Status: 36/51 chapters!
Music Girl
Shell Shock
Corey Oles was sworn in as President of the United States at 2:32 pm on January 17th, 2033.
I knew then that any hope that Mull had carried with hi for the country was obliterated.
We had to take a private STECo jet home. All the airports were closed until further notice. The only reason I think we even got clearance to fly was because Father needed to get home as soon as possible in order to run the company effectively, which was in turmoil because of the economy. Or maybe it was the other way around. There was really no way of telling, though my father would like to smugly claim it to be the latter.
Only two marginally positive things came when we landed in Denver. For one, the assassination seemed to bring Aravic out of his state of misery and back to the world. For the most part. He seemed to be as determined as I was to prove that all of this was Antonio’s fault. And secondly, Father was so busy dealing with stabilizing STECo and dealing with his lawyer and Social Services about Aravic that he didn’t have time for anything else, not even Rachel. Therefore, minimum abuse was issued. I was totally okay with this.
On the evening before we were to go back to school, Aravic and I sat on a rug on my floor, watching the news on my laptop and catching up on all the work we had missed there past two weeks. I had decided I wasn’t mad at him anymore for what he had said to Tomas back in the hotel in D.C. It didn’t matter what he thought of me because I didn’t care. I only cared what a small handful of people thought of me, and he wasn’t included in that group.
Anyways, I was just finishing up my mountain of math homework when the net headline caught my attention. “And following the tragic death of President Ryan Mull, our new President Corey Oles is about to give his televised inaugural address from inside the Oval Office,” the broadcaster said. I shoved my homework aside and cranked the volume on my laptop. “Over to you, Ann.”
The video feed shifted to the White House where President Oles was shifting some papers around on his desk. Off-camera, a woman whispered,” Thank you, Frank. President Oles is about to give his speech.”
When he was done, Oles looked up at the camera. His expression was completely inappropriate for the occasion. It was complicated, a mixture of smugness and a smile hidden poorly beneath a faux exterior of grief.
“It’s him,” I said quietly, emptily as I watched Oles with wide eyes. “He knows all about the assassination.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, citizen of America, I sit before you today in a stat of regret, shock, and grief, Today, my—”
“I bet you he planned it,” I said, louder this time.
“—but from this tragedy, we must rise up. Now more than ever must we ban together under the Spangled Banner, under the Holy Creator.”
“That son of a bitch!” I yelled, throwing my pen at the screen.
“Sam, shut up. I want to hear this,” Aravic said firmly but wearily.
“I promise each and every one of you that we will move forward as a country, that the assassin will be captured and tried, and that this terrorism will never manifest again in America for as long as I am in office. Thank you.”
There was one last shot of Oles’ face, an attempt to make a smirk serious before it cut back to the CNN studio.
I broke the silence between us. “Can you believe this shit?”
“Oh, I believe it,” Aravic said lightly, shaking his head. “At least, I can believe Oles would do this. He’s very good.”
“Very good?” I repeated in disbelief.
“Good at getting people on his side, and at retaining power,” Aravic explained, scanning his list of work and checking something off. “Did you hear the last bit?”
That terrorism would never manifest again in America—“For as long as I am in office,” I quoted numb as I realized what those words truly meant. “Fuck. He’s won.”
Aravic made a face. “Maybe, maybe not. If you’re right about him—and at the rate you’re going, you are—then he’ll go down along with the assassin.”
“He’s not stupid, Aravic.”
“I know. But personally, If I were on trial for shooting the President, I would give up whoever hired me so I would have a chance of not being in prison for life.”
-
School was absolute murder. It was nothing but work, work, work, shooting, shooting, shooting. I almost felt bad for Aravic because one word got out that we had been at the inauguration/assassination, people were hounding him for information. Once again, being the unpopular freak proved to be advantageous.
Though, Cynthia did approach me during math.
“Sam? What was it like?”
“What, watching President Mull getting his brains blown out twenty feet in front of me?” I wondered out loud, making several people who had been watching us turn away swiftly.
Cynthia opened her mouth to say something else, but shut it again and went back to her seat.
“It wasn’t pretty, I can tell you that,” I called after her.
But it was History that really got to me. I had been fine before then. Really, I had. And it was okay at first. Mrs. Parkson had a moment of silence for President Mull, the only nice thing she’s done this year besides pass me last semester.
And then she decided to have a compare/contrast discussion between Mull and Oles.
Good class ruined.
Bree, of course, had to jump right in on it. “Well, Mull sounded like he had some good ideas, but I think Oles will be more focused.”
“Elaborate, please.”
‘Don’t say anything—’
“It sounded to me like Mull was going to try and solve too many problems—”
‘—if you get one more detention—’
“—and I think Oles will pick one and stick with it until it was solved,” Bree finished.
