It had taken Frank and other leadership students many hours to hash out a plan for implementing the school's new dress code, but even as they spoke, student volunteers were delivering outfits to everyone who did not already own something appropriate. Even Ms. Foster did not expect the level of student engagement they received, but as it turned out, free gifts warmed even the coldest of hearts. In a flash, the weekend passed with nothing but prelude to Monday. Frank left his house especially early, navigating the hilly sidewalks at an almost frenetic pace with a manic eye; if he even spotted one fellow classmate walking too, in a car, or anywhere, wearing formal dress, his victory was assured. Arriving at school without seeing much of anything, he positioned himself at the top of the main entrance and waited to greet everyone who arrived.

John privately mourned the loss of his sweatpants; his car wasn't heated, and now he felt cold as he drove. Traffic was heavier than usual that day on the freeway, and even though he had an unprecedented opportunity to admire the half-wooded neighborhood around him, he could only think of his sudden desire to be curled up under a blanket at home. John parked across the street from Heller, and as he waited for the traffic light along with everyone else, he could only marvel: people indeed were following orders! Even the Epsilons wore tight-fitting jackets, pantsuits, and garish ties, just like the rest of them. Some freshmen struggled to walk comfortably in their dress shoes, walking heel-to-toe like they had never walked before, but at least so far there were no protests. People looked nice, especially Beth, who John saw lingering by the entrance of the football field.

"How does it feel? Your tie's off, let me adjust it," she insisted; John had never tied a tie himself before, and had undue faith in his ability to follow YouTube tutorials.

"The tie? A bit tight."

"No, finally dressing formally. Everyone's equal now; it doesn't feel like the Alphas are simply rubbing it in anymore."

"You're an Alpha too, Beth."

"Well that doesn't mean I was rubbing it in before! This reminds me of what I imagine a Model UN conference to look like more than anything; what's the word... ah yes, professional." Beth was already regretting her decision to wear high heels.

"I would complain about my loss of individuality if I ever expressed that through my fashion originally. You know, it's always bothered me when people wore 'weird' clothes before. You know what I mean, strange designs and crop tops and clashing hues. This is a far more preferable aesthetic."

"You think crop tops are weird? Wow, you are sheltered. Wait up for me—it's a bit hard to climb stairs quickly in these; I don't know how Juliet does it."

One of John's fears when he heard about the new policy was that the teachers wouldn't play along too; to John, how a person dressed signaled authority, and if the teachers' outfits were ramshackle, then they lost their divine right to give instructions. Ms. Liu, at least, had chosen to set a good example for her students, not that she ever dressed too informally, anyway.

"I like the tie, John. Good color contrast—your shoe's untied too, by the way."

"Are you in favor of this policy, Ms. Liu?" She walked to the door where John was and tried to stare outside, where students were milling about in their by-now normal positions, some carrying briefcases instead of backpacks.

"My initial worry was that some students wouldn't have access to the same quality of clothes as everyone else, but as that problem was solved, I don't know what to think. I can say that compared to the celery juice or TigerTalk—Mr. Ivanov was telling me earlier how they can see all your data—this is a better idea on the surface. It looks like my students out there aren't complaining, and all of them are wearing their outfits, which given their compliance with other requests is absolutely extraordinary. It's funny really, when Frank talked to me last year with a fury in his eye and spoke of a complete overhaul of the school, I was expecting something a bit more fundamental, but all that's really changed is that we sing the national anthem now. Even the Alpha brunches were expanded to include free-lunch kids because they weren't able to eat breakfast otherwise. So yeah, why not, John. I'm in favor of this." Other students began coming in, all just as jovial as usual besides Regina, and Ms. Liu called a quick poll:

"Raise your hand if you like this new dress code—there's no shame in answering honestly." Everyone, besides Regina, raised their hand, and some looked at Regina disappointedly like she didn't know how good she had it.

"Regina, you didn't raise your hand; care to share your thoughts?" Regina cleared her throat and stood up:

"I have nothing against dressing like this. I think everyone looks quite nice. But it's forced on us, and that's the issue."

