The air in the study room was thick with the scent of old books and the low, rhythmic hum of Wilson Firestone’s voice. He was mid-anecdote, his hands gesturing vaguely as he neared a punchline.
“So then the guy says to the housekeeper: ‘Make sure she’s dead.’ Stop me if you’ve heard this before—”
“Stop!” Christina Puhr snapped. Her eyes were bloodshot, her jaw set in a terrifying clench. “I’ve gotta joke for you. A mindless boomer with no social skills walks into a room and tells stupid pointless jokes and I crush his windpipe with my three-ringed binder.”
Sharon giggled confused, “I don’t get it.”
The table went silent. Wilson blinked, looking genuinely wounded. Chase Wright didn’t even look up from his crossword. “Christina’s trying to give up vaping,” he explained to the room.
“Don’t tell them my business!” Christina hissed. “I’ll slap that look off your pointy face.”
“Christina, I’m saying this because I care,” Chase added, his voice full of genuine concern. “You need to start vaping again.”
Sharon decided to throw in her two cents, “ Your skin looks great when you vape.”
“I’ve got to quit,” Christina insisted.
Wilson leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a sudden, predatory helpfulness. “Have you thought about hypnotherapy? I know a hypnotherapist. He shares his name with a Volleyball AND a tire company.”
“Champion Michelin is on campus?,” Chase asked sarcastically.
“No, it’s me, Wilson Firestone. And I’m very effective.”
Chase smirked. “Can you help me block out people’s voices I find extremely annoying?”
“Chase, she’s right there,” Wilson muttered, slyly pointing at Christina.
Turning to Christina–Wilson said, “I would be grateful for the opportunity to help.”
To everyone’s shock, Christina sighed. “Fine, Wilson. Let’s do it.”
“What?” Chase asked.
“I feel bad for him,” Christina whispered as Wilson scurried off to “set things up.” “Plus, I just yelled at him.”
“You yelled at me, too,” Chase noted.
“Did I hurt your feelings, pointy face?”
The tension was broken by Tyrone, who burst into the room clutching a laptop as if it were a holy relic. “Have you seen the film department’s website?”
“It’s the first page I visit while taking a dump.” Chase said unseriously.
“All of Elvis’s films are about us.” Tyrone said ignoring Chase’s comment.
The group huddled around the screen. On the flickering display, actors who looked disturbingly like them were having a conversation in a room that looked exactly like this one.
“Chase, stop being so relaxed,” the video-Amelia said. “Why on earth are you living out of your car?”
Chase stiffened. “Wait. Why are those people saying that?”
“It’s true,” the video-Chase replied. “I’m living out of my car. And I don’t want anyone’s help.”
Sharon stared at the screen, his cool exterior cracking. “We had almost that exact conversation last week.”
“Yeah,” Tyrone whispered, his eyes wide. “But Elvis posted this video two weeks ago.”
In shock Sharon said, “That boy is psychic.”
The video version of Tyrone entered the scene, Tyrone emotionally said, “This is wrinkling my brain.”
“This is wrinkling my brain.” Video-Tyrone said on screen.
“That’s wrinkling my brain,” Tyrone said in shock.
Wilson shuffled closer to the screen, seeing an old decrepit man shuffling on the video, his voice shaking with every line, as he admits to wetting his pants. “Who’s the old guy supposed to be?” Wilson asked innocently.
“Hi, I’m Wilson Firestone” the decrepit old man said.
“Oh, come on,” Wilson groaned.
Chase was trying to beat a hasty retreat down the hallway when he was intercepted by a pensive Professor Williamson, frantic Dean Starmer and a high-strung Amelia Winters.
“Mr. Wright! Hold on,” the Dean chirped. “Did you hear my announcement about the debate club championship?”
“I’m barely listening now,” Chase quipped back.
Amelia took charge and stopped in front of Chase, “My debate partner dropped out. We need you to fill in for him in the Master Debate-Off versus Viento Learning Institute.”
“Chase,” Professor Williamson added, clapping a hand on Chase’s shoulder, “I’m offering you an opportunity to drink from the cup of life rather than romancing your nether regions in front of the E! Channel.”
“Pass,” Chase said.
“Chase, come on,” Dean Starmer pleaded. “Who better than a former lawyer to stick it to those Viento Learning Institute snobs and their master debater, Jeremy ‘ERMEE’ Johnson?”
Chase paused. “What’s in it for me?”
