Dead Politician Society (3 page)

Is someone alive in there, Simpson?”

It took a second for her name to catch, and when it did, Clare was taken back to high school, caught daydreaming by a teacherwho had failed to keep her attention.

“Pardon me?” Clare batted her eyelashes, which solicited stifled giggles from the students.

“Oh god. Not a comedienne.” Dr. Easton grabbed at his hair and pulled it. “We were talking about the questionnaires you've been filling out. Or did you want more time to complete yours in light of having just returned to Earth?”

Dr. Easton was younger than Clare would have imagined, not the stodgy old professor type at all. He had a mildly pompous accent, like he thought he was British. And there was that stupid tweed jacket that hung on the back of his chair. But he was cute, in a prep school prefect kind of way.

“I finished the survey,” Clare said. “I only zoned out for the last couple of minutes.”

“Delightful. Now if everyone's ready, I'd like you to pass the completed
questionnaire
to the person on your left.”

The classroom was arranged in a two-tiered rectangle, with eight students in the front row and thirteen in the back. Clare guessed that the layout was designed to mimic Parliament.

When she had finished decoding her right-hand neighbor's questionnaire, Clare got her own results back from Jessica, the blond on her left.

“B, huh?” Clare said. “I wonder if this secretly predetermines our grade for the course.”

“Don't feel too bad.” Jessica smirked. “I got a C.”

“Who's feeling bad? I'm thrilled with a B.”

“Does everyone have their results?” Dr. Easton waited while papers were shuffled and general nods of assent came from the room. “How many As?”

Five hands went up.

“You guys are the Rednecks. How many Bs?”

Ten hands, including Clare's.

“It always starts out this way.” Dr. Easton seemed personally offended by the results. “We'll take the same questionnaire at the end of the year and half of you will have converted to something more sensible. You Bs are the Commies.

“The rest of you — that should be six, since we have twenty-one this year —” Dr. Easton paused to glare pointedly at Clare. “— are the Tree-Huggers.”

Clare felt like she'd landed on an island where the natives all spoke Zulu. She gathered that the party names were sarcastic, but she didn't get the jokes. Her only hope for survival was to smile through that day, then scour the Internet for political wisdom when she got home.

“The Commies are going to form a minority government. Now it's time to get into groups and choose a leader for each party.”

Clare said goodbye to Jessica and joined her group. A woman took charge straightaway. She had messy dark hair and seemed older than most of the class, maybe somewhere in her thirties. “All right. Who wants to run this party?”

“I'll run.” A sandy-haired guy in khakis and a dress shirt puffed out his chest. “I'm Brian Haas. I'm a card-carrying Communist in real life, so clearly Dr. Easton's questionnaire is effective. I have several bills already drafted, but the one I'd like to start with deals with safe, affordable, and integrated public housing. My father used to be president of the federal Communists, and I'd love to follow in his footsteps to lead this party to greatness.” He spoke for a minute or so, carefully, as if he'd scripted his speech in front of the mirror before coming to school that morning. He reminded Clare of a very serious child all dressed up to attend an adult party. She wasn't sure why it made her sad.

“Anyone else?” The older woman spoke up again. When Clare and the others shook their heads, she said, “Fine. I'll put myself up. I'm Susannah Steinberg. Damn right I'm a Commie, as insulting as Dr. Easton may think the term is. The biggest challenge we have — in Canada, sure, but I'm thinking globally, too — is equalizing people's opportunities. Why should a kid in Africa have to die of malaria instead of living into his twenties and being here in this classroom with us? Also, I don't think anyone should ever vote party line over their own principles; in my government, all votes will be free votes. I can't stand hypocrisy. I say let's get real and change the world.”

The ten group members put their votes onto paper. Susannah won, and named Brian her deputy. Brian's chest deflated, but he congratulated Susannah and kept his smile bright.

Dr. Easton called the class back to order. “Can I have the party leaders come up to the stage?”

Three students arranged themselves on the raised platform by the chalkboard.

“Next we'll hear a short speech from our leaders. The Commies have the most representatives, so Susannah, that makes you World Leader. Go ahead.”