"Anyone want to respond to that?" Ms. Liu asked, and one of the Epsilons who typically had some behavioral issues stood up:

"We're already forced to do so many things, this isn't really all that bad, you know, in comparison. Ricky here looks especially dapper," he joked, and everyone laughed.

John felt an obligation to share his field research with Frank, who he found coming out of the administrative offices; Frank turned to him with a thin smile, knowing fully well by now to expect something unique.

"I must say, Frank, this dress code has actually been quite nice. How did you think of it?"

"It's not like we're trailblazers in any way. Ms. Foster said her son had a dress code at his Catholic school, and you know I'm somewhat of an atheist, but that doesn't mean I can't be religious when it's advantageous. I can't wait to see 1500-odd students at the rally on Friday all dressed alike. We'll have a moment for the history books."

"History, you say? But you said other schools do this all the time. That doesn't sound very historical to me, it's just how people dress. If they're forced into it, that says nothing about their principles."

"What principles, John? War criminals wear suits too." As much as Frank respected John, he was becoming increasingly frustrated with his naïveté; John had a peculiar way of sounding like he vehemently disagreed with him, even when he really just didn't know what he was talking about.

"When I think about formal dress—now what you think may be different, but this is what I think—it conveys a message. Discipline, severity. There's no sort of affable casualness that we typically get at school. Everyone means business, and that influences how they act; they close themselves off from others, I'd think. Right?"

"Well, have you seen people closed off any more than they were before?"

"I haven't, but maybe I haven't been looking hard enough," John admitted. "What's your plan for the rally? Just the usual fun and games?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. I've been studying some historical tapes, not in a creepy way or anything, but I want to make sure I get that right intensity. I want to encapsulate the zeitgeist of the era all this new school business reminds me of."

"And what's that, Frank?"

"Hmm," Frank mused, "As they say in all the math textbooks, I'll leave this as an exercise to the reader. So, you."

"I don't know, maybe one of President Underwood's rallies?"

"Think APUSH. But it's really proving my point that you don't know, and that's exactly why this current system needs to continue. Schools have an obligation to teach their students what's right and wrong."

"You already do that though."

"Not well enough, John."

"Anyway, I just want to caution you against doing something too extreme. I don't like rallies already, and I doubt you can change that."

"When have I ever been known to do anything extreme?" Frank joked with a fist-bump, and he went off to find something else to do. 

"I don't know," John mumbled, but it was too late.

Regina and Juliet were in the same group for statistics, and since Frank avoided interacting with Juliet as much as possible during the period, Regina was able to hold Juliet's undivided attention while they worked. Senioritis was a present force, and Regina thought that she had earned the right over four years to multitask a little, carrying on idle conversation with Juliet while they blitzed through worksheets.

"So, how are things going?" Regina asked, wishing to ease into her tougher questions.

"Things are going, and they're going quite well at that."

"How does it feel to be vice president? You're always so busy, we should get lunch sometime."

"It feels not that different at all—not as cool as being president, either."

"What does Frank do to make him cooler?" Regina's recent interactions with Frank had been defined by a quiet professionalism befitting his status as TA; while she saw him and Mr. T occasionally work on side projects, for the most part Frank insisted on serving his duties normally without any mention of the club or his political power. Frank, when normal, was not all that cool, Regina thought; he still had a certain wit about him, but it seemed to come from social obligation and not any genuine interest in who he was talking to, not unless they were one of his friends.

"He just is."

"I know you've been spending a lot of time together, can you tell me about that?" Juliet looked at Frank, making sure he was out of earshot—Mr. T was writing something on a miniature whiteboard for Frank in Chinese she couldn't recognize as he explained something to him too quietly to be overheard—and continued:

"I've been trying to get him to work less; I had always thought all this came naturally to him, but he seems to be somewhat of a workaholic. It's a struggle to get him to go out to lunch with me or relax; I've started playing Scrabble against him, even though he still beats me every time, to trick him into relaxing under the guise of 'practicing vocabulary recall.' At least I'm getting better at that."

