For an unrehearsed operation, the office moved impressively quickly the morning Frank walked in with a Manila folder containing the list of names. He proceeded to the principal's office, who cross-checked it with the emailed copy before giving Frank a hearty pat on the back thanking him for his good work. Not even before Frank left, the list had been passed to the office staff, who immediately began typing out roughly one hundred summons to detention. By now Alan was comfortably in Mr. Ivanov's class, when a harried office aide walked in with a fistful of yellow papers and handed a few to a shocked Mr. Ivanov, who took a few moments to read the names. It did not take long for word to spread about who was targeted, and more importantly, who was to blame: Alan.

"It's almost beautiful, isn't it?" Alan remarked to Mr. Ivanov while watching through the window the long chain of students headed toward the gymnasium to serve their time.

"What makes this beautiful?"

"Justice. Everyone getting what they deserve. The scales tipped back in honest people's favor. However you want to phrase it."

"Why do you think they all deserved this?"

"It goes without saying."

"Yes, I know they all were caught in that juice sting, but does that mean they deserved this?"

"Yes, yes, I believe they did." Alan appeared hopeless, so Mr. Ivanov went to talk to other students, who unsurprisingly were more interested in discussing the breaking news than doing physics; to be fair, he was too.

During a passing period, Regina took the bold move of texting Juliet, who responded immediately expressing her confusion and polite dismay and then went silent when Regina said she got caught too, and because of Tom, no less. She wandered the halls looking for Alan or somebody who could apologize for this injustice. She could find nobody, or at least nobody who wanted to talk to her without grunting excessively. One sophomore pointed her out to his buddies and did a mockery of the dancing at the bonfire, flailing his arms wildly above his head; his friends began drumming on their binders and clapping along. Regina thought she was popular—she didn't deserve to be abused like this. She couldn't find any friendly faces in time, and so she went to class despondent, hoping that everything would blow over in sufficient time.

Ted did not find himself holding a grudge against Alan: he had beaten him fair and square, and Ted had nobody to blame but himself; the same could not be said for Alan, he thought, who undoubtedly had still been blackmailed by someone else. For this reason, Ted greeted Alan with a fist-bump in English class and not with a fist to the face. Ted and Alan had recently begun bonding over a new common interest: pranking Juliet. Alan saw this as the first step to romance, and Ted, who was long consigned to being a bachelor, was only too happy to pass on the torch to someone else.

"We have a simple game, Ms. Liu: I drop the pen, she picks it up," Ted explained sweetly after Ms. Liu had watched this routine repeat itself a few times.

"And what's the point of this?"

"Why not?" Alan interjected after nudging Ted's pen slightly to the side. Every time Juliet gracefully bent downward and reached, returning the pen to Ted with a predictable smile.

"Is this a game you can play outside of class? I mean, instead of now? I don't want to speak for everyone, but some of your peers appear distracted."

"Well, I don't know if we ever would have the means, motive, or opportunity."

"How about during a club meeting?"

"I don't go to those anymore, and besides, she wouldn't allow it."

"She wouldn't allow it?" Alan worried that Ted would somehow not do the club justice:

"We have different standards for authority. None of this casual informality. Juliet outranks us, it's as clear as that, and if during a club meeting she wants us to pick up pens off the ground we have no choice but to do that. One time we were even split into teams to play '52-card pickup,' which is a far more strategic game than this. It's like that. This is our only opportunity to turn the tables a little, even the score, so I'm sure you understand."

"And what do you think of this, Juliet?" Juliet looked at the three people staring at her and suddenly composed herself.

"I cannot help it if my classmates struggle with fine motor control. It is my responsibility as a good person to help them grow up."

"Well, that settles it!" Ted declared, and he returned to his work, being exceedingly careful to maintain a firm grip on his pen. Alan wasn't quite done playing, but he thought the joke must have grown old if Ted stopped. Near the end of the period, Juliet accidentally dropped her pen, and neither Alan nor Ted dared to pick it up.

Jason's struggles with group work had persisted into the present, especially when people like John tested his patience. Jason was initially ecstatic to be paired with John on their research paper—wasn't John the kid who thought deeply, who always considered alternate points of view? Those may have been true, but John, as it turns out, was also the kid who still struggled with apostrophes, who thought MLA format had something to do with getting a MBA, and who could spend hours staring at a blank document "composing his thoughts" until he hesitantly typed a sentence or two. Any attempts to get John to hurry up were met with silence, and if Jason pushed too aggressively, John would raise his voice and declare Jason could do the entire thing himself then if he was going to be such a taskmaster.

