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Storm clouds lit up like strobe lights in the distance, too far away for the sound of thunder to reach Weatherview. Leonard Harris was setting up his concession stand for the game tonight. As he was opening a case of soda he noticed someone sitting in an aisle seat outside the tunnel near where he was working.

“Excuse me, sir, the game doesn’t start for over two hours. Can I help you?”

“Oh, I work here too. I’m with the press.”

“Can I see some credentials?”

“Are you this thorough with everyone around here? All I have is this,” he lifted up a green binder full of loose leaf paper.

“If you don’t have a pass I’m going to have to ask you to leave. We don’t let anyone in until an hour and a half before the game,” Leonard told him.

“That’s too bad, Mr. Harris, I’m working on a story about you.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I know everyone’s name around here. How are Nia, Darius, Ella, and Jasmine?”

“Hey!”

“It’s alright,” the man laughed, “I created this place.”

Leonard awoke sweating and gasping for air. His wife slept soundly beside him. The clock read 3:34am.

At breakfast that morning Leonard asked his wife and children, “How would y’all like to go to Hawaii?”

“What! Ahhh. Yesss. Yes, Daddy.”

“Hawaii?” asked Nia.

“We have all this money. We’d just have to sell one gold bar to have money for the whole trip. I’ve got plenty of hours saved up. Think about it, we could enjoy a little paradise, in paradise.”

Nia walked over and hugged him. “My paradise is right here.”

“I love you, Nia.”

Stephen and Olivia had been going to church almost every Sunday. Today’s sermon was about marriage.

“First Peter, chapter three,” said the pastor. “Wives, in the same way submit yourselves to your own husbands so that, if any of them do not believe the word, they may be won over without words by the behavior of their wives, when they see the purity and reverence of your lives. Your beauty should not come from outward adornment such as elaborate hair styles or the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight. For this is the way the holy women of the past who put their hope in God used to adorn themselves. They submitted to their own husbands, like Sarah, who obeyed Abraham and called him her lord. You are her daughters if you do what is right and do not give way to fear.”

After church the couple went to Cantico Park again to walk and talk. Olivia was quiet. The sermon had made her second guess some of her decisions. She hadn’t been submissive to Stephen, she’d been the opposite, arguing and fighting him all the time. It had been play-arguing and play-fighting, and it helped them get along. She loved him so much, but she liked being independent, having power of her own. Many women these days disagreed with what the Bible says about marriage. That couldn’t be a good sign.

“Are you thinking about the sermon?” asked Stephen.

“Yes,” she laughed. “It’s just so difficult to be that way sometimes.”

“I don’t think it means wives are supposed to be their husbands’ servants. I think you’re supposed to let me lead and we should serve each other out of love, because we want to not because we have to.”

“I feel like some men might try to use that passage as an excuse to subjugate their wives and abuse them. Wives have to submit to their husbands so they’d better do what they’re told or else.”

“The Bible also commands husbands to love thir wives as themselves, the Golden Rule, which means abuse is strictly forbidden. I think there’s a certain structure for families that God had in mind when he made us. The man is supposed to be the head of the wife but the wife is always equal and cherished above all.”

“Sounds nice,” said Olivia.

“I love you, Livs.”

“I love you.”

The following week at school Elliot kept getting knowing looks from classmates and disapproving looks from teachers. He was now the leader of a coup that had taken place entirely without his planning or intention.

“You should run with it,” his friend Tyrone said. “What’s done is done, make the most of it while you can.”

“I don’t want to be leader of a new regime, I have homework to do. Plus my parents are none too pleased about all the press this thing is getting. They think I ruined my chances of getting into a decent University.”

“All the more reason to fight back and take down the whole system. Elliot v. Board of Education,” said Tyrone.

His friend was only joking of course but it made Elliot wonder if maybe there was some way to leverage what was happening for the good of all. Not in any dishonest or exploitational way, like trying to make money or promote his music. He wanted to do something to convey genuine love for students, teachers, families, and all.

Most of his classes had four or five empty seats. It was the end of their first week back after summer break. He felt guilty about initiating, “The Dropout Movement,” as everyone was calling it. Kids were posting content of them hanging out instead of being in school, trying to get more to join. Maybe he should say something to convince them to come back. Some kids were even running away from home because of all this.

Everyone thought Elliot was back at school because he had to be, but the truth was he wanted to be back now. He wasn’t trying to take down the system. Kids should learn.

After lunch he went to the principal’s office to propose an idea. “I’d like to play a concert here at school next Friday, outside on the practice field. Food, games, everything, to show the kids who dropped out that school is fun and they should come back. It’s the best way to resolve this problem with the least damage possible.

Principal Gathard reluctantly agreed.