PART I

  CHAPTER 1

  Present day

  Oklahoma

  My first day of public high school was today. Yep, home schooled all the way and now suddenly, it’s public school for you, Alex.

  Mom had to home school me because of the chess tournaments. The chess circuit isn’t designed for a student going to a regular school, you know. The travel, playing in the middle of the day, not knowing where you’ll be. Or when.

  The local news say I was on track to be a chess grandmaster some day (maybe), but now, all that’s out. Kinda relieved, actually. All Dad’s idea anyway.

  Not that I care, but “Indiana Dad” is off looking for and Gomorrah (of all things) and thinks it’s in (the largest archaeological ruin in the Jordan Valley and right next to the Valley of Who Cares?).

  Yep, not even here for his own divorce.

  Oh, and he’s looking northeast of the Dead Sea.

  Nobody does that. Almost all other archaeologists are looking for Sodom and Gomorrah in Edom south of the Dead Sea.

  Anyway, maybe going to high school means I’ll finally make some friends? Never had any. Fans, yes. Friends, no. Girlfriends, you ask? Are you kidding?

  Being the new kid in school is one thing, but being the new kid senior year? Ha, how about being the only new kid senior year? Because I’m showing up over halfway through senior year!

  Nobody does that. My family does lots of things nobody does.

  I’m not stressing about college, though. Already guaranteed an in.

  Yep, the United States of America is hoping heroics are genetic. See, there’s a little-known way to get into our nation’s military Service Academies. Just arrange to be born to a Congressional Medal of Honor winner! Simple, really.

  Actually, there’s no way I’m going into the military. The academies are full scholarship and free room and board but come with military service commitments, so all of those are out.

  I’ve been working hard, so now normal colleges are salivating over my chess and SATs. Full scholarships all, so Dad can pound sand.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  I don’t hate my Dad, I just dislike him. A lack of modesty is his only flaw. Just ask him.

  Everyone just adores him. The war hero! The most popular Professor at the University of Oklahoma! His Archaeology students practically worship him. Especially his fan girls. A modern day Indiana Jones! After debuting as Rambo!

  He’s a man’s man. His war buddies go out of their way to drop in all the time. All their war stories (and his) feature “The best soldier in the world!” “The best commander I ever saw!” “Saved my life!” “Oh, yeah? Saved my life – twice.” “This man simply cannot be killed. There was this one time he…” Blah, blah, blah. Embarrassing.

  Also, he’s a lady’s man. Hence, the divorce.

  Anyway, heck with that. Don’t wanna talk about it. I’m just glad I didn’t get his hair. Ridiculous color.

  Meh, back to my new high school. My first day – my very first day – my Global Studies teacher singles me out for his standard (I learned later) grilling. Apparently, Mr. Dawkins’ strategy is to fluster, baffle, and/or humiliate his students. One at a time. Right away.

  His class is mandatory so he’s done it to just about everyone. To set the tone and establish who’s boss. Well, dude: you’re the teacher so you’re already the boss.

  So right away, he calls me by name by way of introducing me to the class. He says, “Alexander Macdonald, I have a question for you. Is it always wrong to lie?”

  I can already see the bullying coming so I side-step to the subject he’s supposed to be teaching. “You mean in our culture or globally?”

  He doesn’t bite and boxes me in with a direct question: “For you personally, do you think it is always wrong to lie?”

  I’ve never been able to resist a direct question so I simply say, “Yes.” Now he gets excited because he prefers to humiliate those who answer Yes.

  “Why?” he asks.

  I respond, “Because our culture (I use the word even though I know the word will fail to get him back on track) has decided it is wrong.”

  “Why?” he asks.

  I resign to play his game. End this. Give him an easy lay-up: “Because our culture is based on Judeo-Christian ethics. God gave Ten Commandments and not lying is one of them.”

  He is elated! Nobody walks into it like that!

  He walks into it like that by walking into my space to tower over me and says, “So, is it also wrong for all other cultures?”

  “Yes,” I say. And, he is done with “why” questions.

  Because he’s thinking: couldn’t have set this up better myself!

  Now he comes to his coup de grace. “If a Nazi in WWII is going door to door searching for people to send to concentration camps, and he asks you if you have hidden anyone – and you have – then how would you answer and why?”

  I think, sounds like an essay question. In Philosophy. We’re in Global Studies, of course.

  I reply, “The question itself is the lie. The real question the Nazi is asking is “Can I kill anyone you are hiding here?” So, the answer is No.”

  Hey, I have given how I would answer and why: this essay should be over. Leave the new kid alone already.

  He is disappointed and tries to recover, but he has totally lost his class. Everyone is on my side.

  Dispirited now, he gives one last shot: “Is there a question he could ask that would get you killed if you answered truthfully?”

  Ah, this is where he wanted and needed people to go who say a lie is always wrong but still lie to the Nazi’s question. He wanted them to say they would lie to save their own skin.

  I think: Sometimes, the best answer is just to accept death. As I have just accepted social death by giving my answers. Jerk.

  So I muse: am I casting pearls before swine? Should I bother?

  Hell, yeah! I hate bullies. (And especially mobs who bully)

  So I reply (really speaking to the class because clearly he’s a lost cause), “No, because the Nazi does not have the right to the truth. Because of what he will do with it.”

  Yep, somebody finally stood up to Mr. Dawkins and “won.” Well, depending on if you agree with me or not. I’ve polarized the class right down the middle.

  Bonus for both sides: I will now be Mr. Dawkin’s main target for the rest of the school year! Wanna be friends with me?

  And presto: I am separated from the group. Again.

  Different. Special. Brave. A Chess Grandmaster, no less. (actually, not). Also, foolish. And a Dork.

  Admired or scorned, all this really means is “separated.” No friends again, I see.

  I see some girls whispering and shooting looks at me. Eye rolls. Pity. Scorn.

  I feel heat rising to my face and that pisses me off and makes me redder.

  Why can I not just be silent when I know I should? Because I’m a dumbass.

  You had one job, Alex! All you had to do is not screw up on your first day!

  I’d really prefer if people got to know me before they learn the finer points of my philosophy. Thanks, jerk.