‘—you’re facing suspension and then a good beating.’
The rest of the class went something like that. It took every bit of self-control not to burst out things like, “Oles planned it all!” and, “He was killed because he wasn’t a fucking Regalist!” When the bell rang, I had small cuts on my palms from my nails digging into them.
-
After school, I met up with Aravic. He took my hand—we still had to keep up the illusion of dating—and kissed it before asking, “Was your day as bad as mine?”
“I guess. History was shit.”
“Well, when we get home—” Aravic’s phone started ringing. He answered it and listened intently. “Y-Yeah, I’ll be right there,” he replied and hung up.
“Who was that?”
“Your dad. I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you later,” he said, kissing me before running off to the parking lot.
“Cheeky bastard,” I mumbled, running my fingers over my lips and left for the bus.
I took my usual seat and filled my head with music. Metallica was calling me.
“Back to the front
You will do
What I say
When I say”
What was so urgent for Father to tell Aravic that he picked him up? Was it some resolution with Social Services? Was Aravic going to be sent away? Or maybe Father somehow found out about us infiltrating the Skulls… no, if that was the case, he would have confronted me. Probably screaming about “tainting Aravic” or whatever, too.
I made pasta with spinach and mushrooms for dinner. Tomas ate and then left for the Skulls house. I ate my share, then put the rest back on the stove for Aravic and Father when they got back. I was starting to worry about them a little when they finally pulled into the garage at quarter to eight.
Father took his meal in the living room as usual, leaving Aravic at the counter and me washing dishes.
“So? What happened?” I asked, but Aravic was clearly in his own little world.
“We’ve got to tell what we know. Bring the tape in,” he said, spinning noodles onto his fork.
“Duh, Aravic. What happened with my father?”
“Oh. Well… he walked to the social worker people and… since I’m an orphan now and don’t have any living relatives… well, he’s going to keep me as a foster kid.”
I accidently dropped the spoon I was cleaning into the sink, making a loud thunking sound. “What?”
“Yeah. Foster kid.”
“Is that… even legal?” I didn’t know if I was more shocked at Father’s persistence, Aravic living here even more, or the possibility of eventually being related to him.
“I guess it is,” Aravic shrugged, handing me his empty plate. “Should we go work on getting that tape presentable?”
“Go ahead,” I brushed him off. After he walked out, I added under my breath, “I’m just going to hope this was all a terrible dream.”
I knew then that any hope that Mull had carried with hi for the country was obliterated.
We had to take a private STECo jet home. All the airports were closed until further notice. The only reason I think we even got clearance to fly was because Father needed to get home as soon as possible in order to run the company effectively, which was in turmoil because of the economy. Or maybe it was the other way around. There was really no way of telling, though my father would like to smugly claim it to be the latter.
Only two marginally positive things came when we landed in Denver. For one, the assassination seemed to bring Aravic out of his state of misery and back to the world. For the most part. He seemed to be as determined as I was to prove that all of this was Antonio’s fault. And secondly, Father was so busy dealing with stabilizing STECo and dealing with his lawyer and Social Services about Aravic that he didn’t have time for anything else, not even Rachel. Therefore, minimum abuse was issued. I was totally okay with this.
On the evening before we were to go back to school, Aravic and I sat on a rug on my floor, watching the news on my laptop and catching up on all the work we had missed there past two weeks. I had decided I wasn’t mad at him anymore for what he had said to Tomas back in the hotel in D.C. It didn’t matter what he thought of me because I didn’t care. I only cared what a small handful of people thought of me, and he wasn’t included in that group.
Anyways, I was just finishing up my mountain of math homework when the net headline caught my attention. “And following the tragic death of President Ryan Mull, our new President Corey Oles is about to give his televised inaugural address from inside the Oval Office,” the broadcaster said. I shoved my homework aside and cranked the volume on my laptop. “Over to you, Ann.”
The video feed shifted to the White House where President Oles was shifting some papers around on his desk. Off-camera, a woman whispered,” Thank you, Frank. President Oles is about to give his speech.”
When he was done, Oles looked up at the camera. His expression was completely inappropriate for the occasion. It was complicated, a mixture of smugness and a smile hidden poorly beneath a faux exterior of grief.
“It’s him,” I said quietly, emptily as I watched Oles with wide eyes. “He knows all about the assassination.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, citizen of America, I sit before you today in a stat of regret, shock, and grief, Today, my—”
“I bet you he planned it,” I said, louder this time.
“—but from this tragedy, we must rise up. Now more than ever must we ban together under the Spangled Banner, under the Holy Creator.”
“That son of a bitch!” I yelled, throwing my pen at the screen.
