The Altruism Trial

Chapter 3: Do My Work

The story so far: Riley opens the big red box and learns he has two weeks to assemble a small plane. After ignoring Brianna to focus on his friends’ argument about hockey, his new tablet lights up, asking him to talk to her. When he questions ‘who?’, the device informs Riley that he failed the test.

September 19th Description of Mean Principal:

- Ugly orange dress with stupid umbrellas all

over it

- Pointy nose that looks like a carrot

- Breath that smells like onions and

cabbage

10:30 AM

Just got sent to the office because I posted a video on snapchat yesterday of Tyler having a meltdown in class. What a loser. Just because I told him his hockey team stinks. I’m glad we’re not friends anymore. He doesn’t know anything about hockey.

3:10 PM

Sat in the Principal’s office all day. Wasn’t allowed to bring this clunky device with me. Took a bunch of jelly beans from her jar though when she was talking to Mrs. Lavetta in the other room. Anyway, turns out, I’m suspended.

“This isn’t your first offence, Riley,” Principal Aukley mutters. “I’m disappointed to see you in here again, especially after the long chat we had a few days ago.”

“It’s not my fault,” I reply. It’s my intention here to masterfully dive into what I like to call, ‘The Art of Deflection.’

“Riley, it’s not about whose fault it is. It’s about you being more responsible.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I say. “Riley, are you aware you posted a video of a boy having a meltdown on social media and then shared it with the cyber-community?” The principal writes something on her notepad.

“Are you aware that this boy has posted videos of me on snapchat as well?” I respond, folding my arms. “And also, it’s not fair that you’re talking to me in here, seeing that other students in our class are also posting videos of other students without their consent. Are you aware of that?”

“No, I’m not aware,” the principal replies. “And, did you know that I didn’t even post that video? Someone else copied the video from my phone and posted it using my account. That is, if you look it up, an invasion of privacy.” I lean back in my chair and smile to myself. Why?

Because that is a perfect example of deflecting the problem, not taking responsibility, and walking away with my dignity.

I mean, come on. You can’t talk like that to the next Sidney Crosby. Doesn’t she know who I am?

3:20 PM

Mme. Capretta agreed I’m not allowed to bring my phone to school anymore. It’s a lame iPhone 6 anyway.

Why won’t they take this stupid EOTS device from me instead? And what does the score mean?

September 19th 12:45 PM

Day one of my suspension. Been playing Call of Duty Black Ops III since nine. This is so awesome. Unlocked the silencer about an hour ago.

5:05 PM

I swindled my dad into assembling the SDET009. He’s a little bitter because the instructions don’t have any diagrams—just words. Good thing it’s not in French.

Still have a score of two.

Weird.

September 20th 10:35 AM

Day two of my suspension. Totally bored. Gonna check out how much work my dad did last night on the plane. Hopefully he won’t ask me to help him.

4:50 PM

My dad finally finished it. It’s kinda cool. It seats two people and it can actually fly. At least my dad says it can. Maybe I can take Justin with me on some trip, far away from here. Or Brianna. I just gotta figure out why she’s acting so strange around me lately.

7:36 PM

I’m playing with my iphone 6, browsing through Instagram—came upon a cool pic of Brianna posing with her friends in front of Dairy Queen. Hey, Brianna. I write. Hey, Sup? she replies.

Not much. What are we supposed to do for the

write up? I zoom in on Brianna’s picture. She has really white teeth. You haven’t started that yet? she asks.

No, I reply. Been working on building the plane. I know it’s a lie, but whatever. So, you decided to build a plane? Cool.

Ya, cool. So, my mom is bugging me saying that I gotta write a page about how I built the plane and that I gotta use all those big words from the other week.

That’s right, she replies with a smiley face. Can you do it for me? I write.

I browse through a few more of her pics. There’s a cute one of her riding a horse, jumping over some bales of hay.

Why is my heart racing?

8:20 PM

Mom is making me finish the Plane assignment on my own. She insists on sitting in my room until it’s done too. She’s looking at me right now, sipping on a glass of black wine. Or is it just really dark red?

Anyway.

No reply from Brianna. What’s up with that? I thought she liked me? She told me she was going to watch one of my games next week too. We’re playing the Bulldogs, but I’m not worried. I wonder if there are any games on this thing? “Stop playing with that tablet and get to work, Riley Pickering.” My mom takes a big swig from her delicate wine glass and snaps her fingers. “Yes, Mom,” I reply.

Gotta go.

September 23rd, 2018 Reasons to be excited:

- The new iphone was released today.

People I hate:

- My mom

Notes:

- Smash iphone 6 so Mom will buy me the new one

- Bring SDE-T009 microjet to school

- Find out why Brianna isn’t writing me back

9:35 AM

Today is the day. The project is due. We had to borrow my uncle’s truck to get the microjet to school. Mom’s mad at me because she ended up having to finish my assignment because I was too tired.

I was. These early morning hockey practices are killing me.

“This is it. We’re excited everyone could come out this morning for the big event.” Mrs. Lavetta stands on the edge of the blacktop with a microphone. Four speakers are set up to project the sound out to the big crowd. The entire school is outside watching. “Our top five entries today will qualify for the Provincials next week.” Her voice echoes over the cheers from the crowd. Beside her stands a man with a long black coat. It’s hot out, the sun is already blazing down on us.

Justin stands beside me, holding his dinky two foot plastic turbo rocket.

“Who is that guy?” I ask him. “Dunno,” he replies.

Shadows block out the man’s face as the sun beams down behind him.

“He looks like the guy who came to my door a couple weeks back,” I say.

Justin shrugs and picks at the globs of red and white paint that have bubbled down the side of his rocket.

Pylons are laid out across the field, separating the crowd from the runway. Six judges sit at tables near the end, alongside a photographer from The Post.

“Our first participant is…” Mme. Capretta checks her sheets. “La première...”

The curious man leans over and whispers in her ear.

Mrs. Lavetta nods, and circles something on her page.

“Our first participant is Riley Pickering.”

To be continued Monday, October 22. Next Time: The Day