“A plum parking space?” the Dean offered.
“Anything else?”
“A night of companionship, if you know what I mean?”
“I’ll do it for the parking space,” Chase sighed. “And if you promise NEVER to tell me what you mean.”
While Chase was being recruited, Christina was seated in the music room, staring at a pocket watch that Wilson was swinging with a shaky hand.
“Close your eyes and keep them closed,” Wilson commanded. “The only word that will bring you out is…let me think… ‘titmouse.’ Now… focus on the rhythm of your breathing.”
Fifteen minutes passed while Wilson was ‘hypnotizing’ Christina. Wilson started finishing up his session. “When you feel the desire for a cigarette, you will associate it with things that disgust you. Sex with men. Wearing attractive clothing. Being pleasant.”
Wilson stepped back, tripped over a stool, windmilling onto the floor. Rolling around he let out a sharp cry of pain. “Oh, God! I think I really hurt my coccyx! Somebody help me!”
Christina squeezed her eyes shut tighter, her lip twitching. “Titmouse?” she whispered tentatively. “Just say Titmouse.”
“Christina, wake up…tits…tits…oh my coccyx!” Wilson groaned from the floor.
“Tits.” Wilson kept repeatedly screaming as he stumbled on the floor. “I can’t remember the rest, I just remember it was Tits…ahhh my damn coccyx.”
“Why did I put you under so well? Damn my talents!”
“Are people inherently good or evil?” Amelia asked, as she walked alongside Chase, entering the study room later that afternoon. “When do you want to get together to strategize?”
Chase leaned back, his feet on the table. “Amelia, I was a lawyer. I was a debater for money. I think I can handle this.”
“How was hypnotherapy?” Chase asked Christina as she walked in.
“He fell down and started screaming about Tits and Cocks till security came and brought him to the nurse,” Christina said flatly. “I laid there to make him feel like a good hypnotherapist.”
“You know this is never going to end.” Chase reminded her slyly.
“It’s already done…sorta…he just wants one more session.”
“Where’s Elvis?” Tyrone asked, looking around nervously. “I need to have a chat with him about his films.”
“I swear, that boy is psychic, he can read minds!” Sharon added.
Everyone in the room gasped as Elvis appeared in the room from the doorway, already knowing what to expect.
“I know what you’re going to say. You watched my movies.”
“He’s a witch!” Sharon shouted, pointing an accusatory finger.
Tyrone got up, huffing up ready for a fight, “Let’s get him!”
“I’m not a witch,” Elvis said, his voice flat. “I’m a student of human character. I know you guys so well I can predict your behavior.” Elvis’ eyes darted around the room settling on Sharon, “Sharon, you’re a sweet, Chistian person.”
“That’s sweet” Sharon piqued up.
“With rage issues.” Elvis finished
“Careful, boy,” Sharon warned, her voice dropping an octave. WIth Elvis matching her tone and words.
“Check this out,” Elvis said, turning the laptop.
“I made Chase’s character act like things don’t bother him, but they really do.” Elvis said, playing a segment where Video-Chase has a fit over having a worse grade than Video-Wilson.
The video then showed Tyrone crying to himself.
“What,” Tyrone said concerned. “Why am I crying? Will I listen to ‘Clocks’ by Coldplay again?”
“Don’t worry,” Elvis said. “It’s just a movie.”
They continued watching this week’s film, and Video-Wilson came into the video’s study-room, wearing a cast on his leg.
Soon after the door swung open, and Wilson hobbled in, his leg in a cast and using crutches.
Sharon let out a strangled yelp. “Evil wizard! Tell me my future right now!”
The Orangeside gymnasium was split down the middle: a handful of bored locals on one side and a sea of cheering, well-dressed Viento Learning Institute students on the other.
Amelia stood nervously giving her side of the debate, “As Golding’s Lord of the Flies demonstrates, man, when left to his own devices, will descend into chaos and evil.” A series of claps filled the area and Amelia gave a quick curtsey before leaving the stage.
Dean Starmer then announced, “Now, from Viento Learning Instite is Jeremy ‘ERMEE’ Johnson.’ The Viento side cheered over energetically.
Using a wheelchair, he made his way to the stage and Jeremy Johnson declared, his voice smooth as silk. “Twenty-three thousand kidney donations in America last year. The average life expectancy for a man in a community is twenty-three years longer than a man alone.” Jeremy rolled around and continued, “In fact, a bespeckled man assisted me by holding the door open.” Turning a sly smile towards Dean Starmer. “Man. Is. Good.”
