Cooper.

Six.

Fifteen minutes into class, and Jackson still isn't here. There's twenty high school students who are growing increasingly agitated, and regardless of this being an AP class, if we're left to our own devices any longer, someone's going to die, either of boredom or as a result of shenanigans.

This revelation does not include me, of course. I won't die. I'm sitting peacefully in my seat, resting my head on my arms, tapping my foot impatiently as the sounds of my fellow students throwing balled up papers at each other grow more and more aggressive.

"Hey, Laura, how long is your A Brave New World essay?" Calls a girl from the back of the room.

"Eleven pages. Bare minimum, you feel?" I respond, not looking back.

"Yeah. Mines eleven, too. Just checking."

Just then, the door starts to creak open, and the warring students are back into their respective seats in seconds, the paper balls somehow having disappeared.

Mr. Jackson, a tall, scrawny man with neat chocolate brown hair and sarcastic sienna eyes, enters the classroom, accompanied by none other than Blondie from the lobby.

"Good morning, class." His voice is strained, and his movements as he strides over to his metal desk are jerky and angry. He grabs the whiteboard eraser from his desk and swipes the riddle off of the board whilst Blondie watches approvingly. "How are you all today?"

"Why are you erasing the riddle?" A student in a green tee and black leggings asks.

I can feel everyone's eyes flash to the blonde woman just a few feet away from me. "It promotes creative thinking, you know, thinking outside of the box. And the Director says that thinking creatively is dangerous." She looks to Mr. Jackson, who's lips are pressed into a thin, firm line. "I suppose you'll have this class meeting the standards in no time, Mr., Jackson, is it?"

He says nothing. Does nothing. His arms are crossed, but his fingers tense up, as if he wants to put up his dukes and punch her.

She smiles her practiced, plastic smile. "Excellent. Global thanks you for your cooperation."

She turns on her heel and walks out of the room, the sound of her high heels clicking against the ground continuing to echo although the door has already shut behind her. Mr. Jackson stares stoically at the ground, grinding his teeth, his jaw moving side to side rhythmically.

"Erm, Mr. Jackson?" Trevor says quietly, causing our teacher to slowly look up at him. "Where do you want us to turn in our essays?"

Ice jets throughout my veins as the look on his face etches itself into my mind.

Hate. Anger. Sadness. Desperation. His eyes, so bright and jovial the last time we'd sat in his class, were brimming with hatred and desperation now, just days later. His lips remain pressed together, his chin trembling, as if he was holding back sobs.

"I don't want you kids to turn them in." His baritone is quiet, nearly imperceptible.

I glance around the room, and I can actually feel the shared shock in the room, quivering in the air.

"What do you mean, sir?" Trevor's voice cracks, his distress forcing its way into his speech. "We spent three weeks-"

"I'm not allowed to teach you guys A Brave New World anymore. Nor are we going to cover 1984 or Fight Club."

"Why not?" A redheaded girl on the other side of the room squeals, her light eyebrows drawn together.

Mr. Jackson's shoulders sag. "I can't say." He looks down again, his body gently quivering. "I also need you all to throw out your copies of those books. Don't turn them into the school. Don't keep them. Throw them away."

"Why?" The class crows together, a few chairs squeaking as students jerk forwards or backwards in their seats.

"We paid for these!"

"I was so excited to read Fight Club-"

"I don't undetstand-"

"Enough!" Mr. Jacksons voice thunders throughout the classroom, and students return to their seats and we all fall silent. "I was ordered to tell you guys these things. Trust me, I didn't want to change the units. I also, however, don't want to lose my job." A hush falls over us as our teacher sits in his swivel chair. "GlobalInc has completely changed the curriculum. We're not I'm control of what you guys learn anymore. This company is."

"What do you mean you don't want to lose your job?" The senior student intern, Alec Grimes, asks from the corner, closing the copy of Fight Club that sits on his desk.

Jackson sighs. "I'm not supposed to say."

"Oh come on!" We all cry out, throwing our heads back, slamming hands down on desks, scooting seats. The unrestlessness is tangible.

"If I don't follow the curriculum, I will lose my job." He says quietly.

"But," I gather strength for my own voice, "why do you have to change the curriculum? Why are we switching to their curriculum?"

His deep brown eyes search my face as he hunches over, his posturing aging him twenty years beyond his late twenties. "Do you guys want the truth?"

We all seem to lean in, the classroom falling so silent that I felt as if I could hear all of our heartbeats, thumping together in twenty different rhythms.

Jackson rolls his chair to the front of the room, sitting dead center, his huge hands clasped together, pressed to his mouth as if he was praying. "Global is afraid."

We start tittering, confused, like a swarm of agitated wasps.

"Global is afraid of change. Of uniqueness. Of individuality. Of bravery. Of the people realizing exactly the kind of world we live in now. That's why they're buying out countries." He's speaking fast. "GlobalInc wants to make everything and everyone the same. They are trying to weed out who they deem dangerous. They are trying to get you all to think the same."

He clenches his fingers, and he's speaking a million miles an hour now. "They're starting with what you learn. That's why they're cutting artistic programs. That's why they're cutting curriculums. That's why they want us to burn our books. A Brave New World, 1984, Fight Club, all of those books have content that scares them. They're afraid you'll learn. They're afraid you'll rise up. They are afraid of you."

"But why?"

He shakes his head side to side. "I don't know why they're afraid. I don't know why they want everyone to be the same. Their motto is 'Change the World, for the Greater Good,' but nothing that they're implementing is good for anyone but them."

As Mr. Jackson falls silent, so do we. The air is heavy and thick with sadness. He sighs, then continues to speak. He looks to us, making eye contact with each of us.

"Do not break under them. Stick to your guns. Don't let them break you. Don't do it. Keep dreaming. Keep doing." He stands up abruptly, causing a few kids to jump in their seats. "Now, we have to cover grammar instead."

The rest of the day follows without an incident similar to what happened in English, although all of the faculty members seem unbearably on edge. Addie's mother checks her out before lunch. Gwen had apparently ditched after first period. I eat alone.

I go home to an empty house. Mom and dad are spending the night with Aunt Cassidy. I fix myself a sandwich and take a bubble bath. Go to bed. I can't bear to watch the news after today.

The following morning, everyone at school is quiet and solemn. Neither Addie nor Gwen is here.

In English, we learn that Mr. Jackson was fired.