weeks the legality issue went to the School Board. The Directors, already busy with the State’s new testing models and the hiring of several school principals in the district, gave in, trying to avoid an ugly and expensive legal battle in which there was already a precedent. Ultimately, the students only went a few days without the freedom to speak from their respective cliques in the forms of buttons and armbands and sometimes stickers on the shoulder straps of backpacks.
It was in this climate of Game withdrawl that something really disturbing began to happen, as far as Richard Hayes and some of the other teachers were concerned.
“ STEVEN IS A GAY JEW. HE MUST DIE.”
This first appeared on Mr. Perry’s whiteboard one Tuesday morning. Steven Muniz, an awkward sophomore, known for keeping to himself and wearing shirts displaying his favorite death-metal bands, hadn’t been seen in his classes for several days. Then, according to the more reliable teachers’ lounge sources, Steven Muniz was placed on home-bound services for the rest of the year, having suffered a car accident the previous week. Administrators kept tight-lipped on the matter as it was still under legal investigation. Clearly, it was more than a car accident.
The principal, Coach Mason, called Richard Hayes into his office in early March. It was a mild afternoon, and Richard had been chatting with a female colleague during bus duty. He was summoned through the intercom.
Mason stiffened as Hayes walked in and sat himself down in a chair opposite the principal’s desk.
“ What do you know about the armbands and the green buttons?” Mason wasn’t wasting any time.
“ Seniors playing politics or something. Fairly harmless, as far as we know,” Hayes responded. He had his doubts about this, but nothing was yet proven. He was blushing; he knew the strange behavior of the seniors had much to do with the game, but after all, it all started after he ended the game, so he still thought others might not see the connection. He hated the dishonesty that this position implied, but his career, after all, was on the line.
“ Do you know about Steven Muniz?”
“ I know he’s homebound. Was it a traffic accident?”
James Mason paused, staring Hayes in the eyes, Mason’s small blue eyes darting from one eye to the other. “He was beaten by one of the armband-wearing thugs.”
“Beaten?”
“ It was what they’re calling a hate crime.” Mason, a principal for many years at the school, spit into his trashcan and adjusted the tobacco in his lower lip with his tongue as he spoke, revealing small, discolored dentures.
Hayes had not remembered old Coach Mason ever seeming so direct with him before. No talk about the price of cotton or the high taxes the local people were paying to keep the State’s nearly-bankrupt system afloat. Nothing about the travails of his wife, a French teacher at another district, where teacher-student ratios were nearly 40 to 1.
A huge fish tank stood in a corner. The large goldfish and snails that Mason had brought in to keep down his blood pressure seemed to work. Nothing fazed the man. He’d seen it all. Until now, maybe.
“ Do they know who did it?” Hayes was by now sitting up in the faux-leather black seat.
“ Nope. Do you know anything about it?”
“ Nothing,” replied Hayes.
“ Well, I have to ask. I’m asking all the teachers and staff what they know. No one seems to know anything. He was found in a ditch in front of his house on Monday morning, October 21st. He was gagged and bound with duct tape. I won’t go into too much more detail, I can’t really, but he had been . . . impaled.”
“ What?”
“ A pole or something was . . .”
“ I . . . I know what impaled means.” Hayes frowned. He felt a chill of fear run down his back and arms. His heart was beating fast. Both men were silent for some time.
Hayes
It was in this climate of Game withdrawl that something really disturbing began to happen, as far as Richard Hayes and some of the other teachers were concerned.
“ STEVEN IS A GAY JEW. HE MUST DIE.”
This first appeared on Mr. Perry’s whiteboard one Tuesday morning. Steven Muniz, an awkward sophomore, known for keeping to himself and wearing shirts displaying his favorite death-metal bands, hadn’t been seen in his classes for several days. Then, according to the more reliable teachers’ lounge sources, Steven Muniz was placed on home-bound services for the rest of the year, having suffered a car accident the previous week. Administrators kept tight-lipped on the matter as it was still under legal investigation. Clearly, it was more than a car accident.
The principal, Coach Mason, called Richard Hayes into his office in early March. It was a mild afternoon, and Richard had been chatting with a female colleague during bus duty. He was summoned through the intercom.
Mason stiffened as Hayes walked in and sat himself down in a chair opposite the principal’s desk.
“ What do you know about the armbands and the green buttons?” Mason wasn’t wasting any time.
“ Seniors playing politics or something. Fairly harmless, as far as we know,” Hayes responded. He had his doubts about this, but nothing was yet proven. He was blushing; he knew the strange behavior of the seniors had much to do with the game, but after all, it all started after he ended the game, so he still thought others might not see the connection. He hated the dishonesty that this position implied, but his career, after all, was on the line.
“ Do you know about Steven Muniz?”
“ I know he’s homebound. Was it a traffic accident?”
James Mason paused, staring Hayes in the eyes, Mason’s small blue eyes darting from one eye to the other. “He was beaten by one of the armband-wearing thugs.”
“Beaten?”
“ It was what they’re calling a hate crime.” Mason, a principal for many years at the school, spit into his trashcan and adjusted the tobacco in his lower lip with his tongue as he spoke, revealing small, discolored dentures.
Hayes had not remembered old Coach Mason ever seeming so direct with him before. No talk about the price of cotton or the high taxes the local people were paying to keep the State’s nearly-bankrupt system afloat. Nothing about the travails of his wife, a French teacher at another district, where teacher-student ratios were nearly 40 to 1.
A huge fish tank stood in a corner. The large goldfish and snails that Mason had brought in to keep down his blood pressure seemed to work. Nothing fazed the man. He’d seen it all. Until now, maybe.
“ Do they know who did it?” Hayes was by now sitting up in the faux-leather black seat.
“ Nope. Do you know anything about it?”
“ Nothing,” replied Hayes.
“ Well, I have to ask. I’m asking all the teachers and staff what they know. No one seems to know anything. He was found in a ditch in front of his house on Monday morning, October 21st. He was gagged and bound with duct tape. I won’t go into too much more detail, I can’t really, but he had been . . . impaled.”
“ What?”
“ A pole or something was . . .”
“ I . . . I know what impaled means.” Hayes frowned. He felt a chill of fear run down his back and arms. His heart was beating fast. Both men were silent for some time.
Hayes
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