Chapter 5

Tina and Clarence had reached his locker and were about to go to class when a tall, lanky boy with a smug grin approached them. His sudden appearance was enough to make Clarence halt, as if faced with an unexpected obstacle that he didn’t know how to get around.

“Hi, Tina,” the boy said, and there was an oily sweetness to his voice that made his intentions clear. He looked right past Clarence, treating him like he didn’t even exist.

“Piss off, Doug!” Tina replied with a sneer, clearly accustomed to his unwelcome presence. Her eyes rolled in exasperation, and her lip curled up in disgust. Doug didn’t flinch at her words, instead he chuckled, his confidence unwavering, like he was used to being told off and took it as a game.

“Oh, don’t be like that!” he whined playfully, flashing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He gestured dismissively towards Clarence. “Who’s your pet?”

Indignation bloomed in Clarence’s chest. “I’m not a pet!” he fired back, his voice sharp and defensive. “And she told you to piss off.”

Doug laughed at that, a mocking sound that grated against Clarence’s ears. “I’ve heard about you,” he said, his tone dripping with derision. “You’re not a master, not a master apprentice. Therefore, you’re a slave, and slaves don’t talk back to their betters!” His words were a clear attempt to cut Clarence down, to assert his dominance in the school hierarchy.

“I’m not a slave, you idiot!” Clarence shouted, louder this time, trying to drown out the sting of Doug’s taunts with his own defiance.

“You’ll be our slave, boy,” the bully taunted Clarence with a grin, reveling in the power he felt over the newcomer. Clarence bristled, his fists clenching at the insult, his eyes burning with rage. “I don’t think so, jerk,” he retorted, his voice bold with more confidence than he felt. He knew better than to show any weakness to this would-be bully.

“Wanna bet?” the boy goaded, his grin widening as he raised his fists, daring Clarence to take the bait. He assumed a fighting stance, leaning forward with an eagerness that showed he enjoyed this more than he should. Clarence’s mind raced, a flash of anger mingling with old instincts. He was suddenly back in those foster homes, back on those mean streets. He dropped his backpack to the floor, adopting a street fighter position without hesitation, his body remembering what survival had taught him.

Tina stepped between them, her expression shifting from exasperation to urgency as Clarence squared off against Doug. “Stop that, you idiots!” she hissed, quickly glancing around to see if anyone was watching, worried that this was causing more trouble than it was worth. Her intervention was enough to make Doug hesitate, and Clarence could see uncertainty flicker in the bully’s eyes. “He’s Master Blackwood’s ward,” she reminded Doug, her voice low but steady. Doug’s gaze shifted with a sudden wariness, a transformation from smug amusement to reluctant caution.

“You’re lucky,” he sneered, the bravado in his voice slipping as he lowered his guard. He backed away, keeping his eyes fixed on Clarence. “We’ll finish this later.”

Clarence didn’t flinch, his stance unfaltering, his eyes holding steady until Doug turned away, tossing a laugh over his shoulder. “I’ll see you real soon,” Doug taunted, his voice echoing with forced bravado as he swaggered down the hallway.

Clarence let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the adrenaline still buzzing through him like static. He straightened up, shaking the tension out of his hands, and only then did the curious glances from other students register.

“Don’t mind him,” Tina said, offering a quick, knowing smile. “He’s a bully, and I pity those unfortunate souls that will become his slaves.” Then she scolded him, her eyes narrowing. “What were you thinking? He’s taller and older, you have no chance!”

Clarence smiled, his face showing more confidence than he felt. “I bet he has never fought for keeps, only gym and boxing crap. I’ve fought for my life.” Tina looked at him and shook her head, half admiring, half skeptical. “You’re crazy,” she said, more to herself than to him. “They told me you were trouble, but I never thought—” She left the sentence unfinished.

Clarence wanted to ask her who had told her that, but decided that there were enough emotions for a day. Anyway, he filed her words to remind him that he was a stranger in a strange land. “You were about to show me my classroom,” he said.

“Oh, yes!” she smiled. “And we must hurry up. Mr. Bates doesn’t like tardiness.” She took his hand again and started to walk.

————————— That evening, Clarence lay sprawled on his bed, his thoughts a tangled mess. After completing his first day at school, he found himself bewildered by the sheer normalcy of it all. He had gone in bracing himself to encounter the apprentices of overlords, expecting an aura of intimidation and grandeur, but instead, he was met with the familiar faces of the kind of students you would encounter at any ordinary school—complete with the obligatory bully prowling the hallways.

Tina had been an incessant chatterbox, her words flowing like a river as she talked about a myriad of subjects—soccer, rock bands, and, quite casually, slaves. She lived with her parents in a grand home, and they had assigned a male slave to her care. This boy, a peer of Clarence’s age, was tasked with assisting her in dressing each morning and generally catering to her every whim, attending to her with unwavering dedication.

Once more, she didn’t resemble the malevolent queen or a cruel slavemistress that he had envisioned in his mind. Instead, she appeared to be just an ordinary teenage girl, with her casual attire and youthful demeanor. Yet, her perspective on slavery was startling in its nonchalance. In her world, the institution was as accepted and ingrained as the very air they breathed, and she saw nothing inherently wrong with it. Clarence sensed that if roles were reversed and Tina found herself in the position of a slave, she would have been equally complacent and untroubled by her circumstances.

“What about my circumstances?” he asked himself.

He ran his hand over the duvet. It was soft, warm, and far superior to anything he had ever experienced. Mrs. Rosewood’s cooking was exceptional, a welcome change for someone who had grown accustomed to a diet of beans and little else. His first encounter with his mother and her master had cemented a harsh truth— the fantasy of a loving family had vanished. Her explanation for leaving him and his father—claiming her master had ordered it—had left her priorities unmistakably clear. But the mere thought of returning to the foster care system sent shivers of dread down his spine.

And what about all that masters and slaves nonsense? He knew it was blatantly illegal, but what could he do? He wasn’t part of law enforcement, and he wasn’t even old enough to make a difference. No hero crap for him. He felt torn—on one hand, he despised the system, but his mother had been clear about a thing: all the slaves were so by their own free will. He remembered his mother’s words: “I’m a slave because that’s what I was born to be.” On the other hand, he feared the consequences of disclosure. If he thought about it without emotion, he realized that if anything happened to his mother or her master, he would be caught up in the fallout as well, possibly with him back on the CPS system or worse.

He sighed. For now, whatever happened to those people, wasn’t his problem. His goal was to survive, and if it meant to bear and grin, he would.

Half-hour later, Clarence sat at his desk, surrounded by a sea of books and notes. He was already overwhelmed, the day’s lessons proving to demand more from him than he had imagined. The new school was very demanding, and he could feel the weight of catching up pressing on him. Yet, there was a flicker of resolve. He wasn’t going to let it beat him. He’d fought fiercer battles. As he scribbled notes in a fevered attempt to grasp what he’d learned, a sharp knock on the door shattered his concentration.

“Come in,” he said, barely looking up from a particularly dense chapter on algebra. The door swung open, letting in the silhouette of his mother, Evelyn. She stood there with a smile, carrying a small wooden tray that held a simple meal.

“I thought you would be hungry,” she smiled, her voice warm. Clarence smiled back, gratitude softening his features. “Thank you,” he said, setting his pencil down amid the clutter.

She placed the tray on his crowded desk, the aroma of the food mingling with the smell of paper and ink. Then she settled on the edge of his bed, watching him with knowing eyes. “How was your first day of school?” she asked, the question open yet probing, as if she was already bracing for his answer.

“It was ok, but I need to study a lot.” He tried to sound nonchalant.