'I know your handwriting, Brendan..! Do you think this is a joke?' Mrs. Cooke stood rattled, holding a piece of paper written "Principal Johnston" on it.
'How did you get hold of the papers anyway?' Brendan asked.
Her gaze was rude and stern towards him. 'All the teachers had a chance to analyze them, Brendan and all of us are not pleased with what you wrote.'
'Why?'
'Brendan..! You know you had no right involving the leader of the school.' Her look of contempt towards him continued to grow.
'Wait, I thought everyone was a suspect..?'
'Well, yes, but…'
'Or maybe you think you're all above us in some way?'
She decided she would not have it. 'Watch your words carefully, boy, or…'
'Most of you think of this guy as a criminal,' he seized the opportunity, now turning around to face the entire classroom, 'a person who is undeserving of our acceptance. We all saw what this guy did. He fought a giant freak of nature which obviously, the police would have been too scared to confront yet you call him a lawbreaker…an outlaw.'
'He set free the most wanted criminal of this city,' Mrs. Cooke seized her chance to speak from behind Brendan. 'The law of Bradwield requires criminals…'
'And how do you know that, Mrs. Cooke? What happened to innocent until proven guilty? The problem with you people is that you turn anything you don't understand or fear into your enemy regardless of what he or she has done for you.'
'What if it's just a cover-up?' Susan Raymond threw her own question at him from her desk.
'A cover-up?!' He turned his glare at her. 'Did you see how he almost got killed in that fight? You think one would risk his life for a "cover-up"?' His face was now rage in description. 'That guy may or could be using magic, or witchcraft, or whatever else you think of pinning on him next but that gives you no right to judge him yourselves.'
Everyone fell silent, dumbfounded by the words that had just come out of Brendan's mouth; a boy who never spoke much in class yet he stood by his desk, firm and more courageous than ever, like an unshaken reed in the grass…a bold and stubborn oak tree.
'You know, Brendan, from those words you've just spoken, one could easily identify you as the Anonymous,' Mrs. Cooke said, changing her expression and tone to suspicion.
He looked sternly at her face, not even shaken by her accusation. 'If I were the Anonymous, would I have allowed you a second further to breathe?'
As Brendan sat with Owen and Simon in the cafeteria, Brendan's mind was lost elsewhere. He kept seeing the sight of Mr. Sparrow laying a few feet from him and the horror of Jack Price's hand going through his chest, clutching his heart. He feared he was now traumatized by the scene. The paralysis that had struck him in that moment when he had finally realized that with all the power he had he still could not save Mr. Sparrow from the terrible death that had befallen him. The pride and zeal that Jack Price had shown, right before the terrible moment. The sound of Mr. Sparrow's body striking the ground with those empty eyes looking into Brendan's in accusation. "Why couldn't you save me?" the eyes said.
Worst of all, Brendan could remember the smell in the warehouse. There was no smell of pigeon droppings or dissolving wood being chewed out by termites. All he could remember was the lewd stench that had hung around him, and his own breath when he tried to talk some sense into the corrupted Jack.
'Brendan, come on!' Owen was snapping his fingers in his face.
'Sorry, man I didn't hear what you said,' Brendan's eyes focused back into the present.
'Clearly…I was just telling Simon how great the Dance was,' he winked at him slyly.
'What did I tell you, Brendan? My prophecy came true,' Simon said covering his face in disappointment.
He did not bother to defend himself. Stress had frozen his muscles and his mind.
'What is she doing here?' Simon asked.
Brendan did not bother turning around, thinking it was obviously Samantha.
'May I have your attention please!'
This was definitely not Samantha's voice.
It was Mrs. Ackerman, the Accounts teacher. She was an old woman of at least fifty-three. She had a long sharp nose and shifty looking brown eyes and her cheekbones were sharp with age.
Everyone in the cafeteria shifted in their seats to look at her. Her eyes were watery, which made Brendan sure of what she was about to talk to them about.
'Something happened this morning…' She said before wiping her eye, forcing a tear to return into its socket. 'You are all aware that Mr. Sparrow and Mr. Price went missing last night after a power cut at the Dance..?'
Most nodded in acknowledgment and the rest whispered in surprise.
'Well..,' she continued, still fighting back the rebellious tear, 'Mr. Sparrow was murdered this morning by the Anonymous.'
The whispers turned to murmurs then in a second became curses and mourns.
Mrs. Ackerman did not silence them. She was probably afraid that anymore words could let out a stream of tears from her eyes. She rubbed her eyes again then said, 'You will all be briefed through the news.' Then like a cracked dam wall, tears rushed down her cheeks in rampage. She covered her face with her right hand and walked quickly out of the cafeteria, determined not to be seen by the students in this state.
'Well, that proves it,' Owen said. 'The guy is not a hero,' he looked at Brendan in confirmation.