SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery

I looked back at Derek through the security office window, studying his defiant expression and crossed arms. Frank and Dave were discussing something in low voices at their desk, occasionally glancing at monitors that showed various angles of the campus. The administrative paperwork from Derek's latest stunt was probably going to keep them busy for a while.

"Mind if I sit?" I asked, gesturing toward the holding area.

Frank looked up from his paperwork, surprise evident on his weathered face. "You want to talk to Derek? Sir, I'm not sure that's the best idea. That kid has a talent for getting under people's skin."

"I've got some time to kill before my next meeting," I replied with a casual shrug. "Might as well see what he has to say for himself."

Dave and Frank exchanged another one of their meaningful looks, but Dave ultimately nodded toward the door. "Your call. We'll be right out here if you need anything."

I entered the small holding room and took a seat in the chair across from Derek. Up close, he looked even younger than I'd initially thought - probably fourteen or fifteen, with the kind of lean build that suggested he hadn't quite grown into his adult frame yet. His dark hair was slightly messy, and there was paint residue under his fingernails that he'd missed when washing his hands.

"What's someone like you want with me?" Derek asked, his voice carrying an indifference that seemed to have grown with time.

"Nothing much," I said honestly. "I told the security guys I've got time to kill. Figured I might as well spend it here."

Derek rolled his eyes with the kind of theatrical disdain that only adolescents could perfect. He turned his chair to face away from me, presenting me with a view of his shoulder and the back of his head.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. Through the window, I could see Frank and Dave moving into an adjacent office, probably to fill out incident reports and update Derek's disciplinary file. The paperwork alone from his various pranks was probably enough to keep a small administrative staff busy.

"So why do you do it?" I asked finally.

"Do what?" Derek replied without turning around.

"The pranks. The disruptions. The paintball gun this morning."

Derek's shoulders shifted slightly - not quite a shrug, but not complete stillness either. "There isn't a reason," he said flatly. "Some people just like causing trouble."

I didn't need Psychological Insight or Lie Detection to see through that lie. The deflection was too quick, too rehearsed, and there had been something in his expression when Principal Whitfield got hit with the paintball that suggested he genuinely hadn't intended for that to happen.

"I don't buy that," I said calmly.

"I don't care what you buy."

"You looked upset when the paintball hit Principal Whitfield."

Derek's shoulders tensed slightly. "So?"

"So that tells me she wasn't your intended target. Which means I was." I leaned back in my chair, considering the implications. "And I can't imagine we have some kind of personal history, since we've never met before today."

Derek remained silent, but I could see him processing what I'd said.

"I doubt this was just about getting attention," I continued, letting Deduction work through the possibilities. "Sure, disrupting a guest speaker might get you talked about for a few days, but I'll be gone after a week. The attention would fade pretty quickly."

Still no response from Derek, but his posture suggested he was listening despite his apparent disinterest.

"Which leads me to think this might be about what I represent rather than who I am specifically." I paused, watching for any reaction. "You've got a problem with high-ranking individuals, don't you? A-Rankers, S-Rankers, people who've achieved success with the System."

Derek went completely still. I was definitely on the right track.

My Deduction skill was working at level 8, and while I didn't have much concrete information to work with, the pattern was starting to make sense. A troubled teenager in a rehabilitation school, acting out specifically when confronted with high rankers, trying to disrupt or embarrass them in front of audiences.

"That's it, isn't it?" I pressed gently. "You've got something against people like me."

Derek finally turned around to face me, and I could see anger building behind his eyes. But it wasn't the hot, explosive anger of someone who'd been caught in a lie. It was something colder, more complex.

"You don't know anything about me," he said quietly.

"You're right, I don't. But I'm trying to understand."

"Why? So you can write some report about the troubled kid who needs to be fixed?"

There was pain in his voice now, underneath the defiance. Pain and exhaustion that suggested this conversation - or variations of it - had happened many times before with many different adults.

"No," I said honestly. "Because I'm curious. And because you went to a lot of trouble to get my attention this morning. Seems like you might have something you want to say."

Derek stared at me for a long moment, and I could see him weighing his options. Part of him wanted to shut down completely, retreat behind the walls of teenage indifference that had probably protected him through countless similar conversations. But part of him seemed genuinely surprised that an adult was asking direct questions instead of trying to psychoanalyze him or lecture him about appropriate behavior.

Before he could respond, the door to the holding area opened and Frank stuck his head inside.

