All Good Children - Catherine Austen [57]
Everyone turns to stare at Monster Max.
I have to admit, it’s a good argument. I never thought goofing around might send someone to throwaway school. He should have told me that my first detention.
He blathers about the importance of home support strategies, which he’s sure are lacking in my life. “Nesting makes the children receptive to the tools of learning, but it’s up to us to shape them into excellent students.”
Mom’s hand shoots up. “So is it the treatment or the reinforcement that determines their behavior?”
The principal nods like she’s finally catching on. “It’s the reinforcement. The treatment makes them open to it.”
“So they would behave in any way we promoted?”
Mr. Graham glances at a black-suited man on the stage behind him, then says, “In a manner of speaking.”
Mom persists. “So we could train them to do almost anything?”
“No, you’re misunderstanding.” Mr. Graham smiles. “Let’s move on now. We have more to discuss tonight than the concerns of just one parent.”
He amazes the audience with pie charts of cost savings and bar graphs of academic achievements. “Chemrose practically donated the treatments,” he says. “We barely had to pay half the cost.” The audience claps while the black-suited man bows.
“How much was paid, exactly?” Mom asks.
Mr. Graham pretends he doesn’t hear. Nearby parents glance our way and laugh. Their sons and daughters stand stiffly beside them, staring at the stage.
“This is the best thing we have ever done for our children,” the principal says. “I know we’d do it even if the cost of education increased. It’s in the interests of our students to keep their marks up so they can remain entitled to the privilege of coming here. Or to the trade schools. Jobs are coming and companies need workers who will work.”
Clap, clap, clap, pause, clap, clap, clap. You’d think the adults had been dosed. “You don’t want them disadvantaged in this competitive world,” they all say through the coffee and donuts.
“I heard that the top student in each class doesn’t get the treatment,” a woman says beside me. “Is that true?” She’s talking to Coach Emery, who shrugs as if it has nothing to do with him.
I catch Brennan’s eye, but he quickly looks away.
“I’m sorry Nesting hasn’t impressed you,” a man says behind us. It’s the black suit from the stage. He’s tall and handsome with a wide face and close-cropped hair. He smiles and extends his hand to Mom. “I’m Bill Walters from Chemrose.” I stare at him with more interest than a zombie ought to show.
“We sometimes have problems with subjects already taking stimulating medications,” he says, like that’s what’s wrong with me. “The treatment works on the central nervous system and there’s sometimes an adjustment period. The patch can be mildly sedating, but don’t worry. The body will find its balance. Your son’s attention will soon come into focus and his marks will improve. Nested children are extremely dedicated to their studies.”
“But they lose initiative,” Mom says.
He nods. “That’s one of the benefits. Untreated students often initiate activities that aren’t productive in the classroom.” He lays his hand on my shoulder and looks at me like I’m terminally ill and there’s no hope at all. “His body’s chemistry is working out its harmony. I’m sure you’ll see improvement soon. And keep in mind that this is a pilot project. If the results prove that the treatment should be discontinued, we’ll discontinue it immediately.” He smiles and moves on through the crowd.
Everyone who goes to school is lucky, I read on the school notice board. All of my classmates are my friends. There is nothing more important than completing my work.
Mom reads over my shoulder. “We have to stop this,” she whispers.
I snort. “It’s a little late for that epiphany.”
She stares off into some private distance. “I remember when we first conceived you, Max. The first match was a girl with