A/N: First order of business: I changed my name to Musetta Lulu. If you aren't into La Boheme, GET INTO LA BOHEME. Ahem, moving on. Because I've dumped, and will continue to dump, craploads of drama on my readers' and Jon Larson's poor little characters' heads, I will attempt to make this, Collins' chapter, a lot lighter. You probably won't see much of Collins as this is largely a drama fic, but enjoy him while he's here. And I tossed in Benny for good measure; he won't show up again either if Collins doesn't, which it's likely he won't. Thanks so much for all the kind reviews I've received so far. Keep reading. Also, may I please dedicate this chapter to the real Mr. Elstein, who hopefully does not read RENT fanfic and, if he does, hopefully doesn't read mine, because your U.S. History teacher reading your fanfic would be embarrassing, particularly this one, as I have borrowed his name and a good bit of his capitalism lecture to further my plot. Collins wasn't even going to be in here until I heard this lecture and thought of Collins. So, if you are reading this, Mr. Elstein, I don't mean to offend you at all, and yes, this is why I was laughing through your capitalism lecture. It wasn't because you look hilarious when you scream, even though you do. May I also dedicate this chapter to Mr. Beaty, former vice principal of my old middle school, who died this week of cancer, and to the sixth grade math teacher Mr. Bollinger who died a couple of years ago of HIV, which they only just bothered to tell us.

Part 5—Actual Reality

Tom Collins sat in the small desk, not paying attention at all. U.S. History was, after all, the most useless class devised by the human mind, which was saying a lot. He glanced up at the clock; the period would end in ten minutes. Ten minutes couldn't crawl any slower, as far as he was concerned.

Collins missed his European and world history classes of freshman and sophomore year. So much philosophy so far ahead of its time. Juniors and seniors, such as Collins, had to take U.S. History, full of boring wars and over-structured governments.

"Now, here we are at the dawn of the Industrial Revolution," said Mr. Elstein, making a sweeping gesture with his hands. He was a tiny, grayed man bearing an unfortunate resemblance to a chimpanzee with a Hitler mustache. He brandished a small wooden gavel, for no apparent reason. "We've got our market economy. We've found our feet from the Civil War. Here's the creation of a true democracy. And what does democracy go hand in hand with?" Mr. Elstein paused for dramatic effect.

This'll be good, thought Collins.

"CAPITALISM!" Elstein threw his arms in the air with this word. "Democracy is perfect for capitalism. We didn't want" he thrust his arm threateningly at half his bored class "authoritarianism. We didn't want" he thrust his arm again "communism. We didn't want" arm thrust "socialism, or anarchy…they were bull's crap…"

"'Ey," said Collins.

"Oh, crap," muttered a boy in the corner. "Here we go."

"What was that, Tom?"

"Capitalism isn't utopia either."

"Well, for purposes of this discussion, Mr. Collins…"

"Hey, listen to me, man! Y'all can keep your dictators and your presidents and your prime ministers and all. They're all gonna be the same thing no matter what. You want your real freedoms? Anarchy. That's the actual reality of it."

He had stood up.

"Uh, that's quite enough, Mr. Collins!" barked Mr. Elstein.

"No it's not," said Collins pleasantly, still standing.

"Thomas Collins, sit down or you are out of line!"

"There shouldn't be a line is what I'm saying…"

"Detention, Collins!" roared the small man, banging his little gavel on a half-asleep girl's desk, waking her up with a shriek.

"Whatever, man. I'm going to Penn State early decision."

"It does not behoove you…"

"Whatever, man," said Collins.

The bell rang.

"Finally." He left the room. A boy named Arnold elbowed him on the way out.

"Sorry, Arnold, I'm afraid you need to watch yourself," said Collins, massaging his arm.

Arnold leered. "Nobody's listening to you, you know."

"I'm sorry?" He followed the boy into the hallway.

"Just shut up about fucking anarchy. Nobody cares."

"I am sorry for them."

"Fucking faggot."

"Excuse me?"

"You. Fucking. Faggot."

"So?" Collins had been out of the closet for two years at this point.

"Get your faggot ass the hell away from me."

"Faggot ass, eh?" Collins slapped the other boy's rear end, hard. "That is some faggot ass, right there." He walked away, smiling and whistling.

"Oh, you fucking did not!" Arnold ran up and jumped Collins from behind, knocking him to the ground and dragging him to an alcove. Grabbing the back of Collins's black knit beanie, he rammed the other boy's head into the ground, and Collins could feel his tooth punch into his lip.