Susannah wiped her palms on her jeans and nodded at her classmates. “My government will be dedicated to social causes, redistributing wealth, and creating a world that works. I'm not looking to dominate by numbers; instead, I'd like to incorporate good ideas from across the spectrum. All votes will be free votes. Let's make this country fabulous.”

“Sounds benevolent,” Matthew said. “How many of you think she would be taking such a generous stance if she had a majority?”

The class tittered, and Clare felt left in the dark.

Next up was Diane Mateo, the leader of the Rednecks. She wore black dress pants and a red polyester top. A large, sparkly cross hung from her neck, and her dark brown hair was pulled back into a bun. “Great theory, Susannah, but show me a minority government that gets anything done. For me, fiscal responsibility is the first premise of responsible governing. And that includes an accountable government. In the private sector, every employee, even a
CEO
, has to justify their wages or they lose their job. For too long, in government, we haven't made our politicians earn their keep. I plan to seek an alliance with the Tree-Huggers in order to give this ‘world' the leadership it deserves. Without a balanced budget, it doesn't matter how wonderful the Commies' ideas are — we won't have the money to make them happen.”

“Thanks, Diane. Let's hear from the Tree-Huggers.”

Jessica stood up. “The environment is the most neglected and essential issue facing us today. Our party will focus on maintaining and restoring wildlife habitats, reducing carbon and other emissions — duh — and promoting weekly wilderness visits as part of every child's education — gotta get the love for the Earth flowing forward, right?

“Then there's the economy — the other parties have only made a mess of it. Our fiscal policy will be conservative — yes, arts funding will suffer. If you like the opera, either pay to go see it or donate to keep it alive. And yes, social welfare will be revised: instead of giving homeless people shelters they don't want, we'll give birds the sanctuaries they do want.

“Our mandate is conservation — or to use the hot word of today, ‘sustainability.' We want the earth and the economy to thrive in tandem.”

“Thanks, leaders. You can sit with your parties again.” Dr. Easton smoothed back his short, sandy hair. “I'll be your Speaker of the House, with the odd lecture thrown in for good measure.

“You've all taken language courses that were conducted entirely in French or Spanish. This course will be run almost entirely as a mock parliament. The focus should be global — I want ideas that make the world a better place, not just the microcosm where we live. The culmination of the course is twofold: by the end of the year, you will each hand in an independent package describing your personal utopia. Also, the class will, through debate and voting, determine its collective utopia. No one can cross the floor to join another party, but alliances and coalitions are fair game.”

Clare hoped this was all written down somewhere in a class summary, because she was already lost.

“Your assignment for Thursday is to bring one bill to be tabled and voted upon. There is no taboo topic — gay porn, child marriage, it's open season as long as there's no hate — but I insist upon two things: you have to want the bill passed, and you must believe that it could realistically be implemented.”

Jonathan, from the Tree-Huggers, spoke up. “What about legalizing marijuana? Is that in the too-unrealistic category?”

“No, that's a good one,” Dr. Easton said. “By unrealistic, I mean I'm not interested in debating the merits of having flying cars available for public use.

“Anyway, it's five past four. It was great to meet you all. Now go away.”

Hey, Jessica. Wait up.”

Jonathan watched as Jessica stopped walking, turned slightly, and gave a small frown when she saw that it was him.

“What is it?” She brushed a pale strand of hair from her face.

“Well . . .” Of course she was busy, had somewhere to be. What could he say that she might possibly find interesting? “I was thinking we could get together later. Talk over our tree-hugging strategy.”

Did she know that he'd copied her answers to the questionnaire, so they'd be in the same group for Poli Real World? Could she tell that he was the lamest guy to ever walk the planet? He didn't think much slipped past her, but he hoped that those two things had.

The sun was in her eyes, and Jessica squinted. “You're not wiped from work last night?”

“Nah.” Jonathan was exhausted, not from working, but because he'd been tossing and turning in his bed for hours afterward. “I overheard the other groups making plans to meet. I wouldn't want to fall behind, be less prepared.”

“Have you asked our other group members?”

