Pass/Fail (2012) by David Wellington Read Free Book Online Page B

nothing on Mr. Zuraw’s looked odd—there were no entries for subterfuge or mindgames, for instance, though he had spent several years working as an Objectives-Based Developmental Counselor at the elementary school. The file included a photograph, but Jake already knew what Mr. Zuraw looked like.
    He knew what Mr. Foster looked like, too, but he checked that file all the same—maybe hoping to find a big red stamp across the picture reading DECEASED. In this he was disappointed.
    He went through the files almost at random for a while, unsure of what to look for next. He had imagined these files as being much juicier—these were Mr. Zuraw’s personal files, after all, and if the guidance counselor was really the kingpin behind Jake’s persecution, there must be some kind of incriminating evidence somewhere—but they seemed to be nothing more than what they presented themselves to be. Simple personnel files.
    There were files on all the students, as well. Jake held out little hope for finding anything truly interesting there, but he had to check anyway. Cody’s file was there, and so was Megan’s, and they were perfectly normal. He went to the Ms next, intent on finding out if his own file was as boring as everybody else’s.
    It would have been, except for one detail. It contained his class picture (hair combed severely over, one eye slightly shut) and a not saying he was expected to become class valedictorian, but there was no mention of the Pass/Fail Curriculum at all, no evidence, no list of his PASSes and certainly no list of what the remaining tests might be like or how to pass them. The one weird thing about the file, the one thing he couldn’t explain, was that it was labeled MCCARTNEY, JAKE H.
    Jake’s middle name was Thomas. There was no file for MCCARTNEY, JAKE T. So the H didn’t refer to his middle initial, he could tell that much. Beyond that he was mystified. He knew the Proctors called him H—the Proctor outside of Classroom 187, the one with the portable telephone, had referred to him that way. But why?
    He considered taking the file with him but if he did so it would guarantee Mr. Zuraw knew he’d been in there, something he wanted to avoid. Anyway, there didn’t seem to be anything in the file he could take to the police, or even to his parents, to help explain what was going on. So he gave up on the files and moved into the office proper. He could see Cody through the glass window inset in the door. His friend was trying to watch both ends of the hallway at once. It looked like he hadn’t seen anyone, yet. That was good. Jake went to Mr. Zuraw’s desk and started pulling open the drawers. He found the pistol very quickly—the pistol that would be used to execute him, if he failed too often—and left it alone. He didn’t even like looking at it, and he certainly didn’t want to touch it. Another drawer held perfectly innocent office supplies: rubber bands, paper clips, carbon paper. The bottom drawer held a manual typewriter.
    There was one more drawer. It had a prominent lock on it, but when Jake tugged at the handle it popped open freely. Apparently Mr. Zuraw had forgotten to lock the drawer the last time he used it. Inside the drawer sat a simple plastic box, about a foot wide and maybe nine inches deep. It was only an inch and a half thick, but it had hinges on one side and a push-button clasp on the other.
    It was surprisingly heavy when Jake took it out of the drawer. He placed it on top of the desk and opened it up. Inside were two things he’d seen before often enough but never in such close proximity. The box folded open on its hinge like a big notebook. Its lower half resembled a typewriter keyboard, though there was no place to put the paper. The top half looked like an impossibly thin television screen—but where was the tube?
    The box wasn’t plugged into anything—it didn’t even seem to have a plug, though he could see where one might be attached to its side—but the