Theoracism

Gadot and Myson walked to the escalators at Cooney Academy. The gleaming steel and polished mahogany reminded them of what their parents had partially paid for to keep this school going. They reached the C-suite where the Board met.

“Do you realize the American Revolutionary War kept going for seven years after the Declaration of Independence?” Myson asked.

“Yes. That’s primarily because Britain had bigger issues with Spain and France. They didn’t expect some third rate colonial backwater to ever beat the most powerful military force in history,” Gadot replied.

“Good point,” Myson noted. “Anyway, we’re that third rate colonial backwater.”

“That may be so, but look at the potential of what those ‘meaningless’ colonies developed into, Myson. America’s idea of freedom, real freedom to move and create and launch thought into the stratosphere is what is special,” she replied.

“That is true. We’re the sole superpower, and Britain is a shell of its former self. In relation to our own Declaration, let’s say that we do this without one musket fired,” Myson mentioned.

“What do you think the strategy should be?,” Gadot queried.

“We’ll keep the idea you wrote it, and I’ll read it. You’ll get the writer's credit, and everyone will remember me for giving voice to it, like Dolly Parton and Whitney Houston, respectively,” he replied.

“Okay, but I don’t think there’s a publishing house for declarations made by students who rebel against a nefarious theory,” Gadot responded.

“Not yet,” Myson smirked.

They walked to the doors guarded by two beefy looking men wearing black suits and wireless earpieces.

“We’re here to speak to the Board,” Myson said with full confidence.

“You need to sign this,” one of them handed them a digital pad. Myson and Gadot signed. They opened the doors. The room featured gold and walnut fixtures. A long hall with frosted glass led to one room that simply read “The Boardroom.”

“Should we knock?” Gadot asked.

“I’m going to,” Myson responded.

A sound of clicking heels came from behind the door.

“Students,” Jolie remarked. “Shouldn’t you be in class? This floor is of course reserved for Board members only.”

“We have business here,” Myson asserted.

“You should remember me from my house. We thought we would come to you this time,” Gadot explained.

“Yes, Miss Tinkerton. I see that. One moment,” Jolie replied. She closed the door. The two teens grinned at each other.

“What is it, Mrs. Doddard?” Vala asked.

“There are students outside,” Jolie pointed out.

“Students? How’d they—that’s what that message was. They got past the guards, anyway what are you going to do? You bungled the house visit. How will you handle this particular case?” Vala asked.

“Actually one of the students whose home I visited is here,” Jolie responded sternly.

Vala’s eyebrows raised. “Oh! I’ve got to see this. Bring them in. Now!” Vala commanded. The door swung open, and Myson and Gadot walked in, heads held high.

“Miss Tinkerton, Mr. Thomason, what business do you have with the Board?” Vala asked. Gadot spoke up.

“We have drafted a declaration.”

“A declaration?” Vala’s voice went up slightly. “How precious. Let’s hear it.”

Myson took his tablet and read the entire script with all the gravitas and purpose Gadot had intended it to be read.

Around the table, faces of consternation, disbelief, and animus glared back at them.

“So the theory is not your thing. Can we explain why it should be?” Vala asked.

“No,” Gadot pronounced. “We will not stop until this declaration replaces the current curriculum.”

“We are prepared to alert the media, if it must come to that. We wanted to deliver this document to you to let you know we’ve had enough,” declared Myson. The pair then marched out of the boardroom with looks of sheer confidence. The Board members had to pick up their jaws and try to collect themselves.