who had opened his textbook to the proper page but was looking straight into his lap, where he appeared to be texting under the desk at a rapid rate.
Lian stared at him, debating whether to tut loudly, or give his shin a good kick. Five minutes through the door, and already he was blowing off the class. He may have had good looks, but he certainly had poor manners.
“Which leads us,” Mr. Chu was saying, “to Keynes’s
General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money
. Now . . . Mr. Harrison?”
“Hmm?” said Matt, not bothering to look up.
“Principal Sòng tells me that you did all the required summer reading for this course. So perhaps you can tell us a bit about the
General Theory
’s influence on modern economic thought?”
Lian felt a mix of dread and satisfaction. Chu did not accept slacking, and maybe being taken to task in his first five minutes would convince Matt to get his act together.
“Sure,” Matt said, thumbing off his phone. “The
General Theory
is widely recognized as the foundation of present-day macroeconomics, and the primary inspiration for economic policymakers the world over from the late 1930s until the middle of the ’70s.”
“Excellent,” Chu said, while Lian wondered what on earth had just happened.
“Although, if I can throw my own opinion into the mix,” Matt continued, “it’s a shame that Keynes’s failing health kept him from being a more active participant in the debates surrounding his book. I think the classicists made it their business to water down his ideas because, frankly, he scared the crap out of them.”
Chu nodded, clearly pleased. “Colorfully phrased and worth discussing. You’re off to an impressive start here, Mr. Harrison.”
“Please, call me Matt. ‘Mr. Harrison’ is my dad’s name.” He’d slipped the phone into his pocket and now made an arms-open gesture to the room. “That goes for everyone. Please.”
Mingmei leaned forward so she could see around Lian and waved. “Hi, Matt.”
Lian sank in her seat once again, willing the bell to chime so she could escape from this madness.
As class let out, several of the students clustered around Matt to welcome him. Mingmei was at the front of the group. Lian slipped out the door without a word to anyone. She’d catch up with Mingmei at lunch, and, if she was lucky, she would avoid running into Matt and his theories on Keynesian economics for the rest of the day.
The computer lab was about half full. It seemed to be mostly kids on their free period, mostly doing things unrelated to schoolwork. As the semester got well and truly under way, Lian knew, the lab would fill up quickly, and she’d have to sign up for a terminal ahead of time or risk missing out.
Today, though, she had her pick of computers, so she headed to one in the corner and quietly angled the monitor so that it wasn’t visible to the rest of the room. Not that she expected them to look up from Facebook or Twitter or celebrity gossip sites, but better safe than sorry.
Lian didn’t dare log on to the 06/04 group from here, of course. If any of them had turned up a connection between Harrison and the dead girl, she’d have to wait until she was at home, encrypted and firewalled, before she learned about it. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a connection waiting to be uncovered.
So she dug.
Her first search was for news reports on the tragedy at Big Wave. If the police had released the victim’s name to the press, Lian would be having a significantly easier time compiling information on her. But no combination of search terms led to a story about the girl on the beach. Lian widened the parameters until the results were useless, and then resorted to frustrated browsing on the major news sites.
There was not one word about what she’d seen the day before.
She sat back in her chair for a moment, surprised and saddened. Life was sometimes cheap in Hong Kong, she knew, but it seemed odd that not a
Lian stared at him, debating whether to tut loudly, or give his shin a good kick. Five minutes through the door, and already he was blowing off the class. He may have had good looks, but he certainly had poor manners.
“Which leads us,” Mr. Chu was saying, “to Keynes’s
General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money
. Now . . . Mr. Harrison?”
“Hmm?” said Matt, not bothering to look up.
“Principal Sòng tells me that you did all the required summer reading for this course. So perhaps you can tell us a bit about the
General Theory
’s influence on modern economic thought?”
Lian felt a mix of dread and satisfaction. Chu did not accept slacking, and maybe being taken to task in his first five minutes would convince Matt to get his act together.
“Sure,” Matt said, thumbing off his phone. “The
General Theory
is widely recognized as the foundation of present-day macroeconomics, and the primary inspiration for economic policymakers the world over from the late 1930s until the middle of the ’70s.”
“Excellent,” Chu said, while Lian wondered what on earth had just happened.
“Although, if I can throw my own opinion into the mix,” Matt continued, “it’s a shame that Keynes’s failing health kept him from being a more active participant in the debates surrounding his book. I think the classicists made it their business to water down his ideas because, frankly, he scared the crap out of them.”
Chu nodded, clearly pleased. “Colorfully phrased and worth discussing. You’re off to an impressive start here, Mr. Harrison.”
“Please, call me Matt. ‘Mr. Harrison’ is my dad’s name.” He’d slipped the phone into his pocket and now made an arms-open gesture to the room. “That goes for everyone. Please.”
Mingmei leaned forward so she could see around Lian and waved. “Hi, Matt.”
Lian sank in her seat once again, willing the bell to chime so she could escape from this madness.
As class let out, several of the students clustered around Matt to welcome him. Mingmei was at the front of the group. Lian slipped out the door without a word to anyone. She’d catch up with Mingmei at lunch, and, if she was lucky, she would avoid running into Matt and his theories on Keynesian economics for the rest of the day.
The computer lab was about half full. It seemed to be mostly kids on their free period, mostly doing things unrelated to schoolwork. As the semester got well and truly under way, Lian knew, the lab would fill up quickly, and she’d have to sign up for a terminal ahead of time or risk missing out.
Today, though, she had her pick of computers, so she headed to one in the corner and quietly angled the monitor so that it wasn’t visible to the rest of the room. Not that she expected them to look up from Facebook or Twitter or celebrity gossip sites, but better safe than sorry.
Lian didn’t dare log on to the 06/04 group from here, of course. If any of them had turned up a connection between Harrison and the dead girl, she’d have to wait until she was at home, encrypted and firewalled, before she learned about it. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a connection waiting to be uncovered.
So she dug.
Her first search was for news reports on the tragedy at Big Wave. If the police had released the victim’s name to the press, Lian would be having a significantly easier time compiling information on her. But no combination of search terms led to a story about the girl on the beach. Lian widened the parameters until the results were useless, and then resorted to frustrated browsing on the major news sites.
There was not one word about what she’d seen the day before.
She sat back in her chair for a moment, surprised and saddened. Life was sometimes cheap in Hong Kong, she knew, but it seemed odd that not a
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