Free Brutal Youth by Anthony Breznican Page A

secret scholarships for the hurt students—secret to prevent every enrollee from claiming psychological scarring. Luckily, the child who was most seriously wounded—the boy Davidek and Stein had rescued—came from a family with a near slavish devotion to the school, and they had helped coordinate the legal arrangements to keep everything hush-hush. It was a wealthy and influential family (made more wealthy by the payments they arranged, of course), but they had helped suppress the full story in the local newspaper, shielding the school’s reputation … somewhat. That had cost a significant payout, too.
    Only one student involved in the incident hadn’t returned, and he was the one Sister Maria knew she had failed the most—The Boy on the Roof, himself. Mr. Zimmer had been the one who saved St. Michael’s in that regard, and not just by grabbing the boy in the midst of his plunge. He had arranged something for the boy and his family that no one else could. He had settled the ugliness once and for all. The boy had disappeared. The boy’s family was satisfied. St. Michael the Archangel soldiered on.
    But they had paid for it. Paid mightily. Now Sister Maria was asking for more money.
    “So how many more deranged students should we budget for this year?” Father Mercedes asked. He stubbed out his cigarette on the bottom of a pew, then looked in vain for a place to dispose of the butt.
    “I thought perhaps, given the circumstances, the diocese might consider offering us a small—,” Sister Maria began, but Father Mercedes cut her off.
    “The diocese isn’t going to give us any more money; it collects money. And we are becoming more valuable as real estate. Would you like to see St. Michael’s become another community theater, or a Taco Bell?” The dead ember in his hand wavered near her face.
    “The school is St. Michael’s identity,” the nun said quietly.
    “The empty field out there is our identity now,” he said. “St. Michael’s is the church without a church. The parish that could not rebuild itself.” His eyes scanned the gymnasium chapel with unmasked disgust. “If you want to keep this school, you’d better force these students to become something worth saving,” he said. “Frankly, a lot of parishioners believe you’re the worst principal we’ve ever had at St. Mike’s. Do you like the idea of being the last one, too?”
    The nun closed her eyes. The priest was waiting for an answer. “No,” she said finally.
    “Good.” He nodded. “Then we’re going to see some changes around here, yes?” He reached out his hand, and the nun shook it reluctantly. “Take care of that for me,” he said.
    As the priest left her, the silence of the empty school returned, that great after-hours stillness she had once found calming. For the first time, Sister Maria felt lost there—and, finally, afraid.
    She sat down in the pew, opening the hand that had just shook the priest’s.
    In her palm was the blackened stub of his cigarette.

 
    PART II
    Our Turn

 
    SIX
     
    “I was dead,” said a kid at the freshman lunch table. “These senior guys slammed my tie in a locker and then put on the lock!” Davidek didn’t know the name of the boy telling the war story. School was just a couple of weeks in, and he still didn’t know everybody.
    Green did: “Well, what’d you do, Mikey?”
    “I was screaming for help, and the old French-teacher nun came out and made them unlock me,” the kid told the serious faces around him. “If she hadn’t come out, I would’ve been stuck there for good.”
    Stein was chewing a cookie. “Or until you figured out you could just loosen the loop around your neck and slip it off.”
    The boy telling the story hung his head. “I didn’t think of that,” he said quietly.
    The freshman boys had finished their lunches, but no one was leaving the table. It was cool down here in the cafeteria, and safe—while outside, in the scorching September sun, the seniors had