Breaking Rank
Chapter One
It wasn't the mystery that finally pulled Casey in, though curiosity could have been enough—if living with the shadow of the Clan hadn't been so much like having a time bomb planted in the middle of the kitchen.
It wasn't romance either—for Casey, who was a nice girl, there shouldn't have been anything remotely romantic about the Clan. To the level-headed folk in her practical-minded little northeastern town, the Clan was decidedly strange, which made it seem just as decidedly threatening. No matter how quiet the Clan remained, decent people called it “lurking,” and kept half an eye there, just in case.
No, for Casey, it was—at least in the beginning—purely a matter of doing the right thing.
Over the years, several agencies had tried to deal with the Clan, but the Clan made no deals. It stood apart, like an odd, fervent religion, and held its own against everything. The few Clan in the community at large kept to themselves, but did their jobs with uncommon competence. All of the members were young—most school age—and exclusively male, with no racial distinction. The common denominator seemed to be area of town, which could have meant geographical location or income level or both.
Whatever else the members might have had in common, there was a definite behavioral code that seemed to bind them all together. The most obvious thing was that they all wore black, except for bracelets of intricately braided threads—mostly black, but with one color or another shot through the black in what was evidently a deliberate pattern. The hair varied, but the distinct Clan mark was the tiny, bead tipped braid they always wore at the left temple, another pattern of deliberate color.
The schools had tried to address this, hoping to break up a social aberration on its fundamental level by enforcing dress codes, but the Clan serenely ignored any such efforts. The schools had then threatened expulsion, but expulsion didn't bother the Clan, nor did threat of parent conferences or, really, anything else; it didn't seem the school could take anything away from the Clan that it cared about losing. Certainly the young Clan were in school, obeying the law; no one could call them truant.
Perhaps the most disturbing thing about them was their silence. The young ones never spoke on the school grounds. Never laughed. Never mocked, even with their eyes. Never even threatened. It was rare to see them talking, even among themselves in other places—though, in the course of business, the older ones seemed articulate enough when they needed to be.
As uncomfortable as its presence made people, no real action had ever been taken against the Clan, simply because the Clan had never done anything that could justify real action. It's members weren't openly violent or destructive or anti-law; they simply existed. And maybe that was what scared people the most—waiting to see what the Clan would finally do. But for twelve years, the Clan had done nothing. Literally nothing. The remedial classes were rife with Clan because their grades were a resounding baseline; no one in the Clan ever lifted a pencil in class except to draw pictures which no teacher ever got to see. No Clan member ever answered questions. Not one of them ever opened a book. The Clan just sat. Hour after hour. It nearly drove the teachers out of their minds. Every year, a new teacher would come in, fresh out of college and ready; half-way through the year, he'd be looking for a transfer.
And through all the twelve years if its existence, there was no known record of any normal kid having shared so much as eye contact with a Clan member. Never a conversation—certainly, never a relationship of any kind.
Which is why, when Mr. Hall, head councilor at Feynman High, unveiled his Great Idea right in the middle of Casey's living room, Casey's parents were utterly dumbfounded.
Casey's mother gasped, "You’re not serious."
But he was. "Just let me tell you about Thomas Fairbairn," he said, holding up one hand and scooting out to the edge of his chair. And then he explained the trap he had laid during testing, isolating each of the Clan carefully in the midst of a mass of other students hoping, he said, that if none of the other Clan could see, one of them just might get the courage to take the tests. And sure enough, one had. Now, Mr. Hall trotted out those test scores—which were more than a little impressive.
"Which is why," he went on quickly, "we need Casey. If we're ever going to have a prayer of integrating this kid, we're going to need a mentor, somebody who's bright enough and aggressive enough to stay ahead of him, somebody the kids like—who can grease the wheels on the social thing. Casey's the natural choice—she's kind, she's open, she communicates clearly—and she's got a good bite of her own."
All of which sent Casey sliding down into her chair, rolling her eyes. Not that she hated hearing it—ust that she was embarrassed about liking to hear it.
The talk flowed on around her, Mr. Hall pleading, her parents digging in their heels good and hard. "What about character?" her mother demanded. "Do you know anything about his character?"
"I know that his mother is a very good woman," Mr. Hall offered, "and that she'd do whatever it takes to pull her kid out of this mess."
Which brought everything to an awkward pause. After that, it was a matter of concessions—Mr. Hall assuring them that it would only be a few hours after school, only on school grounds, only with supervision. Nobody would give out Casey's address or phone number. That it would all be very cut-and-dried.
"You know it's not going to be that simple," was Casey's mother's answer. But in the end, "Shouldn't it be hers to say?" her father asked. And then they were all looking at Casey.
