Akaten

By Darvin Babiuk

Girls, I am told, love a man in uniform, but I hate mine. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that every high school boy from Aomori to Okinawa wears one exactly the same. Who has time for girls, anyway, what with school? Sometimes I think it's a plot to keep us from enjoying high school. If it isn't the bowing and scraping to the teachers; cleaning toilets between classes; being beholden to the senior students; or the rules about school bags, clothing, or shoes (they look like toilet slippers!); it's the tests. Then there was the time they made me dye my hair black just so I'd look like everyone else. I didn't like it, but it was worth it to be part of the group.

Not that I don't enjoy school. I do. Tomohiro, for example, my best friend; I never would have met him if it hadn't been for school. His friendship makes it almost bearable. Every class has a few students like us: quite popular and good-natured, but frivolous.

Did I mention the tests? I must have. We have them almost every day. They're necessary, I know, to prepare for the "examination hell" that leads up to the entrance exams for university, but they sure don't make for much fun. Every week someone in our class gets an akaten -- a red, or low, score -- and our teacher scolds the lot of us to do better. Enough red scores, she reminds us, and we'll fail. And that means a future behind a grill frying octopus rather than the white collar lure that comes with a university education. So, in that way, it's worth it. Who wants to spend the rest of their life with the three K's, kiken, kitanai, kitsui -- dirty, dangerous, and difficult -- when you can be a salaryman instead?

I am one of the worst. I must be. My teacher scolds me enough. Every month, it seems, I get at least one akaten and then the entire class is forced to sacrifice fun to pull me through. We hardly have time to play the latest X-Box game, or sneak off to a karaoke box, never mind girls. Our home-room president and class boss coerce everyone into coming over to my house and cram enough facts into my newly dyed head to erase the red. And if it's not me, it's someone else who has the low score. I'm almost convinced it's a plot on the part of our teachers to keep us from enjoying our youth.

I asked one of my teachers if it, in fact, was: "What would happen -- " I asked him in the teacher's room one day after I bowed and apologized for being rude enough to enter that hallowed sanctum -- "if everybody in the class got zero?" He couldn't fail us all, could he? But he just laughed and refused to answer. If I remember right, he rewarded me with some extra homework.

But the thought wouldn't go away. The more I thought about it, the more I was sure it was the answer to our problems. If everybody got zero on the next test, no one would fail because it would make the school look bad and we could get on with enjoying our school life. Girls! The only problem would be in persuading my classmates to do the same.

I started with the obvious, Tomohiro, who immediately saw the merit of the plan, and the two of us exchanged vows that we'd stake everything on achieving our goal. Tomo pointed something out to me: our task would be a lot easier if we could get the most influential members in the class to go along with us. The others would follow along. Why not? We were a group and they were our leaders. What would be the point if we convinced half the class and the leaders talked them out of it? Among all the members of the class -- the president, the treasurer, secretary, photographer, librarian, and others in charge of such things as clothing and cleaning -- we decided to start with Keizo and Hiroshi.

Keizo is a lawyer's son and wants to get into law school. In Japan, that means something. We hardly ever sue, so if you want to be a lawyer it means you want to help people, not get rich. He's smart and popular, because of his strong sense of justice. Even our teachers, especially the ones in the union, respect him. He listened to what we had to say and agreed.

"I'll go along with your plan because I am against the akaten system," he said. "It hardly seems fair that someone's future is ruined because they get a low score on a test when they're still a kid. If all of us unite and get zero on the next test the schoolmaster will want to know why and we can get him to change it. Don't worry, I'll convince the others to go along."

Smiling, Tomohiro and I went next to Hiroshi. Hiroshi is squat and muscular and good at sports. I have seen him rattle even grown policemen when he whacks them upside the head with his kendo stick in a tournament. If we respect Keizo, we fear Hiroshi.

"Is Keizo in on it?" he asked first. When we assured him he was, he agreed. "Why not," he said. "Since all I'm gonna do is take over the old man's appliance shop, I'm not afraid to fail. Don't worry about the rest of the class. Keizo will convince them and if anyone betrays us, I'll teach them a lesson."

Well, you know what happened. The next round of tests came and as usual I was the only one with akaten. Keizo apologized and said he couldn't jeopardize his future. Hiroshi looked sheepish and said he needed the science score to become an electrician. And Tomohiro? My best friend? Tomohiro just smiled and shrugged, saying, "I figured you'd betray me."

Well, can you blame him? That's just the way people are.