Chapter 3: At the Reserve, Part 1

Trey sat in class hating the new teacher. The grey cinderblock room in the U.S. Youth Reserve 27 had just enough windows to save on the cost of lighting. The desks were carefully placed to make sure the students had no distracting views to keep them from learning the lessons the school was determined to teach them. After more than a decade in the Reserve, grey cinderblocks were etched on his soul.

Today the lesson was history - even more tedious than English. Trey slumped farther down into his chair and considered whether he could get away with a quick nap.

"Trey, sit up and pay attention. This will be on the test." Mr. Destir hadn't even turned around. The other boys snickered, and the teacher turned and glared at them. He made no secret of his loathing for this class.

Trey'd heard him complaining to the other teachers the students only had to suffer through the material once. He was stuck with it for the rest of his career, and this was his first year.

Mr. Destir massaged his gut.

"George, please explain the Final Amendment."

George stood up and took a deep breath. Trey made a rude noise just before George started speaking. The whole class laughed and George turned beet red. Mr. Destir ground his teeth and looked at Trey.

"Perhaps, Mr. Gauche, you can do more than provide cheap amusement and explain the Final Amendment."

Trey just stared into space and considered his options. He could crank Mr. Destir up a few more notches before he was sent to the office. Yawning as widely as he could, he looked innocently at the teacher.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you, sir."

Mr. Destir glared at Trey. He clenched his teeth and repeated the question.

"Uh, the Final Amendment... that would be the law that took all rights from everyone who isn't an old fart. It would also be the reason why you are here trying to teach stuff no one in their right mind wants to learn."

The crack of the yardstick shattering across his desk caused Trey to startle and fall off his chair. As Trey lay on the floor, Mr. Destir gripped the broken ruler like a knife. For an instant, Trey prepared himself for the pain if his teacher stabbed him. Instead the bell rang and Mr. Destir shook himself.

"You will have a thousand-word paper on the subject of the Final Amendment on my desk tomorrow morning." He walked back to the desk, sat down and watched the class file out. When Trey passed in front of Mr. Destir, the teacher's hand stroked the broken ruler. Trey shuddered and almost ran from the room. But when the Principal brushed past him, he crouched against the wall and fiddled with his shoelace while he listened.

"Well, Harry, I was beginning to wonder if you had it in you," the Principal said.

"Pardon me?"

"About time you realized you're teaching a room full of hooligans who have no interest in learning. You have to force them to respond so your success rating will stay up." The Principal was an imposing man whose red face made Trey doubt he would survive to retire. "It isn't about what the reprobates want. It's what we want. We want to be paid. We want to retire someday. Who cares about the snot-noses? Half of them will end up in the transplant bank before they're twenty. Take care of yourself, keep them in line, and maybe one of them will learn something by accident."

"I did consider bringing a knife to school and disemboweling the little bastard in front of the class. It would likely aid discipline, though I imagine the administration would not be pleased."

"Ha! It's good to see you still have a sense of humor." With a slap on Mr. Destir's shoulder the Principal left the room. "Keep it up, Harry. I'll be watching you."

"I wasn't joking," Trey heard as he hurried on to the next torture session disguised as education.

The following morning, the class filed in and sat down. They waited to see what would happen next. Mr. Destir had a new ruler. It sat on his desk glinting metallically in the harsh light.

As he sat down Trey heard a whisper from behind him.

"Way to go, Lefty. There'll be no living with him now."

Trey shrugged and focused his attention on the front of the room. Score one for the old farts, but I'm not done yet. Mr. Destir taught with new confidence. Silently Trey agreed with the whisperer. Destir had found a way to deal with his disruptive class. The ruler lay on the desk, untouched, unmentioned, but at the front of everyone's mind.

Trey's job was to distract the teachers and make life easier on the other boys in his class. In exchange Hank and his other roommates protected Trey from the other students. During his early years at the Reserve, Trey had used his sharp wit and acid tongue on any target presenting itself. Hank stepped in after Trey had been left bruised and unconscious in the showers for the third time.