"You're talking like you two are an old couple now."

"Well, I wish, but we're just two friends who spend an awful lot of time together."

"So that's why you never have time for any of us..." Regina chided.

"Don't take any personal offense at this, Regina, but I'm really busy. With the club, with president stuff, with cheer, with everything."

"You're not so busy that you don't drag Frank to dinner with you; mooching off his debit card, aren't we?"

"He pays in cash everywhere, which I find funny if not a bit weird, but your point still stands. I enjoy quality time and relax a little, he thinks he's still doing work even when he's hopefully increasing his serotonin levels or whatever; it's a win-win!"

"What do you mean by 'he thinks he's still doing work?' Are you lying to him?" It surprised Regina less that Juliet was practicing her own applications of good person theory than that Frank was falling for whatever she was doing.

"If he thought we were going simply for fun anywhere, there's no way he would ever cooperate. So I started calling them 'working lunches.' That did the trick. It's like boring dating, really, but I'm having my fun and he's maybe having his." Juliet finished with a smug smile, like she had just let Regina in on a big secret, and went back to work.

"One more thing, Juliet. What do you think about the dress code? I know that's been the hot topic these days."

"It's a great idea, like all of Frank's. Technically it was Ms. Foster's, but I choose to give credit to Frank. He deserves it."

"Do we need to talk, Juliet? Even freshman year when I was perhaps a bit too into John, I didn't credit him for being able to talk to birds, being able to levitate through sheer willpower, and inventing calculus."

"I said none of those things, Regina, but you do know Frank took calculus as a freshman, right? I can't believe that at all, but it happened. Who's to say that other impossible things can't be credited to him too?" Armed with a new mutual understanding, they went back to work.

Jason did not have his own office, as he was content commandeering a desk in the engineering lab that was safely away from any sawdust and sharp blades; as nobody else used the space while he was there, he considered it close enough to the real thing. Today, like any other day, he had a sheaf of complaints to work through, some from his own "secret police" (really just his robotics team, who had always sympathized with Frank's desire to explore the club and helped out when they could) and some from other students who considered themselves law-abiding. They ranged from mundane complaints about litter to the absurd: apparently some freshmen had taken down one of his posters, something about thinking impure thoughts, and burned it after hours. This account was corroborated by the whistleblower's photos of the poster's curled, charred edges having survived the grisly fate that befell the pile of ashes and embers next to it. If Jason were feeling particularly equitable, he would try to verify these reports before recommending punishment, but he also thought it important to build a habit of immediate reaction; otherwise, more people could start thinking their actions did not have consequences. Defacing school property was a crime, and altogether injurious to morale, so Jason forwarded the report to the school resource officer (the police officer on campus, except that too many parents became concerned with the former name, and thus the principal hoped this would quell their complaints) and carried on. There were always embarrassingly trivial reports too, ones that Jason was truly unable to investigate. He had no hope of verifying that someone used a real curse word instead of a school-sanctioned substitute; it probably did happen, but all he could do was mark them as having received a demerit. Jason thought his work was anything but honest—unlike Alan, he saw no need to conceal his new fondness for historical roleplay, and he wasn't trying to prove anything to the student council anyway. Frank knew he was no ideologue, but given how quickly he offered himself up as chief propaganda officer, that difficulty was easily brushed away. Jason did not plan on leaving for the rally early. He would rather blend in with the crowd and admire his planning from afar.

Alan toddled into Jason's space without an appointment, which demanded a brusque "What?" from Jason.

"Are you ready for the rally? It's going to be so fun, like the biggest rally we've ever had."

"Attendance is mandatory, right?"

"How else would we make it fun? Do you think people will ditch, Jason? Empty seats look bad on camera."

