The Instructions by Adam Levin
“He thinks I’m gonna set him on fire,” Benji said to us.
Botha stammered, “I’m… demmeged.”
“The monitor says he wants to join the Side of Damage,” Vincie announced.
Nearly everyone laughed at that—some from the belly and most from somewhere else. Leevon, who wasn’t one of the laughers, knelt beside Botha and whispered something I couldn’t make out. Botha mumbled more.
“I said stop talkin,” Leevon said. He rose to his feet, as if to walk away. Instead he kicked Botha’s teeth in.
Kids sucked air. Leevon did a hop, holding his toes. Botha’s crotch was wet.
“You see that?” Vincie said to Ben-Wa.
Ben-Wa, crying, knelt where Leevon had, measured out the shot and hammered Botha’s nose flat.
The blood shot out, puddling on his chin. Spit blew off his lips and, with eyes shut tight, he turned his head flinchingly, over and over, left-right-left, dodging big punches that no one was throwing as sticky-looking strings, like rope fed through portholes, wormed from his nostrils and swung.
Renne Feldbons puked. Ansul Entsry crossed himself. Forrest Kenilworth puked and hail-Maryed twice. Most of the laughter transformed into weeping, and as it did I started laughing. I wasn’t laughing at their fear or remorse or anything else they felt. I wasn’t laughing at anyone’s pain, but their timing. We had broken the man’s one good hand and we had broken the shoulder of the arm opposite that hand and, except for Ben-Wa Wolf, who cried about everything, no one had shed any tears. Compared to being maimed, a broken nose and missing teeth were mere cosmetic difficulties, yet the formerly laughing weepers didn’t weep til the nose got broken and the teeth went missing. They didn’t weep until the gore bubbled up. Even soldiers on the Side of Damage required actual, bright red blood to spill before they could see things for what they were, and if that wasn’t funny then I didn’t want to know what it was.
“We’re fucked,” someone said. “We’re so fucked now.”
“Yeah we’re fucked,” said Vincie Portite, “and that’s why we’re so fucken dangerous.”
Brandishing the keyring, I leaned at the Monitor. Which lock what? I said.
“We’re going to prison!” somebody shouted. “We’re getting expelled!”
Botha stopped twitching and started to enumerate, key by key. White-capped key, Cage door; orange cap, gate…
“We’re so fucken dead!” “What’ll we do? Look what we did!”
“‘What’ll we do?’” Benji Nakamook said. “We’ll go to the gym. ‘Look what we did?’ We haven’t done fuck-all. We’ve barely even started.”
“We’re not asking you, Benji!”
Blue was the copy room, purple the teachers lounge…
“We gotta settle scores,” said Ronrico Asparagus.
“No one’s asking you, either!”
“We’re the Side of fucken Damage.”
Red was the C-Hall faculty bathroom, green the front doors. The rest were all personal.
2-Hall gates? I said.
Botha shook his head.
Side entrance? I said.
He shut his eyes hard and shook his head faster.
I saw that I believed him. I sat up straight.
“We have to get it done,” Jelly Rothstein was saying, “before we get nailed, and before they’re all gone.”
And Ben-Wa Wolf kept saying, “Now or never.”
And “Fucked!” kids were saying. And “Gurion!” they said. “What can we do?” they said. “Look what we did!”
I said, You didn’t do this. I’m the one who did this, and if you want to go before I do more than this, a blessing on your head, but we can’t say goodbye before you get armed. I’m not leaving anyone who’s in here unarmed.
And as soon as we tied and locked down the prisoner, I brought the Side of Damage to the teachers lounge. On our way, we stripped C-Hall of all of its pep. Some crumpled streamers, others tore posters, others yet made confetti of flyers. Every last one of us grabbed a balloon.
April 11, 2007
Dear Mr. Maccabee,
Enclosed, on one DVD encoded in MPEG format, is the second draft of the Video-Sync (VS). I believe this draft will more accurately match your vision than did the first, though I recognize the likelihood that at least one more draft will be in order. Thus, in hopes of getting it right sooner rather than later, I’ve created an annotated transcript of the VS, 390 pages in length. I believe this annotated transcript will allow us to discuss any changes you might like to make with greater economy than we’ve formerly been able. The way I understand it, a large part of the problem we faced last time—though, admittedly, not the largest (see below)—was that we didn’t have an easy-reference guide to the available alternate footage. Now we do: The transcript not only notes—on a shot-to-shot basis—which of the 9 cameras’ footage is being used in the current draft of the VS, but what other footage is available for use in the next draft (i.e. which of the 9 cameras were shooting simultaneously), as well as the general nature of this alternate footage. (A guide to the notation used in the transcript appears at the end of this letter.)