“Right. Them. No. I just thought, since our ideology is so similar, maybe you could use a right-hand man.” Shit. Jonathan hoped that only sounded dirty to him.

“I guess it wouldn't hurt to get together for a coffee. Tomorrow afternoon works better for me.”

“Tomorrow?” Jonathan scanned his schedule in his head. “I think I'm working.”

“Me too. I was thinking before work, maybe around three. Maybe we could invite the other party members.”

“Yeah, okay.” Jonathan didn't like the addition of the other party members, but he had to start somewhere. “It's a date.”

“It's a meeting.” Jessica smirked.

“L-O-L. That's what I meant.”

“Did you say ‘L-O-L' out loud?”

Jonathan laughed. “Shit. How lame is that?”

“It's not so bad.” Jessica shrugged. “I said ‘B-R-B' to my grandfather the other day. He had absolutely no clue what I was talking about.”

“Are you online a lot?” Jonathan relaxed a bit.

“Don't tell anyone.” Jessica leaned in closer. “But I'm addicted to this game. It's called
Who's Got the Power?
I spend at least half of my free time playing it.”

“For real? You don't look like a computer geek.”

“I know. I look like a tree-hugger. Does this shatter your image of me?”

“Are you kidding?” Jon was thrilled. “Which country do you play? Or do you switch it up?”

“The States,” Jessica said. “I'm surprised you know the game.”

Jonathan decided not to tell her right away that he'd invented
Who's Got the Power?
as a high school independent study. “It's easier to win as China.”

“Yeah.” Jessica's voice lifted playfully. “If you can suspend your morals and keep your citizens suppressed.”

“We should get online together and lock in for a face-off.”

“I'll crush you,” she said.

“I'll make you weep.”

Jessica grinned. “Now that's a date.”

This Clare girl,” Matthew said, pouring himself a glass of red wine. She isn't like the other students.”

“You're just pissed at your boss for telling you what to do.” Ethan took a swig of his Corona without shifting his glance from the European football highlights. “Which, in most parts of the world, is what a boss is supposed to do.”

Matthew pumped the air out of the wine, and made sure the rubber stopper was firmly in place. “You might be right. But I certainly don't like her.”

“Don't like Shirley?”

“Don't like Clare.” Matthew sat in the armchair facing the
TV
. He wasn't big on sports, but he had more patience for soccer than for hockey or American football.

“What do you think her problem is?”

“I don't know. She's smug. She's overprivileged. She's laughing at me because I was forced to accept her into my class. Plus, she looks around at everything, like it's not fucking good enough for her.”

“Could she be getting her bearings?” Ethan said. “New class, new people? Taking it all in?”

“Maybe.”

“Is she also suspiciously good-looking?” Ethan grabbed a couple of Pringles from the tube on the coffee table. “She might be one of Charlie's Angels.”

“No.” Matthew glowered. “There's nothing suspicious about her looks. She's a skinny, plain brunette in jeans and sneakers.”

“Sounds like a cover.”

“She's not a cop.” Matthew glared at Ethan's argyle dress socks, which were resting on the glass coffee table.
His
glass coffee table. “And she's certainly no Angel.”

A commercial came on, and Ethan turned from the
TV
to look at Matthew. “Put it out of your mind. You want to order Chinese?”

“Can't. I have to shower and change into someone suspiciously good-looking. I'm meeting Annabel.”

Ethan shook his head. “That woman is in serious danger of falling in love with you.”

“Why do you say danger?”

“I'll put it this way: If my sister was visiting, and she so much as contemplated dating you, I'd have her on the next plane back to England and I'd ship her suitcase later.”

“I treat women well.” Matthew found Ethan's assessment unfair. “But until I fall in love, I don't see why I should commit to one.”

“What about the women who fall in love with you?”

Matthew contemplated this. The truth was he thought they deserved what they got, but it would sound cold to say it out loud.

“Or those little freshettes? Barely off the plane from the farm they grew up on.”

“I'm a good education for them.”

“Yeah. Like the Big Bad Wolf was for Red Riding Hood.”

Matthew rolled his eyes.

“Do you eat them, like the story says?”

“If they want. But I prefer for them to eat me.”