CW: Non-graphic character death

What if...

"I don't feel any older. It's been a year, and this still feels like day one of high school," Beth said after some meditation and after the bus had sufficient time to proceed through the residential district surrounding Heller.

"Don't worry, tomorrow will be a new day. You may feel different then," John offered, and as he was about to lean back and close his eyes, he realized that he was sharing oxygen with a special someone for what could be the last time. What if she got into a car accident? What if he did? What if she suddenly moved to Hawaii? He had to seize this opportunity while it lasted.

"Want to get boba Monday, Beth? If you're not too busy," John stammered.

"I'd love to," Beth said, turning to John with a smile. "I haven't sinned in a while."

What if...

"Haven't you thought about how strange it is that a high school could end up this functional? You're right—these scallops are delicious! It's all thanks to you, and that leads me to another question. I overheard Ms. Liu the other day discussing with the other English teachers how she was going to add How To Be A Good Person to her class curriculum, and at first I was like, 'Wow, that's great!' But then I kept listening, and she said something about teaching students to identify satire and analyze it critically," Juliet said, her mouth half-full.

"Yeah, she cleared that with me, don't worry. I helped her with the lesson plan—I think it's great, actually, that we'll be educating the next generation of leaders."

"So you're missing my point here, How To Be A Good Person was a work of satire? We've been misled the entire time?"

"Well, I wouldn't say 'we' here. There's a value to using humor to blunt messages, that's what court jesters did all the time! A Modest Proposal carries a message, and we can recognize that Jonathan Swift wasn't telling us to eat babies. Look beyond the text of How To Be A Good Person and think instead about all the philosophy we've read; do you think we'd be able to get people to think critically about themselves and others, dare I say even be nice to them, without disguising the message a little? A spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down. Let's use another example, the caste system: sure, at first, everyone was being a bit sarcastic and biting and haggling over exactly who was boss, but look at us now. People judge each other for the quality of their ideas now, not the color of their skin, and if someone of ill renown truly desires to become a better person, he is able to do that and is rewarded without judgment. I would like to think we are moving toward a functional society, slowly but surely. I couldn't exactly say everything outright without undermining the purpose of the entire thing. I'm sorry, Juliet, if I misled you into thinking I was ever ill-intentioned."

Juliet swallowed her remaining scallop in a single gulp, and her face froze. Under ordinary circumstances Frank assumed she'd immediately laugh, maybe put her hand on his shoulder or something a bit too personal like that, and say something about how it was all fun and games. A few seconds passed, and Frank could have sworn that the sounds of idle laughter in the background were playing in slow motion.

"How could you? How could you do this to us? Do you think this is all some sort of sick joke? I thought we were doing this to help people. I thought that, even as things kept going wrong and none of this charity truly manifested, that this was all part of your master plan to make the world a better place. But knowing that you've purposely deceived hundreds of people? I feel used, Frank. I liked you! I thought that we were in this together. And now you tell me I'm just a pawn, just a plaything?"

"I can explain everything, Juliet! Just give me some time!"

"If you had told me from the start what you were doing, I'd have been fine with it. I'd have trusted you. But trust needs to be mutual, and I can't trust you anymore. Sorry, Frank. I... I need some time to think," Juliet said, tears welling up in her eyes. Frank hadn't seen her cry this genuinely before. He stood up and walked off to find some other club members—more loyal ones—to talk with. She'd get over it eventually.

What if...

"... From the bottom of my heart, I wish you all the most sincere congratulations. I will miss you all, and once again, never forget how to be a good person.

Sincerely,

Franklin Barnes."

"Wasn't he the cult guy?" one parent whispered to another while they politely applauded.

"Must not have been. Sounds like a good kid though."

Frank stacked his index cards in a neat pile and was about to stuff them in his inside pocket when a shot rang out. Everyone froze—was this part of the spectacle? Frank looked around and saw nothing, and then a second shot. This one hit him neatly in the chest. A third, a fourth, and Frank made eye contact with Ted, who stood in the aisle with nothing behind his eyes but a thousand days of pent-up rage. If looks could kill... nah, too cliché. Dimmesdale and Chillingworth? Overdone. He needed a last line. A dramatic flourish.

"Rosebud!" Frank shouted, before keeling over and taking his last breath in what appeared to the people in the front rows to be a bow.

Frank's funeral was widely attended, with his classmates discovering that he had been able to keep friends outside of his direct sphere of influence and his other friends discovering that Frank had been more than a connoisseur of Romantic-era composers and Scrabble champion. Most of his classmates wouldn't have come, but they feared reprisal from beyond the grave. They waited, expecting the coffin to spring open and Frank to pop out. But no such plot twist came, and Frank remained dead through all the tearful eulogies delivered. Through the following months, the good person movement spread unabated by such unimportant things as death—to some, Frank was a martyr; to some, he was the reincarnation of Jesus, like Simon drifting recumbent in the ocean; to some, he was merely the most interesting thing to happen to them in a while.

Frank was buried a few hundred yards from Ernest, and some walked by his grave too to pay their respects, the irony lingering on some that they might spend the rest of eternity squabbling about who had the last laugh and what it truly meant to be good in the afterlife. Eventually, all the guests left the cemetery, and it was once again quiet.

Discussion Questions:

Which of these "what-if" situations from You Must Remember This do you most wish happened?

Do these three scenes connect in any way to what we've seen in the sequel?

What might some other what-if situations be you wanted to see happen instead of what actually happened?