When the night still felt warm and the searchlights hadn't yet turned on, the parents descended upon Heller. They followed the same routes their children did, now wearing oversized jeans held up with suspenders and airy, chic coats, but this time, they had a mission: vengeance. Mr. Kurtz, in his infinite wisdom, had organized a town hall meeting the first week of school, expecting a small but loyal audience he could convince to keep calm and carry on; instead, he got an unruly mob crowded around poor Ms. Foster at the door of the MPR. They were let inside one by one, and by the time Ms. Foster had finished sorting out everyone and come inside herself, Mr. Kurtz had already begun:

"...and this is why I really don't think we need a meeting to discuss what is obviously the best direction for Heller, but anyway, there's Ms. Foster to take notes, so I think we can begin the Q and A in earnest."

"I'm afraid you misunderstand, Dr. Kurtz, I told you I had dinner with my family and was just here for a few minutes."

"Nonsense, Lisa, you're going to take notes for us. Secretaries, am I right?" Mr. Kurtz addressed the audience more than Ms. Foster, boasting a shining grin that he hoped would tell them everything was all right.

"Why would you let a group of students implement this dictatorial policy with no buy-in from parents or teachers?"

"Good question! That sounds like it would be best addressed to the person who made that decision originally. Lisa, dear, why would you let a group of students implement this dictatorial policy with no buy-in from parents or teachers?" Ms. Foster turned to Mr. Kurtz with a gaze that could shatter glass, then turned toward the audience with a slightly sweeter expression:

"I've always considered myself a believer in democracy and student leadership—that's part of my job, really. So when a group of democratically elected students came to a consensus themselves on what to do, who was I to deny them?"

"Excellent answer, Lisa. Next!"

"My darling child, Louis—he's on the football team, and he really is the sweetest kid—had some minor disciplinary trouble last year, which we thought was all resolved. But as it turns out, this year he's ranked as an Epsilon? And this is an awful position to be in, I'm sure you understand. He really doesn't deserve it at all."

"Louis, Louis, Louis..." Mr. Kurtz mused. "Oh, the drug dealer! That Louis, right?"

"My lawyers tell me that's a loaded term, but yes."

"I can't claim to understand all of how the new system works, but when I was his age, my father would have smacked me with a belt for doing what he did. Throwing a party on the beach and dancing? If you ask me, just be glad we aren't making him scrub toilets."

"You see, that's the thing," Ms. Carver continued. "Louis is scrubbing toilets because he's an Epsilon. Literally. That's the reason I'm complaining."

"It's called community service, and Louis will be all the better for it. Madeline, here, is representing our senior class council, and she's tirelessly devoted to community service. Do you have anything to add?" Madeline had decided the previous year to run for class president largely because it would look good on her college applications, and also because her parents and Ms. Foster told her it was a valuable position. Unfortunately for her, Frank and his cronies had a lesser view of the role, and especially because Madeline thought the club was a stupid waste of time, Frank had generously forced Madeline to attend every single school event as an envoy. He had said something about her "boundless enthusiasm" making her a perfect fit for that responsibility, but said enthusiasm was rapidly waning.

"Can I go to the restroom, Mr. Kurtz?" Madeline asked with a smile, hoping to take the easy way out and stealthily disappear forever.

"I don't know, can you?"

"I would wish to kindly importune the most venerable Dr. Patrick Kurtz to generously grant me permission to use the lavatory to defecate," Madeline grimaced with all the sarcasm she could muster.

"Buzz off—I mean, go ahead, Madeline. You may use the restroom." Madeline scurried outside, and Mr. Kurtz turned to his now-terrified audience with a grin, like he was a stand-up comedian wrapping up his set.

"These students really need to learn their place. Madeline's an Alpha, but she's one of those types, if you know what I mean, who thinks she owns everything. If we were in less polite company, I'd call her a jackass, but instead I'll call her 'future Harvard material.' But anyway, any other questions?"

"Yeah, I have one," Madeline's father piped up from the front row of the audience. "Did you just call my daughter, the nationally awarded pianist, the all-star of the tennis team, the summer Google intern, the director of our city's canned food drive, a 'jackass'? What have these other kids done to earn their place? She should be the one running the school, not those kids—now those are the real jackasses!"

"Now, now, now, let me talk, let me explain. Frank, if you know him, has shown excellent responsibility all through his time at Heller. While your daughter was studying inside during lunch, Frank organized our drug bust to clean Heller of those low-lifes who—"

"Mr. Kurtz!" Ms. Carver interrupted. "So Frank is the one who got my cherubic Louis in trouble? Louis was already scouted by USC for their squash team, and now that's in jeopardy because of your social experiment. Forgive my bluntness, but you're the jackass!" Other parents took the opportunity to begin shouting their own questions about their own kids; Mr. Kurtz screamed "Shut up!" a few times, but when that appeared to have no effect, he dropped the microphone and stormed out of the MPR.

Ms. Foster, whose notes had devolved into terse bullet points like "Madeline jackass?" and "Send PTSO bribe?", hesitantly picked up the microphone and approached the podium.

"Seeing that Mr. Kurtz appears to be presently occupied, and also seeing that he is not currently in the room to overhear this, I propose we blame him exclusively for every problem with this new scheme that comes up. Don't shoot the messenger, am I right? Can we all agree to that? Let's not blame Frank, Alan, Behrooz, especially not me, or anyone else. It's Mr. Kurtz's fault and his alone." This proposal elicited polite nods from the audience, and once the hubbub had settled down again, Ms. Foster continued:

"Now, ahem, are there any questions for me?" Immediately, the crowd continued:

"Why this?"

"Variety is the spice of life."

"When will this end?"

"Good question! Well, I'm planning on retiring in a few years, and Frank doesn't have too much longer either, so unless by some miracle this becomes the status quo, see you in June?"

"Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?"

"Spongebob Squarepants—wait, what?"

"Does the student council get paid for this?"

"A feeling of pride and accomplishment is its own reward."

"Can we leave now?" This question made Ms. Foster pause for a few seconds.

"Well, why not?" She declared, and everyone, including her, left the MPR. Frank, who had been watching the entire affair through the security camera, logged off as well.

Discussion Questions:

How much control does the administration seem to have over what's going on? Do they seem happy about it?

Why is Mr. Kurtz portrayed as such an irritating leader? Does he deserve the hate he's getting?

Is Frank really the one responsible for all of this, or do other characters share the blame?