The Wave Page 4

  Christy stopped brushing her hair. “You mean they stayed after the bell?” she asked.

  Ben nodded. “That’s what I mean.”

  His wife looked at him skeptically but then grinned. “Ben, I think you’ve created a monster.”

  “Hardly,” Ben replied, chuckling.

  Christy put down her brush and rubbed some cream into her face. On his side of the bed, Ben was pulling on his pajama top. Christy was waiting for her husband to lean over for their customary goodnight kiss. But tonight it was not forthcoming. He was still lost in thought.

  “Ben?” Christy said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you think you’ll go on with it tomorrow?”

  “I don’t think so,” her husband replied. “We’ve got to get on to the Japanese campaign.”

  Christy closed the jar of cream and settled comfortably into the bed. But on his side Ben still had not moved. He had told his wife how surprisingly enthusiastic his students had been that afternoon, but he had not told her that he too had gotten caught up in it. It would almost be embarrassing to admit that he could get swept up in such a simple game. But yet on reflection he knew that he had. The fierce exchange of questions and answers, the quest for perfect discipline—it had been infectious and, in a way, mesmerizing. He had enjoyed his students’ accomplishment. Interesting, he thought as he got into bed.

  CHAPTER 6

  For Ben, what happened the next day was extremely unusual. Instead of his students straggling into class after the bell had rung, it was he who was late. He’d accidentally left his lecture notes and book on Japan in his car that morning and had to run out to the parking lot before class to get them. As he rushed into the classroom he expected to find a madhouse, but he was in for a surprise.

  In his room were five neat rows of desks, seven desks to a row. At each desk a student sat stiffly in the posture Ben had taught them the previous day. The room was silent, and Ross surveyed his class uneasily. Was it a joke? Here and there he saw a face on the verge of smiling, but those were clearly outnumbered by faces at stiff attention, staring straight ahead, concentrating. A few students glanced at him uncertainly—waiting to see if he’d carry it further. Should he? It was such an experience and so different from the norm that it tantalized him. What could they learn from this? What could he learn? Tempted by the unknown, Ben decided it was worth finding out.

  “Well, okay” he said, putting away his notes. “What’s going on here?”

  The students looked at him uncertainly.

  Ben looked toward the far side of the room. “Robert?”

  Robert Billings quickly rose beside his desk. His shirt was tucked in and his hair was combed. “Mr. Ross, discipline.”

  “Yes, discipline,” Mr. Ross agreed. “But that’s just part of it. There’s something more.” Then he turned to the blackboard, and underneath the large “STRENGTH THROUGH DISCIPLINE” from the day before, he added, “COMMUNITY.”

  He turned back to the class. “Community is the bond between people who work and struggle together for a common goal. It’s like building a barn with your neighbors.”

  A few students in the room chuckled. But David knew what Mr. Ross was saying. It was what he’d thought about yesterday after class. It was the kind of team spirit the football team needed.

  “It’s the feeling that you’re part of something that’s more important than yourself,” Mr. Ross was telling them. “You’re a movement, a team, a cause. You’re committed to something—”

  “I think we ought to be committed all right,” someone mumbled, but the nearby students hushed him.

  “Like discipline,” Mr. Ross continued, “to understand community fully you have to experience it and participate in it. From now on, our two mottos will be, ‘Strength Through Discipline’ and ‘Strength Through Community.’ Everyone, repeat our mottos.”

  Around the room, students rose beside their desks and recited the slogans: “Strength Through Discipline, Strength Through Community.”

  A few students, including Laurie and Brad, did not join them, but sat uncomfortably in their chairs as Mr. Ross had the class repeat the mottos again. Finally Laurie rose, and then Brad. Now the entire class stood beside their desks.

  “What we need now is a symbol for our new community,” Mr. Ross told them. He turned back to the board and, after a moment’s thought, drew a circle with the outline of a wave inside it. “This will be our symbol. A wave is a pattern of change. It has movement, direction, and impact. From now on, our community, our movement will be known as The Wave.” He paused and looked at the class standing at stiff attention, accepting everything he told them. “And this will be our salute,” he said, cupping his right hand in the shape of a wave, then tapping it against his left shoulder and holding it upright. “Class, give the salute,” he ordered.

