Humayre: The Chronicles of Ronin Wilder

First period. History. Ronin’s favorite subject. He loved how great deeds were remembered, how great men and women were remembered.

Taking his usual desk at the back of the class, Ronin opened his backpack and pulled out his impossibly thick history book. Looking up from his desk, he glanced around the room. Only half the students were present, which was unusual considering there was only two minutes until the tardy bell. It was eerily quiet. It always seemed that way now though. It was a strange thing having to go to that room every day. The wood paneling on the far wall was still cracked where Dick’s head had hit it. One of the desks was duct taped together, the desk that Dick was pushed onto that most likely broke his leg. All of it was a constant reminder of The Incident.

The Incident. It’s what the teachers and staff called it. To Ronin it seemed like such a small title for something so horrible, so life changing. It was hard to believe that thirty-one days had already come and gone since that fateful Monday night. The parent teacher conference had started off like any other. Mr. Burrows praised Ronin’s work, even though he knew Dick didn’t care, and Dick stared off in the corner looking bored. But for reasons unknown to Ronin the conference took a turn for the worst. Dick, being the classless jerk that he was, said something about Mr. Burrows handicap son in a sarcastic tone. The next thing Ronin knew, Mr. Burrows was standing up with a scowl on his face and his pointer finger inches from Dick’s chest. Mr. Burrows tore into Dick, calling him a terrible foster father and accusing him of child abuse. Mr. Burrows then threatened to call Child Protection Services on Dick. A scowl erupted from Dick’s smiling face.

Those next fifteen seconds changed Ronin’s life. Dick jumped out of his seat and pulled his fist back like he was going to throw a punch. Mr. Burrow’s scowl turned to a look of utter surprise. Before Dick could do anything else, Mr. Burrows pushed him in the chest. If anything it looked like self-defense, like Mr. Burrows was just trying to get Dick away from him. Dick stumbled backwards and tripped over the desk. His head hit the wall. Crying out, Dick clutched his fractured leg. Teachers burst into the class to see what all the commotion was about. The Principal arrived soon after. As Dick lay on the ground whimpering, the teacher’s and Principal huddled together and whispered amongst themselves.

Moments later the Principal led Ronin outside. He asked Ronin to tell the police that Dick pushed Mr. Burrows first and that Mr. Burrows acted in self-defense. Ronin agreed, but when the police finally arrived and questioned him he panicked. Instead of lying like the Principal wanted him to, he told the truth.

Ronin missed Mr. Burrows, he was his favorite teacher. Mr. Burrows was everyone’s favorite teacher. The pain of thinking about it was too much. He looked around and pulled in a deep breath through his nose. Despite what had happened he still loved the musty old-book smell of the room. It used to have a relaxing effect on him, but not so much anymore.

A jolt of excitement came over Ronin pulling his mind from the guilt. Something he had forgotten about until just then. Today was the day they got their Roman History papers back. Ronin wrote on his favorite historical figure, Augustus. For fun he had read just about everything on Augustus, so when the assignment was announced he knew right away who he was going to choose for his paper.

Mr. Hinkle walked into the class and laid his brown leather briefcase on his desk. He had a thick stack of papers held under his arm like a football. Ronin could see red marks from where he was sitting. It meant the papers were graded. Excitement quickened his heartbeat. Adrenaline spared him from the throbbing mess that were his fingers.

Mr. Hinkle took the stack of papers from under his arm and set it on his desk. One by one he flipped through the pages. Half way through the stack he glanced up over the top of his wire rimmed glasses, looking straight at Ronin. It was only for a moment, but it was enough to make Ronin’s heart sink. Something wasn’t right. He could feel it.

Mr. Hinkle pulled a report from the center of the pile and examined it for a moment. He thumbed through the pages and nodded his head. “Mr. Wilder. Come to the front to get your paper.” He dropped the paper on the edge of his desk while he thumbed through the others.

