Page 64 of The Commons

I look at Quan on the floor. And I realize I only have one choice. And it has nothing to do with my plan. It has to do with my heart. If I punch Quan again, I may seriously hurt him, possibly put him in the hospital, or worse… death.

I cannot do that. That’s just not who I am.

There are moments in life when you realize that some future goals have to surrender to a present one because there’s a human life involved. I want to be noticed, but not against my conscience. I cannot stoop so low as to hurt a person to get attention for being reckless. So, I bend, raise my hand to punch him, and hit the floor fiercely, avoiding his face.

“I accept a fail.”

Shay responds to me, “Alright, alright, but it’s gonna cost you!”

I guess it’s a good thing that I failed; I am not quite sure.

I just know I have to do something else to be noticed again as a nuisance. So before Shay can say any more, I kick Quan’s feet lightly, three times. I honestly seem like an insane human. I see some students in the class giggle, confused at my actions.

And that’s what I like to see—confusion.

I look at Shay, infuriated, but it is not even him that I hate in this moment, it is the system that made him become this way. The Commons, the Patron De Londe, the people who promote this system. I look away, frustrated, wondering if my current plan is more of a stupid one than a smart one. My plan to confuse them has begun to confuse me.

The class ends, but I need to stay behind to run ten miles for failing my homework assignment. I also receive a blue detention paper from Shay that will go straight to a Patron’s office. That is good for my plan. I need to head there after running ten miles, so I begin to pack my water bottle into my backpack. I pounce on my bag, frustrated. I can’t believe it has come to this—me making a complete fool of myself. And moreover, I have never been to detention in my entire life, but I don’t care anymore. I just want to find my sister. Perfection is not necessary for that. I am fighting to lose. I try to diverge my thoughts to rest because I am growing increasingly tired. I need some time to breathe, to think about what words I should say to the Patron when I arrive for detention and to decide what my next steps will be in order to fail this physical test. But before I can come to terms with my thoughts, I am interrupted.

“Put your bags down,” Pesh says.

“I can’t. I have to go. And I really don’t want to fight anymore. I’m done.”

“Put your bags down.”

“I can’t. I need to run ten miles. Plus, I’m like thirty seconds late to detention with the Patron P⁠—”

He blocks me. I look at the blue detention sheet. It is only now that I realize that my detention appointment is with him. “You,” I whisper.

“This is your detention. It’s with me,” he says under his breath.

So annoying. Pesh comes to destroy my plans of failing again. Also, I thought he told me to stay away from him. Why is he here now?

I sigh and stare at his face, not his eyes. I am not sure what sort of mood he is in at this moment, but his tone is not friendly, it is patronizing. It seems we are back to business as usual, duty over camaraderie, yet I’ve never been one to assume.

“Does the same rule of eye contact apply here?” I ask.

“It applies everywhere. Step back.”

He directs me with his hand to move back. I look to the right to avoid eye contact.

“How am I supposed to learn from you if I can’t look at you?” I ask.

He looks at me and accepts the challenge. And as though to both reassert his pride and denounce my reasoning at the same time, he whispers to me, “You listen. There are things called ears.” He snaps his fingers near my ears twice. “You should use them more often.”

That was demeaning. But I think he won that round, though it did give me a little delight to try to irritate him. I scoff, then turn to him. His breath touches my ears as he measures my head as if for a helmet. But I don’t need a helmet, so I’m confused. He holds a sword next to a strand of my hair. Why is he doing all this?

I don’t have time to think of a response before he begins to justify his actions as though he senses my doubts. “Your hair is down, put it up. I could cut it.”

Meaning to irritate him some more, instead of tying my hair up, I split it into two and braid it down, simply to buy more time. He completely ignores me, however. He flips the sharp blade and catches it, tossing it aside, then walks to the opposite side of the stadium before I can respond. I close my mouth and try to be calm, but deep down, I’m nervous. I don’t know what he has planned.

“You would have lost either way. You’re not listening. You can’t just fight with things you learned in high school or on your own. You can only fight with moves that align with The Commons. If you don’t, you’ll lose, even if you win. Understand?”

“Understand.”

“Okay. Let’s redo your homework assignment.”

“With you?”