  The class gave the salute. Some hit their right shoulders instead of their left. Others forgot to hit their shoulders entirely. “Again,” Ross ordered, making the salute himself. He repeated the exercise until everyone had it right.

  “All right,” their teacher said when they’d gotten it. Once again the class could feel the resurgence of power and unity that had overwhelmed them the day before. “This is our salute and our salute only,” he told them. “Whenever you see another Wave member, you will salute. Robert, salute and give our mottos.”

  Standing stiffly beside his seat, Robert performed the salute and replied, “Mr. Ross, Strength Through Discipline, Strength Through Community.”

  “Very good,” Ben said. “Peter, Amy, and Eric, salute and recite our motto with Robert.”

  The four students obediently saluted and chanted, “Strength Through Discipline, Strength Through Community.”

  “Brian, Andrea, and Laurie,” Mr. Ross commanded. “Join them and repeat.”

  Now seven students joined in the chant, then fourteen, then twenty, until the whole class was saluting and chanting loudly in unison. “Strength Through Discipline, Strength Through Community.” Like a regiment, Ben thought, just like a regiment.

  In the gym after school, David and Eric sat on the floor in their football practice jerseys. They were a little early for practice and were having a heated debate.

  “I think it’s dumb,” Eric said as he tied the laces on his cleats. “It’s just a game in history class, that’s all.”

  “But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t work.” David insisted. “What do you think we learned it for, anyway? To keep it a secret? I’m telling you, Eric, this is just what the team needs.”

  “Well, you’re gonna have to convince Coach Schiller of that,” Eric said. “And I’m not going to tell him.”

  “What are you scared of?” David asked. “You think Mr. Ross is gonna punish me because I tell a couple of people about The Wave?”

  Eric shrugged. “No, man. I think they’re gonna laugh.”

  Brian came out of the locker room and joined them on the floor.

  “Hey,” David said, “what do you think of us trying to get the rest of the team into The Wave?”

  Brian tugged at his shoulder pads and thought about it. “You think The Wave could stop that two-hundred-and-twenty-pound linebacker from Clarkstown?” he asked. “I swear, that’s all I think about. I keep picturing me calling for the snap and then this thing appears in front of me, this giant thing in a Clarkstown uniform. It steps on my center, it squashes my guards. It’s so big I can’t go left, I can’t go right, I can’t throw over it …” Brian rolled on his back on the floor and pretended someone was bearing down on him. “It just keeps coming and coming. Ahhhhhhhhhh!”

  Eric and David laughed, and Brian sat up. “I’ll do anything,” he told them. “Eat my Wheaties, join The Wave, do my homework. Anything to stop that guy.”

  More players had gathered around them, including a junior named Deutsch, who was the second-string quarterback behind Brian. Everyone on the team knew that Deutsch wanted nothing more in the world than to steal Brian’s position from
him. As a result, the two of them didn’t get along.

  “I hear you say you’re afraid of the Clarkstown team?” Deutsch asked Brian. “I’ll take your place, man, just say the word.”

  “They let you into the game and we’ll have no chance at all,” Brian told him.

  Deutsch sneered. “The only reason you’re first string is ’cause you’re a senior,” he said.

  Still sitting on the gym floor, Brian gazed up at the junior. “Man, you are the most conceited bag of no talent I’ve ever seen,” he said.

  “Oh yeah, look who’s talking,” Deutsch snarled back.

  The next thing David knew, Brian had jumped to his feet and had his fists up. David lunged between the two quarterbacks. “That’s just what I was talking about!” he yelled as he pushed them apart. “We’re supposed to be a team. We’re supposed to support each other. The reason we’ve been so bad is because all we’ve been doing is fighting with each other.”

  More football players were in the gym now. “What’s he talking about?” one of them asked.

