Still Point (30 page)

“Don't,” he said. “It isn't worth it.”

I met his eyes.

“You're just going to give in?” I said, and pointed at the numbers projected on the courthouse screen.

“What's throwing concrete going to do? Make us poor losers? Get somebody hurt? They just want a reason to arrest all of us. Now they'll get it.”

“Shouldn't you be a little more pissed off right now?” I shouted over the screams of protesters.

“I don't see this as losing,” he said, and pointed to the screen. “Look at that—ten votes. Ten. Five states support us. That's huge.”

“So now what?” I asked. “The law is in place for another ten years.”

Justin nodded. “We'll start working harder with the states that support us. In ten years we'll come back here and fight again.”

Justin's eyes were on fire, his face energized. Losing the vote wasn't what hurt. It was losing Justin. Today gave him a ten-year dose of inspiration to never stop fighting.

Speakers surrounding the courthouse pavilion turned on, and a voice boomed out.

“Kevin Freeman has something to say,” the voice said. The crowd responded with boos and curses. I felt my stomach curl with disgust. I wanted to crawl in on myself. This was going to be the same speech I had told Molly to broadcast after the vote. What could my father possibly say now?

The front door of the courthouse opened, and my father walked out with four security guards surrounding him. I stood next to Justin and watched his progress like I was watching a snake slither out of a cage.

Out of all of the congresspeople voting, only my father had the nerve to speak publicly. I wasn't sure if it was confidence or arrogance. At this point, no one appreciated it.

People stopped throwing rocks. My dad stood in front of a plastic shield on top of the steps and wore a microphone clipped to his suit coat. His face was broadcast across all the digital screens on the building. One hundred pairs of my father's eyes scanned the crowd.

I looked at Justin. His eyes were fixed intensely on my father. He squeezed his fingers around mine.

My father's pale, stoic face was emotionless, as it usually was before his public speeches. He exuded self-assurance, even in front of so many hostile rioters. It was as if he didn't see us. All he saw was a world he controlled. There was no drumroll to welcome him, no cheers or applause, just angry silence.

He spoke out and his voice floated around us, echoing through the park like an ominous force.

“The final votes have been counted. Eighty-eight votes to keep DS a national law, and twelve votes in favor of making digital school a state-by-state educational decision.”

The crowd rumbled at this. Thanks for shoving that in our faces, Dad.

“That is a sweeping majority in favor of DS,” he continued, and held up a hand before the audience could shout. “However. Today the law to make digital school mandatory for every state officially expires. In the agreement, one vote is necessary in order to renew this as a law. That vote is mine, as president of Digital School. This law will not pass without my support, without my signature, as I still own copyrights to the DS program.”

A strange silence loomed. I squeezed Justin's hand. I started to smile because my father's plan was finally becoming clear to me.

“I will not give my signature to let this vote pass. As of right now, digital school is no longer a law. It will be a choice, and it will be decided on by each state.”

Justin and I looked at each other, our mouths wide open. There was a collective gasp around us, and then the crowd came alive with screams. No one could hear my father. The police in the front of the building stared at one another in surprise to see rioters hugging, cheering, jumping, gathering closer to the iron gates that separated us from the courthouse. My father held up a finger for silence.

“I created digital school. Now, looking back on my system, I have something to admit. Digital school is not working. It is not the answer.” He stopped again when the crowd screamed and celebrated. My heart hammered and I tightened my lips with impatience.
Let him speak,
I wanted to yell. Slowly, the shouting diffused.

“What I realized is that I tried to fix the moment instead of considering the future,” he continued. “I panicked. I set up a system in response to a tragedy. It was a short-term fix. I didn't think about the long-term consequences.”

He paused for a few seconds, staring out at the crowd, his head held high.

“After M28, I needed to make an immediate plan. I didn't have time to weigh alternatives. There was a war going on. How could I know the long-term effects of digital school? No one has ever tried to do what I did. I had politicians, parents, and the government counting on me, waiting for me to solve a crisis. I had thousands of dead children to bury. I had broken hearts to contend with. I had a nation mourning and looking to me to heal it. Someone had to act. Someone had to get us moving forward.

