The Leadership School

K said she had found a job for me; a school she’d worked at over the summer. The money is good, so, I go.

Inside there is a little basket of blue baggies. K snags two off the top and places them over her shoes. I follow suit. We enter.

It looks as you’d expect a school to look. K leads me down the hall to an official looking door. She peeks in the window.

“We’ll have to wait,” she says.

I look in the window and frown. “What are they doing?”

“Oh, it’s revolutionary, they have technology that will tell you what your child will become, so, they only take on students who will become leaders. Presidents, CEOs, things like that.”

I look back in the window. A small boy is being lowered into a card board box, a couple, his parents I assume, sit expectantly beside it.

I can hear through the door. They are speaking Russian.

“What are they saying?” I ask K. She puts her ear to the door.

“They are saying… oh, it seems like he will become an artist,” K translates, shaking her head.

I look in the window. The boy is being pulled out of the box. The father is looking at him, disappointed. The mother begins to cry. Someone opens the door. The couple walks out, grief stricken. The small boy follows.

A woman in a smart suit invites us in. I sit as her and K talk very quickly in Russian, I follow nothing. I wait.

After a bit, the woman in the smart suit shakes my hand and K says, “come on, you should meet the students.”

I nod. I smile. I follow. The hall is lined with doors. We enter one. A young boy in an Armani suit puts his legos down and struts up to K. He holds out his hand.

“Lovely to see you again K,” he says, in perfect English.

He turns to me, “and whom might this be?”

The boy looks me up and down. “He is your new teacher?” K says.

The boy frowns.

“Right,” he says. He turns and walks back to his pile of Legos.

I turn to K and begin trying to say something before realizing she is talking. I follow the direction of her voice. An outline of a girl stands in front of her. The light shines right through.

“What is that?”

“Huh?” K turns, “Oh, this is Xenia, she doesn’t speak English too well.”

I stare at the outline; I think it waves.

“What is wrong with her?” I mutter to K.

“Ah, yes, she is made of glass. You have to be very careful with her or she will fall to pieces. I’ve seen it happen. No good.”

“Okay.”

“Seriously. Be careful,” K warns.

“Yeah, got it.”

K leads me out of the room. In the hall there is a boy standing. He holds out his arm. There is a little screen imbedded in his forearm. It says something in Russian.

“Aww,” K exclaims, scooping the boy up in her arms. She holds him as she talks.

“He can’t speak. His parents had his vocal chords removed as a baby cause he was keeping them up at night.”

I stare at the boy, wide eyed. The boy smiles.

“That’s awful,” I say.

K shrugs, she holds out the boys arm and shows me the screen. “This connects to his brain and shows exactly what he wants at all times. His nanny has one installed too. She should be around here somewhere.”

K looks at the boy and asks something in Russian. The boy shrugs. K gives me an oh well sort of look and places the boy back on the ground. He scampers off.

She takes a breath, “Want to meet the rest?”

“Hmm. I don’t think so, I have to get home and do stuff.”

K shrugs. “Okay, you start on Monday.”

“I’ll think about it,” I say.

She leads me back out. As we pass the official looking office there is another set of parents sitting next to the cardboard box. The Woman in The Smart Suit is making beep-boop sounds out the corner of her mouth. She frowns at the box then says something in Russian to the parents.

They light up.

 

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