  David turned. “I’m talking about unity. I’m talking about discipline. We have to start acting like a team. Like we have a common goal. Your job on this team isn’t to steal another guy’s position. Your job is to help this team win.”

  “I could help this team win,” Deutsch said. “All Coach Schiller’s got to do is make me the first-string quarterback.”

  “No, man!” David yelled at him. “A bunch of self-serving individuals don’t make a team. You know why we’ve done so bad this year? Because we’re twenty-five one-man teams all wearing the same Gordon High uniforms. You want to be first-string quarterback on a team that doesn’t win? Or do you want to be second-string on a team that does win?”

  Deutsch shrugged.

  “I’m tired of losing,” said another player.

  “Yeah,” said someone else. “It’s a drag. This school doesn’t even take us seriously anymore.”

  “I’d give up my position and be a waterboy if it meant winning a game,” said a third.

  “Well, we could win,” said David. “I’m not saying we’ll be able to go out and destroy Clarkstown on Saturday but if we start trying to be a team, I bet we could win a few games this year.”

  Most of the members of the football team were there by this time, and as David looked around at their faces he could see that they were interested.

  “Okay,” said one. “What do we do?”

  David hesitated for a moment. What they could do was The Wave. But who was he to tell them? He’d only learned of it the day before himself. Suddenly he felt someone nudging him.

  “Tell them,” Eric whispered. “Tell ’em about The Wave.”

  What the hell, David thought. “Okay, all I know is you gotta start by learning the mottos. And this is the salute …”

  CHAPTER 7

  That evening Laurie Saunders told her parents about her last two days of history class. The Saunders family was sitting at the dining room table finishing dinner. Through most of the meal, Laurie’s father had given them a stroke-by-stroke description of the 78 he’d shot in golf that afternoon. Mr. Saunders ran a division of a large semi-conductor company. Laurie’s mother said that she didn’t mind his passion for golf because on the course he managed to get out all the pressures and frustrations of his job. She said she couldn’t explain how he did it, but as long as he came home in a good mood, she wasn’t going to argue.

  Neither was Laurie, although listening to her father talk about his golf game sometimes bored her to death. It was better that he was easy-going, rather than a worry-wart like her mother, who was probably the brightest and most perceptive woman Laurie had ever encountered. She practically ran the county’s League of Women Voters by herself and was so politically astute that aspiring politicians seeking local offices were always asking her to advise them.

  For Laurie, her mother was lots of fun when things were going well. She was full of ideas, and you could talk to her for hours. But other times, when Laurie was upset about something or was having a problem, her mother was murder—there was no way to hide anything from her. And once Laurie had admitted what the difficulty was, she wouldn’t leave her alone.

  When Laurie started telling them about The Wave at dinner, it was mostly because she couldn’t stand listening to her father talk about golf for another minute. She could tell her mother was bored too. For the last quarter hour Mrs. Saunders had been scratching a wax stain out of the tablecloth with her fingernail.

  “It was incredible,” Laurie was saying about the class. “Everyone was saluting and repeating the motto. You couldn’t help but get caught up in it. You know, really wanting to make it work. Feeling all that energy building around you.”

  Mrs. Saunders stopped scratching the tablecloth and looked at her daughter. “I don’t think I like it, Laurie. It sounds too militaristic to me.”

  “Oh, Mom,” Laurie said, “you always take things the wrong way. It’s nothing like that. Honest, you’d just have to be there feeling the positive energy in the class to really get what’s going on.”

  Mr. Saunders agreed. “To tell you the truth, I’m for whatever will make these kids pay attention to anything these days.”

  “And that’s what it’s really doing, Mom,” Laurie said. “Even the bad kids are into it. You know Robert Billings, the class creep? Even he’s part of a group. No one’s picked on him for two whole days. Tell me that isn’t positive.”

  “But you’re supposed to be learning history,” Mrs. Saunders argued. “Not how to be part of a group.”

