If you haven’t read Chapter 15A, go back and read it now.
This is the second alternate ending for House Boy, up to the reader to decide.
“Let me tell you about the role of government.”
I folded my arms across my chest and looked out at the faces staring back at me.
“Ask two different people what the government is supposed to do, and you’ll get two different answers. One person will tell you that the government is supposed to solve problems. Feed the hungry, house the poor, build roads and schools and infrastructure.”
I paced slowly across the front of the room.
“Another person will tell you the government should do as little as possible. Just uphold the law, protect our borders, and stay the hell out of people’s lives.”
A few heads nodded.
“Neither answer is wrong.” I paused. “But neither answer is entirely right, either.”
“The true purpose of the government isn’t to decide what people should want. It’s to represent the people.”
I let that sit for a moment.
“If the public wants change, the government’s job is to enact change. If they want stability, it’s the government’s job to protect the status quo. Different systems accomplish that in different ways. Some give citizens more influence, some give them less.”
I glanced around the room.
“In the United States, we have a democratic republic. We elect representatives and trust them to serve our interests.”
A few skeptical faces looked back at me.
“Now, politicians are human beings, which means they’re imperfect. Sometimes they ignore their constituents, sometimes they put their own interests first, sometimes they abuse power. That’s why it’s easy to become cynical about politics.”
I leaned back against my desk.
“But government isn’t some separate entity floating above society. At the end of the day, it’s just people. Flawed people trying, with varying degrees of success, to maintain order and solve problems. Sometimes they’re great at it. Other times they suck.”
That got a few laughs.
“But if you want to see change, you have to participate. You have to stay informed, to vote for the people who you think best represent your interests. Because if you’re not paying attention, someone else is making decisions for you.”
A hand went up. I pointed toward it.
“Yes, Hannah?”
The blonde senior in the second row straightened in her chair. “Isn’t the government, like, innately corrupt?”
A few of her classmates murmured in agreement.
“Not necessarily,” I said. “Human beings might be. Which is why we build safeguards against corruption. It’s why we have checks and balances, elections, independent courts.”
A boy scoffed at the back of the classroom.
I looked over at him. “Jackson? You have something to add?”
He leaned back in his chair. “I just think it’s all BS.”
A few students rolled their eyes.
“How so?”
“Everybody’s just coloring inside the lines. They’re all a bunch of pussies.”
“Language,” I warned.
“Sorry.” He wasn’t sorry. “But it’s true. Nobody actually changes anything. They’re too afraid to.”
“What would you suggest, then?”
A grin spread across his face. “Burn it all down.”
The class erupted in laughter.
“I’m serious!”
“Of course you are,” Hannah muttered.
Jackson ignored her. “Put someone in charge who’ll actually screw over the establishment. Someone like Adrian.”
There were a couple of groans from the class.
“Oh my God.”
“He’s a troll.”
“He’s awesome!”
“He’s a sociopath.”
“I’m voting for him when I turn eighteen.”
“If he becomes President, I’m moving to Canada.
“Canada’s just a bunch of liberal pussies.”
“Better that than living under some homophobic dictator–”
“Guys,” I said.
Nobody listened.
I raised my voice. “All right, enough.”
“You can’t tell me you actually support him, Mr. Pierson,” said Hannah.
“What I think is irrelevant,” I said.
She rolled her eyes.
“No, really. I’m not here to tell you what to believe or who to support. I’m here to teach you how to think for yourselves.”
I looked around at the room full of seventeen-year-olds arguing about politics with the kind of certainty that once felt so familiar. And despite myself, I smiled.
“It’s good to be passionate about this stuff,” I said. “Just don’t let your passion stop you from seeing each other’s humanity.”
“But Adrian isn’t human.” Hannah folded her arms. “He’s a monster. He’s always talking about how gay people are sick, and women who get abortions are murderers. I don’t want someone like that to be my president.”
I was silent for a moment.
“Here’s something you’ll learn as you get older. We don’t always get to choose who ends up representing us. Sometimes our preferred candidate wins. Sometimes they don’t. What matters is that we stay engaged anyway. And,” I continued, walking back around my desk, “that we exercise our rights as citizens and vote. You’ll all be 18 before November—I suggest you make your voices heard. Now, class is excused.”
The students all got up and started filing out.
“Remember, study group for the AP Government exam is tomorrow after school,” I called out. “We’ll meet here in my classroom at 3 pm.”
When the last student left, I straightened a few papers on my desk, grabbed my bag, and headed for the parking lot. The May heat hit me the moment I stepped outside. By the time I reached my dusty Honda Accord, sweat had already begun gathering at the base of my neck.
I tossed my bag into the passenger seat and started the engine. The AC sputtered to life. I turned it to full blast.
As I drove out of the school parking lot, the radio crackled through the speakers.
“And we’re back. You’re listening to NewsRadio 1360 KKTX, bringing you the best news in Corpus Christi. Following his victory in last week’s Indiana primary, Speaker Thomas Adrian has officially secured the Republican presidential nomination–”
My hand immediately went to the dial.
“–beating Senator Shifton and Congresswoman Ballard. He gave his victory speech at the Hilton in Houston, where his wife and daughters–”
With a turn of the knob, the news vanished, replaced by the Classic Hits station. Cher’s voice drifted through the speakers.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.
Ten years. Ten years since I’d walked away, and I still couldn’t hear his name without feeling that familiar knot in my stomach.
I drove along.
Twenty minutes later, I turned onto the dirt road leading home, kicking up chunks of dirt and dust. The ranch sat at the base of the mountains, surrounded by dry brush and open land.
As I pulled up beside the barn, I could hear chickens clucking somewhere nearby.
I was home.
The knot in my stomach loosened.
I climbed out and headed toward the house. Movement caught my eye inside the barn. Smiling, I changed direction.
The man in the barn was facing away from me, a pitchfork in his hand as he hauled fresh hay into one of the stalls. His overalls were streaked with dirt, his damp curls clinging to the side of his forehead.
I wrapped my arms around his waist.
“Hi, stranger.”