Teddy Boudreaux gave an on-the-nose presentation about how the best and brightest in his meritocracy would harness the power and promise of the Blaireric plant but was tripped up by Mr. Taliaferro’s utilitarian criticisms about the useful and the good. Wasn’t it obvious that whoever had the Blaireric would maximize their own power? Which was a criticism that toppled Mark Flanagan as well, who gamely argued that every society’s resting point was the many serving the few, and that oligarchy was really what all the others pretended not to be. The argument scored with the judges but sailed past the Populi, who frankly found it fun to root against Flanagan as he pounded his fist on the table in true strongman fashion.

So the Blaireric was very much up for grabs when Oglesby nodded at Steve O’Donnell to make the case for communism.

“My brothers . . .” Placing a Che beret with a red star glued to it on his head, Sticky arose from his seat. “Don’t be fooled! The Blaireric is not real!”

Oglesby sensed hijinks. “Mr. O’Donnell . . .”

“Judges of the tribunal, my fellow comrades of the tenth grade, don’t listen to our teacher. Mr. Oglesby works for the capitalist pigs who built this school to enslave you with their materialistic notions!”

Mr. Taliaferro broke first and started to laugh. And so did Dan and the rest of the sophomores. Sticky reached under his table and pulled a purple caladium out of a Wolfe Nurseries shopping bag.

“Behold the Blaireric. The story of its power, that it will cure all, is a myth.”

Father Dallanach, not quite getting any of this, gave Mr. Oglesby a puzzled look. Is the boy soft in the head? Of course it isn’t real . . .

“The Blaireric holds no such magic powers. It’s a fantasy used by the ruling class to keep all of us enslaved and shackled to the ship of state. And today, brothers, I will prove it!”

With that, Sticky tore a bright young leaf off the caladium and shoved it in his mouth. As he chewed, he continued his diatribe:

“The Blaireric is a fraud. The Game is rigged. There is no panacea that will make the world better.” Sticky took another caladium leaf and shoved it into his jowl for comic effect. “Could use a little ranch . . .”

Everyone started howling, including an amused-if-drowsy Father Dallanach. Sticky kept chewing.

“But no magic powers, I’m afraid. That’s why the nation of Proleteria should run the world. Because we discovered the truth of the Blaireric and the truth is—” Sticky started to cough. He had taken too much into his mouth. “The truth is unity through strength. Power to the people!”

Sticky pulled his Panasonic boom box out of the Wolfe Nurseries bag—he had the tape queued to the chorus of Billy Bragg’s version of “The Internationale.” He pressed play and raised his fist.