I would like you to know, Mr. Maccabee, that I’m honored to have been given this project, and I hope you’ll accept my apology for the tone of our last conversation: I really do understand the importance of keeping the narrative linear and not using the kinds of splicing techniques which you referred to as “Goebbelsian.” It’s just that the technology at my disposal is so much fun to play with, and I guess sometimes I get carried away. In any case, as you’ll see in this draft, I’ve not overlayed any sound onto any imagery that wasn’t occurring simultaneously with that sound (in fact, I’ve avoided all sound-overlays as much as possible, only using them on audience reaction-shots whose accompanying soundtracks don’t, in their original form, pick up the the event or speaker the audience is reacting to), and every moment from the start of the VS til the end is arranged in completely forward-moving temporal order.
Please contact me with any questions, knowing I will do my absolute best to meet your editing needs, whatever they may be.
Sincerely,
Sid Feldman
PS Just to be clear, Mr. Maccabee: I’m sending you this copy of the transcript because you seem to be someone who wants to be aware of as many of his options as possible—a noble desire, to be sure. If you find the code we use confusing, though, or just don’t want to bother reading the transcript, that’s more than fine; please feel free to just watch the VS, and if you have a problem with any of the footage, just please go ahead and feel free to call me up or email, and I’LL check the transcript and let you know what other shots are available. I am at your service.
A BRIEF GUIDE TO THE NOTATION USED
IN THE ANNOTATED TRANSCRIPT
The appearance of a timestamp-line indicates that the corresponding footage on the Video-Sync comes from a different camera than the one that was being used the last time a timestamp-line appeared.
After every timestamp on the timestamp-line, one of the 9 camera codes (listed below) appears: this first camera code corresponds to the camera that shot the footage currently in use in the VS. Following the first code, in parentheses, is a list of other camera codes corresponding to cameras that were shooting different footage simultaneous to that currently in use in the VS. The nature of that footage is indicated by the typeface in which the camera code appears (the meanings to which each of the typefaces correspond are listed below).
CAMERA CODEKEY
C1: ABC LOCAL NEWS CAMERA
C2: NBC LOCAL NEWS CAMERA
C3: CBS LOCAL NEWS CAMERA
C4: FOX LOCAL NEWS CAMERA
C5: BOYSTAR INC. CAMERA A
C6: BOYSTAR INC. CAMERA B
C7: BOYSTAR INC. CAMERA C
C8: BOYSTAR INC. CAMERA D
C9: BOYSTAR INC. CAMERA E
TYPEFACE CODEKEY
1. PLAINFACED: SAME SUBJECT AS PRIMARY CAMERA, DIFFERENT ANGLE
2. ITALICIZED:
3. BOLDFACED: DIFFERENT SUBJECT THAN PRIMARY CAMERA, VIOLENT TYPE
10:01 AM: C1 (C4; C3; C6; C9)
PRINCIPAL LEONARD BRODSKY
(SPEAKING INTO HALFCOURT MICROPHONE)
Welcome. Welcome students and teachers, welcome members of The Boystar Incorporated and New Thing Records, welcome news crews.
