Suggested Reading

by Dave Connis

  A group was already there as I walked up to the table. I slid into the booth side without a single glance to see who’d shown up. There was a rotating cast of about five to ten people. Mostly kids who volunteered at LitHouse or helped run the TLLs. Strangely, mostly kids from other schools (Sean from Hill City Prep, Brittney from Chatt Valley High) who’d found me through the Facebook group I’d started back when I was a freshman at LA and needed a group of people who cared about books.

  I dug Don’t Tread on Me out of my backpack, put it on the table, and when I looked up, Jack Lodenhauer and Ashton Bricks were staring at me. Why were they there? How could they be there? They didn’t do stuff like this. Were they just there to make fun of us?

  Those questions, and the simple fact that Jack Lodenhauer and I were sitting at the same table, derailed me enough that I stared at him until fellow Quesoian Sean kicked my shin under the table.

  I snapped to, the smell of queso bringing me back to earth. And then I panicked. “Right. So. Hey, everyone. I . . . uh. Sorry. I’ve had a strange day and it doesn’t seem to be stopping. I mean, not that, like, y’all are strange. Just that there have been things that . . . that, um. Things that were. Uh. Strange? Okay. I’m just going to start. I’m starting. Gosh. This book.” I felt strange that a Lodenhauer was listening to me talk about a banned book even though I knew he didn’t know about the ban.

  Or did he?

  He was a Lodenhauer. They were everywhere. Always listening. Jack was no different. There was very little he didn’t know, and that thought threw me into even more of a fluster of flusters. An uncharted sudden hot flash of a panic.

  Right when enough silence had gone by for me to have started talking, my phone rang. I pulled it off the table. It was LiQui.

  I lifted it up, thankful for the chance to regroup. “Hold on, gotta take this.”

  I jumped out of the booth and went to the outside patio. “Hey, thanks for saving me.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “I’ve got some crap news.”

  “Okay?”

  “I brought the letter to Principal Walsh right after you left, and dude hunted me down before I could even leave. Last time he moved that fast was when I wrote a prank letter telling him that Mr. Adelwise let the Mav do push-ups during class time.”

  “Again, okay?”

  “He didn’t seem frustrated, but it’s Prince Walsh. Dude has one mood: congenially forceful. He told me, ‘It’d be prudent to simply file the complaints about prohibited media until the end of the year when they can be reviewed by the board.’ I’ve literally never heard of a Lupton policy like that. Something funky is going on, and it has nothing to do with LA’s beef.”

  “Wow,” I said. “So, he didn’t even mention talking with me?”

  “Nope.”

  “So he’s going to ignore me? He’s going to tell me everything I’ve believed in is worthless and inappropriate and then not give me a reason for it? Now what?”

  “Now . . . I don’t know. I’m sorry. It sucks, but this is proof that, as much as they say it’s not, the StuCab is made to serve the admin, not the students.”

  “LiQui, this is getting worse and worse.”

  “Yeah. Times one hundred. We followed the grievance process. He’s the ultimate word on it. It’s a private school. You know what? I’m going to dig. I’m gonna dig into this. See if there’s something we can do based on bylaws or something.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t give up. Maybe there’s another way. Okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks, Qui.”

  I hung up the phone, then walked back to the table. Between Jack and Ashton and the fact that I’d just been litblocked by Lupton, I had a hard time finding the words to start the club off. So much for regrouping. I flipped open my copy of DTOM.

  “So,” I sighed. “How many of y’all were able to read the first few chapters?”

  Everyone but Jack and Ashton raised their hands.

  “All right, no problem . . . guys,” I said, pointing at the two delinquents. “So, how this typically works is we read the book in advance and then discuss its merits. If it’s good. If it’s trash. We always try to have something we liked about it, even if we all hated it. Make sense?”

  Jack didn’t say anything, but Ashton nodded. “Awesome.”

  “So the book we’re talking about tonight is Don’t Tread on Me, my favorite author’s newest book. Does anyone have any thoughts or things we need to immediately go at?”

