The fact that I agreed to a nocturnal school heist doesn't mean I'm eager to do it. The security measures are excessive for a school. Then again, it's become abundantly clear by now that this isn’t exactly an ordinary high school.
The day after our school dance is surprisingly uneventful. There's not the slightest indication that a small-scale war erupted in these very halls just three days ago. The corridors buzz with life as students stroll to their next class, chatting and laughing and even the teachers seem relaxed. One thing, however, is noticeably absent: the Flintstones, usually omnipresent, have completely vanished. Were they suspended? Expelled? Banned? The last I saw of Fred, he was fighting the vice principal—two forces of nature colliding, earth versus ice. A disquieting itch creeps from my chest to my throat. What if…? No, he couldn’t have… could he? I shake my head. Don’t be ridiculous.
When I enter the history classroom, I greet Slug, always first, always sitting in the center. Even after all these weeks, he remains an enigma to me—a boy in his bubble, seemingly detached from everything around him. Still, despite being perhaps the least “adjusted” of the four of us, he’s also the most accepted. I think it’s because he’s so unapologetically himself that it earns him a strange kind of respect. He’s gentle, but not in a way that makes him seem vulnerable, because he never pretends to be anything he’s not. He’s far more accepted than Gnat or me. We are true to ourselves, too, but we camouflage our insecurities with sharp tempers and sharp words. We can prick and burn you. We explode right in your face. People stay away from us and well... that’s the whole point.
More students enter the classroom. Barely visibly Shadow slips in among them. Acceptance is not something she seems to crave or seek. Once, I asked her if that didn’t make her feel lonely. Her answer was disconcertingly direct and honest.
“I was lonely in the refugee camps too, Max. But there, I also had to fear for my food, my safety, and my life. Just being lonely is fine. I’d sign up for ‘lonely’ any time.” I never dared to ask again.
Just before the lesson begins, Gnat strolls in with his signature I-think-everything-and-everyone-is-utterly-shit- attitude. I barely notice him sitting down next to me, too absorbed in trying to figure out why everything seems so normal at school after everything that’s happened.
‘Max!’
My head shoots up, quickly checking if smoke is emitting from under my hands, arms or feet. Luckily, nothing seems to have caught fire while my mind was wandering off. Still, when I look around, I see Shadow and Gnat staring at me with wide eyes. Both nod toward the door, through which Scroptz comes marching in like a one-person military parade, slowly making his way to his desk, where he turns with a well-trained move toward us, clicking his heels together. He all but brings a salute.
"Sooooooo…" he begins, sounding more smug and arrogant than ever. "… from today on…", dramatic pause, "everything will…" an even longer and more dramatic pause, "change!" The room falls completely silent. What is he talking about? Only the soft crackling sound of Gnat's growing discontent tickles my ears, while the prickly scent of ozone almost makes me sneeze. Luckily, neither of these reach the front of the classroom, where Scroptz, as always, mistakes silence for respect.
"From today on, there's a wind of change blowing through this school. The vice principal is on… well, lets call it administrative leave… indefinitely. And yours truly…" He brings a hand to his chest, indicating himself. "… has been chosen to raise the discipline in this school to a higher level."
Now, the first signs of restless shuffling begin. A higher level? The vice principal had been nothing short of dictatorial.
"As of today, the security teams will not only patrol the corridors at night, but also during school hours. Even the smallest infraction of the rules will be punished, and believe me, I will not be as forgiving as the vice principal was. Williams will bring the new guidelines shortly…"
On cue, there’s a knock at the door. Williams enters, carrying a stack of papers so high it almost blocks his face. Scroptz’s voice rings out loud and uncharacteristically jovial throughout the room, like that of a medieval lord offering forgiveness to an insurgent peasant—more to display his benevolence to his subordinates than out of any genuine mercy.
"Williams, old friend, there you are."
"A friendly word in the early morning is like a ray of sunlight on a cold winter's day."
"Exactly, Williams, exactly. We live in cold, cynical times that demand clear and unambiguous measures."
"Then you're the man for the job, Mister Scroptz."
"Thank you, Williams, that means a lot to me, especially coming from you. I think we’ll be getting along much better from now on."
I'm not sure what I find more shocking: the denigrating tone of Scroptz, or the fact that Williams lets him get away with it. "I'm glad you view everything in such a positive light, master," he says with a disturbingly servile tone. I, however, have to bite my tongue to keep from speaking up. But as Williams closes the door, he gives us the slightest wink, and finally, I understand: he’s playing a game. Scroptz, as tone-deaf as ever, seems only to have grown more confident thanks to Williams' so-called 'compliments.'"
"Maxime Kwintens and Charles Monteque, come here and distribute these guidelines—quickly," he barks. Gnat and me? I think, alarmed. Is this a coincidence? Has he found out about what happened before the weekend, or is he just trying to make an example of us by ordering around the two students who’ve challenged his authority the most this year? Even though it's not in our nature to let provocations go unanswered, with our plan so close to execution, we have to stay quiet. So, without a word, we stand up and move just fast enough to give Scroptz no reason to criticize us, tossing the sheets of paper casually onto the desks.
When I sit down again, my eyes scan the paper. I have to read it twice to make sure I’m actually seeing what I think I’m seeing. What the holy f…: Continuous surveillance by uniformed personnel, metal detectors, full-body scanners. And that’s only the beginning. Mingling and interacting with students from other classes is forbidden. During lunch breaks, we have to eat in designated areas of the school courtyard. Even movement is restricted. We’re only allowed to follow predetermined routes from one lesson to the next. And last but not least: being sent out of class means expulsion from school. No second chances, no forgiveness.
The scent of ozone is unbearable by now.
"Gnat!"
"Oh, sorry Firebreath, I lost my concentration for a moment. I was distracted by a slice of German bratwurst with totalitarian tendencies."
The last two pages consist of a timetable for a "personal audience" with Scroptz himself. Different classes are assigned various time slots, starting with the older years and working down to the younger ones. I quickly check when our class is scheduled. To my relief, it's Tuesday next week. That's not too bad. By then, we will have already executed Gnat's "master plan," and things will look different... hopefully.
However, the moment I put the sheets of paper down, my eyes fall on the four names at the bottom of the last page, listed in a separate box: Robert Stanislaw, Masulah G’nodoa, Charles Monteque, Maxime Kwintens. Shit. We’ve been singled out. We have to go first... this afternoon. It must be the list. The list that’s probably still in the possession of the vice principal. Scroptz has to start the search all over again, and he’s starting with us.