2 Students Remaining #2
“Let’s see what we can do about that,” Lynn says. “First, would you consider putting that bottle down? It really is making poor Wyatt nervous.”
I tighten my grip on the bottle. “I think I’ll hold on to it, thanks.”
“If you insist.” Lynn stops before the stage, her expression unreadable.
She doesn’t look remotely concerned. “Let’s see, where to begin?
As you might have surmised, Wyatt Sullivan is my employee, not the other way around.
I hired him to run the Midwestern campus of Luminary, as I prefer to work behind the scenes.
We met while I was getting my teaching credentials. At Blackwood.”
I’m momentarily thrown. “You went to Blackwood?”
Lynn nods. “Sixteen years ago, I was a graduate of their Critical Education Theory program. It’s where I got my degree in educational leadership.
” She takes a moment to brush the wrinkles from her pristine shirt.
“It was an interdisciplinary program blending philosophy, sociology, and theory. You might recognize the name of a few of their other students—Eli and Cynthia Michaels?”
“You knew—” I almost say my parents but correct myself at the last second. They weren’t my parents. I know that now. With a lump in my throat, I say, “You knew…Cynthia and Eli?”
“Oh yes. Cynthia and I were close friends.”
“Evelyn Greer,” I say, suddenly remembering the name I read in the article on Eli’s crimes. “That was you?”
“I prefer to be called Lynn, but yes, Evelyn is my given name.” A distant look crosses Lynn’s face.
“The three of us were studying to become professors. We had such lofty goals back then. We were going to change the landscape of education, disrupt the status quo, shape the next generation of young minds.” The smile fades from her lips, and she adds, “Na?ve, isn’t it?
That we ever thought teachers might have that much power. Eli certainly thought so.”
There’s no inflection in her voice, no emotion. She could be talking about what she had for lunch last week.
“We were quite gifted,” she continues. “Eli, Cynthia, and I. But as we continued in our studies, something…shifted. I remember it feeling like a veil being lifted. I imagine it happens to all young people at some point. The older you get, the more you learn, the easier it is to lose faith.”
A chill creeps over my skin. “Lose faith?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Lynn says on a sigh.
“We talked about it often, all the problems with public education. We each had our theories, but Eli’s were particularly…
intense. He thought schools themselves were the problem.
He often talked about how we couldn’t put all our hope for the future in a process that reduces human potential into predictable behavior and test scores. ”
Nerves crawl up the back of my neck. I tighten my grip on my still-smoking water bottle. “That’s from his manifesto.”
Lynn merely crosses her arms over her chest and stares back at me, unblinking.
“I shouldn’t have been surprised when he set those bombs.
He believed that schools like Blackwood were the first battleground in the war against systemic corruption.
He wanted to destroy them. I, of all people, should have known what he was going to do. ”
Only now does a shadow cross Lynn’s face.
“When Cynthia died, I was beside myself with grief. We were like sisters; we wanted to raise our children together. I blamed myself for her death. I had known that Eli was unhinged, that he was capable of violence. And yet, I did nothing. What happened to her was my fault just as much as it was his.”
Lynn’s nose wrinkles. “That’s why I created Luminary.”
The auditorium lights hit Lynn at an odd angle, leaving the bottom half of her face in shadow. Her gaze is calm and unblinking, but without being able to see her mouth, it’s impossible to tell what’s going through her mind.
“I don’t think I understand what you’re saying,” I say slowly.
“I set up this school to simulate violence,” she explains.
“I had to get creative, of course. We couldn’t exactly have school shootings or bombings here, not if we wanted parents to send us their children.
But this is where Luminary’s curriculum is truly cutting-edge.
New studies have recently come out linking exposure to activities that raise blood pressure and increase adrenaline to improved academic performance and—somewhat ironically—lower rates of negative impulses like drug use and violence.
These results have been shown in approximately 90 percent of the population. ”
“And the other 10 percent?” I want to know.
“Are like Eli Michaels. Beyond our help,” Lynn explains.
“Throughout the year, I’ve been raising the threat level, carefully noting my students’ responses to what’s going on within our walls.
