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By Dan Frioli "Sometimes I wish this place would burn down." John knew he'd said the wrong thing before he even finished speaking. Funny thing was, he hadn't even meant to. It had just sort of . . . popped out. A shocked hush fell over the room (B107, Chemistry) as students looked up from their experiments. "Mister Daniels!" Oh, great. Mandrake had heard him. "Are you suggesting something?" "No, Mister Mandrake." "I believe that sort of comment is rather inappropriate, considering the surroundings, don't you?" John had witnessed this little drama in Mandrake's class countless times. With a sinking feeling, he recited the line that he knew was expected of him. "Yes, sir." "I don't think you do. I think you need a lesson." The scene was playing out exactly as expected. "Detention. Wednesday." Climax. Curtain. Now all that was left was curtain call. "Yes, Mister Mandrake." * * * The problem with the whole situation, of course, was the paranoia school officials had felt ever since the shootings had begun. It had started with a few isolated incidents of revenge and escalated to what self-satisfied newscasters were calling an "epidemic." The real panic began when the so-called "nice" kids began shooting up their schools. Before that, teachers had kept their eyes on the students who dressed in black, dyed their hair, and practiced Wicca. Which was ridiculous. Some of John's best friends fit that description. But suddenly, anyone was a potential psychopath. And so otherwise normal students were being punished for saying things that students had been saying for years. Book bag searches became a way of life. And then they installed
the cameras.
"What's the point?" asked George between bites of his turkey sandwich, "I mean, how're those cameras gonna stop someone from shooting the place up?" "They can't," came Tracy's answer, "It's just a liability thing. That way they can't get sued for not being prepared." "Okay," came a voice from down the table, "so here's the question: do they have some little guy in a room somewhere watching everything that's going on?" Tracy had the answer. "Nah, Brian, they just tape everything." "Then what the hell's the point?!" spat John. George looked around conspiratorially. "Hey, watch your language. Big Brother is watching!" He smiled and waved to the camera that just happened to be aimed at the table at which they customarily ate. "You know what gets me?" added Laura, "None of this could stop someone who really wanted to get a weapon in here. Heh, sometimes I'm tempted to bring in a knife just to spite them." John laughed. "Well, why don't you?" "What, you think I'm some kind of moron? I don't wanna get kicked out!" "Then I will." Brian leaned forward. "Yeah, me too." "Hey, count me in." "I'll do it." "I'm there." And so it began. They knew from the beginning that the Game would have to be secret, and that certain rules would have to be imposed. Substitutions had to be found. A butter knife was okay, and so was a squirt gun. Since CD players weren't allowed in school, they represented explosives. A lighter was a can of mace, a large box of matches was a taser, and so forth. All of these things could get them in trouble, but not enough to get them suspended or expelled. It was, after all, only a game. A player scored a point when he or she displayed a weapon to at least three other players. No player could bring the same weapon in twice. The Game would end when one player had produced one of each type of weapon. Simple. Tracy was the first to score when she brought in a lighter. "But," she pointed out, "I just carried it in my pocket." "Hey, that's fine," said George, "You took advantage of a serious security problem." Tracy reluctantly agreed. The second point belonged to Brian. "How'd you get it in?" asked Laura as he displayed his butter knife. "Simple. I wore it under an Ace bandage." And so it went. "Weapons" were smuggled in, points were scored, and the only casualty was John's Discman, which was confiscated by Mister Ericson, the Assistant Principal. Fortunately for the players, nobody ever found their "knives" and "tasers." Only George remained scoreless. "But just wait. I'm gonna pull a stunt that'll knock your socks off." * * * John groaned when he saw the crowd of students gathered around the school's main entrance. What was it this time? A fight? He asked the one of the students in back. "You're not gonna believe it," said the kid, a little Freshman, "They put in metal detectors." Suddenly, John was glad he had decided to bring his "taser" today. It was probably the only "weapon" that didn't have any metal in it. He reached into his pocket and turned the matchbox over in his hand. "Well, I guess that's
it."
John, Tracy, Brian, Laura and George sat at their table. "So who won?" Laura wanted to know. Brian looked up from his pad. "Near as I can tell, it was Tracy. She brought in four weapons. Then me, I got three, and John and Tracy both had two. George, you just sucked." "Now wait. I said I'd do something big. Well, look at this!" George opened his jacket to reveal a gun. A real, hard, black gun. "How . . . ." "Simple. I knocked on the cafeteria door and someone let me in. No metal detector there." "George, you moron! Put that thing away!" hissed Tracy--too late. A scream cut through the buzz of conversation that filled the cafeteria. John whirled around and saw a girl pointing at George. "A gun! He's got a gun!" Suddenly the great room was filled with screams and shouts as people scrambled to escape. Trays were thrown aside or abandoned in the mad flight. A book flew through the air, striking George in the back. He flinched. A loud report echoed through the emptying cafeteria. And Tracy fell. George dropped the gun with a clatter. He slowly sank to his knees. "Oh my God." And then the cafeteria was empty. Even John, Laura and Brian had fled at the sound of the shot. George was alone. "Tracy!" He ran to her body and tried to find a pulse. Nothing. Her eyes were open but seemed to be missing something. He held her hand. The fingers were already cold, and he let it drop with a sob. Slowly, George turned around. And saw the gun. And the police found
two bodies in the cafeteria.
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"A Most Unusual Game"
©2000 by Dan Frioli
Please do not reproduce this story in whole or in part
without my permission.