Perhaps if John were looking more closely at Jason's work, he would have objected to the hammer and sickles used as bullet points or the faint outline of Stalin on every page. Mr. Simon noticed, and discreetly called Jason to his desk.

"Jason, where do I begin? All teachers, including myself, signed an oath—a great loyalty oath—to protect the school against communism. And what do you do? You've ruined it all."

"It's just a joke, Mr. Simon. There's nothing to it."

"I'm not finished, Jason. Don't interrupt me. History is in a manner a sacred thing, so far as it contains truth. Those who do not study it are doomed to repeat it. Don't think I haven't noticed the robotics posters modeled after Mao or all the other communist activities you've done. I won't stand for it. I don't want to escalate this, Jason, but I will if I have to. Are we clear on that front?"

"If we're going to defend such American values as fidelity and honesty, I think that line was crossed as soon as Mr. Kurtz approved the celery juice scheme. I can see where you're coming from, Mr. Simon, but I think you're enforcing a double standard here."

"No, there's a difference: anyone above me is perfectly free to enforce whichever policies they want. I may disagree with them, but there's nothing I can do about it. My classroom is my empire, and if I wished to begin every class with the Soviet national anthem, it would take Mr. Kurtz himself walking in to stop me. The opposite holds true as well: fascism may have swept our school in a kid-friendly guise, but I am still entitled to just say no to communism. Capisce?" Jason grumbled, but went back to his desk, where John seemingly had not moved a muscle during his conversation. Jason decided to try a different tactic and use a bit of empathy:

"John, how are we doing?" John didn't stir.

"John, are you awake?" John blinked.

"John, can we finish this project?" John blinked twice. Jason gave up and went back to work.

By the end of the school day, popular perception had faded from the sheer absurdity of the entire affair to disgust at Alan and most especially the administration for using him as a pawn, and most even did not think much of that. Other notable affairs—an AP Bio test, an APUSH presentation, a ceramics project—took greater prominence in those who did not have personal involvement in the affair, as it was simply another hare-brained effort on the part of the administration to change its students. Unfortunately for Alan, the latter group was feeling particularly militant. Alan had by then learned to tell when he was being followed, and the group of about ten tall, beefy, angry kids following him from a fair distance did not leave much room for ambiguity in his mind. When his pace slowed, they returned to a walk; when he sped up, he heard their footsteps becoming loud and clear. Ms. Liu's classroom was thankfully open, and she was happy to see Alan until he meekly gestured outside; she connected the dots and ran to lock and barricade the door.

Ms. Liu wisely suggested that Alan wait in her classroom for a bit until the kids outside stopped menacingly loitering—some were even her students! Alan seemed oddly calm after his initial outburst, quietly reading his book and doing his homework while Ms. Liu sent a flurry of panicked emails. As much as she had initial reservations about the celery juice plan, considering it childish at best and entrapment at worst, when the scheme began working she was forced to admit that the school had a problem, and short of bringing in the drug dogs and doing random backpack searches, this maybe was the next best thing. Alan has little to say about this last point, insisting he "had absolutely zero regret—if even one of my classmates becomes better, I will regret nothing."

"Speaking of charitable deeds, and this may not be for me to ask, but how much did you profit from this? Clearly you had enough surplus material to hydrate Ms. Norris weekly."

"Well, without going into the particulars, what supply expenses we had were covered by the school, and when on average you're selling for $20 a vial, let's just say that our club won't need to do any more food fairs."

"You keep the profits?" Ms. Liu looked again at the crowd outside, who she now realized probably owed a few hundred total to the boy inside her room gleefully chattering away.

"We asked Dr. Kurtz and he left that entirely to our discretion."

"And was this before or after you realized how much you were scamming your classmates for?"

"At that point we were only at a few hundred." Ms. Liu suspected then that Alan was somewhat more interested in the money—Alan could recount in great detail the biggest heists—and the artifice of the scheme than any sort of moral underpinnings.

"So given that you've made a bunch of money, why didn't any of it go to the school? Do you realize how many new computers that could buy, or how many of our printers run out of ink on a daily basis?"

