Day 27: 51,039 and DONE

That was a blast to the finish. Nothing made sense, but it all ended. Here is a part of the absolute nonsense that unfolded:

Logan, Tanner, and Sam watched as Chadwick Penneyworth emerged from his office, yelling. The Mini Militia had scattered at the sound of the big ruckus, all except one child, a little girl who had somehow gotten rid of her yellow rainjacket and rubber boots, and was now wearing a Santa hat and clutching a recorder. She was crouched near the door to Chadwick’s Office, just out of sight. As Chadwick charged angrily toward the library, roaring “Jesus Christ Almight,” the three men stood, sent up a silent prayer for the wellbeing of the teens, and followed the girl, who was now playing the recorder like a deranged pied piper.

“Wait,” said Logan. Tanner and Dean paused, and oddly, so did the girl. She lowered her recorder and watched while Logan spoke.

“I just can’t leave the teens to their fate. I’m going to help, you got this?” he asked Tanner, who nodded. At that, Tanner climbed a nearby book shelf.

“Wait, what are you doing?” asked Tanner, sensibly. “The halls are clear, why don’t you just walk there?”

“These boys don’t know Barnaby’s vent system like I do,” he said with a wink. And with that parting witticism, courtesy of Chat GPT, he pulled himself up into the ceiling and was gone.

Sam and Tanner exchanged a look. “Alrighty, then,” Tanner said, “back to business.” He looked at the girl with the recorder, and they all nodded at each other. She resumed her dysharmonic play, and walked into Chadwick’s office. Sam and Tanner following close behind.

***

The teens made it back to the library and back to their seats just before the door burst open and Chadwick Penneyworth raged his way into the room.

“What was that ruckus?” he yelled. The teens, looking as innocent as possible, shrugged and exchanged confused looks.

“Uh, what ruckus?” asked Jagger.

“I was just in my office, and I heard a ruckus!” he yelled.

“Ummm…. Could you describe the ruckus?” asked Benji, helpfully.

“Watch your tone, young man,” yelled Chadwick, pointing his finger threateningly.

Just then, the ceiling collapsed and Logan “Bam Bam” Brewster fell to the floor, yelling “Ohhhhhhh, shitttttt!”

He got up, and sauntered over to the tables where the teens sat, as Chadwick and the teens stared, mouths hanging open.

“Forgot my pencil,” Logan said with nonchalance, picking up one of the pencils.

“Was that the ruckus?” asked Riley, helpfully.

And here is the conclusion of my novel!

The students emerged onto the front steps of Barnaby Secondary School, clad completely in white. They were wearing the costumes Windigo Esmort had designed for the third and final act of Becoming Fantôme. They had followed Luna down to the theatre room, to find the rest of the teachers, the celebrities, and the Jackie’s Place employees all down there, all getting dressed in the beautiful white, caped costumes that Windigo had lovingly created for all of them.

“This is the conclusion,” Windigo said, “where we all cast off our masks and become fully alive again.”

“I thought this was for the play?” Cass asked, having joined the crowd down in the theatre room.

Windigo smiled beatifically. “Life is art. Living is the revolution.”

And though none of them were sure they understood, they all knew deep down that Windigo spoke the truth.

On the front steps, Riley looked out at the crowd that had gathered. The teens had put out a message earlier in the day, once they had access to the VIP Wifi Network, inviting all high school students in the city to descend on Barnaby High School. The teachers had reached out within their networks, and so had the celebrities, and the professional athletes. The crowd outside Barnaby had grown enormous. They were all here because they wanted to stand up against tyranny, against authoritarianism. And they wanted to stand for something.

Not knowing what she would say, Riley Montgomery stepped to the front. She was an unlikely hero of the revolution. At 16, she wasn’t looking to be anyone’s hero. She wasn’t looking for any kind of revolution. But history is rife with such figures~ the unlikeliest of heroes arise when the social conditions demand it.

Weeks before, she had been consumed with thoughts of selecting the right dress for junior prom, wondering why teachers were so weird, wondering why her parents were so hard on her, wondering why everything seemed so hard. She gazed out over the sea of dirt and tear-streaked faces. Some she recognized. She saw fellow students, teachers, that weird magician supply teacher, some professional hockey players, some celebrity hockey players, some random C-list celebrities who seemed to be embroiled in their own bitter feuds, the mall Santa consortium, that grouchy barkeep from that weird place everyone always went to (they did have the best music, but still). Many faces she did not recognize. This had grown beyond her wildest dreams. Who was she to lead these people? She was a weirdo, who used to be a princess. Or maybe she was a princess who thought she was a weirdo. In any case, it didn’t matter. They were looking to her, to her to tell them what to do.

Someone handed her a megaphone. She raised it to her lips and took a breath. She thought about Windigo’s words: life is art, living is the revolution. She looked at her friends, her teachers, and all the other people who had for whatever reason flocked to their cause- all clad in white, caped. She opened her mouth and spoke:

“Let’s dance!” She yelled and the crowd roared. From behind her, Brandon hit play on the cd boom box he had rescued from the bowels of the sub-basement. He, too, was clad entirely in white and caped. He might have been fired. He might have been a self-interested loser, but he was not a monster.

From the tinny speaker emerged the unmistakable opening beats to Yeah, by Usher, featuring Lil Jon and Ludacris:

Peace up, A-Town down
Yeah, yeah! Okay, okay!
Usher (Usher, Usher, Usher, Usher)
Lil Jon
Let's go!
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!
Let's go!

The students, teachers, celebrities, etchetera, etchetera, etchetera, flowed into the crowd, took their positions. And they danced.

***

Alone, sitting at the desk that was no longer his, Chadwick Penneyworth heard the roar of the crowd and felt the bitter sting of failure. It was a familiar feeling. He looked down at the letter the students had written him, and knew he was utterly defeated.

Dear Mr. Penneyworth,

We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong, but we think you’re crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us — in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain and an athlete, and a basket case, a princess, and a criminal. Just not the ones you thought.

THE REVOLUTION STARTS NOW.

GOVERN YOURSELVES ACCORDINGLY.