Page 33 of A Dead Man's B-Side
I was slumped back in my seat, the tie of my uniform hanging loose, as I’d tied it once and left it big enough to fit through my head in hopes that it’d save me from dealing with it every morning. So far, my clever idea, brought forth by my laziness, was proving to be rewarding.
I sent a sideway glance to Wolf, watching him busy himself with unpacking his books.
“But before that… I wanted to hear your thoughts on the recently deceased Saltford-Windsor. Anyone? Anything you noticed in the newspapers, from their relatives?”
A girl whose name I did not know raised her hand, along with a few others. “I think the media is taking this as an excuse to showcase their hatred for the wealthy and powerful. It isn’t anything new, that there will always be people on the… other side of the fence if you will, that will disregard even a semblance of empathy if it is for a highly distinguished man.”
God, he’s dead, you’re not getting any points for defending him.
She seemed almost on the verge of outrage, but looking around at the other students nodding along, I understood where her words had come from. If the media can create a smear campaign of a dead man just because of his wealth, well then, they’re not getting any better treatment when their time finally comes.
But if the Saltford-Windsor family was an influential one; wouldn’t the media be in their pockets?
Another boy whose name I didn’t know was pointed at next. “I think that many groups around the world, activists most specifically,are glad of his death because of his radical beliefs, such as when he introduced the idea of stronger surveillance in neighborhoods with high crime rates–and sure, some groups of people may take it the wrong way, but be that as it may, radical ideas are what change the world. We as humans did not evolve because of echo-chambers. Sometimes, it takes someone willing to step outside of the norm to change the world for the better.”
Seriously?Surveillance was his only solution?
I did nothing but watch with passive eyes, but I could feel my skin tightening, my cheeks warming, at how eagerly I wanted to participate.
For the first time in my high school career, I wanted to raise my hand.
I could already imagine what I was going to say. But my hand remained motionless on my desk, and slowly, my heart calmed from the adrenaline falsely released into my bloodstream.
Mr Browne, of course, didn’t nod or shake his head, disagree or agree with any student. He tried to remain impartial; a passive expression fastened over his face.
After a few more students, ironically, bounced ideas off each other in an almost echo-chamber-like manner, Wolf Kingsley raised his hand. I tilted my head towards him, narrowing my eyes in anticipation.
“I… think that for the first time, we are not reading through events but living them, and so instead of being taught what to think and who to side with, we have to do that on our own. I also think that because we’re too afraid to pick a side, we tend to over-empathize with what we’re familiar with. And…” he nodded to the second boy who had spoken. “On Percy’s note about radical ideas, how far is radical? Can ideas betooradical? I mean, the man was practically inciting violence towards marginalized groups. I wouldn’t classify that as a fresh idea. It is important that we don’t have echo-chambers–I wholeheartedly agree with that–but when the alternative is bordering on rallying an extremist army off hate speech alone, I would rather stick to the echo-chambers.”
For the first time since students began this discussion, Mr Browne’s lip quirked up just slightly, a smile hidden in his eyes. “Okay, last one… Rain, you had your hand up.”
Her name came out with a surprised tone.
I straightened, wanting to hear this. She spoke with an air of self-assurance that I was sure others couldn’t master in a lifetime. What was slightly corrupt, however, was that whatever she said would become a conceptual law, every student willing themselves to follow that viewpoint, from this moment onward. And I was able to discern that off one day alone. I wonder how long everyone else in this room was subject to her unspoken rules. “I think echo-chambers are dangerous. They suppress innovation and dull creativity. But… it is a little comical, the resemblance of an echo-chamber in theory and one in practice in this very room.”
Mr Browne was practically beaming when she finished. “Thank you, Miss Jett, for finishing off this class discussion with aradicalidea, if you will. You see, this is precisely why the sharing of ideasis important, and you all demonstrated it perfectly. We can all share ideas, no doubt, but if we want to advocate for radicalism, we also must be open to it from others. Many of you were exchanging similar ideas, which isn’t exactly wrong, but I saw your faces sour at Wolf’s perspective. I want you all to sit with that for a little while and really dig deeper in yourselves about how easily you are willing to accept different worldviews.”
About a second afterward, my attention waned and I leaned back in my chair out of boredom, no longer interested as he resumed his lesson.
Looking around the room, I spotted August up front, who appeared to be looking back every few moments at me and Wolf. It didn’t take long to catch the longing in his eyes, the way they took on the sadness of a neglected puppy.
Almost like a poison, slow and yet awfully present, a sense of injustice filled me at his lack of opinion. His silence. August was just as much held in the same regard as marginalized groups, as any lower-class person is, and yet he hadn’t said a word.
It took Wolf speaking up, being the first to bring forth a different outlook to the class discussion, for others to begin pondering how close-minded they might be. It was brave, and I had to applaud him for it.
However, I expected it from August, having always been the first to raise his hand when any opportunity presented itself.
Spotting Rain Atlas Jett’s raven black hair only a few seats ahead, down Wolf’s row, made me tap the pencil in my hands againstmy desk. She looked apathetic, listening to Mr Browne.
I began taking note of everyone else I knew in this class. The sparkling pin on Paris Vega’s uniform caught my attention, but she seemed lost in her notebook, writing it appears, at the speed of light.
The big, burly body of Ajax Vesper was across the room as he sat with his back to the wall and his cheek against his fist, almost falling asleep.
“So why do these things exist? Are they inherent? Taught–and if so, why?”
I’d tuned back into the lecture and found myself lost, having missed the first part.
Feeling the heat of a stare to the side of my face, I turned and did a double take when Wolf’s eyes widened once he’d seemed to have gotten my attention. Sitting back, I sent him a weird look that he rolled his eyes at.
