None of my teachers have questioned yesterday’s absence. Mrs Zhang gave me a very serious “I have my eye on you” look on my way into Chinese, but no one confronted me. I can see how Roselyn gets away with it so easily. If only there were someone who cared enough about attendance accountability for me to tell.

  There’s only Mr Ito. I didn’t have Systems & Logic today, sparing me the need to confront him for now. I was hoping to get a research-related permission note from Mr Klein in Resource Management. Instead, sitting in front of me for my final class of the day is Mrs Pryor, substituting for him again.

  He must be quite sick. Potentially even a student-inflicted illness. Maybe he’s counting down the days until it’s holidays like the rest of us are! I was hoping to see him today though. It’s been a tough day, replacing the friends I once had with resentment.

  Kage has been messaging me several times to check that I’m still doing ok after skipping work last night. I don’t know how to reply to that when my day really hasn’t been a good one. He never used to message me about anything unless I needed to know it for work. I’ll see him tonight anyway. I already told him yesterday that everything is fine.

  Sitting in the front of the class, I turn around to look for Claudia and Jono. There she sits only two rows behind me, chin raised, her vicious glare threatening harm, intent on piercing straight through and beyond my eyes.

  Yes, that is definitely what hate looks like.

  I follow Jono’s example, lowering my gaze to the left, catching the brief hesitation in his movement before he looks away too. Maybe things will cool down over time. She’s the one who ruined our friendship, not me. It’s hard to believe we shared such a similar upbringing without the support of our fathers and still turned out so differently.

  At least Ernie was excited to talk with me last night. I told him that I saw some clear quartz crystals by the side of Mariana’s office in an art display, including one as a large centrepiece. There were other crystals around it that he wanted to hear about too, but I hadn’t paid much attention to them. My mind was primarily focused on my interview.

  He flung lots of questions at me after that, particularly about whether I’d seen any other clear quartz crystals on my way up the building. I just thought it would be nice to mention it, to show some interest in his hobby. I do not really see why answering these matters if he has no money to buy the crystals and they are not for sale anyway. Still, it is refreshing to see his face light up with the joy of innocence.

  Mrs Pryor’s cheerful voice addresses the class, getting things underway. She sits at the front desk in a long-pleated skirt and a light, muted cardigan left open, hands resting loosely in her lap. Her grey hair is loosely curled, as if styled earlier and half forgotten, and she smiles warmly, her attention roaming the room in no particular order.

  “Hello, my delightful students!”

  She beams a wide smile, meant as a reinforcement for her words.

  “Today, I get the pleasure of teaching you, our future leaders. And I thought, what better way to learn than from each other?”

  The class looks from side to side in disbelief. How are we meant to learn what we don’t know from others who don’t know it either?

  She takes a moment, then clarifies her meaning.

  “I’m talking about the presentations that come with your assignments. Mr Klein shouldn’t get all of the fun. I think it will be great to witness some of your brilliant young minds myself.

  Who has finished early and wants to share with us today?”

  This time, the class doesn’t appear as confident as before, all attempting to avoid eye contact with Mrs Pryor. Claudia is one of them, careful not to stare lividly at me this time in case she gets called on to present. I know Jono will be prepared. His look away comes from humility. Dom is on time today, sitting at the back of the room with his eyes directed straight ahead. I guess it doesn’t matter to him if he fails today or another day.

  Once again, I turn back to the front, this time taking a deep breath to relax myself. I badly want to present to Mr Klein, but Mrs Pryor seems like the type of teacher who finds everything perfect. I should get higher marks by delivering my speech today.

  I raise my hand. Mrs Pryor doesn’t notice. She continues to look around the class, meeting my eyes briefly as the seconds tick by, making the moment increasingly awkward. I feel the class’s eyes on me, subtly trying to guide her toward her choice. She continues not to notice. After a few calming breaths, I gently call out, my hand still raised.

  “Uh, Mrs Pryor?”

  She looks my way. “Yes, lovely?”