The Viento Learning Institute side erupted. Dean Starmer faked a smile, his tone flat. “I hate this guy.”
“By the end of this debate,” Johnson continued, “I will prove with facts and data that man is inherently good.”
Williamson strode next to a seated Chase giving some unwanted advice, “Quick tip, for getting yourself in the right headspace. I always imagine my opponent kicking my dog in the mouth.”
Chase stood up, Amelia handing him a microphone. He didn’t head for the podium; instead, he wandered toward the front row of the audience, flashing a casual, disarming grin. “This feels so formal,” Chase said, his voice honeyed with practiced charm. “Let’s just talk. People are evil. They can’t help it.”
He stopped in front of a woman judge. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“It’s Jean.”
“Take Jean here,” Chase said, gesturing to her. “She spent a lot of time this morning making herself look so lovely. Tell me, Jean, how many people bothered to tell you how great you look today?”
“None,” Jean admitted.
“Man is evil,” Chase noted, though he winked at her.
“But you just said how great I looked,” she countered.
“For my own selfish purposes,” Chase replied. The fact is, as hot as you look, and you do look quite hot, I wouldn’t have said anything.”
“When I talk about Man is Evil, those are just opinions and statistics.” He continued.
He turned back to the judges. “I think we could have a little more fun if I express myself in song.” He began to belt out a chorus of Evil Woman, leaning into the notes, certain that his charisma would carry the day.
“That’s my time, everybody!” Chase finished with a flourish.
Ten minutes later, the scoreboard flickered to life. Viento Learning Institute: 50. Orangeside: 8.
“I got eight?” Chase gasped. “I only got eight?”
“She got eight,” Judge Jean said to Chase, her face unamused. “You got zero.”
“It’s debate, Chase, not American Idol,” the judge hissed.
Jeremy ‘ERMEE’ Johnson sensing the tension teased Chase and Amelia from his wheelchair, “Nice job their Saul Goodman, all wack with no way back.”
“I don’t care, nerd, I’m doing this for a parking space.” Chase replied.
The debate was mercifully cut short when the basketball team stormed the court for practice. As they filed out of the gym, Chase was fuming, and Amelia was following closely giving unwanted advice. He kicked a trash can, the metal clanging against the linoleum.
“Maybe ERMEE is right,” Amelia said, watching him. “Maybe you are all wack with no way back. I bet you couldn’t beat him if you tried.”
With a shocked tone in his voice, “What do you mean can’t beat him? That’s it. You and me we put our heads together and master debate all over ERMEE and his stupid wheelchair.”
Amelia, with a hopeful tone asked, “Really?”
“No, do I look like Zack Morris on Saved by the Bell?”
Amelia was shocked, “You know what, Elvis was right. You act like things don’t bother you, but they do.”
“Look,” Chase snapped, his cool facade finally shattering. “Six months ago I was a lawyer. I wore suits. I used to say stuff like ‘objection’ and ‘sidebar.’ Now I’m losing a community college debate to Jeremy ‘ERMEE’ Johnson!”
“Hey, Wright!” Johnson called out, rolling over with a smug grin. “You like to sing? I like to sing too. Orangesides blight, its name is Wright! Can’t win a fight, or finish Tom Sawyer. Was a big shot lawyer, now he’s a loser!“
“Lay off, Johnson,” Amelia stepped in, her chin high. “He didn’t know all the rules.”
“Yeah? What’s your excuse, eight points?” Johnson sneered. “Little Amelia Monkey Girl would make all the boys hurl—“
“That’s it,” Chase growled, stepping between them. “Dude, we are gonna master debate the living crap out of you tomorrow.”
While Chase and Amelia retreated to the study room to actually prepare, Sharon was wandering the library, her eyes darting toward every shadow. She found Elvis in his usual corner.
Tyrone entered the room in tears, “I liked it better when you were vaping.”
“I’m so sorry.” Christina pleaded as she followed him.
Hurt, Tyrone replied through tears, “No, you’re right. Decaf coffee is stupid and pointless…leave me alone.”
After witnessing Tyrone’s tears, Sharon marched her way to Elvis, “Wilson hurt his leg. Christina made Tyrone cry,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What’s my destiny? Am I gonna die in a car? Is it going to happen soon?”
“Sharon, I’m just an entertainer,” Elvis said calmly. “But if it makes you feel better, look at this.”
