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Inhaltsangabe
Some kids were rebellious….
In an alternate world, in a nameless totalitarian city, the autocratic Mayor rules the school system with an iron fist. Fighting against the Mayor and his repressive Educators is a group of former students called the Truancy, whose goal is to take down the system by any means possible—at any cost.
Fifteen-year-old Tack is just trying to survive. His days are filled with sadistic teachers, unrelenting schoolwork, and indifferent parents. Things start to look up when he meets Umasi, a mysterious boy who becomes Tack's mentor.
Then someone close to Tack gets killed in the crossfire between the Educators and the Truants, and he swears vengeance. To achieve his purpose, he abandons his old life and joins the Truancy, looking for an opportunity to confront Zyid, its enigmatic leader. But Tack soon finds himself torn between his desire for revenge and his growing sympathy for the Truants…
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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor
Isamu Fukui wrote Truancy during the summer of his fifteenth year. The author's purpose is not just to entertain, but to make a statement about the futility of the endless cycle of violence in the world, as well as the state of the educational system. And, as he put it, "I need to be in school myself if I want to write about it." He is now a student at New York University.
Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.
Truancy
By Fukui, IsamuTor Teen
Copyright © 2010 Fukui, IsamuAll right reserved.
ISBN: 9780765322586
Chapter 1
I hope that most of you will see this as a wake-up call,” Mrs. Bean announced to the class, folding her arms haughtily. “If you got over an eighty-five, you’ve done tolerably. If you got lower than that, you should be concerned. If you got below a seventy, I’m going to make you concerned.”
Tack gritted his teeth and clenched his test paper, wrinkling a good portion of it before he unceremoniously shoved the paper into his backpack along with his books and binder. Untamed brown strands of hair dropped in front of his eyes, obscuring his vision as he bent over to zip up his backpack and await the ending bell. Despite the cheerful sunlight streaming through the classroom’s single window, an unmistakable aura of gloom emanated from the students around him, which Tack actually found to be oddly comforting. It meant that he wasn’t the only one the teacher was going to “make concerned.”
“There are a lot of you who can do better,” Mrs. Bean continued, lifting her chin. “And there are a few who are beyond hope. If you don’t work your butt off and if you don’t follow instructions, that reflects on your tests. These test grades let me know how obedient you’ve all been. As you all know, that weighs heavily on your report card.”
“Guess that means I’m out of luck,” a boy to Tack’s right murmured tiredly under his breath.
“Hey, is that talking back there?” Mrs. Bean spun about, glaring wildly around like a starved lioness with an appetite for students. Spotting Tack, who looked suspicious with his gritted teeth and packed bag, she quickly drew herself up into attack position.
“You of all people should be trying to do better!” she shouted, jabbing an accusing finger at Tack. “After your performance on this test I’d have thought you’d have learned to behave yourself!”
“M-me?” Tack sputtered haplessly.
At this point, Tack didn’t even want to know how the teacher could’ve made such a huge mistake at his expense so much as he wanted to know how this class could possibly have gone any worse than it already had.
“Yes, you!” Mrs. Bean hissed. “You know what you did; you don’t need anyone else to say it for you!”
“I didn’t do anything!” Tack protested.
“Are you talking back to me?” Mrs. Bean stalked closer to Tack, lowering her voice menacingly.
“N-no, but—”
“No buts, you need to learn some respect, young man!”
“I . . . I . . .”
Still recovering from this latest misfortune, Tack quickly assessed his options. The teacher looked ready to sink her teeth into him, and the only thing that could save him now would be to rat out the real culprit, who was currently doing his best not to look involved. But being a rat simply wasn’t an option; betraying a fellow student to a teacher would make Tack the enemy of all the other students. He simply couldn’t afford that, as all the teachers were already by nature his enemies.
And so there was only one way that Tack could finish his sentence.
“I . . . I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Bean purred contently. “Good. Now apologize to the class too. It was their time that you just wasted.”
Tack felt an urge to stand up and tell Mrs. Bean that she was the one wasting their time by making such a huge deal over something so petty. Fortunately for Tack, he was quickly able to suppress that urge.
“I’m sorry, class,” Tack mumbled, dropping his gaze.
“I don’t think they can hear you,” Mrs. Bean said.
“I said, ‘I’m sorry, class’!” Tack nearly yelled.
“Better,” Mrs. Bean said, resuming her prowl around the class.
Tack slumped in his chair, his stomach churning in humiliation and stress. The boy next to him, the real culprit, clapped him on the shoulder in a silent show of thanks, but Tack shrugged him off moodily. Eventually the bell rang, and the students began their silent mass exodus.
Tack stood up to join them, unconsciously tugging at the collar of his shirt. The gray school uniform felt annoyingly itchy and tight, no matter how many times he wore it. As he filed out of the classroom with the rest of the class, still adjusting his clothes, Tack couldn’t help but wonder if they had been designed to be as unpleasant as possible.
Tack joined the gray river of uniformed students flowing neatly up and down the hallways, his stomach quickly forgetting the stress of the classroom as it began growling, reminding him that he had at least one good thing to look forward to in the immediate future: lunch.
All students looked forward to lunch, even if they weren’t hungry. For one single period each day, students had permission to leave the school in search of nourishment and conversation, two luxuries that Tack noticed that adults of the City took for granted. Inside school no eating and no speaking were two rules that were rigidly enforced.
Of course, if any students displeased teachers, the teachers could revoke those students’ lunch privileges for as long as they liked. Tack was glad that Mrs. Bean hadn’t gone that far, at least.
“Hey, Tack!”
Tack froze in mid-step as the voice, barely a whisper, rose above the silent gray multitude that walked both around and into him. His heart racing frantically, Tack’s first instinct was to look around for any teachers that might have noticed a student speaking his name. When he found none, his second instinct was to look for who it was that had nearly given him a heart attack. Looking up the staircase he was about to climb, Tack saw a younger girl with brown pigtails looking down at him with a lopsided grin.
“Suzie, what do you think you’re doing?” Tack asked quietly, his face torn between worry and joy.
“Nothing much, Bro; Melissa is sick today, so I’ve got no one to eat lunch with,” Suzie whispered back, causing more than a few passing students to stare at her.
At that Tack smiled and nearly forgot about the trouble that his sister could land them both in by speaking. Suzie always ate lunch with her friends, so much so that she and Tack rarely ever saw each other except for the few hours that they spent at home.
“Wanna go grab something then?”
“Sure!” Suzie agreed so happily that Tack winced at how loud her voice had become.
A moment later, Suzie joined the flow of students descending the stairs, and together she and Tack made their way towards the lobby of the building. Much to Tack’s relief, Suzie refrained from speaking aloud the rest of the way. Soon after they reached the lobby they came into sight of the armed guards that were manning polished metal turnstiles with scanners that inspected the arms of each of the many students filing in and out. It was very fast, very quiet, very orderly, very clean, almost unsettlingly so.
As they approached the nearest turnstile, Tack and Suzie rolled up the sleeves of their uniforms to reveal the nine-digit numbers and bar codes that had been imprinted upon their arms when they had first entered the City school system. The guards seized their arms, scanned them to make sure that the children were indeed allowed to eat lunch, shot them a nasty loo
Continues...
Excerpted from Truancy by Fukui, Isamu Copyright © 2010 by Fukui, Isamu. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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