  I reply meekly, the awkward tension still heavy in the air. “I can do my speech today.”

  She responds positively, “That’s wonderful! Will you do it today?”

  “Uh, yes?” Her words don’t help with the awkwardness, but I agree.

  “Fantastic! Come up front and pretend I’m not even here. You’re the teacher for the next five minutes,” she generously declares.

  Lucky me.

  My feet drag those two metres to the front, past the safety of my desk. My brain reminds them that if they refuse to move, I can remain seated. Mrs Pryor dramatically hands the stage over to me with a sweeping, open-palmed gesture, accompanied with a slight bow.

  Yes, yes, I’m doing it.

  I need to get the class to look my way right from the start, otherwise the audience engagement score on my speech will be poor. The number of students feels overwhelming as I scan the room, beginning my attempt to draw their attention my way.

  “Has anyone here gone shopping, only to find the store closed because they’d run through their power quota too early that day?”

  Some heads rise and I get a bit more of the class’s attention, but not enough. I try something different to get them to become more vocal.

  “I want you to yell out your frustration.”

  Most heads are pointed my way, curiosity in their expressions, like I’m trying to trap them into something they’ll regret later. Sam doesn’t worry about that.

  “Ahhhhhhhh!”

  That has captured the rest of them. Even Dom has an amused smirk on his face. One more time should do it, given Mrs Pryor hasn’t intervened. She looks out at the class expectantly as I encourage them one last time.

  “You can do better than that! What do you shout out when you slam a door on your fingers, or your team misses a goal?”

  That gets the reaction I am after.

  “@%*&?#$#!?&%@#*&$?%@#&!*?$%#&!”

  Effective!

  Mrs Pryor’s face settles into a pleased expression, though I’m not sure if it’s because I have their attention now, or if she simply enjoyed the wide range of profanities.

  “We will all be familiar with our power cutting off before we have finished with it, both limiting our ability to create drinking water and disrupting manufacturing. As a result, there are food shortages, delays, and rising costs.”

  I receive some nods of affirmation. I have them engaged.

  “What if none of this is necessary? What if there is power available, and all we need are higher quotas?”

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  A wave of confusion overcomes the unusually silent class. Now is my time to back up my statement.

  “Yesterday, I had an in-person interview at United World Oceania’s corporate office with the Renewable Power Director, Dr Mariana Montoya. My evidence comes from a primary source.”

  I let that sink in for a moment before continuing.

  “I told her that my assignment’s research concludes that we should have more power available than what is being used. When I asked her how the usage quotas are determined to ensure fairness, she chose to not answer my question. She then allowed herself to be pulled away to “something more urgent,” and her secretary asked me to leave the building.

  I find that highly suspicious. But don’t just take my word for it, let’s look at the data.”

  Claudia is staring at me with narrowed eyes again. Good, that jealousy will be the highlight of my day! Jono leans forward on his left elbow, his chin resting in his palm, sitting intrigued beside her.

  “On your tablet, you will find my pending push notification request. Please accept it to follow the most intriguing part of my presentation.”

  I wait silently for about ten seconds, taking in the moment when more than half of the class look up again, ready for me to carry on. My slides are nearly all visual representations of the data I’ll be talking about.

  “This first graph represents the total volume of power each segment in Oceania is allocated. This quota data is provided across high-level segments, without any further breakdown. All we know is that residential receives a combined quota of 18%, commercial is at 27%, industrial 44% and public use a lower 11%.

  Good, that adds to 100%. It’s all being allocated at its maximum allowance, right?”

  A few uncertain nods surface, but the majority of the class remains noncommittal, offering little reaction.

  “Let’s come back to that after reviewing the usage data on this next slide.”

  I flick through to show my usage data graphs. It looks very visually appealing, if I don’t say so myself.

  “Power usage data is also ‘publicly available’.”

  Both of my hands form sarcastic quotation marks when emphasising those last two words.

