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Authors: Christopher Pike
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Why worry about it? Why talk about it? I’m certainly not going to. Then, finally, I had this speech on the problems facing the youth of America: overindulgence in alcohol, lack of ambition, sexual promiscuity. But I had to ask myself, Are these things really that bad? Think about it for a second.” Sara turned to the class and raised her voice. “Do we really want to give them up?”
The class let out a resounding no ! Then it burst out altogether. The audience—full of real-life parents—didn’t know what to think. In the end, though, the crowd joined those on the field, and applauded Sara. She loved it.
“You know what I finally decided?” she said. “Not even to give a speech. Let’s get this thing over with as quick as possible and get to the party.” She cleared her throat and glanced to the side as the class clapped and hooted. “With that in mind, please welcome our senior faculty adviser, the wonderful Mr. Bark!”
Their political science teacher, wearing a blue graduation gown and a dyed fringe of hair that was supposed to take ten years off his age, strode confidently to the microphone. Sara remained on the stage. Jessica leaned forward in anticipation.
“Mr. Bark and I have had our disagreements this year,” Sara said pleasantly as the teacher stood nearby. “But I like to think our trials have brought us closer together. I think, especially in the last month, I have finally begun to understand his commitment to social causes, particularly his concern over the arms race.”
Mr. Bark leaned forward and spoke into the mike. “I am happy to hear that, Sara. It means a great deal to me.”
“I wanted to show you how much it means to me,” Sara said, nudging herself back behind the mike. “I bought you a present, a very special present.” She gestured to someone on the left side of the stage. Jessica was surprised when Russ Desmond—Sara had not said a word about the progress of the relationship since she had picked him up at the bus station, and Jessica had been hesitant to ask—stood up and strode onto the stage, a small white package in his hands. He gave it to Sara, then hastily retreated. Sara presented it to Mr. Bark.
“Open it.” she said.
Mr. Bark beamed. “This is so thoughtful of you, Sara.” He began to peel away the paper. “I wonder what it could be.” The crowd murmured expectantly. It took a minute to get through all the wrapping, and when he had, he was left holding what appeared to be—from Jessica’s admittedly poor vantage point—a black rectangular stone. “Sara?” he said, uncertain.
“It’s a paperweight,” Sara explained.
“Oh.” He grinned as he weighed it in his palm. “It feels like it should be able to handle the job. Thank you.”
“Thank you , Mr. Bark.” Sara muttered the next line under her breath as she turned away, but the mike caught it. “It’s a uranium paperweight.”
It was perfect. He obviously had a long speech prepared. Undoubtedly it was to be every bit as long as Mr. Vern’s. He would talk about how much he had loved working with the kids this year, how sad he was to see them all leave, but how happy he was to know they were going on to bigger and greater things. Then he would bring up the nukes, the goddamn nukes that could destroy all of them at the push of a button.
Yet he had a uranium paperweight in his hand, and although he probably understood intellectually that the level of radiation it was emitting was extremely small—probably one thousandth or one millionth of what he would absorb if he had a chest X-ray—he would not be able to stop thinking about it. Jessica watched as he began to speak and then glanced down at the thing in his hand and fidgeted. There was no place to put it, except on the ground. And he couldn’t do that. No, that would be rude. He clearly didn’t want to be rude.
“I am very happy to be here this afternoon with all you fine people,” he began uneasily. “It is always an honor for me
The class let out a resounding no ! Then it burst out altogether. The audience—full of real-life parents—didn’t know what to think. In the end, though, the crowd joined those on the field, and applauded Sara. She loved it.
“You know what I finally decided?” she said. “Not even to give a speech. Let’s get this thing over with as quick as possible and get to the party.” She cleared her throat and glanced to the side as the class clapped and hooted. “With that in mind, please welcome our senior faculty adviser, the wonderful Mr. Bark!”
Their political science teacher, wearing a blue graduation gown and a dyed fringe of hair that was supposed to take ten years off his age, strode confidently to the microphone. Sara remained on the stage. Jessica leaned forward in anticipation.
“Mr. Bark and I have had our disagreements this year,” Sara said pleasantly as the teacher stood nearby. “But I like to think our trials have brought us closer together. I think, especially in the last month, I have finally begun to understand his commitment to social causes, particularly his concern over the arms race.”
Mr. Bark leaned forward and spoke into the mike. “I am happy to hear that, Sara. It means a great deal to me.”
“I wanted to show you how much it means to me,” Sara said, nudging herself back behind the mike. “I bought you a present, a very special present.” She gestured to someone on the left side of the stage. Jessica was surprised when Russ Desmond—Sara had not said a word about the progress of the relationship since she had picked him up at the bus station, and Jessica had been hesitant to ask—stood up and strode onto the stage, a small white package in his hands. He gave it to Sara, then hastily retreated. Sara presented it to Mr. Bark.
“Open it.” she said.
Mr. Bark beamed. “This is so thoughtful of you, Sara.” He began to peel away the paper. “I wonder what it could be.” The crowd murmured expectantly. It took a minute to get through all the wrapping, and when he had, he was left holding what appeared to be—from Jessica’s admittedly poor vantage point—a black rectangular stone. “Sara?” he said, uncertain.
“It’s a paperweight,” Sara explained.
“Oh.” He grinned as he weighed it in his palm. “It feels like it should be able to handle the job. Thank you.”
“Thank you , Mr. Bark.” Sara muttered the next line under her breath as she turned away, but the mike caught it. “It’s a uranium paperweight.”
It was perfect. He obviously had a long speech prepared. Undoubtedly it was to be every bit as long as Mr. Vern’s. He would talk about how much he had loved working with the kids this year, how sad he was to see them all leave, but how happy he was to know they were going on to bigger and greater things. Then he would bring up the nukes, the goddamn nukes that could destroy all of them at the push of a button.
Yet he had a uranium paperweight in his hand, and although he probably understood intellectually that the level of radiation it was emitting was extremely small—probably one thousandth or one millionth of what he would absorb if he had a chest X-ray—he would not be able to stop thinking about it. Jessica watched as he began to speak and then glanced down at the thing in his hand and fidgeted. There was no place to put it, except on the ground. And he couldn’t do that. No, that would be rude. He clearly didn’t want to be rude.
“I am very happy to be here this afternoon with all you fine people,” he began uneasily. “It is always an honor for me
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