Cages by Chris Pasley Read Free Book Online Page A

punched Remi
on the arm.
    The hierarchy of Quarantine
deserves its own study, an ecosystem as complex and illogical as the most
hidden parts of the Amazon or the Everglades.  By necessity, any ecosystem
is a pyramid.  There must be more at the bottom than at the top. 
That model as applied to social situations is an odd tradition I've never understood.  Alan and his
ilk were the "popular" kids.  But why?  Why were they
popular?  Not because they had a lot of friends.  Dave was just as
much an outsider as Remi and he had at least as many friends as Alan. 
What was even stranger was that the kids at the bottom seemed to respect the
truth of the pyramid, that Alan was indeed on top and for the most part
deserved his elevation.  They admired him and tried to be like him, to
date the cheerleaders who shared the cultural throne, to somehow earn the
purple letter jackets that served as the tribal markings of the modern warrior
elite.  I put a lot of thought into it, but the only cause I could think
of was TV.
    TV had told these kids all
their lives that the values the popular kids had were values to be
admired.  The jocks always got the girl, and even in the movies where the
odd kid out bucks tradition and nabs himself a cheerleader, that is an
established truth wherein the exception proves the rule.  They are told
that sports heroes are the pillars of community.  That friendship is more
important than good grades.  That creativity isn't as much a turn-on as
the ability to throw a forty-yard pass.  On one hand, it's not even the
networks' fault.  It's a hold-over from the early days of the medium, the
ideal the producers of chipper family sitcoms pushed into living rooms across
the country.  The fervor which those early TV shows engendered in the
American people was almost Aryan; this is perfection.  This is what you
should be.  White picket fences.  A healthy love of the
outdoors.  Excel in life, as long as you fit in the mold prepared for you.
    Well, Alan at least had bought
into TV's lie.  He knew he was at the top of the food chain, the feudal
lord ruling his subjects with a benevolent smile and an okay
three-pointer.  And when he asked something of Remi, he expected to get
it.
    "What did he
want?"  I whispered to Remi as we walked away.
    "Yes, Remi,
what?"  A face was suddenly there beside Remi's, leering. 
Conyers.  "Tell Sam what it is that you do here.  What you spent
three weeks in solitary for?  Do you remember that, Remi?  Do you
remember what I said would happen the next time you plyed your little trade
among my students?"
    Remi scowled, looking Conyers
right in the eye.  "I haven't done anything, Conyers."
    " Principal Conyers.  So when I play back the tape of this hallway, I won't be able to
hear you promising to deliver something to Mr. Tall a rt, in clear violation of our little
agreement?"  Conyers's jaw twitched, as if he were restraining
himself from biting.  Carnivore was the word that came to
mind. 
    Remi sighed.  "I
know you watch Blind Hall, even though you try to make us think you don't."
    Conyers laughed, waving his
stump as if passing his arm in front of his face.  "I don't see
anything, Mr. Remi."
    Remi snorted. 
"Well, Principal Conyers, if you hear what's on that tape, then I
guess you know where to find me after intramurals.  Wait until you see
what I have to give him before you decide my punishment."
    "Fair enough." 
Conyers tussled Remi's hair.  The boy tried to bat Conyers's hand away , carefully avoided making contact. 
Apparently he and I had been taught the same lesson about touching
Conyers.  "Say, Sam, do you know how Remi came to be with us?"
    Remi hefted his bookbag and
gestured to me with his head.  "Come on, Sam.  We're gonna be
late."
    "Oh, don't worry about
that, Remi.  I'm the Principal.  You can be late all day if I say so." 
Conyers took his glasses off and put them in his shirt pocket. 
"Well, you know Remi's a Bite Country baby, don't