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W hen Dr. Green and the others on his team finally arrived at Ashley Waters High School, it was time to focus.

As students started arriving, Mr. Blackbourne spent time organizing tables, arranging students into appropriate lines, and then retreated when everyone seemed to flow naturally to where they were supposed to go. He advised most teachers to do the same and only come out when needed.

A few didn't listen, but clustering the hallways with additional bodies led to confusion and chaos. It was better to keep it simple.

Dr. Green remained out there in the group, but at a distance from the cluster of students and parents. Mr. Blackbourne left him alone for the moment. He didn’t mind he was on the ground, but it meant students would go up to him with their numerous questions. At some point he hoped Dr. Green would be smart enough to observe from the second-floor balcony above instead, out of range but still observant. But as it was, Dr. Green looked exhausted and likely wouldn’t think at all.

The morning went on. Parents and students walked the halls, mostly the freshmen class trying to get the layout and curious parents walking the main corridor, upstairs and through the cafeteria of the main building. He positioned certain teachers in different hallways to ensure there wasn't any deliberate destruction of school property while registration was going on.

Mr. Blackbourne wanted to take the opportunity to watch how teachers and other staff operated. He felt he could observe how many staff members actually engaged with students and those that held back dispassionately and those who even hindered things.

Inside the confines of his office, Mr. Blackbourne's gaze was glued to the monochrome windows on his computer that displayed a bird's eye view of the school corridors. Each monitor showed different areas, teachers and students flickering across them like shadows in a puppet show. He studied the scenes playing out before him with a discerning eye, his hand methodically jotting down coded observations in a notepad.

In the silence of his office, surrounded by flickering screens and the incessant scratching of his pen, Mr. Blackbourne was not about to let such an opportunity go by without figuring out a way to assist those teachers who were engaging, and to possibly replace the ones that were not. He might not be able to do anything about it this year, but next year... things would be different.

He kept a particular eye on the principal and vice principal, and anyone they talked to.

His ultimate suspects for the year. Anyone they engaged with regularly would be their focus.

Suddenly there was a knock. Another assistant at the front office? A teacher looking for more help?

"Come in," Mr. Blackbourne said, closing the security camera windows. Observation would be very difficult if he kept getting interrupted.

A young man appeared, wearing glasses, and he blinked a few more times than needed, a timid movement. He was tall, but thin, with a lopsided half smile, half unsure.

The other half, however, held some secret. This forced Mr. Blackbourne to study him a moment longer.

Two cell phones were in his pockets, the corner of one was sticking out his front right pocket, the corner with the camera lenses facing out. The other an obvious bulge in his back pocket, a bigger cell phone than his pocket allowed for. His other front pocket had a slim wallet.

Two cell phones. One pointing the camera out.

How odd. He intended to film this conversation. He clearly meant to do so in secret, but this was far too obvious for Mr. Blackbourne.

And why was he back here?

Mr. Blackbourne tilted his head. "Can I help you?" he said in an even tone.

"I was told you might be able to...fix my schedule?"

Mr. Blackbourne breathed in sharply, though he tried not to make it obvious to him. Dr. Green likely sent him. He was out on the floor helping people navigate. He navigated a student here.

He held back an eyeroll. It wasn't intended for this student, who likely only needed assistance.

The camera, however, gave him pause, needing to calculate how to handle this. Why would a student want to film this interaction?

Mr. Blackbourne held out his hand. "May I?" he said, indicating the paper in his hands.

The young man passed it over. Mr. Blackbourne noted the name: Wil Winchester.

He read the suggested marked classes. Advanced classes in general, except for two. A gym glass and a health class.

Wil suddenly burst with explanation, "There's a special computer science class that I was supposed to take this year. And I already had gym and health class. But they claimed the computer class was full so they just threw me into whatever was available. The class being full is not the case. There's limited entry needing special permission. The teacher isn't here to correct the situation."

"I see," Mr. Blackbourne said, and then kept the page and turned to his computer. He needed to stall this young man for a moment. "Let me see what I can do."

These days, with how some teachers treated students, he didn't fault this student for being overly cautious. If there were issues, he could refer to a recording later. Maybe he simply had been at this school for too long not to take the extra step. If Mr. Blackbourne lied to him for some reason and he caught it on camera, then what would he do?

Mr. Blackbourne admired him for making the effort, but how he might follow through with the video is what he struggled with. He also wanted to know why he had two phones. That was unusual.

So Mr. Blackbourne utilized the computer. He accessed the upcoming class schedule. When he found computer science classes, he showed Mr. Winchester the options. "Which one are you requesting?"

The young man approached, seeming curious that he'd being allowed to select one.