He turned his screen. A grainy, black-and-white clip showed Video-Sharon being chased through the woods by a man in a Ghillie Suit with a dear skull on it. “Is that me being chased by a wendigo?”
“Yeah,” Elvis said. “That’s how you’d behave in that situation.”
“And that’s Chase locking lips with Amelia?” Sharon pointed to another frame.
Elvis nodded. “Mm-hm.”
Sharon huffed out of the room, “You’re a fool.”
The air in the study room was heavy with the scent of high-lighters and desperation. Chase rubbed his temples. “I have this pain above my eyebrow.”
“It’s a stress headache,” Amelia said bluntly. “I got my first one when I was four.”
“I hate it.”
Get used to it, brother. This is debate. If you want to win, you need to prepare.”
“Agreed,” Chase sighed. “But if you want to win, you need to loosen up. Go off-book, mecha debater.”
Amelia paused. She looked at Chase, “You’re right, ERMEE is so good at using his magnetism to sell his point, here I am like some spinster receptionist with her hair pulled back.” then slowly reached up and pulled the clip from her hair. Her chestnut locks tumbled down her shoulders.
Chase stopped. He stared at her for a beat too long, the silence in the room suddenly thick and humming with something that wasn’t debate strategy.
“Thanks,” Amelia whispered, her voice dipping.
“Be careful,” Sharon’s voice cut through the air as she stuck her head in the door. “Elvis thinks you two are going to kiss.”
“Ha-ha!” Chase let out a forced, jagged laugh. “Us kissing. Ridiculous.”
“Totally,” Amelia agreed, her face flushing.
They went back to the books, but the words on the page were a blur. “People are inherently evil.” Chase weakly said.
Amelia pulled a book and leaned over to Chase. “We can use this Hobbes quote: ‘Man is a collection of base, animal urges. To act on them… would be morally no different than taking a breath.’”
Chase watched the way the light hit her hair, their eyes slowly meeting. “That’s poignant right.”
“Yeah,” Chase said, his eyes meeting hers. “You know… maybe we should study alone.”
“Yeah,” Amelia agreed, standing up so fast she nearly knocked over her chair. “Separately. That way we can be more… reproductive…uhh…I mean productive.”
Amelia and Chase awkwardly said ‘bye’ to each other, each going for a friendly embrace, only to freeze, not knowing what to do. Chase instinctively patted Amelia on the head and practically bolted for the door, leaving his phone vibrating on the table.
“You forgot your phone,” Amelia called out.
“Oh, I’ll just get another one.” Chase replied.
In the music room, the air was still and heavy. Christina sat in a chair, her eyes closed in a “trance” that was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain. Wilson circled her, his voice a low, self-satisfied rumble.
“The next time you even see a cigarette, you will think of things that disgust you,” Wilson intoned. He leaned in closer, his tone shifting into something far less clinical once he noticed signs of Christina faking her hypnosis. “And while you’re under so deep, you’ll find yourself attracted to mildly older men. Perhaps some barrel-chested stud with a near bottomless fortune. You’ll want to go out with him for dinner. Then go back to his hot tub. You’ll invite one of your friends to join us for a three-way. Maybe someone with low self-esteem and slightly larger breasts.”
Christina’s eyes snapped open, her patience finally vaporizing. “Go to hell, you disgusting pig!”
“A-ha!” Wilson shouted, pointing a finger.
Christina continued, “I was awake the whole time. I was faking it!”
“I know!” Wilson yelled. “I saw you! What do you think I am? Some joke?”
“No,” Christina said, her voice softening with exasperation. “I was trying to make you feel better about yourself.”
Wilson’s face contorted with a sudden, sharp indignation. “How dare you pity me! I may be a little older, my ideas may seem weird, my fashion sense may cause envy, but I have a lot to offer and I will not be pitied.” He turned to leave, tripped over his own feet, tumbling into various instruments and snarled back over his shoulder, “Do not help me up!”
The gymnasium was packed for the final round. The tension was palpable as Jeremy Johnson took the podium for Viento Learning Institute.
“Snow falls from the heavens pure,” Johnson said, his voice dripping with practiced sincerity. “We cannot blame the snow for being soiled by the Earth. Man is good.”
A wave of applause swept the Viento Learning Institute side. Even Tyrone started heaving tears hearing the speech.
Chase stepped up for the rebuttal, ignoring Johnson’ smug “Wright the Orangeside blight” whisper.