“Sam, shut up. I want to hear this,” Aravic said firmly but wearily.
“I promise each and every one of you that we will move forward as a country, that the assassin will be captured and tried, and that this terrorism will never manifest again in America for as long as I am in office. Thank you.”
There was one last shot of Oles’ face, an attempt to make a smirk serious before it cut back to the CNN studio.
I broke the silence between us. “Can you believe this shit?”
“Oh, I believe it,” Aravic said lightly, shaking his head. “At least, I can believe Oles would do this. He’s very good.”
“Very good?” I repeated in disbelief.
“Good at getting people on his side, and at retaining power,” Aravic explained, scanning his list of work and checking something off. “Did you hear the last bit?”
That terrorism would never manifest again in America—“For as long as I am in office,” I quoted numb as I realized what those words truly meant. “Fuck. He’s won.”
Aravic made a face. “Maybe, maybe not. If you’re right about him—and at the rate you’re going, you are—then he’ll go down along with the assassin.”
“He’s not stupid, Aravic.”
“I know. But personally, If I were on trial for shooting the President, I would give up whoever hired me so I would have a chance of not being in prison for life.”
-
School was absolute murder. It was nothing but work, work, work, shooting, shooting, shooting. I almost felt bad for Aravic because one word got out that we had been at the inauguration/assassination, people were hounding him for information. Once again, being the unpopular freak proved to be advantageous.
Though, Cynthia did approach me during math.
“Sam? What was it like?”
“What, watching President Mull getting his brains blown out twenty feet in front of me?” I wondered out loud, making several people who had been watching us turn away swiftly.
Cynthia opened her mouth to say something else, but shut it again and went back to her seat.
“It wasn’t pretty, I can tell you that,” I called after her.
But it was History that really got to me. I had been fine before then. Really, I had. And it was okay at first. Mrs. Parkson had a moment of silence for President Mull, the only nice thing she’s done this year besides pass me last semester.
And then she decided to have a compare/contrast discussion between Mull and Oles.
Good class ruined.
Bree, of course, had to jump right in on it. “Well, Mull sounded like he had some good ideas, but I think Oles will be more focused.”
“Elaborate, please.”
‘Don’t say anything—’
“It sounded to me like Mull was going to try and solve too many problems—”
‘—if you get one more detention—’
“—and I think Oles will pick one and stick with it until it was solved,” Bree finished.
‘—you’re facing suspension and then a good beating.’
The rest of the class went something like that. It took every bit of self-control not to burst out things like, “Oles planned it all!” and, “He was killed because he wasn’t a fucking Regalist!” When the bell rang, I had small cuts on my palms from my nails digging into them.
-
After school, I met up with Aravic. He took my hand—we still had to keep up the illusion of dating—and kissed it before asking, “Was your day as bad as mine?”
“I guess. History was shit.”
“Well, when we get home—” Aravic’s phone started ringing. He answered it and listened intently. “Y-Yeah, I’ll be right there,” he replied and hung up.
“Who was that?”
“Your dad. I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you later,” he said, kissing me before running off to the parking lot.
“Cheeky bastard,” I mumbled, running my fingers over my lips and left for the bus.
I took my usual seat and filled my head with music. Metallica was calling me.
“Back to the front
You will do
What I say
When I say”
What was so urgent for Father to tell Aravic that he picked him up? Was it some resolution with Social Services? Was Aravic going to be sent away? Or maybe Father somehow found out about us infiltrating the Skulls… no, if that was the case, he would have confronted me. Probably screaming about “tainting Aravic” or whatever, too.
I made pasta with spinach and mushrooms for dinner. Tomas ate and then left for the Skulls house. I ate my share, then put the rest back on the stove for Aravic and Father when they got back. I was starting to worry about them a little when they finally pulled into the garage at quarter to eight.
Father took his meal in the living room as usual, leaving Aravic at the counter and me washing dishes.
“So? What happened?” I asked, but Aravic was clearly in his own little world.
“We’ve got to tell what we know. Bring the tape in,” he said, spinning noodles onto his fork.
“Duh, Aravic. What happened with my father?”
“Oh. Well… he walked to the social worker people and… since I’m an orphan now and don’t have any living relatives… well, he’s going to keep me as a foster kid.”
I accidently dropped the spoon I was cleaning into the sink, making a loud thunking sound. “What?”
“Yeah. Foster kid.”
“Is that… even legal?” I didn’t know if I was more shocked at Father’s persistence, Aravic living here even more, or the possibility of eventually being related to him.
“I guess it is,” Aravic shrugged, handing me his empty plate. “Should we go work on getting that tape presentable?”
“Go ahead,” I brushed him off. After he walked out, I added under my breath, “I’m just going to hope this was all a terrible dream.”