Read Online Academic Assassins by Clay McLeod Chapman - Free Book Online

behind the glass?
Everyone here must have been military. Merridew had amassed a staff of soldiers.
    I heard heels
click-clack
across the floor as Merridew entered behind me.
    â€œSorry to keep you waiting.”
    She was carrying something. A slender brown strap. A leather belt.
    A collar.
    â€œMr. Pendleton,” she said. Rather than sit behind her desk, Merridew knelt before my chair so that we were eye to eye. “Two visits in one day. I hope we are not making a habit
of this….”
    The smooth, even tone of the foundation spackled across her cheeks cracked around her lips. She had a marble mouth.
    â€œNot one to mince words, are we? I admire that.”
    I couldn’t help but focus on the
thing
in her hands. It seemed to slither as she talked. I almost forgot that I was supposed to be listening, and had to hop back into her monologue
midsentence. “…believe you will fit right in here at Kesey.”
    She presented the collar to me as if it were a gift from a great aunt who had absolutely no fashion sense whatsoever.
    Give me a minute, I thought, with some scissors and a Sharpie, I could modify this accessory to fit my own specifications. Maybe write my favorite band name across the side in Wite-Out, maybe
slip a few safety pins along the strap. Possibly scribble a Magic-Markered heart with an arrow piercing the vena cava:
    SULLY + SPENCER 4-EVA
    Merridew was talking again. “Let me assure you, my goal is not to penalize you. My goal is for you to reenter the world. To be a member of society once more. To be a
responsible
citizen. How does that sound?”
    I like the no-punishment part, I wanted to say.
    â€œWe at Kesey do not believe in pharmaceutical interventions. We do not use psychotropic medications here. I have seen how they are completely overused and abused by other facilities. They
are a crutch—not a cure! No…I prefer to focus on the
root
of the problem rather than bury it with a prescription.”
    Merridew didn’t say anything for a moment, staring at me. Her smile never wavered, those lips as firm as chiseled rock.
    â€œHere at Kesey, we prefer to emphasize
the three selves
.”
    I had no idea what she was talking about.
    â€œI have isolated the three tenets that make an upright citizen.”
    She brandished her index finger.
    â€œSelf-awareness.”
    She brought up her middle.
    â€œSelf-discipline.”
    Finally her ring finger.
    â€œSelf-respect.”
    I stared at those three wrinkled digits, examining the manicure of her nails.
    â€œIf we can reinstate these three selves into our residents, I believe we can refashion the most serious offender into a responsible and successful young adult.”
    Good luck with that, I didn’t say out loud.
    The expression on her face faltered. “You do not believe me, do you?”
    Had I hurt her feelings? I actually felt a twinge of guilt.
    I slowly shook my head—
no
. I didn’t mean anything by it.
Honest
. She had a real lovely prison-asylum here.
    â€œWe cannot make a person change,” she said. “That desire needs to come from within
you
, Spencer. I truly believe that we can motivate our boys and girls to
want
to become better people.”
    She had said my first name again.
    â€œOf course,” she said, “our residents are still held accountable for their actions. They need to be. But rather than thinking of Kesey as the final destination on an endless
procession of stopgaps and half-measures, we provide an opportunity for our residents to decide to avoid delinquent behavior
for themselves
.” She paused for dramatic effect. “And
how do we do that, Mr. Pendleton? By emphasizing the three selves—
correct!
” She clapped her hands. “Self…?”
    Up came her three fingers again, one after the other.
    Index.
    â€œ
Awareness
,” she prompted. “Self…?”
    Middle.
    â€œ
Discipline
. And