Springing out of his chair, Ronin hurried to the front of the class. As he took the paper Mr. Hinkle didn’t so much as give him a passing glance. Ronin folded the report in two and walked back to his desk. He sat, put the folded paper in front of him and just stared at it. He glanced up at Mr. Hinkle who was now rummaging through his leather briefcase. All that work, one week to be exact, was sitting there right in front of Ronin. It was the first major assignment he’d been given since The Incident. The paper was more than just an assignment. It represented hope, hope that he might still find some success despite everything that had happened. The anticipation was too much, he couldn’t wait another moment. He unfolded his paper. At the top of the page in thick red ink read F.

“What?” said Ronin, his tone was sharp and sarcastic.

“Did you say something Mr. Wilder? Do you have a problem with the way I grade papers?”

The door behind Ronin clicked opened, a girl’s giggle followed.

“Shush,” a boy whispered. He started to laugh but caught himself. “Watch this.”

A hard crushing thud vibrated through Ronin’s head. Laughter erupted from behind him, the sort of taunting laughter that was cruel and unmistakable. A terrible stinging in the back of Ronin’s head forced tears to well up in his eyes. He fired out of his seat while holding the back of his head. The hate in his eyes was fierce. He wanted to beat the tar out of whomever just hit him.

“You gonna cry?” asked Jack Anderson, in a mocking tone. He was bigger than most sixteen year olds, was on the football team and loved to start fights. “Look.” He poked at a tear rolling down Ronin’s cheek. “Yeah, he’s crying.”

Ronin slapped Jack’s hand away.

“Sit down Ronin,” said Mr. Hinkle. His voice was firm and cold.

“What?” asked Ronin “Are you kidding me? He hit me in the back of the head, and you’re telling me to sit down? What about him?” He pointed to Jack.

“Now you decide to stand up?” asked Mr. Hinkle in a calm cold voice. “What happened when you were asked to stand up for Mr. Burrows?” He looked around the room. “Oh yes. I think we all remember what happened.”

It was the proverbial nail in the coffin. There was no hope. Ronin slumped into his seat and stared at the big red F on his paper. The school would never understand, never forgive him. If he had done what the Principal asked, told the police it was Dick who pushed first, the police would have arrested Dick and Ronin would now be at The Home for Boys. One week in that hell hole was all he needed to know that he would never survive there. The Home for Boys was just that and much more. It was also the home for delinquents and the mentally ill. Kids were seriously hurt there all the time. During his week stay one kid was even killed. And it wasn’t like he told a lie when he said Mr. Burrows pushed Dick first. It was all the police needed however. Mr. Burrows was charged with assault. He lost his job, his family, his life. If Ronin had it to do over again, maybe he would’ve chosen the Home for Boys rather than have Mr. Burrows’ life ruined. He couldn’t take back what had happened though, no matter how badly he wanted to.

The tardy bell rang out. Students scurried to their desks.

“Okay people,” said Mr. Hinkle. “Your papers have been graded. I have to say for the most part, you guys did very well. There were only a few pa…” The sound of a handle turning interrupted Mr. Hinkle.

The door at the front of the class opened and in walked a man dressed in a black suit, white shirt and a black tie. In his right hand he held a slim black briefcase.

“You’re early,” said Mr. Hinkle.

“Yes,” said the man. He placed his briefcase on Mr. Hinkle’s desk and turned his back to the class. He seemed to be studying the blackboard, even though nothing was written on it.

“Very well then,” said Mr. Hinkle, with a confused look on his face. He turned his gaze upon the class. “I am sure you have all heard about the test you are about to be given. This test will not affect your grades or standing with Dorsey High. This test is being administered for the sole purpose of determining whether or not you qualify for admittance to BrightWood Academy.” He cleared his throat. “Which is a great hon…”

The man interrupted. “You have twenty minutes. You may start as soon as you receive your test.” His briefcase was already opened and a stack of papers was in his hands. He passed the tests to Mr. Hinkle. The man grabbed his briefcase and walked out of the classroom.