  “Unfortunately for me, usage data is ONLY provided within each defined region and ONLY by each of the segments. To add to the complexity of extraction, the reports are all in different formats across more than four hundred regions in Oceania. I had to find each region’s reports, locate the relevant data, then repeat the process across every segment, just to compile a single region. Luckily for my assignment, I was determined to produce this analysis as evidence and to incorporate the information subtly into an interview.”

  The next slide is blank, and their eyes naturally draw back to me as I speak.

  “It’s time for a guessing game, where each winner will receive full marks for their assignment!”

  There are some calls out of “Yeah!” and “Woo!” from the back of the class, encouraged by the unchanging smile fixed on Mrs Pryor.

  “Of the 18% quota available for residential power, how much do you think was actually used last year?”

  A few voices cry out estimates. They are fairly close.

  “Rosa wins this first one. 17% was used, almost the entire residential quota. Congratulations on acing this assignment!”

  She smiles mischievously, leaning back in her chair, soaking it in as the students around her celebrate loudly. Time to use this momentum.

  “What about commercial, out of their 27%?”

  Sam calls out about ten different numbers.

  “Sam wins this one, but from now on I’ll only count your first guess. That’s right. It’s 23%!”

  He laughs more loudly than necessary, showing off to Dom, then settles back into his seat, still restless.

  “And now for public use? Their quota is 11%.

  Well done, Aiden!”

  He inclines his head slightly at the sound of his name, calm and composed.

  “That one was a tough one. With rounding, they use all 11%.

  I guess it’s because public facilities like the library, public bathrooms and parks are always available and more predictable for planning how much power will be needed.

  Last of all, industrial. How much power did they use last year out of their 44% allowance?”

  I wait while the class enthusiastically give guesses to the usage, and step in with the answer when they begin to get stuck.

  “This one was a hard one. Only 26%.”

  The class are rightfully shocked. I repeat my words, letting the number sink in further.

  “Only 26%. They didn’t use most of their quota last year, and their usage trend from the previous decade hasn’t varied much as a whole. It wasn’t an unexpected year. Quotas are also being scrutinised and updated every year, but barely. The proportions don’t change frequently.

  So, if we add up the total usage, 77% of power was used out of the 100%.

  Where did the rest of it go? If the quotas are wrong, wouldn’t they fix them, and shouldn’t they be more than 100%, anticipating that some of it won’t be used?”

  With the way Claudia is still staring at me, I decide to put her on the spot while I have the moment.

  “Claudia looks like she has something to say. What do you think the reasons are?”

  I only receive deathly silence in return and an intensified stare. Maybe that wasn’t the best idea during an assessed presentation.

  Dom leans forward slightly, elbows planted, studying the figures on the screen with determined scrutiny. Surprisingly, he speaks out to break the silence.

  “Are you certain about this? Could I really have more power if United World shared it fairly?”

  “There could be another reason the usage reports are so low, but with three of the four segments providing reasonable data, I don’t know what that other reason would be.

  My interview with Dr Mariana had useful information to do with the history of United World and her achievements. However, she didn’t answer any of my questions, and cut the interview short so that she wouldn’t have to.”

  Dom contemplates the implications of the new information. Claudia has something to say now that she has had time to think. Her sarcasm is laid on thick.

  “Surely your whole assignment isn’t based off information that was unsaid. That’s not quoting a primary resource…”

  I ignore her jealousy and move on to my speech’s conclusion.

  “I expect that the outcome I’m proposing from my DATA-BASED RESEARCH is different from what the other assignments will cover.

  Yes, we need to increase the supply of available renewable electrical power.

  Yes, we need to reduce the demand of that power as much as possible through technical efficiencies.

  But what we really need to do is to efficiently allocate and use the same power we already have available to us.

  If the fundamental process of managing distribution is flawed, the problem isn’t having too little power available or the growing population. It’s United World.

  Thank you.”