10:01 AM: C3 ( C1; C4; C6; C9)
BLEACHERS
(STUDENTS AND TEACHERS APPLAUDING)
10:01 AM: C6 ( C1; C4; C3; C9)
SPECIAL GALLERY (PANNING)
(MEMBERS OF THE BOYSTAR INCORPORATED AND NEWTHING RECORDS APPLAUDING)
FOX CAMERAMAN, CBS CAMERAMAN
(LOOKING INTO THEIR CAMERAS)
10:02 AM: C1 (C4; C3; C6; C9)
PRINCIPAL LEONARD BRODSKY
(SPEAKING INTO HALFCOURT MICROPHONE)
We have quite an exciting pep rally to get through, but before I introduce the first part of the program, I’d like to talk for just a minute about some of the difficulties our school has been facing in the last few days. Graffiti on our walls, our lockers, our floors. The destruction of our brand new scoreboard. An increase in disruptive classroom behavior. An increase in fistfights. You’re all well aware of these difficulties, and most of you are aware that these aren’t normal difficulties; that these difficulties are new to Aptakisic. What many of you might not be aware of, however, is that these difficulties are being caused by very few students. Most of you spend your time in class peacefully and quietly. You spend your Lunch-Recess and class-interims being friendly and having fun. Most of you are wonderful students, and I want to emphasize that. I want to emphasize that because, with all these new difficulties cropping up around you, my worry is that you’ll start to think of yourselves as the abnormal ones. I worry that if you start to think of yourselves as the abnormal ones, then you’ll start causing difficulties, in which case I will have to punish you—with detentions, suspensions, maybe even expulsions… I don’t want to have to do that. I don’t like to punish. Nor do I believe that most of you want to cause difficulties. I believe that most of you realize how difficulties hurt our community, that when someone acts up in class, the teacher is made less able to teach, and the students are then less able to learn. That a broken scoreboard will detract from the fun of home games. That graffiti on the walls makes us feel unprotected, like we go to a lawless school. That fistfights not only hurt those directly involved, but the rest of us—they make us fearful, and fear makes it harder for us to learn, harder for us to trust each other, harder for us to form new friendships. I believe most of you care about your friends, your fellow students, your teachers, and I hope that this pep rally, this coming together to support our team and our school, will give you a greater sense of being a part of something larger than yourselves. A part of something larger than yourselves that cares about you. You are a part of the Aptakisic community, and the Aptakisic community appreciates it. I appreciate it. And it is in the spirit of healing and community and appreciation that I have hired crews to come in next week and clear the school of all graffiti, and it is in that same spirit that, by the end of the month, we will have a camera system up and running throughout the school. Our school will feel safer. Our school will be safer. But I want us to feel safe before all of that happens, despite the graffiti, and without the benefit of security cameras taping everything we do at all times. I want us to feel like a community of people who look out for one another. I want us to feel like that right now. And that is why I have decided to grant amnesty for all offenses committed up until this very moment. That means that everyone gets a clean slate, and no one will be stepped for offenses they have not yet been stepped for. I trust that this will greatly reduce the number of offenses that would otherwise be committed from this moment forward. I trust that in the future you will look out for one another and your school. And I thank you for that. We all thank you. Now, without further ado, it is my pleasure to introduce… Mr. Mussel and The Aptakisic Braves Brass Band!
10:05 AM: C6 (C4; C3; C1; C9)
BAND LEADER MARVIN MUSSEL
(RISES FROM BAND SECTION OF BLEACHERS, TURNS TO FACE THE APTAKISIC BRAVES BRASS BAND)
Braves!
THE APTAKISIC BRAVES BRASS BAND
(STANDS)
BAND LEADER MARVIN MUSSEL
Let’s roll!
THE APTAKISIC BRAVES BRASS BAND
(STRIKES UP APTAKISIC FIGHT SONG)
Getting the widemouths out was easy. We threw our bodies at the front of the Coke machine and soon its plastic shell was pieces. We reached inside and took.
Bottles in their hands, the crying kids cried quieter.
I told everyone to set their spare change on the table. The pile they made was sixty coins tops, at least one fifth of which were dimes. While quarters were the best, and nickels were good—better than pennies if you ignored cost-efficiency—dimes were the least effective small currency. They weighed so little they’d tumble end over end when met by the smallest air-disturbance, and even when the tumbling didn’t bance your dime’s trajectory, your target got hit flat and round half the time, so unless that target was an open eye, there would be no damage, the shot would be wasted.
We needed to get a lot more ammo.
I pulled the Flunky and Nakamook aside, instructed the rest to unplug their balloons and empty their sodas in the sink. They got in line and started to verbalize.
“Pissbombs,” said the Janitor.
“Bullshit on pissbombs,” said Jesse Ritter. “We’re making truncheons. That’s what the coins are for—to add weight.”
Benji and the Flunky tipped the Coke machine north—the coinbox held.
