Free Love May Fail by Matthew Quick Page A

knew what sort of game was being played here.
    “How many of you wrote scathing reviews of your plane and its flight? Even worse—how many of you envisioned your planes crashing and burning before you even gave them a test flight?”
    He seemed to be searching all of our eyes at once, scanning us for lies.
    “You gotta believe once in a while, kids. That’s what I’m trying to tell you here. The world will try to crush that belief out of you. It will try its damnedest. ‘If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.’ Does anyone know who wrote that?”
    I raised my hand before I could stop myself. “Ernest Hemingway. It’s from A Farewell to Arms . We read it sophomore year.”
    “Very good. And do you believe that the world wants to break you?”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “This is your senior year, Ms. Kane. Next year you will be squarely in the real world. It’s important for you to understand these things. Imperative.”
    “What things?”
    “The cost of being strong.”
    “I’m not sure I understand.”
    “You will,” he said, looking directly into my eyes. “You will, Ms. Kane. I promise. You all will,” he said to the class. “And I know before I even begin that many of you will be consensus people. Herd members who will cower at the word test . People who look around the room before speaking or doing anything. But you can free yourself. There’s still time, kids. To be free. To tell Pavlov that you are not a dog. Do you want to be free? Do you?”
    Mr. Vernon paused too long—it made all of us feel uncomfortable. You could hear the red second hand ticking on the standard school clock hanging next to the American flag.
    “You all scored one hundred on your tests today. Every one of you starts the year with one hundred percent. And I’m a man of my word. That’s twenty-five percent of your grade already perfect. No homework tonight either. And no boring average predictable syllabus outlining what we may or may not do. Instead I offer you adventure. Who knows what lies around the curve for us? I promise you one thing only—it won’t be boring.”
    The bell rang, but no one made a move for the door.
    “When your head hits the pillow tonight, when you close your eyes, just before you drift off into your dreams, I want you to ask yourself these two questions, and answer honestly: Doesn’t Mr. Vernon give the best tests? And if day one was so interesting, what the hell will the rest of the school year be like? What was that word you used earlier, Mr. Hallaran? Assume? Makes an ass out of u and me, is the old cliché. Check your assumptions at the door tomorrowbefore you enter my domain. Ms. Kane, see me after class. The rest of you are dismissed!”
    I swallowed hard and remained seated as the rest of my classmates filed out.
    Mr. Vernon walked over toward me slowly, and then, with the fingertips of his right hand resting on my desk, he said, “Are you a fan of Greek drama?”
    “What?” I said.
    “Your T-shirt. The masks. Comedy and tragedy. Classic symbols, thousands of years old.”
    I looked down. “Um, this is a Mötley Crüe concert shirt. Theatre of Pain . ‘Home Sweet Home’? Mötley Crüe is a band.”
    “Those masks represent tragedy and comedy. Been around a lot longer than your assorted crew. Look it up. You’re smarter than you realize, Ms. Kane. You don’t have to pretend. Do you like Hemingway?”
    I shrugged, but inside I was pissed about the “smarter than you realize” comment. He didn’t know me. And he sure as hell didn’t have the right to talk to me like this—like he was my father or something. It