“In the Stanford Prison Experiment,” Chase began, his voice steady and devoid of his previous theatricality, “when given absolute power, students abused and tortured their fellow students. My competitor likened people to pure, falling snow. I would respond, ‘There is none righteous, no, not one.’” He glanced at Amelia, who gave him a sharp nod. “Now, I realize Mr. Johnson’ quote was from Franz Wickmeyer. Mine was just from a simple desert handyman named Jesus Christ.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Sharon bellowed from the front row.
The debate became a blur of rapid-fire points. “Survival of the fittest wires an impulse to eliminate people into our hearts,” Amelia argued.
“Mother Teresa, Joan of Arc!” ERMEE countered.
“Nuclear bombs!” Amelia shouted. “
Nuclear families!” Johnson shot back.
“Abu Ghraib!” Chase bit back.
“Apu from The Simpsons!” ERMEE retorted.
“Telemarketers!” Amelia emphasised back.
“Organ donors!” ERMEE screamed.
“Ketchup is a vegetable!” Chase Passionatley said.
Wilson leaned over to Sharon. “This is a real barn-burner… Oh, God, did I just say cross-burner?”
“No, you did not,” Sharon replied, transfixed.
Amelia turned to Chase, “We make an amazing team!”
“I know, we are so in sync, were like a perfect duet or a great sex partn–” Chase stopped himself just as Professor Williamson slid in.
“Chase, your preparation was impeccable, you remind me of a slightly less handsome me.”
“Orangeside is in the lead,” the Dean announced after a frantic huddle with the judges.
In the audience, Christina’s leg was bouncing a mile a minute. The pressure of the moment, combined with the lingering scent of old floor wax, was too much. She stood up and bolted for the exit, desperate for a vape.
Johnson, realizing the tide had turned, looked at his partner and then at the audience. He saw Chase and Amelia’s flawless synchronization. He knew he couldn’t win on points. He tore his note cards into confetti, a desperate glint in his eye.
“Woah, woah woah. He’s going off-book!” Amelia whispered.
From the audience Elvis observed, “This is a gambit.” he whispered to himself.
ERMEE spun his wheelchair around, gaining speed as he raced across the stage toward the edge. He slammed on the brakes, the sudden momentum launching his body through the air like a flesh missile. Chase, acting on pure instinct, stepped forward and caught him.
“He hates me, yet he caught me!” Johnson shouted to the judges while dangling from Chase’s arms. “Man is good!”
The judges began to murmur. The “miracle” had happened. But Amelia saw the calculation in Johnson’ eyes. She stepped forward, grabbed Chase’s lapels, and pulled him into a sudden, passionate kiss.
Startled, Chase’s grip loosened. Johnson tumbled from his arms, landing with a dull thwack face-first on the hardwood. Amelia broke the kiss, breathless, and turned to the judges.
“He was horny, so he dropped him!” she declared. “Man is evil!”
The head judge stood up. “Orangeside wins!”
The celebration spilled out into the cool night air. Elvis walked beside Sharon, trying to calm her.
“They kissed, you do have powers.” Sharon said.
“Sharon, I don’t have powers. Just because the kiss happened doesn’t mean a wendigo will appear. In my next film, Wilson is a genius. That’s not going to happen.” Elvis replied.
Suddenly, Christina barges through them and to Wilson, who was walking behind them.
“Wilson, I can’t vape without thinking of a three-way in your hot tub!” Christina’s voice carried across the lawn as she confronted Wilson. “You cured me! You’re a genius!”
“I did?” Wilson asked, his chest puffing out. “I’m a genius! Hey, in that three-way, who’s the third?”
Professor Williamson walked side by side with Dean Starmer, both celebrating the victory. WIlliamson looked at Elvis and then looked up at the sky. “Full moon tonight!”
Elvis froze. Now worried about Sharon, then glanced at the moon, and sprinted off into the darkness. “SHARON!”
Chase and Amelia were the last to leave the gym. They stood under the buzzing streetlamp, the silence between them heavy with the memory of the kiss.
“Well,” Chase said, clearing his throat. “Congratulations, buddy.”
“Thanks, pal,” Amelia replied, her voice a pitch higher than usual.
Amelia went in for a nervous hug, but Chase stiffened. “Just pat me,” she settled on.
Chase gave her a couple of awkward pats on the head. Without another word, they both turned and ran in opposite directions into the night.