  Sean dove into it, leading us into a discussion around the theme of panem et circenses, what Lukas was trying to say with the phrase, and how it showed up, differently, in every character. Levi in that he completely revolted against any sort of entertainment. Joss in that he knew there was importance in taking it easy and not just tossing things out because they brought some sort of pleasure, but how he took it too far.

  The whole time, Jack whispered comments under his breath to Ashton, who laughed at all of them. I couldn’t figure out if Ashton’s laughing was out of habit or because he actually thought Jack was funny. Either way, after the millionth snicker and chortle, the pressure cooker of the day finally pushed me over the edge.

  “Okay, why are you here?” I asked them. “Like, if all you’re doing is mocking the conversation. What’s the point of being here?”

  Jack laughed, but Ashton looked wide-eyed and caught. “We weren’t—I mean we—we’re here to . . . ,” Ashton said.

  I looked at Jack, expectant. His face went tight and sour. He stood up. “Whatever. Y’all think you’re so smart, when all you’re doing is farting into air.”

  A few of the Quesoians started to object, but I held up a hand. “Then you should feel right at home here.”

  “Jack, dude. Come on,” Ashton said. “We need—”

  “Let’s get out of here, man. We don’t need this. This isn’t what I thought it’d be. Besides, everyone else is chilling at Resi’s pool house. Let’s just go.”

  Ashton looked at me, and I was pretty sure I saw an obvious I’m sorry in his eyes, but all he did was stand up and follow Jack out the door. I watched them as they left, wondering what on earth Jack had meant by “this isn’t what I thought it’d be.” What had Jack thought it’d be? How did Jack even know about Queso?

  “Well . . . ,” Sean said. “That was badass, Clara.”

  I took a breath. “Don’t mess with Levi and Joss. This book rocked me. Now . . . where were we?”

  “Brittney was talking about Lukas’s ideas of what it looks like to not live as circus trash.”

  We laughed.

  “Circus trash?” I asked. “Exact words?”

  “I mean”—Sean shrugged—“something like that.”

  “All right . . . well, let’s pick back up there, seeing how I just took out the circus trash. Also, before I forget, remember, for next Queso we picked one of my faves, Perks of Being a Wallflower.”

  A round of emphatic yeses echoed from the table, but I was too distracted by an overwhelming bit of righteous bitterness. I was so over the star-stars. One more year and I’d never have to see any of them again.

  Mr. Walsh

  TEN MORE LIES THEY TELL YOU IN HIGH SCHOOL

  1. You will use algebra in your adult lives.

  2. Driving to school is a privilege that can be taken away.

  ..................................

  10. We want to hear what you have to say.

  —Laurie Halse Anderson, Speak

  I dropped my toast on the floor. I brushed my teeth with the wrong toothbrush. It was one of those hot-mess mornings that turned into a hot-mess day as soon as I got to school. I was mad at LA. At Principal Walsh. At the star-stars. All of it. I felt it roiling around me. Heat rolling down my back. A fire sparking in my toes.

  I was in front of Principal Walsh’s office, walking toward the library to get started on organizing the processing room, when the door that led to all the administrative offices opened. The man I wanted to see least at
that moment walked out the door.

  “Good morning, Clara Evans,” the moth of a man said. “Why are you here so early?”

  “Why?” I repeated.

  “Yes, why?”

  I was uncoffeed. I wasn’t awake. And I was still mad at his ridiculous dismissal of my due-process letter. “Why did you just dismiss my letter without even reaching out to me? What’s the point of putting processes in place if you’re going to ignore them?”

  “The letter?” he asked, sincerely confused.

  Seriously? He’d already forgotten?

  “The letter about the banned books.”

  “Oh. Ah. Well, I am a busy man and some things, like our stances on prohibited media, are better handled by the student-body president. That’s why she’s there.”

  I stared at him.

  He smiled. “I can assure you that your thoughts and reasons have been noted, but it would behoove you to remember that you attend a private school focused on giving you the best education possible, and that you should trust the administration to do its job.”