  I receive the biggest applause I ever remember getting at school and blush slightly, dropping my face to avoid eye contact as I idly stroll back to my desk. Mrs Pryor takes over the lesson again, if you can call it that, and the rest of the day drifts by with students giving speeches, trying to take advantage of a lenient marker, while I sit in peace, free from at least one burden I’ve been carrying.

  Class ends and for the first time in ages, I’m not in a rushed panic to arrive where I next need to be. Football training will be on soon and Ernie will be safely walking home with me. It might be a good idea to reward his obedience, to remind him there are benefits to listening to me. I can treat him to some vegan vanilla ice-cream from the shops on the way home. It’s been a long time since we indulged in dessert, and it will be nice to have a shorter work shift tonight to wind down after the stress of lately.

  “Great speech Victoria!”

  “Yeah, it was awesome!”

  Students praise my presentation as they pass by, making their way out of the classroom and into their afternoon freedom. It’s not until the classroom feels almost empty, as if only the principal and I remain, that Dom taps my shoulder in congratulations and steps in beside me, Sabina at his side with her arms folded loosely, Sam a step back on the other, neither of them quite meeting my eyes.

  “Fuck me, that was eye-opening! I always knew those fuckers were screwing us, I just didn’t know how until now.”

  I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the contaminated feeling his touch leaves behind.

  “Yeah, well, getting awareness out there is the first step toward encouraging change,” I reply nonchalantly.

  He responds without skipping a beat.

  “Very true. I’m ready to take charge of the second step. We need to get some more evidence we can use before they know we’re onto them.

  Are you in?”

  I’ve just finished all the work I’ve been doing on this. I don’t really want to start from scratch on a new research project… but I should see what he has in mind.

  “What type of evidence are you looking to collect?” I ask.

  He grins, scheming, “He grins, scheming. “Whatever we can find. We’ve got more meter serial numbers we can use to increase quotas, for a start. From there, we can significantly increase their residential electricity quotas and make sure they’re heavily used. If there are no issues with power supply, there’s more evidence to point to your research.”

  I react more loudly than ideally in front of Mrs Pryor.

  “You’re planning on breaking into United World again? Right when they increased the alerts for intruders?!”

  Mrs Pryor pleasantly hums the Happy Birthday song to herself, perfectly oblivious to any implications of our conversation. Dom lowers his voice, leaning down closer to my ear.

  “Wouldn’t that be the time they least expect it to happen again? We could also search through her office now that you have been there.

  How about it? Let’s just say, if someone were to pay their offices a visit tonight, would you be interested in an invitation to the party?”

  “Are you insane?!” I answer on the spot.

  Shouting in whispers may contradict the purpose, but certain levels of stupidity seem to demand an idiotic reaction, intentional or otherwise.

  Dom stands upright again, ready to depart the room, his voice back to its normal volume.

  “I thought you might be interested in finishing off your project with a practical element, but Sabina was right. You’re just a self-righteous pussy without friends. I can’t call you a teacher’s pet when even Mr Klein is avoiding you.”

  “I called it first!” Sam interposes.

  Dom’s arrogant grin returns in appreciation of Sam’s input, only fuelling his need to antagonise me further.

  “Let’s go. Roz has some catching up to do before tonight.”

  “Don’t ask Roselyn to imprison herself in your criminal plans again! There’s only one place that road leads!”

  “Oh, I won’t have to ask,” he replies smugly. He gives me a sarcastic little wave with his fingers, a baby voice to accompany it as he gloats, “Bye bye,” before the three of them leave the classroom.

  Mrs Pryor holds her tablet up with a large ten written on it as if she is judging a competition. I’m not sure if that’s for my speech, or if she just had fun witnessing the drama from our interaction. Too fuming to clarify, I leave the room as well, glaring straight ahead and pointedly ignoring her overkeen wave goodbye.

  As I meet up with Ernie, I think to myself, one stress down, but the Roselyn factor still remains.

  This isn’t something I can just keep to myself.

  It’s time for Dad to be a true parent again.