"In a democracy, the government is the people," Alan explained. "We're people, aren't we? So we might just as well keep the money and eliminate the middleman." Ms. Liu grimaced, finally understanding Alan's twisted morality, and continued her interrogation:

"So all of this is meant to protect democracy?" First he nodded politely, and then his face broke into that radiant and understanding smile, as if they'd been in ecstatic cahoots on that fact all the time. "I have to admit, Alan, I never would have thought of it that way before. But do you think all of your compatriots outside still staring at us think the same way?" Alan did not waste any precious energy in turning his head:

"No, I don't think they would."

"And why is that? Is it because they don't believe in democracy?"

"Exactly that!"

"I suppose I can't argue with your conviction. As much as this conversation fascinates me, I think I'll refrain from further comment until our weekly staff meeting. When the people outside get bored and leave, I should probably drive you home just in case they still have a bone to pick with you. You'll have a great story to tell your mother—would you want that?" Alan checked his phone for emails, only seeing one from Frank that read plainly "This will pass. Just know that you did the right thing."

"Thank you."

Pranav was thankful he had largely avoided any backlash from the recent events. All he could really do was congratulate himself on a job well done, and laugh along with Frank after Alan told them how he had narrowly escaped with his life.

"You always exaggerate, Alan. It can't have been that bad," Pranav told him confidently.

"No, I'm serious! There were these big kids, all standing around Ms. Liu's door! She was there, she can tell you herself!"

"Let's drop the point then. Would you mind leaving the room? I need to interview Frank for a psychology project." Many teachers, including the psychology teacher, considered the club a fascinating study in the power of groupthink; they could only imagine what good such a diverse group of students could accomplish if they were not too busy wasting their time with philosophy. The majority of the second semester in AP Psychology was spent conducting a research project, and Pranav would have been an idiot if he didn't choose his very own club.

"Pranav, do you truly believe everything they teach?" His teacher asked him with a tinge of worry in his voice.

"I have no conviction, if that's what you mean. I blow with the wind, and the prevailing wind happens to be from the club. There's nothing more to it, and I trust myself to remain an impartial observer."

"Very well. Just interview him, try to really tie everything together; this is an important job, you know, and the last thing I'd want you to do is waste a good opportunity."

Pranav and Frank sat facing each other in Mr. T's room, not sure if this was supposed to be an antagonistic confrontation. Pranav checked his notes and began:

"Have you considered running for president, Frank?"

"White House president or school president?"

"Both, I mean, but realistically the latter. You have a large force of the school behind you, and even if this recent controversy somehow tarnishes your reputation, that's nothing a bit of corruption can't solve."

"As always, Pranav, an interesting idea. Who else would run for the other positions?"

"Well, anyone who wants to; that's the power of democracy. I think you as president would be more than sufficient to ensure that club viewpoints are given appropriate prominence."

"No, you aren't thinking big enough. How about we have Juliet run for vice president and Alan run for secretary—he's earned the promotion. Treasurer, well, you're graduating, otherwise I'd suggest you. Three out of four is a passing grade."

"But still, isn't that maybe a bit too obvious? If it's just you, it's clear you're a demagogue, but when you pack the council with all your friends, it becomes a bit obvious you don't have the best interests of your constituents in mind."

"I've never been one for subtlety, and besides, this is a well-established fact: you cannot have too much of a good thing! I believe we originally set out back in my freshman year to take this idea, this idea we didn't even fully understand at the time, to its logical conclusion. We maintained that through last year, and what reason do we have to back out now? I understand it's natural to have second thoughts, some recent conversations I've had have certainly given me those, but I believe this movement goes beyond any one of us. It's a battle for the soul of our school, the soul of our nation!"

"Have you ever thought to consider, Frank, that such battles are best saved for people with experience? I don't think either of us can say with a straight face that we haven't been making this up entirely as we go along. Sure, so far this has resulted in my college fund being a bit beefier than before, but there's a point where all good things must come to an end."

"All good things must come to an end. That's a sad fact. It's a true fact," Frank admitted. "But we can postpone that end for a while. You're leaving us whether you wish to or not, but I still have a year left. I kind of hope all this dies with my departure. Maybe it will, maybe it won't. But I suppose that if we get to that point, I really won't have much of a choice in the ultimate outcome, right? I've been in some conversations with people from other schools; some are trying to copy us. They show my lectures during lunch and discuss them—it's actually quite touching, I think you'd agree, how we've inspired so many others. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, after all. But even if we were to do nothing next year, all it takes is for someone just a bit more brutal than us to muscle their way in and grab the reins, and then not only do we lose control, people are going to blame us for starting the entire thing!"

