct traffic. “Okay, back up, back up. Form a circle. Back up a little more, make some room so everyone can see. Alex, you stand over on this side.” Brett arrived, in jogging shorts and tee shirt, ready “Okay, come over here; Brett, you and your group stand over on that side.”

Mr. Easley was carrying two pairs of boxing gloves. He handed one pair to Alex, one pair to Brett.

The smirk on Alex's face just stayed there as he clustered with his closest buddies from dorm B and put on the gloves. Brett maintained a stony face, continually sizing up his opponent, as Rory and Jamal tied his glove laces. All around the circle, guys were muttering, bragging, placing bets; girls were bickering, giggling, scolding, choosing sides. Elijah and Elisha just tried to appear as neutral as possible. They didn't care at all who won; they didn't want to see this ridiculous fight in the first place.

“Okay, everybody, listen up,” said Easley, standing in the center of the circle. “I want you all to understand, you're looking at two different realities, two different ways of seeing things, and it's very normal. It's the way history has always flowed and mankind has always evolved from one way of thinking to a better way of thinking. This is one way we keep getting better and better.” He beckoned to Alex and Brett, bringing them into the center of the circle where they faced each other like two heavyweights before a bout. “There isn't going to be a winner or a loser. This isn't going to be one man's viewpoint prevailing over the other man's viewpoint. It's going to be the melting together of two viewpoints to form a new one. After today, we're all going to see things differently, and we're going to have peace, so keep that in mind during this process.” He stepped back. “Okay. Let's go.”

Alex and Brett approached each other, gloves raised, circling, eyes mean. The crowd began to holler, cheer, shriek. Alex threw the first punch, and it landed squarely in Brett's face. He stumbled backward. Half the crowd cheered, half jeered. Brett stepped in again, got punched again, but landed one himself. They went toe-to-toe, no strategy, no skill, just a brawl. Alex connected with Brett's face again, then sent a haymaker into Brett's stomach. Brett doubled over, lost his balance, and fell.

Easley motioned Alex back, motioned for quiet, then spoke to Brett, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Brett, have you thought about how you'd like to end this?”

Brett was furious, stumbling to his feet. “By caving his face in!”

“Come on and do it,” said Alex, waving him on.

Easley stepped back and let them go at it again.

Alex was simply a better fighter. Brett went down again, this time with a nosebleed.

Easley stepped in again, this time with a suggestion. “What about all the stuff you took from dorm B? Maybe you could reach an agreement of some kind.”

Brett only pushed Easley away as blood ran down his face. “What about all the stuff
they
took?”

Easley looked to Alex for a reply.

Alex just smirked, as usual. “You want it, come and get it.”

Easley stepped back and let Brett charge.

Brett did land a few punches, mainly to Alex's body, and mainly because Alex let him. Then Alex chose his moment and hammered Brett's head with a volley of punches, sending him to the ground a bleeding, dazed mess.

“Get up!” someone yelled.

“Don't get up!” yelled others.

They went toe-to-toe, no strategy,
no skill, just a brawl.

Brett was trying to get up, but he had neither strength nor balance and rose repeatedly only to crumble to the ground again.

Easley approached Alex this time. “Alex, perhaps you'd like to offer some terms of surrender?”

Alex approached Brett, standing over him like a conqueror.

“You give us back all our stuff—starting with my tie.”

“You could make it work both ways,” Easley suggested. “Everybody give everything back, but let Alex be the king. He's earned it.”

Alex liked that a lot. Half the crowd was undecided.

Brett couldn't decide, either, but silently wiped blood from his face with the back of his glove.

Easley put a hand on Alex's shoulder. “You can be a benevolent king. Think of it. With one ruler, one boss in charge, everybody can live by the rules you make; and you can make sure we're all safe and cared for.” He turned to the crowd surrounding them. “How about it? We could join together under one new viewpoint and have one big family. No more raids, no more fights, just one big, peaceful world.”