"Mr. Vale? Principal Whitfield asked me to let you know she's ready for you. Classroom 2B, down the hall and to your left."

I stood up from my chair, suddenly aware that my time with Derek had passed more quickly than I'd realized. "Thanks, Frank."

As I moved toward the door, Derek spoke up behind me.

"You really think you've got me figured out?"

I turned back to look at him. "No. But I think there's more to your story than 'some people just like causing trouble.'"

I left him sitting in the holding area and made my way through the hallways toward Classroom 2B. The interaction had been more interesting than I'd expected, and I found myself genuinely curious about what had shaped Derek's resentment toward high rankers. But that would have to wait - I had a cover story to maintain and a mission to focus on.

Classroom 2B turned out to be one of the larger spaces in the building, set up more like a small auditorium than a traditional classroom. Rows of desks faced a raised platform at the front, and large windows along one wall provided natural light that made the space feel open and welcoming. Principal Whitfield was waiting for me near the front of the room, once again looking completely professional in her clean outfit.

"Thank you for being so understanding about Derek's behavior," she said as I approached. "I hope that incident won't color your impression of our school."

"Not at all. Every institution has its challenges."

"That's very generous of you. Now, I should let you know that the students will be here momentarily. This is our first session - a mixed group of about thirty students from various grade levels. I thought you could start with a general presentation about your experiences, then open it up for questions. Feel free to talk about overcoming obstacles, leadership principles, whatever you think might resonate with them."

The casual way she said "momentarily" should have been my first warning. I was expecting to have a few minutes to collect my thoughts, maybe review some talking points I could use to maintain my cover story while providing something genuinely helpful to the students.

Instead, I heard the sound of footsteps and voices in the hallway outside the classroom.

"Oh, perfect timing," Principal Whitfield said brightly. "Here they come now."

The door opened and students began filing into the classroom. They ranged in age from what looked like elementary school through high school, confirming the mixed-age approach that Hudson Heights used for its special programs. Some moved with the eager energy of younger kids excited about a break from routine, while others displayed the practiced skepticism of teenagers who'd been through too many mandatory assemblies.

As they took their seats, I noticed several of them recognizing me. There were whispered conversations and pointing fingers, and I could see smartphones appearing despite what I assumed were probably rules about their use during school hours.

"Is that really him?" I heard one student whisper to another.

"Oh my god, it is. My mom watches his interviews all the time."

"Wait, isn't he like an A-Ranker with multiple jobs or something?"

The recognition was both flattering and terrifying. I'd done enough media appearances that every adult in the world had likely heard about me, especially those who focused on politics, but standing in front of a classroom full of students who clearly knew who I was supposed to be was suddenly much more intimidating than I'd anticipated.

Principal Whitfield was introducing me to the class, talking about my achievements and the honor of having me visit Hudson Heights, but I found myself only half-listening. My mind was racing through possible topics I could discuss, ways I could provide genuine value to these students while maintaining the cover story that Anthony had constructed for me.

Leadership principles? I could probably fake my way through that. Overcoming challenges? That was definitely something I had experience with, though probably not in the way these students would expect. Career development? That one might be tricky, considering my "career" was more about abusing the System and the Job title I have than traditional professional development.

The students were all seated now, looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and expectation. Principal Whitfield had finished her introduction and was gesturing for me to take the small stage at the front of the classroom.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm Hudson Heights welcome to our distinguished guest speaker."

The polite applause that followed seemed unnaturally loud in the suddenly quiet classroom. Thirty pairs of eyes were focused on me, waiting to hear what wisdom I might have to offer about success, achievement, and overcoming obstacles.

I stepped up to the small podium at the front of the room, looked out at the expectant faces, and realized with growing panic that I had absolutely no idea what I was going to say.

The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds. I could see some of the students beginning to exchange glances, wondering if their guest speaker was having some kind of technical difficulty or stage fright.

Which, I realized with a sinking feeling, was exactly what was happening.

I was supposed to be an accomplished, confident individual sharing hard-won insights about success and leadership. Instead, I was standing in front of a classroom full of troubled teenagers, my mind completely blank, fighting the urge to flee through the nearest exit.

Principal Whitfield was looking at me with growing concern, probably wondering if she'd made a terrible mistake in inviting me to speak to her students.

I opened my mouth, hoping that some combination of improvisation and desperation would produce something resembling a coherent presentation.