Tales From Heller

Pomp And Circumstance

As Pranav followed the train of dark-clad students up and down the bleachers, he had the nagging feeling he was escaping a slowly sinking ship. No, that was putting it too harshly: he had an important task the next year, to build a version of How To Be A Good Person Club sanitized for a college audience, free from any eccentricities Frank was bound to implement and regret, ready for Frank's class to graduate and join in what was bound to be an ideologically flawed but profitable scheme. So that, a tacit agreement that Frank wasn't going to ask what Pranav was doing beyond the big-picture idea until he was ready to join him, that Pranav also wasn't going to interfere in Heller's grand transformation unless it was necessary or funny, kept Pranav's eyes firmly on the road ahead.

There were other reasons for him to believe that Heller was a crumbling colossus, a balloon animal waiting to pop: the videographers had so far lost two camera drones, one tripod, and three phone cameras to a series of bizarre accidents that some speculated were a conspiracy by, well, it wasn't quite clear, but that there was a conspiracy they could all agree on. The first drone had been lost to an errant baseball from the field behind them, and the second had burst into flames and almost crashed into Mr. Ivanov, and before the videographers could send a third in the air, Mr. Kurtz ixnayed the entire idea—how important was it really to preserve this pivotal transitory moment for so many?

In a broader sense, the idea itself that he had talked with Frank privately and implemented a two-pronged plan that could come straight out of a movie indicated that Heller was falling, if there was even the shadow of a doubt that their schemes could work. Their meeting had come out of a desire to cover all contingencies: if Frank were to be seized with doubt or encounter grassroots rebellion, or if it proved harder than Pranav thought to create a competitive business club from nothing, the entire principle of being a good person would not be lost. Frank could always start over if Pranav failed, and Pranav could keep the college arm going to welcome any refugees from Heller who needed new identities and CV fodder. It was a perfect scheme, and one that Pranav approached with every single, reverberating step.

Many of Pranav's friends had approached him over the preceding days, asking if he was truly committed to crossing the Rubicon or if there was room for more allies. Yes, he said, he was committed: they had graduated from prohibiting bright colors to tracking down internships, and since it was what all the other college clubs were doing anyway, who was he to say no? And yes, there was always room for more, and as Frank solidified his team at Heller, Pranav created an intercollegiate team, spokes radiating from Mr. T's classroom.

The speeches that year were unremarkable, at least to Pranav: the class president, vice president, and a few assorted academic stand-outs delivered boilerplate remarks about transition and Heller values that he'd heard too many times before, and far better at that, at the club. What was the point of having those speeches anyway? He wanted his diploma, a round of applause from the parents, and to get out. A few scattered goodbyes to his favorite teachers, and he was out, cutting the thread to Heller. Now, of course, he was bound to maintain more connections to Heller than most of his year, but he saw no need for sentimental attachment: Heller was an incubator, a dry run, a microcosm. The fun memories he had, of water balloon fights and physics labs gone wrong, did not need to be repeated; practical ones, Mr. T's continued mentorship or cuts of Alan's investments, would remain no matter what he thought of Heller.

There was a value to tradition, to playing the traditional marches or moving the tassels, but Pranav wasn't feeling it in the moment, as he sat in the biting wind on a cold metal slab. Perhaps it was just that, the weather, or his mind already swimming with all that must be done in the future, but the present moment didn't matter much. It was his last opportunity to do as he was told, to stay in the crowd, to follow orders, to have no agency. And when he thought of it like that, why should he care? He was in the last moment of dark before the dawn, milling about with his hands behind his back before the Sun would light the path onward. Nobody cared about the dark: it was defined by anticipation, by impatience. With thoughts like these, he should have been the one giving the speeches!

Pranav didn't even care about the streaker who sprinted across stage with arms behind his back in a Naruto run, or the slight miscommunication with the band that resulted in Mendelssohn's "Wedding March" being played in the middle of Mr. Mudd's speech, or the balloon arch which broke free of its tyings and gleefully cavorted across the field before popping in a giant kaboom on the chain-link. Tomorrow was almost here—heck, it was here in an hour! The following morning, he had his first group call with his band of ten or so comrades, one of whom was going to Berkeley with him, with the rest spread across the country. There would be no room for sentiment then, beyond discussing what aspects of the current club deserved to be shared with a wider audience—a certain degree of extremist pedagogy was needed to sculpt high school students into merciless soldiers, but once they had reached that point, the theatrics could be replaced with greater things.

When Pranav descended the bleachers a free man, and went to talk to Frank, the only junior he saw in attendance, he had wished he had planned something wiser to say than "Good luck." That was wise in its own way, certainly, but he immediately regretted not preparing something better. It wasn't like Frank had anything better to say to him—all the high-level strategy had already taken place behind closed doors out of earshot of the other club members, with a few exceptions like Jason, and there was a mutual acknowledgement that the ships had already left the harbor. But "good luck," then, seemed to cover it as a trite cliché that meant nothing: Pranav didn't think he needed luck to execute his plan, and Frank believed that their path was foolproof—it was designed for fools!

Frank wanted to go home and eat dinner, and Pranav wanted to chat with his other friends and future conspirators. And so they parted ways, and a bit later, Pranav said goodbye to Heller.

Discussion Questions:

Does Pranav sound happy to leave Heller?

Clearly Pranav was successful in his plan to spread the club to universities based on what we've seen at UCLA; what does it say about his character that he was so intent on doing this?

Pranav says that once the club members get to college, "the theatrics could be replaced with greater things"—does it really seem like this has happened? Why might have things stayed the same?