"People always ditch. Round up the usual suspects. We'll take care of them before they even know they want to leave." Mr. Ivanov had explained the concept of "thoughtcrime" to Jason earlier when trying to dissuade him of yet another dystopian vision, or how dissenting thoughts alone could be punishable without any deed to back them up. Jason did not have the technical knowhow to design brain implants or microchips, but he certainly could do the next best thing, checking known troublemakers' text messages through TigerTalk to see if any of them planned on quitting. Beyond punishing them, Jason would leave menacing messages on their phones' home screens telling them exactly what they did wrong. Jason considered styling himself "Big Brother," but instead chose to call himself "The Administration" in such vague terms that when the pitchfork-wielding mob descended upon the school, he could escape personal blame.

Alan looked upon Jason with impatience while he listlessly scrolled through his data looking for further signs of dissent. He had not bothered to play around with TigerTalk's cornucopia of features after discovering he could not spy on Juliet. All this technical stuff bored him. It, and everything else Jason insisted on handling judiciously and cleverly, ran counter to his short attention span and the very fiber of his morality. He was never quite still; there was always a tapping foot somewhere or the impatient opening and closing of a hand.

"Are you done yet?" Alan asked a few times, once every minute or so, until Jason put out his hand and shouted "Enough!".

"I emailed you the list, Alan. I hope you're happy now."

"See, Jason? That wasn't so bad at all. Work on that attitude in the future; you know what Frank always says, turn that smile upside down!" Alan went off in a hurry so he could be early to his rally—yes, clearly his very own rally, just to honor him!—and Jason reluctantly followed.

As promised, the gymnasium was indeed full; the people who claimed they were sensitive to noise were given expensive noise-cancelling headphones and told they could stand by the door. Alan saw the audience of suits and ties actually smiling and cheering and resisted the urge to cry. He always tried to fit in before, not quite knowing where to sit or what was going on, and he saw the club as an opportunity to finally be ahead of the game; it reinforced a notion he'd always had that he was better than "those" people, even if simply because they didn't give him the time of day ordinarily. A good person practiced stealth: they blended in, sticking to those they could trust in what was otherwise a vast ocean. But what was this vast ocean was one of friendly faces? Frank had mentioned before the idea of the "third wave," which was what they were doing now: each wave climbed in intensity, their sophomore year being forceful if constrained, and slowly over time spilling out and sweeping over the school. Awe-inspiring, if he said so himself, and the fact that he was partially responsible for the pageantry made it that much better.

When Frank made his triumphant entrance from a supply closet, some of his buddies in the audience started chanting his name, and to their astonishment, it spread.

"Holy Bosnia-Herzegovina, they're chanting my name!" he muttered to himself as he walked toward the podium, practicing the classic point-and-wave to keep the masses happy. When he got to the podium, he did his classic conductor's gesture, and the crowd turned silent. As usual, he had a speech prepared: "Tigers! Take a look around you. Everyone looks the same at first, right? Look more closely. Every outfit is unique in its own way, even simply because of the person who's wearing it. That is what our school has become: everyone united around one ideology, but still with that personal touch to make it just a bit more human. We have succeeded at what we originally set out to do: we have proven that as a school, we can change for the better. But who are we to stop here? Leadership has many festivities planned, and as you can see our cheer team is getting ready to perform; just because things are run a bit differently now doesn't mean we're going to ruin the rallies. Alan has a bit to say, and then we'll be back to your usual, familiar schedule."

Alan took the stage next, and just as he was starting to summarize the minutiae of the new dress code and all the other policies that people weren't doing quite right, his eyes wandered over to the Beta section, where Tom and Regina proudly sat in one of the front rows in tank tops; they glared at Alan, daring him to do something.

"As an example of the disobedience we are trying to crush out, I'd like everyone to take a look over here, where I'm pointing." Hundreds of eyes turned toward Tom and Regina, who were still maintaining their stoic expressions. The same rabble-rousers from before started booing and jeering. "Do we want these cockroaches to breed and multiply and infect the entire school with their sexual deviancy?" Alan shouted, and the crowd responded with an equally loud "No!". Frank was confused—calling them sexually deviant seemed like a stretch—but as this was such a poignant moment otherwise, he joined in.