“There’s barely enough coins there to weight even one of these things,” Mark Dingle said.
“We’ll use pebbles, too,” said Jesse. “And marbles. Coins, pebbles, and marbles.”
Benji and the Flunky tipped the Coke machine west, got it almost horizontal—again it yielded bubkes. Nakamook thought he could pick the coinbox lock. We gave up on tipping. He twisted a paperclip.
The Janitor said, “I’m sticking with piss. Uric acid. Cleanses. Stinks. Stings.” “Pissbombs or truncheons or macarena cocktails,” said Cody von Braker, “it’s gonna be all like, ‘Hey there, kiddies, hi there, Boystar: time to bleedalize! Time to fucken bleedalize!’” Christian Yagoda said, “Bleedalize—shit. ‘Hey there, Aptakisic, it’s time to explodalize!’” “We’re gonna fill these balloons,” Mark Dingle announced, “with hostile components. You put the soap in the red ones, the orange juice in the white ones, tie em off. You stick one of each in your bottle so they’re resting on top of each other. You drop a coin in there. Then you stick a pencil in your bottle, point down. Now you’ve got a grenade. Time comes, you pierce both balloons with the pencil, metallic properties of your coin catalyze the reaction, and you got three seconds to toss that badboy, and after that…” He slapped himself in the face. “KABLAM! KABLAM! KABLAM! KABLAM!” Fingershapes darkened his pitted, mottled cheeks.
The paperclip snapped and jammed the keyhole. Nakamook punched a hole in the wall. My A was going D. We needed projectiles. The pep rally would end in thirty-five minutes. I nearly yelled for everyone to quiet down so I could think, but I saw that all the talk of make-believe weapons and targets of vengeance was good for morale. The louder the fight-ready among us planned and speculated, the more distracted the crying kids were getting from their lingering regrets about Monitor Botha—most of them weren’t even crying anymore—so I didn’t yell at anyone. I just tried to think. A lever, I thought. A lever, a lever. I looked for a lever.
Salvador Curtis chucked a spent limewedge. “We’re acting symbolically,” he said to everyone. “We’re here to dump the favored beverages of our oppressors on the floor of the tyrannical gymnasium of their palace.”
Dingle slapped himself more.
“Why you slapping yourself?”
“Gets my blood up quick. Why
“Builds tongue-strength,” said Salvador.
“Well maybe you should save those limes,” Dingle said.
I found a metal yardstick on a shelf in a cabinet.
“‘We’ll rightcrossalize, and you… and you… and you fatlipalize!’” shouted Forrest Kenilworth, smacking the table. “We will crippleize all of you demonizing kaisers!” squealed Anna Boshka. “Why I’m saying you should save those limes is cause we could probably use those limes for the citric acid in case we don’t have enough orange juice,” said Dingle, “cause it’s the citric acid that—” “Shut up about it already,” Jenny Mangey chimed in. “That movie’s bullshit.” “Total bullshit,” said Ronrico. “Brad Pitt’s a limp sister.” “And explosives are beside the point,” Salvador said, “because we’re doing Sag Harbor all over again, but on land, in this very building.” “Boston harbor, numbtongue, and we’re spilling our Cokes in the sink. Not in the gym. Not even on the carpeting,” said Jelly Rothstein. “We’re not doing anything symbolic,” Ben-Wa said. “That’s right,” said Vincie. “We’re gonna hurt some people.” “Hurt some people,” Ronrico said, “and I’m calling dibs on funny Blonde Lonnie friend.”
The yardstick bent in the coinbox doorgap. I chucked it aside.
In the Flunky’s back pocket was Botha’s prosthesis. I snatched it out, wedged the tip of the claw where the yardstick had been, pushed it hard, then pushed it harder; I got a little give but the lock wouldn’t bust.
“Call dibs on Blonde Lonnie all you want,” said Vincie, “but that guy’s Big Ending’s.” “When I flying-roundhousealate,’” Chunkstyle offered, “‘you guys blackeyealize.” “What’s Big Ending?” Ronrico said. “Five nice chubbos with auto-dibs on Lonnie.” “Why,” said Mangey, “do chubbos got autodibs?” “Isadore Momo,” Vincie told her. “Isadore Momo?” Ronrico said.