Truancy Origins by Isamu Fukui Page A

very simple—immediate school banning of all items not pertaining to a student’s education. It would of course include any nasty recreational devices that students have been using to distract themselves.”
    â€œThat’s . . . quite a radical proposal, sir.”
    â€œAnd I think that’s exactly what we need right now. Small, subtle, incremental changes are fine, but our most effective experiments in controlling students have always been our boldest.”
    â€œWhat justification are we going to give for this?”
    â€œThe usual one. We’ll label the items a threat to student safety and be done with it.”
    â€œA threat to safety? Do you think they’ll buy that?”
    â€œNo one complained when we classified scissors and compasses as weapons.”
    â€œWell actually . . .”
    â€œNo one complained
officially.
”
    â€œSo how are we to enforce this?”
    â€œWith metal detectors and mandatory searches.”
    â€œWon’t that be . . . expensive?”
    â€œLike you said, we do have the budget for it.”
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    U masi sat there in stunned silence, one ear pressed tightly against the door to the conference room. Next to him, Zen quietly stood up to leave, an unreadable expression on his face. Not wanting to hear any more, Umasi held his glasses in place so that they wouldn’t fall off as he rose hastily and trotted after his brother. Zen paid him no attention, walking away wordlessly, his fists tightly clenched. His own head swimming, Umasi struggledto find something, anything to say that might make sense of what they’d just heard.
    â€œWhat . . . what are you going to do?” Umasi asked.
    â€œI’m going to get to the bottom of this,” Zen replied in a cold, hard voice.
    â€œZen . . .”
    At that, Zen spun around, and Umasi took a step back. Umasi had thought he knew his brother, but the face before him was a stranger’s. It wasn’t angry, it wasn’t sad—in fact it displayed no emotion at all. It was unpredictable, unreadable, and that scared Umasi. But what absolutely terrified him was the look in Zen’s dark eyes, a look that he had never seen before, one that screamed of danger, louder every second.
    And then Zen broke eye contact and stormed off, leaving Umasi to stand all alone, too stunned to notice the tears running down his cheeks.
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    E veryone’s here, yeah?”
    â€œI think so.”
    â€œZack, Raphael, James, Scar, Niles, Walker, Red?”
    â€œThey’re here, Chris, and so are all the others.”
    â€œWait a sec, what about Gil?”
    â€œGil? Anyone seen that kid?”
    â€œLast I saw him was two days ago.”
    â€œYeah, I ain’t seen ’im in a while either.”
    Chris seemed to ponder that for a moment, then shrugged.
    â€œHe knew where we were supposed to meet. He ain’t here, which means he’s either run off or dead,” Chris said. “Either way, he ain’t none of our business anymore.”
    There was a murmur of assent, and Red made a mental note not to be late to any of these little gatherings. Tonight the gang had taken refuge in an abandoned underground parking garage in District 8. Such areas were favored gathering places for vagrants, as they provided shelter from the elements, open space to build small fires inside garbage cans for heat, as well as a good hiding place from the Enforcers. In here the only dangers were usually each other.
    Chris and his gang might have working together to survive, but fights even within the group weren’t uncommon. A misunderstanding over a scrap of food, an attempted theft gone wrong, even verbal arguments that got out of hand—all of these could result in fights, and these fights often turned fatal. Red had been lucky so far, as he usually got along well with the other vagrants; he wasn’t obnoxious, had little that was worth stealing,