Page 169 of Midnight Curfew

Jerome and Vincent stand still, watching me.

“I hope everything was clear,” I say.

They heard and can infer for themselves. Sophia is dear to me. Make her cry, and I make you bleed.

Jerome nods. “Yeah.”

“Yes,” Vincent adds.

Good. We move back to the blueprints, making a list of potential alumni donors for the reconstruction.

—

“The definition of morality varies around the world,” Dallas tells his class. “Based on the recurring societal or cultural expectations in that region, in that community, et cetera.”

I linger outside, listening. I found it so hard to believe he’d be capable of the position he holds, I had to lurk and listen one afternoon last year when I’d come home for a long weekend. I’d snuck in and stood back. He didn’t even know I was in town, I don’t think.

“In some places, you share resources. You help each other,” he goes on, his voice traveling around the room as he moves. “In others, you earn it, you keep it.”

I’m not just a former Marymount student anymore, though. I fund his position. I have the right to observe him whenever I want.

Sliding my hands into my pockets, I stroll in, watching him lift his head. Not saying a word, I drift to the back of the room, finding Sophia perched on the window ledge. She smiles at me, I wink at her.

Leaning back against a wooden desk, I face the backs of everyone’s heads as Dallas flexes his jaw.

“What are some moral rules we follow?” he asks loudly.

“Don’t steal?” a student announces.

Followed by others. “Don’t kill.”

“Be punctual.”

“Hold the door open for a lady.”

A round of laughs go off.

“Don’t use people,” another one calls out.

Dallas nods, agreeing with their answers. We don’t usually go to prison for breaking a moral rule, but there still might be consequences. As he’s well learning.

Dallas moves around the back of the desk in front of me, ignoring my eyes. “Has anyone ever stolen anything and gotten away with it?” he prompts.

The students exchange glances, trying to hide their smiles.

When no one offers to out themselves, Dallas’s hand rises into the air.

Slowly, hands start to pop up, hesitant kids admitting they’re not angels.

“Would we steal more if we knew there’d be no consequences?” Dallas asks them. “And if the wrong people wouldn’t find out?”

I tilt my head. What is he getting at?

Again, no one wants to take a chance answering him.

He goes on, “Okay, how many of you have a crush on someone you’re not dating right now?”

“You can’t ask that!” the Martinez girl scolds him.