"After all we have done to make this school a better place, do we want some stinky little toddlers throwing a temper tantrum? Tom Langley and Regina Wang, please stand up and come here. I want all the school to see the little snot-rags that think they're too good for us."

"Shut up, Alan!" Tom yelled, any signs of former friendship completely gone.

"Seize them and bring them to the principal's office!" Alan barked at some of his burly comrades, who were repaying Frank for his previous academic mentorship and really found all of this a hoot. They marched over to where Tom and Regina were still stoically standing, unashamed of their misconduct, and forcefully grabbed them both and effectively dragged them through the gym.

"They're lying to you!" Regina shouted, and Tom followed up with a simple "F— you Alan!". Once they had left, Alan asked: "Could we get a round of applause for our noble student volunteers? Without them, we would not be able to root out those harlots and their sympathizers. I am sure we will have nothing else to worry about now, right? After all, we are good people," and the crowd started cheering. Alan resumed from there, hoping that no other outbursts would occur. In the corners of the gymnasium, the teachers looked at each other aghast.

"I told you this would happen," Mr. Ivanov told Ms. Liu, who appeared conflicted but not quite to the point of anger.

"Of course it would happen. We all knew that. But I didn't see you remove Tom and Regina as they entered."

"If they knew it was going to happen, why didn't Jason use his spyware and cut the problem off at its root? That's not very Stalinist." Ms. Liu rolled her eyes—Mr. Ivanov used "Stalinist" as a catch-all term to refer to anything he disliked, about Heller or society as a whole (he skewed a bit libertarian).

"The point of this, Igor, is to set an example for everyone else. I saw Frank's eyes wander as he went on stage; he sees everything. And I bet he could have simply pointed and they'd have been removed immediately. But he took advantage of Alan's zeal to make a bigger spectacle of the entire thing, and I bet now nobody will even think to disobey them." Ms. Liu would have complained if Alan were targeting the people sitting in the Epsilon wing, but Tom and Regina were still Betas. They'd be fine.

Ms. Liu lingered after the rally, in all its otherwise-ordinary normality, to congratulate Frank on a performance well-done. Frank was popping balloons one-by-one with a sharpened pencil, and did not seem to find Ms. Liu's joke about a balloon massacre particularly funny.

"This didn't turn out badly at all. I'll take it."

"So, Frank, Mr. Ivanov and I were trying to settle an argument: did you know about Tom and Regina's protest before it happened?"

Frank thought for a moment, spinning his pencil idly in his hand. "Of course I knew. But really, I was hoping that Alan wouldn't mention it. I still had that morbid curiosity, my classic poor judgment, but maybe the illusion of unity is better than the truth. I think he handled it well though, better than I would have in the moment."

Ms. Liu grimaced. "He called them harlots. You'd have done worse than that?"

"Maybe I wouldn't have. There's something innately satisfying, and I know you probably won't admit it, in seeing two people who have had everything go absolutely right for their entire lives through nothing but family legacy face the brunt of systemic justice. Machines are inexorable things, they keep grinding their gears no matter what gets trapped inside. Now, you can call me a hypocrite for saying that with a straight face while simultaneously implementing a system from Brave New World, but maybe it's better that people discriminate against each other based on artificial constraints now rather than their race or sexuality."

"Maybe it is. Enjoy your balloon slaughter. Keep up the good fight," Ms. Liu remarked, and she left to the faculty room—pizza was on the menu, a personal favorite. She checked TigerTalk out of curiosity, and Tom and Regina were already demoted to Epsilons. A slice of humble pie for them while she ate her pizza pie; was that justice? Close enough.

Discussion Questions:

Analyze the discussion of the new dress code; what greater symbolic relevance does this and the other triviality possess?

Consider this quote: "Schools have a responsibility to teach their students what's right and wrong." Do you agree? Do you think Frank does an effective job at this?

Looking once again at the bureaucracy behind the club, why do Jason and Alan disagree so frequently? Which other characters express unique attitudes regarding the club?