According to my research, the students who were capable of being rehabilitated would continue working, while the ones who could not—that pesky 10 percent—would allow themselves to be deterred by the very clear signs that something was badly wrong.
Those students were the ones I knew I needed to weed out. ”
“We were an experiment,” I say, voice flat. “Like lab mice running around a maze.”
Lynn merely crosses her arms and stares back at me, unblinking.
“Don’t sound so disappointed, Lia. You were so much more than that to me.
We’ve been analyzing you all month, sorting you according to how well you’ve performed in each class, in every interaction with a teacher or TA, on each test. Students who pass are allowed to move on.
” Lynn motions to Ashlyn. “In their second semester, they become TAs and help a new class of students move through our program.”
“And the others?”
“I would think you’d be happy that students who don’t pass their first semester are given another chance at one of our other institutions.
” Lynn stares back at me, expression unfathomable as ever.
“Students who’ve failed their exams are being held in rooms in the basement while we assess them.
This will help us hone our curriculum for the next semester. ”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “You’re holding them in the basement? Like prisoners?”
“You’re being dramatic, Lia.” Lynn blinks twice, very fast. “You understand that we’re talking about students who normally fall through the cracks at public school, who go on to live dangerous, reckless lives once they graduate.
These students need individualized attention to make sure they live up to their full potential.
The students we think are capable of reformation will be put through the program again. ”
The word terminated flashes neon in my mind, and the taste of bile hits the back of my throat. “And what about the ones who aren’t?”
“Not everyone can be redeemed.”
“But what happens to them?”
“These decisions are not based on nothing. Every student who passes through our halls is subject to rigorous testing. Naturally, the testing continues after they’re held back. It is unfortunate, but some of them prove to be beyond the scope of our help.”
Nerves prickle up the backs of my arms. So, they’re giving the students they’re holding in the basement even more tests, to see whether they’re worthy enough to be “redeemed”? It’s sickening. “And if they fail,” I say carefully, “they’re terminated? That’s what you’re saying, right?”
“What else would you suggest we do with children destined to become like Eli Michaels? Students who blow up schools or bully other people? Students who go into the real world to deal drugs? We’re talking about dangerous people.”
“We’re talking about people who aren’t dangerous yet,” I point out. “People who haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Maybe not yet, but trust me, they will. Our testing is never wrong.” Lynn looks from me to Ian. “It’s ironic, really, that the two of you have been among the most difficult to assess of your class.”
“Ironic? Why…” I trail off.
We wanted to raise our children together, Lynn had said.
Our children.
I think back on that moment in the Records Room when I asked Ian about his past. My benefactor is friends with Wyatt Sullivan, he told me. She thought the curriculum would be well suited for someone with my background.
And then there are the birth records I looked up: Male, they said. John Doe.
“You said that you and Cynthia talked about making sure your children went to school together,” I say very slowly. “But you don’t have any children, so you adopted…her son.” I look at Ian, but he won’t meet my eye. “She’s your benefactor, isn’t she?”
Ian swallows, but he doesn’t answer.
“She’s smart, Ian,” Lynn says. “I can see why you like her.”
I ignore her. I can’t look away from Ian. It explains everything: why Ian knows so much about the school, how he did so well at all the tests, why staff like Ashlyn and Carl know him by name.
“You knew exactly what this place was the whole time we were here.”
“Lynn told me her plans for this place when she became my benefactor. She’s spent the last four years preparing me, training me how to study the most effectively, to do well on the tests.
She had me sent to West Central because it was the best school in the state.
It’s all part of her theories on education; she wanted to see how late she could intervene in a ‘problem’ child’s education in order to set them on a different path. ”
Despite everything, I feel a sharp pang of sympathy. What a messed-up thing to do. How does someone watch a kid from the sidelines, refusing to help when they need it, all for the sake of some theory?
Ian’s brow furrows. I watch his throat bob. “I couldn’t tell you,” he says. “I’m sorry—”
“I asked you,” I snap, cutting him off. “I asked you straight-up, over and over again. You lied to my face.”
He closes his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Did you know about my parents, too? Did you know I wasn’t really Eli Michaels’s daughter?”
“Not at first,” Ian admits. “But…eventually, yes. I figured it out.”