Party's not over yet, he thought. Abruptly he stood up, knocking Arnold, who had more arm strength but was shorter than Collins, on his back, and turned and stepped on him. Through his own blood he spit, spilling some on the other boy's white sneakers, "This kind of thing could get you expelled."

He turned and left, knowing Arnold wouldn't be followed. With his dark red shirt he wiped some blood off his face. Why am I always the one who gets beat up? he thought.

He left the school building and skipped out to his bus. Sitting in his usual two-person seat, he pulled out a book (The New Study of Evolutionary Psychology) and became immersed in it. He didn't look up when he heard a voice.

"Hey, man, can I sit here?"

Realizing the boy was talking to him, he looked up. "Oh, okay, sure." He moved his bulky backpack onto his lap to make room for the other boy to sit. "Benjamin, right?"

"Benny, please."

"Right. Benny. You new this year?"

"Yeah."

The two sat in silence for a few minutes. Collins returned to Evolutionary Psychology before he remembered.

"I'm Tom Collins. You can just use the surname."

"Collins. Cool."

"So what do you think of Johnson High so far?"

"Same as any other high school, I guess."
"You move a lot?"

"A bit. This is my third school."

"Cool."

Pause.

"Whatcha reading?"

Collins showed him the book cover.

"Evolutionary psychology, huh? Thinking of majoring in psych?"

"Philosophy, I hope."

"Cool. Where do you want to go?"

"Penn State, early decision."

"Good school. I'm looking at Brown."

"What do you want to go into?"

"Not sure yet. I kinda want to be a business guy, run my own stuff."

"Sounds cool," Collins said dubiously.

"You okay, man?"

"Yeah. I, uh, I just got detention with Elstein tomorrow."

"Man, that sucks."

"Yeah." Silence.

"Well, this is my stop, I gotta go," said Benny, picking up his backpack. "See you later, man."

"See you." Collins returned to the book.

He knew the drill. The following day he faced the prisonlike front door of the Social Studies Department office. He sighed and pushed the door open.

"Yes?" Mr. Forman, a disgruntled Government teacher with a special loathing for anarchists (and word of Collins had inevitably spread through the Social Studies Department) looked up from the table at which he was grading a stack of papers.

"Where could I find Mr. Elstein?" Collins asked politely. Mr. Forman's reply, as he looked back at his papers, came in the form of a forefinger pointed at the door of the History Office. Collins knocked before he entered.

Mr. Elstein sat in front of a desk that ate up half the cubicle-sized office, and assumed an aloof air. "I need you to do some dirty work, I'm afraid. Hole punch some handouts"—he handed a large stack of papers to his captive—"then staple every two together. A boring detention, I know, but you need something unexciting to do. Besides, you did get in early decision…" He gave Collins a smile that indicated he considered himself the greatest evil genius ever to live. "An hour and a half or until you finish."

Grudgingly, Collins took the papers and grabbed the hole puncher. He smiled to see that it was the same puncher he'd once drawn an anarchy symbol on with a permanent pen. Needless to say, it was still there. He set to work punching, thinking that for every punch, anarchy was making its mark a little bit more.

Half an hour passed before the knock came. Collins had hole punched the papers and had stapled about half. Elstein, who had been grading papers as Collins worked, said "Come in."

"Hey." Collins looked up and was surprised to see Benny, the boy he'd met on the bus the previous day. He flashed a smile but said nothing.

"Uh, I need a Thomas Collins, says here that his mom needs him…"

"Mr. Collins is serving detention."

"Yeah, man, but could he finish up tomorrow? His mom needs him." He handed Elstein a note. The teacher held it and said "Fine then. Thomas, you don't need to bother about coming back, you've done fine. Keep your mouth shut once in awhile in class when I tell you to."

"Yes, sir." Collins followed Benny out of the room. When they had rounded a corner, Benny slapped his own knee and chortled.

"What?" asked Collins.

"Your mom didn't call for you. I faked the note."

"Wha…"

"Got you out of detention, didn't I?"

"You…" spluttered Collins, before laughing with Benny. "Wow, man, thanks."

"How'd ya piss him off?"

"Anarchy."

"What?"

"I'm anarchist, and I shot down all his capitalism shit. Or I tried to, but then he went all dictator on me."

"Ah."

"So, business, eh?"

"I actually don't know. I should be figuring something out, but…gah, I'm just so confused."

"Aren't we all."

Next: April.