Blake knew that most people liked Mr. Glass. He was the kind of teacher people tended to like; he didn’t require too much, and made lots of jokes, and had lots of worksheets that he went over in class before handing in, so the smart kids could goof off and the dumb ones could pass even if they failed all the tests. Besides, he taught history; it wasn’t like anyone minded not learning in that class.

Mr. Glass was aware he was liked, though, and seemed to be trying to stay liked, even while he tried to make the class itself one that taught the kids something and that they enjoyed. Evidently history didn’t include the lesson that you couldn’t please everyone. Which meant that his classes had, over the years, gradually shifted, until only about half was spent on history, and the rest was spent on “current events.” Mr. Glass would read an article, or play a news clip, or show them something else that had happened, and then everyone got to say what they thought about it. Often, had to say what they thought about it.

It was annoying; Mr. Glass liked bringing up topics that people had strong and accusatory opinions about, or explaining why they should have such opinions if they didn’t appear quickly enough, and didn’t seem inclined to stop anything before physical fights broke out, so long as everyone got to talk when they wanted. Blake had liked the idea, up until they actually had a current events discussion. Since then, he hated it.

Monday mornings were especially hated by, as far as Blake knew, absolutely everyone, or at least everyone sane. Mr. Glass was determined to correct that too, however, and liked to pick particularly polarizing topics for Monday classes. So it wasn’t entirely shocking when he stood grinning at the front of the slumped class, gesturing to the video on the projection screen behind him. “All of you will probably recognize this by now, of course,” Blake didn’t, but his stomach began squirming uncomfortably at his guess, “but I figured we’d wait until tempers cooled a bit before discussing it. My second class has a mutant, and they all get indignant if I favor you guys, even though you’re my favorite class. Ssh, don’t tell them that though! They’ll get indignant.” He paused, and a few short laughs obediently entered the classroom.

“Now, just to be sure we’re all on the same page and our memories are fresh, we’ll watch the video first, then a few news clips, and then discuss. Josie, get the lights please.” The girl in the corner nearest the door stood, wandered over, and her hand fell on the switches, sending the classroom into dramatic contrast between the light from the screen and the windows, and the darkness filling the rest of the room.

Blake had guessed correctly. The video had been the one he’d heard Irri ranting about, of a gargoyle girl getting beaten (and it sure looked like killed) by police. The collection of news clips they watched afterwards claimed that she hadn’t been killed after all (which Blake was inclined to believe, from the number of clips insisting that she ought to be killed). A few talked about statistics and attacks and mutant deaths, one mentioned bullying; some cheered and others were politely enraged. A lot dissected the girl; her behavior, her clothes, her size and shape and skin and wings, whatever they could find of her history (had Mr. Glass snuck video blog clips in there? Blake wouldn’t be surprised) and behavior and friends, for anything that could make her mistakable for threatening or potentially immoral.

Blake pretended he only had his eyes squeezed shut because the lights were too bright when they turned back on. That meant he had to open them again, unfortunately.

Mr. Glass was back in front, tugging on the empty projector screen to send it rolling back up. It refused to go, and after a moment he gave up, turning back to the class and grinning just like he had been before the videos. Blake scowled back, but if he was seen, he wasn’t acknowledged.

“So! Now that we’ve all refreshed our memory, how about some discussion? I’m sure we can all have a wonderful chat about this; the news certainly is!” More, scattered laughs obediently emerged. “Who wants to go first? Questions, comments, opinions? Yes, Mike?” Mr. Glass looked at a skinny boy in the front row whose hand had shot up as soon as he said “go.”

Mike’s hand dropped, and he straightened before talking. “Well, she wasn’t the one they were looking for, but she did resist arrest, so it’s her fault. Like, it sucks, but if she’d just gone with them peacefully, they wouldn’t have had to be rough and it all would’ve been cleared up quickly.”

“That’s not true!” The girl who cut in was Linda something; she didn’t bother raising her hand or waiting for Mr. Glass. “Mutants are way more likely to be arrested and convicted on evidence that no human would be convicted with; it’s a huge coincidence that she and another winged girl were in the same neighborhood at the same time already, mutants are rare and wings are rarer, so if she’d gone no one would’ve kept looking, and she would’ve been put in jail and beaten up there.”

“Did they ever find the real thief?” a boy asked. Brad, or something, Blake was pretty sure.

“Yeah, they just let her off ‘cause everyone freaked out, and let her off even though there wasn’t anyone else it could’ve been!” Mary didn’t bother raising her hand either. “She stole all that stuff, and broke into peoples’ houses! Some of them even had children inside! And she got let off completely free--”

“Weeks in the hospital is not ‘completely free!’” Blake didn’t know who that was, but it had to be a girl; it was too high and piercing not to be.

“She wasn’t in there for weeks, it hasn’t even been weeks yet!”

“She will be, broken bones take months to heal!”

“If her wings even can heal--”

“Mutants can just heal themselves, just cause it looks bad doesn’t mean it’ll really hurt her.”

“Not all of them--”

“Some friend of hers can fix her.”

