The droning hum of the air conditioner was the only thing keeping me awake in sixth-period history. Not because the class was boring—actually, I kind of loved it—but because by this point in the day, half the room had already mentally checked out.
"Alright, class," Mr. Humphries said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose like he was about to announce the cure for cancer, "today we're talking about civil liberties and human rights. Do you believe they are still functioning well in America, or have they eroded with time?"
Naturally, nobody volunteered. It's high school—thinking is practically considered a crime.
I raised my hand. "I think civil liberties and human rights are still fundamental strengths of America. They give citizens the framework to hold those in power accountable, and without them, democracy would collapse into authoritarianism. Sure, there are flaws, but the fact that people can challenge those flaws is what makes the system resilient."
A couple kids groaned, but Mr. Humphries' face lit up like he'd just been handed a golden apple. "Excellent, Miss Dunphy. Thoughtful, articulate, well done."
That would've been the end of it. At least, it should have been the end of it. But Mr. Humphries just had to go fishing for someone to play devil's advocate. His eyes scanned the room like a hawk circling prey—until they landed on the back corner.
Where Jasper Allister was leaning forward, whispering something into Claire Bennett's ear while twirling a strand of her hair around his finger. Claire was biting her lip like she'd just won the lottery.
I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly lodged in my skull.
"Mr. Allister," Mr. Humphries said dryly, "since you're clearly not too busy at the moment… flirting… why don't you give us a second opinion on Miss Dunphy's answer? Well—" he added with a smirk—"if you can."
The whole class turned to look at him. Jasper just leaned back in his chair, flashed that infuriating smile, and stretched like he'd just been asked to recite the Constitution in his sleep.
And just like that, I knew this was going to be the longest year of my life.
Jasper leaned back in his chair, a lazy smirk on his lips.
"Well," he said, "I could argue that civil liberties are doing great, considering I haven't been arrested for how much Mrs. Bennett here wants me to violate hers."
The class erupted in laughter. Claire Bennett turned crimson. Mr. Humphries did not. He leveled Jasper with a glare so sharp it could've shaved his jawline.
Jasper coughed, raised his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. More serious."
He straightened, ran a hand through his dark wavy hairs, and for the first time all year, looked like he actually gave a damn. His blue eyes locked on the front of the room.
"Not too long ago, we set the example for the world on civil liberties and human rights," he began. "Today…" He sighed, and something in his voice shifted. The smirk was gone.
"Today we have this bipartisan piece of legislation, the Patriot Act, that criminalizes free speech, authorizes warrantless searches, allows for wiretapping without probable cause. People can now be locked up on suspicion alone, denied due process, even a hearing.
As for foreign nationals? Forget it. They can be deported for what they say or think—even if they're completely law-abiding. They can be barred from ever entering this country under the ideological exclusion rule. Again, based on what they say or think.
All this was accomplished by a bill our leaders rushed to pass just six weeks after those towers came down. Did you read the Patriot Act, Teach? Members of Congress certainly didn't. Most still haven't. A bill that mocks our Constitution and moves us closer to tyranny.
We now round up suspects and throw them in detention camps, claiming they aren't prisoners of war so we can torture them in violation of the Geneva Convention. We set up camps in Cuba and other foreign locations.
This isn't something done by a government with moral integrity. It doesn't reflect a nation with a conscience."
The classroom had gone still.
Jasper's jaw tightened. "And let's talk about torture. This isn't slapping around some suspect with knowledge of a ticking bomb. This is systemic—waterboarding, sexual humiliation, psychological and physical abuse. Abu Ghraib showed us those horrors. Those orders came from the top. Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld, Rice, Powell—they all knew. They all approved. And not one has been held accountable.
We chain prisoners to ceilings. We simulate drowning. We strip away human dignity and call it justice. That's not moral leadership. That's not respect for human rights.
And the country I speak of isn't Egypt, or Saudi Arabia, or even North Korea." He paused, letting the weight sink in. "It's the United States of America. My country. Our country."
Then, quieter, almost to himself, he added:
"A veteran once said to me that I cannot know the experience of lying down at night and facing the idea of losing America. Since September 11th, I think most of us have lain down many nights and imagined exactly that—but I wonder, what is it of America that we most fear losing? And I wonder how much of that we have already lost."
The classroom was utterly silent. Even the rustle of papers sounded like shouting.
And I hated—absolutely hated—that a boy who just flirt with girls during lectures could deliver a speech like that off the top of his head.
Mr. Humphries cleared his throat. "Well. Thank you, Mr. Allister. That was… thorough."
Translation: he'd just gotten owned by the school playboy.
I sank back in my chair, fists clenched around my notebook. How was it possible that Jasper Allister—the boy who spends more time flirting than breathing—just delivered what might be the most thorough, well-researched, and articulate argument I've ever heard in this classroom?
This is why I hate people.
Not in general—just him. He makes it impossible to be annoyed and impressed at the same time. He twirls girls' hair like a petulant prince, yet somehow, when he decides to focus, he dismantles a topic that has me sweating over footnotes for hours.
And of course, he didn't break a sweat doing it. No note cards, no flash of panic, no trembling hands. Just… Jasper.
I couldn't help but replay the speech in my head, dissecting every point. Every statistic, every moral argument—it was all there. My first instinct was to be furious. Because if he could do that, why the hell did he waste so much time being a pretty boy? All that potential, all that intelligence, gone to… what? Girls and smirks?
I might have groaned audibly, but of course, no one noticed—too busy being stunned by him.
Part of me wanted to run up to him and scream, "You are literally wasting your brain!" But another, quieter part—I refused to admit it even to myself—was a tiny bit intrigued. He was sharp. He was passionate. He… cared about something.
God, why did I have to notice that?
So yes. Jasper Allister had just ruined my afternoon, my carefully constructed superiority complex, and my calm sense of justice all in one speech. And he had no idea.
I clenched my jaw. One thing was for sure. This was going to be a long year.