Can I Borrow Some Lead?

Nate Spencley

Can I Borrow Some Lead?

It was two weeks after the incident at my old school.  I was moved here by my parents who felt my last school was too dangerous. However, I didn't believe this new school is much better.  It's been exactly two months since the incident, and everyone and everything is still on lockdown.

Lunch seemed as normal as any other lunch, beginning with a screening by the heavily armed guards before entering the lunchroom.  But that's when the day began to take a turn for the worst. I noticed that Alec, the self aware genius of the school, was looking at the picture of banned items with nervous eyes.  His trembling hands kept reaching towards his left, denim jacket pocket.  I had a sneaking suspicion that something was going on. He was then called forward by the muscular guards. The guards were outfitted in black jumpsuits, with black helmets, and mirrored visors so shiny you could see your reflection from a solid twenty feet away.

It was Alec’s turn for a search.  The guards used their excessive force to pin him to the wall and began reaching into his pockets.  The didn’t find whatever he was hiding though.  A sneaking sense of dread came over me when I realized that I had an extra pencil in my hidden pouch I sewed into my pants.  The school had strict regulations on pencils, deeming them weapons, and limited pencils to two per person.  If I got caught, this would be my second offense and I would have to go to study hall.  This study hall was just a place where “lawbreakers” would go to be beaten.  There was absolutely no studying going on.  The guards used rusty chains to attach kids to a post, and then went to work on them with their batons.  The parents don’t know about this part of the curriculum, and tattle tales are never seen again, along with their parents.  Should I risk it, and try to pass through the guard checkpoint with the pencil, or should I ditch it and hope they don’t find it?  I went with the latter.  

I noticed the school bully, Michael, who had already cut off one of my toes on my second day of school, was behind me in line.  I waited until he was looking around for his next victim to harass, and then struck.  I placed the pencil inside his hood, a place the guards were sure to check.  Part of me felt bad for Michael, but most of me felt he was getting what he deserved.  After all, he had caused me a lot of pain and embarrassment, why not return the favor? It was my turn next for the search.

I flashed the guards a toothy smile, because I knew I had nothing to hide.  That was not a smart move.  The guards took my confidence as a challenge, and searched me twice as long and hard as they normally do.  And when they couldn’t find anything, the guards sent me away reluctantly.  I wish I could say the same for Micheal though.  

The guards found the pencil right away and instantly started beating him with their night sticks.  He was curled in a ball on the dirty tile floor, helpless against the lashes, yelling that it wasn’t his pencil.  I did not need to glance around the room to feel the icy stares from everyone else in line.  It was fairly obvious that they knew what I had done, but I could tell that most of them were glad that they would never have to see Michael again, and therefore wouldn’t say anything.  Michael was going to be given at least forty-eight hours of study hall, since this was his third offense.  I have only seen four out of twenty-three kids make it out of forty-eight hours of study hall, none of them being somewhat close to the same both mentally and emotionally as they were before study hall.  I then made my way to the lunch line.  I couldn’t help but crack a smile as I picked up my tray of meatloaf and walked to the tables.