  “Well, you know,” her husband said, “this country was built by people who were part of a group—the Pilgrims, the Founding Fathers. I don’t think it’s wrong for Laurie to be learning how to cooperate. If I could get some more cooperation down at the plant instead of this constant back-biting and bickering and everyone trying to cover his own you-know-what, we wouldn’t be behind in production this year.”

  “I didn’t say that it was wrong to cooperate,” Mrs. Saunders replied. “But still, people have to do things in their own way. You talk about the greatness of this country and you’re talking about people who weren’t afraid to act as individuals.”

  “Mom, I really think you’re taking this the wrong way,” Laurie said. “Mr. Ross has just found a way to get everybody involved. And we’re still doing our homework. It’s not like we’ve forgotten about history.”

  But her mother was not to be appeased. “That’s all very well and good. But it just doesn’t sound like the right thing for you, Laurie. Babe, we’ve raised you to be an individual.”

  Laurie’s father turned to his wife. “Midge, don’t you think you’re taking all this a little too seriously? A little bit of community spirit is a terrific thing for these kids.”

  “That’s right, Mom,” Laurie said, smiling. “Haven’t you always said that I was a little too independent?”

  Mrs. Saunders was not amused. “Honey, just remember that the popular thing is not always the right thing.”

  “Oh, Mom,” Laurie said, annoyed that her mother would not see her side of the argument at all. “Either you’re being stubborn or you just don’t understand this at all.”

  “Really, Midge,” Mr. Saunders said. “I’m sure Laurie’s history teacher knows exactly what he’s doing. I don’t see why you should make this into a big deal.”

  “You don’t think it’s dangerous to allow a teacher to manipulate students like that?” Mrs. Saunders asked her husband.

  “Mr. Ross isn’t manipulating us,” Laurie said. “He’s one of my best teachers. He knows what he’s doing, and as far as I’m concerned what he’s doing is for the class’s good. I wish some of my other teachers were as interesting.”

  Laurie’s mother seemed ready to keep arguing, but her husband changed the subject. “Where’s David tonight?” he asked. “Isn’t he coming over?” David often came over in the evening, usually on the pretense of studying with Laurie. But inevitably
he’d wind up in the den with Mr. Saunders talking about sports or engineering. Since David hoped to study engineering just as Mr. Saunders had, they had lots to talk about. Mr. Saunders had also played high school football. Mrs. Saunders had once told Laurie that it was surely a match made in heaven.

  Laurie shook her head. “He’s home studying tomorrow’s history assignment.”

  Mr. Saunders looked surprised. “David studying? Now there’s something to be concerned about.”

  Because Ben and Christy Ross both taught full-time at the high school, they had grown accustomed to sharing many of the after-school chores around their house—cooking, cleaning, and running errands. That afternoon Christy had to take her car into the shop to get the muffler replaced, so Ben had agreed that he’d cook. But after that history class he felt too preoccupied to bother cooking. Instead he stopped at the Chinese take-out place on the way home and picked up some eggrolls and egg foo yung.

  When Christy got home around dinnertime, she found the table not covered with plates for dinner, but with books, again. Looking over the brown paper take-out bags on the kitchen counter, she asked, “You call this dinner?”

  Ben looked up from the table. “I’m sorry, Chris. I’m just so preoccupied with this class. And I’ve got so much to do to prepare for it, I didn’t want to take time to cook.”

  Christy nodded. It wasn’t as if he did this every time it was his turn to cook. She could forgive him this time. She started unpacking the food. “So how is your experiment going, Dr. Frankenstein? Have your monsters turned on you yet?”

  “On the contrary,” her husband replied. “Most of them are actually turning into human beings!”

  “You don’t say,” said Christy.

  “I happen to know that they’re all keeping up on their reading,” Ben said. “Some of them are even reading ahead. It’s as if they suddenly love being prepared for class.”

  “Or they’re suddenly afraid of being unprepared,” his wife observed.

  But Ben ignored her comment. “No, I really think they’ve improved. At least, they’re behaving better.”