ONE MONTH LATER
Turns out Tristan moved on to Northwestern, which I found out from his old roommate, Trevor, when I walked into my Philosophy 101: Ethics and Morality class. The irony that my advisor recommended this class for me to “ease back into things” is not lost on me. I’ve told everyone the same story—I had to take some time off while Phil sorted out his life problems. My advisor seemed to buy it, but I had a harder time convincing Trevor, whom I’d only met a few times before. He mentioned Tristan was really upset I ghosted him.
I jog around the corner into the classroom, tucking the change from my twenty into my jeans pocket and plop into the plastic chair next to Trevor.
He smiles at me and glances at the clock. “Just in time.” He offers me a wink.
I crack a grin. “Had to grab a water. Last time I thought I was going to die in here.”
The philosophy classroom is at the end of a hallway and has minimal airflow. If I have to sit through an hour and a half lecture on morality, it will be with libations.
“You paid the cart price for that bottle? It’s like seven dollars.”
I wince, then crack the top on the water.Thank you, Slade, I mock in my head.
Trevor shakes his head and bites his lower lip. “What am I going to do with you, Thea?” He says it playfully, like Trevor does. He isn’t serious or stoic, more like the class clown. His brown hair is average, but his eyes are a piercing hazel, and a few freckles speckle the bridge of his nose. He’s cute and his smile is addicting, but he’s … not Slade.
The rest of the fluorescent lights turn on overhead, and the overfilled classroom groans in unison. Professor Blake enters, his silver hair combed back and his wiry glasses cricked over his nose. He sets his coffee down on the desk and moves to the board to draw three stick figures. The smell of dry-erase marker fills the room, and I wrinkle my nose at the chemical smell that seems to trigger memories.
I swallow.
“Plato’s ‘Allegory of the Cave,’” he says, tapping the marker over the three disproportionate drawings. “Imagine you’ve spent your entire life chained in a cave, only able to see the shadows on the wall. Then one day, someone leads you outside. You see the world as it really is. Would you go back in the cave? And if you did, would anyone believe what you saw in the real world?”
A girl behind me laughs under her breath. “No way. I’d stay outside. Why go back?”
Professor Blake gives her a faint smile. “Perhaps the truth isn’t always easy. This is one of the concepts we are going to unpack this semester.” He erases the three stick figures and writes SOCIAL CONTRACT on the board in their stead. He leansa hip against his desk, capping the marker. “Hobbes argued that we give up certain freedoms to live in a safe, orderly society. But what happens when those in power stop holding up their end of the deal? What happens when the system becomes corrupt?”
I shift in my seat, and the movement causes Professor Blake to look my direction.
Trevor notices and answers. “It’s not a contract anymore. Just control, right?”
“Interesting. Anyone else?”
Another girl chimes in. “Protest, vote new people in office. You fix the system.”
Trevor snorts beside me. “What if it’s rigged?”
My stomach tightens.
Professor Blake nods. “Good questions. Then what? Do you accept the corruption, or do you resist?”
Some girl wearing a baseball cap up front breaks in. “Burn it down. Start over.”
There’s a nervous ripple of laughter, and I shudder with it.
Professor Blake walks the length of the dry-erase board and turns around to head back. “But who decides when the contract is broken beyond repair and when it’s justified to tear the whole thing down?”
My throat feels raw, and I’m grateful for my expensive water—I chug half of it. It feels like I’ve swallowed glass because I know. I know who decides. It’s men with smooth smiles and tailored suits.
“Money decides,” I blurt. It’s hoarse, quiet, but Blake’s eyes find mine in the sea of students.
His voice is level as he says, “That’s often true. Those with wealth and positions of authority have a lot of leverage or the power to shape the rules. What happens when they use that power to protect themselves, people like themselves, or exploit the very people they’re supposed to serve?”
My mind revolts. It’s not hypothetical. I can still feel the cold concrete under my knees, the taste of that green smoothie, being plucked, chained, tortured. My breath comes faster, and I down the rest of my water bottle.
“What if you work inside their own system? Push back,” another student says.
Our professor’s mouth twists. “If people in control decide the rules don’t apply to them, then it’s no longer a society but a prison. And maybe the only way out is to break down the walls from within.” He straightens. “And once again, as we look at this concept this semester, we will examine the ethics of how far we’re willing to go to make things right.”
