The Movement

Chapter Two - Part 5

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Troy Duckworth awaited the final minutes before the final school bell rang, releasing the students from academic captivity. Many of Troy’s classmates did not take school as seriously as he did. Troy was always on time, always completed homework assignments, and always scored the best grade on exams. He was easily the most dedicated, intellectual student in his school of failing students who accepted their failures in exchange for an online social life and television. Troy was not like his classmates—he did not play any sports or attend any birthday parties; he did not go out and play with the other children during recess; he did not find satisfaction in misbehavior and rarely found anything amusing. All in all, Troy’s only focus was on improving his knowledge—he did not understand much other than his schooling; it consumed his life. But on this particular day, Troy had a strong urge to get home and relax with a good book—to get away from his rambunctious, petty classmates.

When the bell rang, Troy endured the loud screams and quick rush of students flowing out the door. Afterwards, he slung his book bag over his shoulder and walked out the door.

“Troy,” called the teacher, “is there something you need to talk to me about?”

“No sir, Mr. Downs. I’m just really tired and ready to relax with a good book for the night,” replied Troy.

“Okay, Troy. You just seem a little worried today, everything alright at home?” persisted Mr. Downs.

“Yeah, I think so. My mom left for my grandma’s this morning, but my dad is getting a job soon, so everything is good so far,” replied Troy.

“Good! Good! I’m glad everything is going good for you and your family. Now go get some rest, I know you’ll be ready for the exam in a few days, so I won’t bother telling you to study,” joked Mr. Downs, rubbing Troy’s shoulder in a genuine attempt to comfort him.

“Yeah, I’ve been studying all this past weekend; I’ll be ready for it,” confirmed Troy with confidence.

Troy did not have a good sense of humor, but Mr. Downs provided a mild smile as Troy walked out of his classroom, proud to be able to teach such a brilliant young mind.

Troy began his walk home from school, thinking about his mother and the several suitcases she packed earlier that morning. He knew he would have to eat cereal, or peanut butter, for dinner because his father never cooked, albeit the occasional Saturday morning breakfast. Pondering some abstract thoughts on his walk home, Troy walked past the local convenience store, stopped, and turned inside with a sudden intuition to enter despite having no money with him—not an unusual occurrence.

The old, eight-inch television was tuned into a news update, and the clerk reached over to turn up the volume.

“Breaking News from earlier this afternoon,” reported the news anchor. “Six protesters killed in front of the Los Angeles Courthouse by police, who claim the protesters were a significant risk to the general safety of the rallies. As of now, the identities of the victims are not known.”

Troy let out a sigh of relief, knowing, quite comfortably, that his father no longer attended the rallies, as he promised at the dinner table the previous night. Feeling much better than he did at school, Troy began to skip home with a slight, rare smile underneath his nose. He hoped his father was home from his first day of work at Joe’s shop. He couldn’t wait to run into his father’s strong, outstretched arms—one of the few moments he felt like a real child.