Chapter Text
They don’t pay me enough for this.
It was just another Thursday at Trinity International School, Jakarta. Just another underpaid Thursday in Mr Pilate’s books, to be more specific.
Not that the pay was bad in itself: the school was renowned for its outstanding teaching standards, holding one of the highest IB average scores in the world. Most of the pupils ended up in Oxbridge or in an Ivy League school. Pontius had always dreamed of working in a similar environment: when he was young, he didn’t have the chance to study abroad, so he made plans to make up for it as an adult. Luckily, Rome was a big city with a decent turnout of international students, which allowed him to make useful connections during his university years.
As soon as he got his license, he had started sending his CVs pretty much anywhere. He was ready to practice in the jungle, if required. That had not been necessary – a good thing, really, as he was absolutely terrified of spiders and allergic to a great variety of plants. He landed a maternity cover in one of the United World Colleges’ campuses, in Hong Kong. From that position on, it had been a smooth ride. UWC was just what he needed to boost his resumé. Before he knew it, he was resident school counselor in Jakarta.
Life had been sweet.
The place was gorgeous and warm, the students were a bunch of adorable nerdy dorks, and his colleagues – albeit bizarre – all welcoming. Sure, sometimes Mr Herod (the headmaster) had one too many on Friday night and had to be rescued while attempting to walk across the campus’ swimming pool, and things like that. But it was a peaceful life.
Enter the class of 2020.
In retrospective, Pontius did see it coming. The memory of their first day was still vivid in his mind. Of course, he remembered Jay more than anyone else – his defiant expression, the way he carried himself among the other freshmen, in spite of being quite small. His very first words were: “I see you’re still using plastic straws in the cafeteria. Hopefully, we’ll change that.”
And man, didn’t they?
Talking about retrospective, he should have also seen the rest coming. A taller boy had shot him the most judgemental look Pontius had ever seen in his life, before firing back: “How tragic. Let’s ignore the fact that apparently you need to pay extra for lactose-free stuff”. The remark had been met with a pair of thoughtful brown eyes suddenly widening. “I didn’t know that. That’s absolutely shit, we should do something about that, too.”
Pontius wondered what Shakespeare would have thought knowing that the greatest love story of the 21st century was born out of a discussion about plastic straws and lactose-free drinks.
The 20s were wild, unrepentant and absolutely fearless.
They were also painfully aware of their own rights, something that Pontius secretly admired about them. When Maddie started campaigning for a better sex health course, she did so by filing the appropriate request form. She set up a 10-minute head massage spot outside campus to raise money and paid for the flyers she printed. When the drama teacher refused to cast a girl to play Alexander Hamilton in their spring musical production, in spite of the whole drama club being in favour, Simon wrote an entire musical about gender discrimination and performed it every day for a week, outside the main gate, with only the help of his guitar and a reluctant Peter playing the triangle to mark the most important moments.
Jay had been a different matter entirely, of course, but he was mostly a danger to himself than to people or property. Jesús Cristián Reyes Godwill couldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, neither in English nor in Spanish, regardless of the situation. He could handle a mild “Jay, chill the fuck out for a sec” coming from a certain classmate of his, but even that did not work too frequently. Judas should have been paid to take care of his roommate, but he did it nevertheless, for free, out of a genuine desire to help him out in his daily battles for equality and justice while simultaneously keeping them both alive, and also by virtue of a crush that could be spotted from another galaxy. (Pontius was ready to deny this until his dying breath, but he watched them with the same passion he had only reserved to certain seasons of Supernatural and to one remarkable episode of Crazy Ex-Girlfriend.)
Coming to think of Judas, Pontius was suddenly feeling better: at least he was being paid something to deal with them.
The thing was, the aforementioned epic love story was somehow a cardinal point, a matter of the greatest importance for the whole school: because when the two lovebirds (or, as he secretly liked to call them, ‘lovebirds-to-be’) were fighting, nobody needed a reminder. Their shouting matches echoed through the school halls, across the 11 hectares of campus, up to Merdeka Square and bounced back from Jakarta’s National Monument straight into Pontius’ face.
So, here they were. Here he was, facing the first of the three suspects he was supposed to interrogate.
« Let’s make this easy for everyone, shall we? Just tell what happened. I know those two can be...intense. »
Across the desk, comfortably nestled in Pontius’ poäng chair, the student just gave him a wicked smile.
« You wish. We’ve been working on this plan for ages. There’s no way any of us will talk. They will be locked up at least until Sunday. That’s a promise. »
Pontius sighed.
It was going to be a long Thursday. Especially if it was going to last until Sunday.