Who, in truth, thought the whole idea was very interesting.
"Well," Casey said, finally. "Didn't you always teach me I should help people when I can?" And that was pretty much that.
"There is a chance he won't want her," Mr. Hall pointed out as he pulled his coat on at the door.
"Yeah," Casey's mother said grimly. "There's always hope."
Which is how Casey came to spend almost all of Friday's third period stuck in the corridor just outside Mr. Hall's office door—while on the other side of that door, Mr. Hall valiantly worked at exorcising Thomas Fairbairn's demons, eloquently extolling the beauties of education and painting lurid pictures of the hell he called ignorance.
Of course, through it all, Thomas Fairbairn had not said one word.
At last Mr. Hall fell silent—a silence that stretched itself into an almost audible tension, broken only by the sounds of someone shifting uncomfortably on a chrome and plastic chair.
"All right, Fairbairn," Mr. Hall said finally, winding up. "This is the proposal: we take you off your present schedule and put you in the honors program."
There was a gasp.
"It won't be easy for you. But it can't be as hard as staring at those cinder block walls in Special Ed all day long. I don't understand how a mind like yours could stand the boredom." His chair protested—he was leaning into this. "I wouldn't be asking you to violate your silence if I didn't think you could pull it off—if I didn't believe this is what you wanted."
After a moment, there was a surprised laugh. A distressed laugh, all air.
Another long silence. Casey kept expecting the door to fly open, for that kid in there to come stalking out.
"Honors." Another wisp of a laugh—bitter this time.
Mr. Hall asked cannily, "Why not show them what you can do?"
"Everybody who counts," the other voice came finally, "already knows what I can do."
After a moment, Mr. Hall said, "Do they?"
Out in the empty corridor, Casey pulled her shoulders together and grimaced.
"Here's the deal," Mr. Hall went on. "You make the grades, and I can guarantee you entrance into any state school.”
Casey heard another sound, one that dripped skepticism. This boy shaped air so well, he didn't need words.
"And the financial aid is already in place." You could hear the satisfaction in Mr. Hall's voice.
"Look, Mr. Whatever" —the kid's voice was stiff—" The Clan doesn't believe in fairy godmothers. We never have."
Papers rustled—proof, handed across. And then it was quiet again.
"Signed by the Commissioner of Education," Mr. Hall declared, finally. "No fairy godmothers, Fairbairn; nobody's giving you anything. Except a chance for you to get yourself something you want."
"And what would that be?" Thomas Fairbairn asked then—so softly, she could barely hear it.
"Your mother told me you're going to work for your brother," Mr. Hall countered. "So, that's going to be your life? Head under a hood and grease on your hands?"
"Partners," the kid snapped. "It's honorable work."
"True." Mr. Hall lowered his voice. "But is it what you want, Thomas?"
Casey checked her watch and then put her head back against the wall.
"You don't know what you're asking," the kid said. But he'd lost; even Casey could tell that.
"Why did you take the test?" Mr. Hall asked him.
"It was a mistake," Fairbairn said.
"You could lose your friends," Mr. Hall guessed.
"Family," Fairbairn amended bitterly.
"Your mother," Mr. Hall mused, "whom you would have to consider, I believe, to be family, was in here not a month ago, in tears because she didn't know what to do with you. She'd know all about this if I could ever get hold of her. What do you think she'd be saying right about now?"
This was dead silence.
"People who love you want the best for you," Mr. Hall said quietly. "They're not going to choke you, or re-shape you, or stand in your way when you want something good. People who do that—it's not love, Thomas." He paused, then went on, more gently. "So this is going to cost you. But I ask again—why did you take the test?"
A chair creaked.
"You want to think about it a while?" Mr. Hall asked.
After a moment, the boy said, wearily, "No."
"Are you saying," Mr. Hall asked slowly, "that you accept the proposal?"
There was a sigh, full of shards and splinters. And then, evidently, a nod.
"All right," Mr. Hall said carefully, obviously stuffing down a great surge of energy. "We start on Monday morning." Papers rustled. Casey stood away from the wall, heart quickening; Mr. Hall was coming—she'd heard his chair move. "Here's your schedule—the teachers will be expecting you. There's a seat marked for you on every one of these seating charts. You walk in; you sit down. We're not going to make a target out of you if we can help it."
"This is absurd," the kid said desperately.
"Mr. Belnap will tutor you in math an hour before school every day. And you'll have a daily peer councilor session."
"Peer councilor—" the kid echoed unhappily.
Mr. Hall came through the door. Casey felt a terrible jolt of nerves. Mr. Hall made a victory fist and reached for her arm, waving her past him into the room. She had a death grip on her books.