“How do we know the guy who recorded it isn’t a friend of hers?”

“Oh come on, he would’ve interfered.”

“I wouldn’t have. Mutants can take care of themselves, I’m on the human side.”

“Obviously not the humane one.”

“My uncle got beat up by police once, he’s got scars--”

“Was he a mutant?”

“No, he’s just got an extra finger, poly-ductile or something, so they thought he was.”

“Technically, that is--”

“Man, that’d suck.”

“That’s why we oughta separate mutants from normal people, you can’t risk being too soft on ‘em but you don’t want to mistake someone normal for one of ‘em, either.”

“Since when in all of history has segregation ever gone well?”

“Segregating people isn’t good, but mutants--”

“Ugh, stop being such bigots--”

“Slow down sissy, you can’t live without any blood in your heart.”

“Bet I know who you voted for.”

Blake kept his mouth shut and tried to decide whether or not he wanted to pay attention to what was being said. He didn’t really seem to have a choice, though; he was listening whether he wanted to or not.

Mr. Glass let the debate go on for several minutes before interrupting. “Okay, quiet, quiet--good! Good, all of you, that was a good discussion! Lots of points, and I noticed several of you using facts to back your points up, well done. I noticed several others quiet, though, you’re all supposed to share! Let’s see, now… Tori, what do you think?”

Victoria, as even Blake knew she emphatically preferred to be called, frowned before answering. “I dunno. It doesn’t affect me, much. I’m not a mutant, and neither is anyone I know, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“What if you did know a mutant?” Olivia asked. “If someone in this class was? Like… like, if Mr. Glass was a mutant!” Surprised laughter burst from half the class, including Mr. Glass the newly hypothetical mutant. “What would you think then?”

Victoria just shrugged again, even though she was among those still grinning at the suggestion. “He’s not, so I dunno. And she,” she waved at the screen still hiding the blackboard “isn’t anyone I know, either. So it’s just kinda… not my life.”

“Oh, very interesting,” Mr. Glass said. “I don’t think we heard that opinion earlier. Now, someone else… Blake, how about you?”

“Uh.” Blake’s stomach had been twisting until it felt about to snap already; now his shoulders joined it. “I guess… my priest says that mutants are sinners and need to be, um. Crucibled, or something. So they can be saved from hell.”

“Ooh, quite interesting. Someone remind me to talk about that when we get to the witch trials next quarter--Blake, do you think your priest would be willing to come into class to talk?”

“Yeah, probably.” Blake wasn’t sure whether his head felt fizzy and bruised from relief or guilt, but it did.

“But that’s not your opinion.” The relief disappeared immediately, but the fizzy bruised feeling remained. Guilt, then, Blake noted as he swallowed. “What do you think?”

Blake tried not to squirm, and shrugged instead. “I dunno. Crucibling seems to work for most sins, I guess.” Damn Mr. Glass. Blake wasn’t sure whether he was swearing or praying.

“And do you think being a mutant is a sin?”

Blake’s head hurt, and his throat felt stuck, and his heart and gut felt twisted and crushed and shaking. He wanted to close his eyes, or better yet start drawing so he could just forget the entire thing. But people were looking at him, so he hoped he wasn’t pale (or, not so much more than usual that it would be noticed, anyway), and was glad the twisted, ready to snap feeling muscles made it easier to stay still than to shake, and tried to come up with an answer that Mr. Glass would be satisfied with. “I guess. I’m not a priest.” Though sometimes he felt like one; he’d spent enough time looking, and still hadn’t found anything at all in the Bible about mutants.

“So you don’t know, but what do you think?” Mr. Glass insisted.

“I don’t know.” Blake felt entirely justified in sounding frustrated. It came out higher than he liked, though, so he swallowed and continued, pushing more anger into his tone so that it would be obvious he was annoyed. “I’m not a priest. I haven’t found anything in the Bible that talks about mutants. There weren’t any then and the only people God talks to now are priests, and I’m not one of them, but they all say He said mutants are evil, so I guess they have to be. I don’t like it, but God can’t be wrong.”

Mr. Glass sighed, still looking disappointed, but Blake wasn’t in the mood to care. “Very well, then, that’s something. I hope you have more to add Wednesday, though. Anyone--ah, yes, Linda?”

Blake only barely noticed Linda glaring at him. “Mutants aren’t a sin, and not all churches say they are! My church doesn’t.”

“Neither does mine,” another voice added.

Linda’s tone was triumphant now. “So, see, not all churches say that, so you can’t say it’s true because all churches say it. Even if they did, they used to all say the world was flat, too, and we know how smart that sounds now.”

Blake didn’t have the energy to argue, even if he wanted to. “Whatever.”

“Hmph.” Linda scowled, but didn’t say anything else.

Mr. Glass nodded, looking pleased, then moved on, selecting one of the class’s Alexes to answer next.

Blake slumped in his chair, propping himself up with an elbow on his desk. He still hadn’t decided whether he wanted to hear peoples’ comments or not, but it didn’t matter; his brain seemed filled with jello and hammers, and he couldn’t concentrate enough to listen, whether he wanted to or not.