Mr. Blackbourne wouldn't hold anyone back from classes they wished to have. Not in this school. Every opportunity would be provided. Even if he had to drag in more teachers or equipment himself.

Mr. Winchester pointed to the one he wished to have. "Mr. Reynold."

Mr. Blackbourne checked the schedule again, noting the likely conflicts. "Are you looking to graduate—"

"Yesterday, if I can help it," he said.

Smart, and he knew it. A little arrogant about it as well. He probably didn't need to be here anymore. Age and unfortunate circumstances holding him back, most likely. Dressed clean, but the clothes were thin, and so were his shoes. He was thin himself, like he’d skipped meals frequently. There was a gauntness to his cheeks.

Mr. Blackbourne's gut feeling told him this Wil Winchester might have been Academy material at one point, but he was a bit bitter. Over cautious. Was he self-serving or outward serving? He'd need a little adjustment to be considered. However, he was a bit older than they usually liked to start training.

He made a mental note.

Mr. Blackbourne considered Mr. Winchester's schedule again. "Are you sure you want this class?" He pointed to the AP Chemistry class on his list.

"It's a requirement," Mr. Winchester said.

Mr. Blackbourne nodded. "If I handed you a test next week, the normal finals for the class, would you be able to pass it? I could then give you the credit, and you could take the class you want. There's a conflict in the schedule but this might be the best way to solve the problem."

This seemed to catch the young man by surprise. "You can do that?"

"You can do it for any of the classes here," he said. He motioned to the list. "Pass any class’s final exams, your choice, and you can skip to get different ones. Or graduate early, if you prefer. I can create a special arrangement."

This put Mr. Blackbourne in a good position. He'd direct the tests himself. He'd request his cell phones to hold during his testing, as wouldn't be a surprise. He'd be able to get some details about the young man he wouldn't be able to otherwise.

"I don't know if I can skip the year at this point," he said. "I'm not...ready."

He assumed he meant it might be too late to register for college classes, among other excuses. "Use the extra time to get ready," Mr. Blackbourne said. "Get a part time job for extra income, take uncredited college classes, take some online courses here. It's your life, your choice."

Mr. Blackbourne felt himself pushing the boundaries a bit, turning school career counselor instead of just assisting with the schedule.

He couldn't help himself. He hated arbitrary rules.

Mr. Winchester breathed in sharply and expelled it through his lips, leaning forward to gaze at the class list again. He pointed to three, all advanced AP classes. "I'll take the stupid health test, too, if they need it. Just don't ask me to run a mile again for another gym credit."

"Noted," Mr. Blackbourne said. "But a little advice, learn to run a better mile, or do other exercise if you prefer, and you'll keep your brain working longer."

Mr. Winchester blinked a bit, his head tilting, clearly thinking of what he was saying.

It's something the smart ones, especially when they are young, often forgot about. One has to keep the body in tune to keep the brain functioning well on mental tasks, rather than expending effort on self-preservation.

With quick, decisive movements, Mr. Blackbourne edited the classes, accommodating Mr. Winchester's requests. As he did so, he couldn't help but wonder if he was overstepping his boundaries. Was he being too lenient, too eager to help this enigmatic student?

Once the changes were made, Mr. Winchester's expression shifted from uncertainty to a glimmer of excitement, his earlier apprehension evaporating. "Thanks," he said.

"Don't mention it," Mr. Blackbourne said. "Just be ready for those tests or we'll have to change it again."

"I'll pass them," he said, and he took his changed schedule and walked out of the office.

Mr. Blackbourne sat back, considering what just happened.

He then opened up Mr. Winchester's file in the student records.

Vaccination records, school photos, the occasional library fine that was quickly corrected. All ordinary.

The classes were always high level for his grade. Wil Winchester could have graduated early if the school hadn't forced him into following their class structures for four years of classes.

Butts in chairs. That's how schools earned money. The more students, the more funding there is everywhere.

Mr. Blackbourne leaned forward, noting the classes Mr. Winchester had taken, and other students included in them.

In fact, several students that were smart, that could have moved on to college early, were kept at Ashley Waters. No one was permitted to graduate without at least four years.

Some with five or six, if they didn't pass certain classes. And it seemed there was a high number of them that did that, too.

Mr. Blackbourne made several mental notes. Mr. Winchester had put him on track to perhaps the tip of the iceberg of what was wrong at Ashely Waters High School. Mr. Blackbourne had known the school was overpopulated. Graduating students and work study programs were good ways to control that population. And yet, there were school set rules above and beyond state regulations on class requirements to graduate that practically made it impossible to do so.

Purposefully overpopulated.

Purposefully out of control.

Mr. Blackbourne smirked to himself. He had an entire year to unravel the problems here. It was just starting to get interesting.