"Thomas Fairbairn," Mr. Hall said, behind her in the open doorway. "This is Casey Willardson."
Casey wasn't sure what she had expected. The kid was jammed into Mr. Hall's extra chair, one arm lying insolently along the edge of the desk, everything about him hard as marble. That much was no surprise. But the longish brown hair was clean and healthy looking, and the black clothes were spotless. The little braided token at his wrist was an intricate weaving of black and yellow, and the tiny braid beside his left eye was tipped with black, green and yellow beads. He glanced at her—eyes a startling medium blue, and face the color of humiliation; he knew she'd heard every word of the whole thing. He looked away the moment their eyes might have met.
"You and Casey have exactly the same schedule until lunch. Her job is to be your guide and your afternoon tutor, which means, you put in an hour with her every afternoon, three fifteen, in the library. She's good. Don't blow it." Mr. Hall looked down at his watch. "Now, I've got to do some things before lunch. If you want to wait in here until the bell, you won't have to worry about passes. Okay? Welcome aboard, Fairbairn."
He was gone before the boy could have answered—which he made no move to do. Casey stood there in the now silent office, watching Thomas Fairbairn. He was messing with a paper clip, turning it over and over against the top of the desk. The color in his face hadn't gone down any. He wasn't going to look at her again. Not even the first time she spoke. Which she finally did because the silence was too terrible. z"I'll do everything I can to help you with this."
She got no answer.
Casey swallowed, her own face stiffening. "Look," she said. "So you're scared." For that, she finally got a hot, hateful glare. "Fine," she said, forcing herself to meet those eyes. "So am I." He looked away, and the paper clip continued its endless circling.
She let slip a mirthless little laugh, shifting her weight. And then she waited.
"Scared of me," he said finally, all disdain. "It's not like I'm going to hurt you."
"Right," she said, and laughed again.
"What is that?" he demanded angrily. "You don't know me."
"You like to think so," she said.
"Oh, really," he retorted. "Going for stereotypes, are we?"
"Each time you're embarrassed," Casey guessed, "you're going to punish me for it. I can hear it in your voice. I can see it in your face, in the way you're sitting there. You're proud, and you're scared. And I'm the one whose going to suffer for it."
They glared at each other.
"Then why are you here?" he asked her, pronouncing it all very deliberately.
Her chin came up a little. "Because Mr. Hall seems to think you're worth helping."
"Oh," he said, dripping sarcasm. "Well. Thank you."
"Oh," she said, matching him tone for tone, "well. You're welcome."
The bell rang.
"See you on Monday," she said, and she turned and left.
Halfway down the hall, she stopped. And then she turned and looked back at the door. He hadn't come out.
Somehow, it had gone wrong; the compassionate self she'd envisioned had somehow come out Casey In Your Face. Not that he'd helped any. Reluctantly, she made her way back toward the door, steeling herself for the apology she was going to have to make. No sound came from the office. She eased the door open.
He was still in the chair, elbow on the desk, the fingers of one hand pressed against his forehead. His eyes were closed.
She lost her courage and fled, leaving him there alone.
She saw him once more that day. Walking with Joanna on the way to fifth period, she passed him in the hall. Casey wondered how many other times she'd seen him without ever noticing. He was with some other Clan, all with their Clan faces carefully blank.
"Fairbairn," she said, and he looked up, almost startled out of “the face.” She gave him a wry little nod. He made no answer, but his eyes had seen her. Then he was gone.
"What was that?" Joanna asked her.
"The kid I told you about," Casey said. "My peer case."
"I don't care who it was," Joanna huffed. "You didn't tell me he was going to be Clan. Are you nuts? What was Mr. Hall thinking? You want to get yourself raped? You want people to think you're asking for it?"
"Excuse me?" Casey said, staring at her.
Joanna glared at her. "You know what I'm saying.”
"I just said hello to him," Casey pointed out, offended. "It's just tutoring, my gosh. Everybody needs a chance, Joanna."
"Oh, right. A chance. For what? No, don't preach at me. Fine. Whatever. Do what you want—just don't let it carry over into the hall, because you're not going to like what happens if you do." Joanna waved a hand. "And you don't have to get huffy with me, all right, because I don't make the rules."
"Joanna," Casey said reasonably, "it'll be okay. Nobody's going to make a big deal out of it."
Joanna laughed. "And you really believe that." She rolled her eyes. "Of course you do; you always think there's going to be a happy ending to everything. You know that's a character flaw." She narrowed her eyes at Casey. "I bet you're feeling like some kind of angel of deliverance or something, huh?" She shook her head and blew through her teeth. "I can just feel it coming—this is not going to be good."
**Find the book and read more!!
Copyrighted—Please do not reproduce, guys.