“I thought I found a cure,” he said. “I think, at that time, all we wanted was to escape. I simply built the technology to do it.”

The crowd was so quiet, we could hear the wind flapping a few DS Dropout flags back and forth over tents.

“Now I realize I only exacerbated the problem. I multiplied it. I let all of us live inside of our fears for too long.” He coughed and cleared his throat. I could see the exhaustion in his eyes. I wondered how long he had been leading two lives. “In a time of crisis, people should pull together. Not be ripped apart,” he said.

Justin's eyes were fixed on the screens, and my mouth dropped open at the expression on his face. He was smiling at my dad. He was agreeing with him.

“I see this now,” my dad continued. “I was reacting more than I was planning. Sometimes all you can do is react. I don't think my system failed. It kept people safe. It does protect us. And that was my number one priority, but it came at too high a price. Because none of us are free. We're barely human.” He shook his head and looked out at the crowd. “I once heard that society grows only upon destruction. Something needs to be destroyed for anything new to be introduced. A city is flooded before anyone thinks to build a dam. Someone you love dies and you search for a cure to the disease. It seems that only tragedy compels us to change or move forward. But must we wait for tragedy to strike to encourage us to change? Why don't we aim to avoid it in the first place?

“Today I stand in front of you and ask you to be open-minded. We should never engrave a rule so thick in stone that it is unmovable. I ask you to be flexible with me. I ask you to consider a new system. One with more choices. One that allows all of us to be free. Let's not wait for another tragedy to strike to force us to change. Do we need to lose one another to learn to appreciate one another? Can't we take strides, now, to improve our lives, today?”

He aimed his eyes at the crowd. He seemed to be staring at everyone at the same time. He smiled, and it was the first time I had ever seen him show emotion during a speech.

“I believe there is a better way. I want to reopen face-to-face schools. I want to reinstate real sports teams, tutoring groups, and clubs. I want students to have input on our new school designs. After all, it's their lives. Shouldn't they have a say in how they want to learn, on what they want to study? Maybe we should start giving students more of a voice in the matter. These are only a few of my ideas. Let's begin our change today.” He dropped his hands and took a step back to mark the end of his speech. The crowd erupted in cheers.

Justin grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. “We need to get your dad out of here,” he yelled. “They're going to arrest him for this.”

“He's a hero right now,” I said as Justin tried to cut through the tightening mold of fans.

“To us,” he said. “He just made a lot of enemies.”

I looked up at the steps to see a barrage of reporters and police zeroing in on my dad like a hungry flock of birds flapping to a meal.

Rioters surged forward. Justin and I were pushed with a stampede of bodies behind us. I was shoved into Justin, and people fell behind me. I pushed with all the strength in my legs to stay standing under the weight. People in front of us screamed to get back.

Rioters were trying to climb over the gates to get to the courthouse, but the police were opening fire. The ones who did make it over were falling from tranquilizer shots.

People screamed for the gates to be lowered, pleading as bodies collided over bodies.

Before the stampede could crush us, the metal gates dividing the protesters from the steps of the courthouse were lowered. People fell over one another, rolling to their feet, slowly picking themselves up. Some people stayed motionless on the ground.

Justin kept his eyes on the stairs ahead.

“Move,” he told me. His eyes were fixed on the flock of police still pecking at my father. “Now,” he ordered.

I tried to step around bodies lying on the ground. We caught up with Clare and Scott. Blood was smeared across Clare's white T-shirt. Her eyes found mine for a moment, and they looked blank. Stunned.

“Have you seen Joe?” I asked her. “Jax?” Clare slowly shook her head.

Justin was already ahead of me, flying up the steps toward my dad. We were separated by rioters still pushing and scrambling over one another and cops trying to push people back.

“Justin!” I yelled, but I lost him in the crowd.

