Biology. One of the few classes where I pay attention. Not because I'm fascinated by the digestive system of the worm (give me strength!) but because I like the teacher, Mr. Burke.

Burke impressed me the first day he walked into class and said, "I know most of you couldn't give a toss about biology, but if you don't give me any grief, I'll do my best to make it interesting for you."

Burke's the best of our teachers, maybe the only really good one that we have. I don't know what he's doing in this dump. He should be at a good school like the one Vinyl moved to. He's wasted here, stuck with mugs like Meths and Kray and... yeah, I can admit it... me.

Dad doesn't share my high opinion of Mr. Burke and has tried a few times to have him drummed out, or at least confined to teaching kids of his own race. Which is odd, because the lightly colored Burke is of a mixed background. I would have thought that meant he could claim membership to either side, but Dad doesn't see it that way. He moans about Burke all the time and I nod like the obedient little puppy that I am and simper, "Yes, Dad. No, Dad. Three bags full, Dad." It sickens me but what can I do? If I told him Burke's a cool teacher, he'd hammer me. Easier to say nothing and keep my head down.

Burke is trying hard to make the dissection of a worm seem like an earth-shattering event but it's hard to keep us interested in crap like this. After a while Trev puts up a hand. "Sir?"

"Go on," Burke sighs, looking up from the worm with an expression that seems to suggest he finds this particular lesson as boring as the rest of us.

"Can we dissect a zombie next, sir?"

Laughter.

"If you bring me one, I'll certainly help you cut it up," Burke says drily, then pushes the worm aside. I grin at Trev and give him a cheesy thumbs-up. It's great when we sidetrack Burke. He doesn't let it happen often - he insists on covering the course inside out - but every now and then he'll relent.

"Who believes that zombies are real?" Burke asks.

A few hands go up, but not many. It's not that we don't believe, just that we don't want to be seen to be enthusiastic in class.

"Come on," Burke snaps. "A real show of hands or it's back to the worm."

We groan, then hands start creeping up. Soon most of them are in the air.

Burke does a slow count, then says softly, "Why?"

We gape at him.

"Why?" he says again. "Because they're on TV? Because you've seen photos and video clips?"

"Yeah," someone says.

"But they can do anything with digital equipment these days, can't they?" he smirks.

"Don't you believe, sir?" I ask. I was one of the few to keep their hand down.

"Actually, I do," he says. "But let's explore alternatives." He turns to the whiteboard, grabs a pen and writes Media hoax? Publicity for a film or TV show? then looks over his shoulder at us. "Any other ideas?"

"It's a conspiracy," Stagger Lee snorts.

"The government?" Burke asks.

"Yeah."

"The Irish? Ours? America's?"

Stagger Lee shrugs. "The whole bloody lot."

"What for?" Burke asks. "Why go to all that trouble?"

Silence for a moment, then Linzer - one of the smartest in our year - puts up her hand and says, "Experiment gone wrong."

"Good," Burke beams and adds it to the whiteboard. "What sort of experiment?"

"Chemical weapons," Linzer says. "Maybe they were testing something and it accidentally got into the water or air. Or they released it on purpose."

"Which is more likely?" Burke asks, nodding at Elephant.

"Dunno," Elephant says.

"B?"

"A test," I say confidently.

"Why?" he presses.

"Pallaskenry's in the middle of nowhere. They wouldn't have any labs around there. It's all bog land."

"Excellent, B."

I find myself grinning goofily. Nobody has a dig at me to bring me down to size either, like they would if this was any other class.

"More ideas," Burke says, pointing to Suze.

"God, I don't know." She blushes, then coughs. "My dad thinks it's terrorists."

Burke blinks. "Come again?"

"He thinks the army went in looking for terrorists. Got carried away and killed civilians by mistake. Then cooked up this zombie story to give them an excuse to kill the witnesses."

"Far-fetched," Burke hums, "but let's run with it." He adds the theory to the board and asks for more suggestions.

Someone thinks the zombies are robots gone wild. Another says maybe it's aliens, that the rabid crazies were taken over by bodiless beings from another planet. Kray comes up with a twist on the experiment angle, only he figures people are being controlled by satellite signals.

"They're gonna use it on the Arabs," he says. "No more sending our troops in to sort out their messes. Drive the buggers mad and leave them to it. They'll wipe themselves out, and good riddance to them."

The Muslim kids don't like that. Angry mutterings. Burke shushes them.

"That's not one of the more far-fetched ideas," he says. "Certain politicians would do just about anything to cling to power and disable our enemies. Kray was insulting - grow up and stop acting like a thug - but he might have a point."

"I don't think it's terrifying," I snort, evil-eyeing the Muslims. "In fact I hope Kray's right, that we are going after them. They'd do it to us if they could."

"We'll have that argument another day," Burke barks, stopping a war before it can erupt. "Let's stick to zombies. Any other proposals?"

There are a few more, then Burke stands back to study what he's written. "It's a horrible world, isn't it?" he mutters and I'm not sure he knows that he's spoken out loud.

He turns to us. "I'm not saying I believe any of these exotic, unfounded theories. But these are questions we should be asking. Life's complicated. Answers rarely come wrapped up nice and simple. There are plenty of people out there ready to tell us what we should and shouldn't believe. We always need to be skeptical, to look for the sting in the tale."

Burke looks around slowly and it seems like he's staring at each and every one of us in turn. "Trust no one. Always question what you're told. Don't believe the lies that people feed you, even if they're your teachers or parents. At the end of the day you have to work out for yourself what's right or wrong."

He glances back at the board and sighs. "But bear in mind. There are lots of black-hearted, mean-spirited bastards in the world." There are some gasps when he swears but most of us take no notice. "It's important that we hold them to account. But always remember that you might be the most black-hearted and mean-spirited of the lot, so hold yourself the most accountable of all."

As we try to make sense of that, Burke chuckles, shakes his head and wipes the board clean. "Enough preaching," he says brightly, then adds, to a chorus of groans, "Back to the worm..."

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