"I suppose you make a fair point, Frank. I can't possibly consider what we've done so far moderate, but there is so much worse that could happen that maybe it's a good thing to take responsibility. So would you consider abandoning the club at this point abandoning your responsibility?"

"Kind of, in a manner of speaking. I don't have a duty to 'the people,' whoever they are, but many, many club members look up to me and credit me for their success. And perhaps rightly so. It wouldn't be mature of me to not take accountability for everything, whether good or bad. Didn't you say you were interviewing me for psychology?"

Pranav chuckled, which disturbed Frank. "This is the interview. I'm killing two birds with one stone: I'm trying to develop a psychological profile of you, which we both know will be spun to be immensely favorable, and we're planning out how you're going to spend your senior year at Heller."

"So you've been in agreement with me the entire time?"

"Always have been. But if you're the devil like they claim you are, someone needs to play devil's advocate; this way, we prepare our own counter-arguments for the inevitable critics who just want to ruin everything. I know I won't be around to see the final results of wherever this goes, but all of us are in full support."

"Who's all of us, if I may ask?"

"Everyone who wants to be on the right side of history." Mr. T finally decided to jump in:

"You know this is my second career, and I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before, but I've been thinking about retiring from this one for quite some time. But I will swear on my honor, whatever honor I have: I'm not going to betray this scheme for anything like morality or ethics. My duties as a teacher may interfere with my personal allegiances at times, and I'm not going to lie to myself and claim that we are firmly on the right side of history, but what's the worst that could happen? In a few years, everything here goes back to normal? I'm willing to take that risk."

Mr. T did not let his conversation with Frank and Pranav cloud his judgment at the staff meeting that week, where he wisely kept his mouth shut while Mr. Kurtz and Ms. Wolfe insisted on their unfailing correctness, and he maintained that attitude afterward, when Mrs. Huang approached him casually. She never talked to him unless she needed a favor or wished to settle an argument.

"Mrs. Huang, how nice to see you! Is this a conversation we wish others to overhear?"

"I don't think so, too personal."

"Very well," he smiled, and he tried his hardest to ignore his colleagues' quizzical glances.

"So I understand that Frank and Juliet are the president and vice president of your club? How are they doing, I mean, together?"

"What do you mean, together? They work together quite well, if that's what you mean."

"Do you think they're a good match? Frank's taller, but not by so much to be awkward, and they both have quite attractive faces."

"Mrs. Huang, no wonder why you didn't want the others to hear! So this is what you've been doing with them for your TA period, matchmaking? They are two bright, capable, intelligent students; surely they can be trusted to make their own decisions. Besides, it's against everything they teach!"

"I think this is entirely reasonable. Juliet thinks Frank is the best person she's ever met—she's said as much to me in private. And Frank certainly hasn't said the same, but any reasonable person would share that feeling. Teachers are supposed to know what's best for their students." Mr. T dramatically poured himself a cup of water and drank it in one big gulp.

"We're making a scene, Mrs. Huang. They are your students as much as mine. Even if you think it's best for them, whether they know it or not, part of letting students grow is giving them the tools they need to discover that for themselves. I will not interfere, but if your meddling causes an otherwise great friendship to end, I'll be disappointed." Mr. T walked away, and Mrs. Huang groaned. He had no idea what he was talking about, as always. She could never shake the notion of Mr. T as a businessman, a wolf on Wall Street who had decided he'd made enough money to go somewhere else and do something emotionally fulfilling. Clearly he could teach—his students thought so, at least—but he clearly hated being a teacher. He wanted to do all of the easy parts and leave the hard work for people like her. Anyway, this most certainly wouldn't stop her from doing precisely what she wanted.

"Frank!" Tom shouted from the second floor of the science building. Frank showed no signs of being startled, and turned to face him.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you do this?"

"Do what?" There was nothing more fun in Frank's mind than speaking cryptically.

"Forget it. You're never going to apologize, you couldn't care less about how I feel because you've made money off all of us, and in your mind I'm now human scum."

"That implies you weren't before, Tom," Frank joked. "I kid, of course. Well, good talk. Nice seeing you again." Tom tried to stammer out some other objection, but by the time he could compose himself, Frank had already left.

Discussion Questions:

Can Ted still be seen as a stock popular kid? Who appears to be popular at Heller?

What's ironic about Mr. Simon's argument with Jason, and why is this irony significant?

What makes Pranav more reasonable than Frank, if anything? Is he corrupt in the same way as Frank?