I sprinted up the stairs, taking two at a time, when a hand reached out and grabbed me. I slid backwards and Paul Thomson twisted my arm around, pinning me in place. I fought to yank my arm back, and he kicked his knee into my stomach. I doubled over, trying to suck air into my lungs, but it felt like my diaphragm was lodged in my throat. I looked up and saw a gun barrel inches from my face. I could see inside the dark, hollow tunnel. Paul's face sneered behind it.

“Sore loser?” I said between gasps for air.

He smiled, but his blue eyes were grimacing. “I saved you a little present from the past. Since you seem to prefer living in it.” He used his thumb to push the safety back on his gun, but somebody caught his wrist before his finger pulled the trigger. Jax whirled him around, ripped the plastic shield out of his hand, and used it to smash Paul in the face so hard that blood sprayed across the clear plastic. I staggered back, and Jax smashed the shield across Paul's back, knocking him to the ground. Another officer was on top of us, but Jax twisted the shield out of his hand and drove it straight into his stomach. The guard's knees buckled from the blow, and he leaned forward. Jax raised his arms and smashed the shield over the back of his head, knocking him down.

A herd of police officers swarmed in our direction. Jax grabbed both of the shields in time to protect us from a stream of shots. I screamed and held my hands over my ears as shots ricocheted off the thick plastic. They were answered by more shots, coming from the armed rioters behind us.

We scooted up the steps. I grabbed a gun lying under an officer and pinned my back against Jax's. I fired shots with the rest of the rioters, until we had picked off the swarm of cops.

Jax turned and grabbed my hand and lifted me up. We looked around, taking in our small battle victory.

“And they say you learn nothing from video games,” Jax said, breathing hard.

I looked across the courtyard and finally spotted Justin. He was closing in on my mom and dad, who had descended the steps and were surrounded by cops. Joe was down there too, trying to get close to my dad. We ran down the steps to the street as my dad was being pushed toward a black car at the edge of the courthouse grounds. Justin and Riley managed to pick off the police on either side of my father and separate him from the mob. More shots broke out and Riley fell forward onto the street.

A van pulled up; Scott was in the driver's seat. We raced down to Justin. He was trying to get my father into the van.

“Leave me here,” my dad ordered. “I'm turning myself in.”

“They'll arrest you, Kevin,” my mom said.

“Go with the police, Jane,” he ordered her.

“I'm staying with you,” she insisted.

Scott stuck his head out of the van window and yelled for us to get in.

Justin turned to me and stopped when he noticed Jax. They stood a few feet apart, at eye level, staring each other down. Justin's eyes darkened.

“I've got her, Jax,” Justin said, his way of warning him to step back. Jax didn't budge, and I pushed him back before he could start practicing more video game fight moves. Justin grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the van.

“Don't move!” Paul shouted, staggering down the steps behind us. Blood was smeared over his face and caked in his hair. I could see the whites of his eyes, wide and focused on me.

He pointed his gun at us, and I ducked inside the van with Justin. A shot was fired, and I winced as a bullet hit the inside of the van door. It caused a deep indentation in the metal frame.

“Stop!” Paul yelled, and my dad looked back.

“Jane, move!” My dad pushed her away from the van as another shot was fired.

I covered my ears. It was louder than any gun I had ever heard. My mom was caught between two policemen. I watched through the window as she shakily ducked inside a cop car. My dad flew forward into the van and Justin slammed the door closed.

Joe dived into the passenger seat, and Scott slammed his foot on the accelerator. The tires squealed hot against the pavement. I wedged myself next to Justin on the floor to keep from sliding on the corrugated metal floor. My dad slumped down and leaned against the wall across from us. We pressed our backs against the cold metal side. We were all panting, and I wiped off the sweat running down my forehead with my sleeve.

Scott hit a train track that lifted the entire car off the ground and sent us sailing back down with a crash. I slid into the dividing grate between the back of the van and the front seats. The metal gate pushed through my skin like a grater. Justin grabbed my hand and pulled me next to him.