All the kid’s eyes were wide and full of excitement. Not a sound could be heard except the tic toc of the old white clock above the chalkboard. Ronin’s eyes were solemn. He’d be shocked if Mr. Hinkle even let him take the test. Just as that thought left his mind, Mr. Hinkle placed a test on Ronin’s desk.

“Good luck everyone.” Mr. Hinkle looked around at all the young faces, making sure to avoid eye contact with Ronin.

The test was odd looking, nothing like Ronin had ever seen. The first page was blank, except for a line stretching across its center. Ronin guessed this was where he was supposed to put his name. After writing his name he turned the page. Ten questions. Or what he could only guess were questions. The only clue was that each one was numbered. At first he thought they might be math problems, but there were more letters than numbers. Some of the markings looked like little pictures. One even looked like a pyramid, but the rest were so strange he couldn’t even associate them with something he knew.

“Oh well,” Ronin whispered under his breath. Wasn’t like they’d let him pass anyway. Time to have some fun. For some reason his spirits were lifted. Probably because he was no longer under the delusion that they would ever give him a chance. At least he knew for certain now.

For the first question he answered BANANA. The second he decided to do the same. It was kind of fun. A sly smile formed on his face, like he was sticking it to the man. For the rest of the page he answered the same way, BANANA. He flipped through the test. All the questions were similar. Strange pictures mixed with numbers and letters. This is stupid, who’s supposed to get these right? Einstein? He chuckled to himself.

Ronin glanced around the room, wondering if the other kids were faring any better. Most of the looks were of utter confusion, some looked sad, so sad that they might burst out in tears at any moment. Ronin wanted to feel happy, after all, these kids were horrid to him, but for some reason he felt bad for them.

The last page. He was all set to answer BANANA, as he had done for the entire test up to that point but the last page was different. Instead of ten indecipherable questions there was a huge picture taking up the whole page. At first glance it looked like nothing, just a bunch of squiggly lines, but as he stared a picture began to emerge.

The silhouette of a dog slowly came alive through the blue and red squiggles. Just as Ronin was about to write down the answer, anger welled up inside of him. What good was one answer? One right answer wasn’t going to get him out of Dorsey High. Even if he got every question right they wouldn’t let him pass. All they wanted was to make his life as miserable as possible.

BANANA. This time he traced over each letter multiple times. He wanted it to be as obnoxious as possible. He wasn’t going to give them the pleasure of failing him. If he was going to fail, it would be on his terms.

“Time,” said the man.

Ronin was startled, he didn’t realize the man had come back into the classroom.

The man quickly made his way through the rows of desks snatching tests, whether they were finished or not.

The energy in the room, which twenty minutes earlier bristled with excitement, was now flat and lifeless, like a colorful balloon that had been deflated before the party had ever begun. Ronin wanted to stand up and shout to the class, “This is what it feels like to have your dreams crushed, how do you idiots like it?” But he didn’t. He looked around the room for a moment, taking pleasure in the sad faces, but it lasted for only a moment. No matter how horrible they were to him, he just couldn’t stand to see people downcast.

“We will announce the results after we have examined the tests,” said the man, as he hurried to the door.

“Wait. How long will it take?” asked Jack Anderson

“Not long,” said the man, without breaking his stride. Before any more questions could be asked, he was gone.

“What a bunch of crap,” said Jack Anderson, loud enough for the whole class to hear. “No one could pass that stupid test. What a waste of time.”

The class murmured its agreement in unison.

“Okay class,” said Mr. Hinkle, motioning with his hand to be quiet. “Everyone calm down.”

Something began to gnaw at Ronin’s sides. It kind of felt like guilt mixed with disappointment. It wasn’t because he didn’t do well on the test. It was deeper. He was disappointed in himself. All he could think about was how he answered that last question. He knew the answer, but instead of answering true he just gave up. He quit. It was a coward’s way out. He was a quitter. Nausea began to form from his anxiety. What if that answer could have gotten him out of Dorsey High? It was something Dick would have done. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he wasn’t any better than Dick.