  “Why did you pull them?” I asked flatly. “Why are these books dirty to you?”

  “Dirty? Ms. Evans, I think you’re taking this way too personally. Remember our core principles. Focus. Knowledge. Impact. We make our choices based on what we feel supports those the best. I ask that you tread down this path very carefully. You know, to be honest, your tone is very undesirable and not respectful. I’d hate for this issue, for you, to become a burr of shame in the citywide blanket of Lupton Academy pride.”

  I had a lot of problems with his statement:

  - A. What vernacular was he trying to use? Southern post-Victorian?

  - B. “Burr of shame in the citywide blanket of Lupton Academy pride”? Not a thing.

  - C. What was he even trying to say?

  “I understand that, Mr. Walsh—”

  “Tut-tut—Principal Walsh.”

  “Principal . . . Walsh, I think books support those principles. I know they do. Especially knowledge and impact. When my—”

  “This is not open for discussion, Ms. Evans. Now, please, run along. We are both busy and this isn’t worth our time.”

  My mind shot off into a million different directions. All south of happy. None the least bit nice.

  “Principal Walsh, you’re not listening to me. I am living proof that the books you’re getting rid of are—”

  “Clara, your responsibility as a student is to abide by the wisdom of leadership and the rules we’ve outlined in the student handbook, which you agreed to follow upon signing your student contract. This school has the right, and not only that, but the obligation, and the God-given honor, to act as legal guardians for students to ensure their well-being and personal growth, as covered in the constitution, as outlined in the law of in loco parentis, otherwise known as ‘in place of a parent.’ Your argument does not stand here.”

  I stared at him.

  Why did I stare at him?

  The ghastly amount of hatred I had for him in that moment. He hadn’t even let me finish my argument. How could he know that it didn’t stand?

  He crossed his arms. Impatient. “What would you like me to do for you, Ms. Evans? You are a student, not an administrator, and I don’t think a student can understand the intricacies of policy creation when it comes to the well-being of the greater community. You’re mad, I see that, but in my observation, you seem to be taking a non-issue very personally. We feel that certain media is simply not beneficial to our students’ growth. It is our right to make that media prohibited, and we are doing what is best. I cannot assuage your anger, nor am I bound to on matters such as this.”

  I didn’t think an asshole with a shriveled dictator mind could understand the simplicity of not being an asshole.

  “I don’t think that’s a fair statement,” I said. “I also don’t think it’s right that you have a bigger interest in beef propaganda than this, Mr. Walsh,” I said.

  “Principal.”

  My anger skyrocketed. “I don’t agree, Mr. Walsh. I’m sorry.”

  “Principal Walsh.”

  “Either way, I don’t agree.”

  “It doesn’t matter, and, quite frankly, your attitude on authority is a little sophomoric. Consider this a warning, Ms. Evans. Shape up. Your deviance will only hurt you in the long term.”

  “My deviance?”

  “Ciao, Ms. Evans.”

  My fists clenched. My teeth pressed into my tongue.

  I’d show him how personal this was.

  I’d show him I was right.

  Summary of the Rest of the Day

  Bathroom.

  Think about what Levi and Joss would do.

  Library.

  Bring a load of books from locker to car.

  Honors Lit.

  Remember argument with Mr. Walsh.

  Think about sticking it to Mr. Walsh.

  Decide not to tell Ms. Croft about the argument.

  Think about what Levi and Joss would do.

  Load of books to the car.

  Bathroom.

  Class.

  Boiling frustration.

  Think about what Levi and Joss would do.

  Strongly consider getting ten pounds of food from Earth Foods buffet.

  Lunch in cafeteria.

  Avoid telling LiQui about my argument with Mr. Walsh.

  LiQui makes me cry-laugh retelling a dream about Jack Lodey as a professional golfer.

  Load of books to the car.

  Class.

  Class.

  Think about what Levi and Joss would do.

  Free period—a.k.a. load of books to the car.

  On-Brand

  It’s strange because sometimes, I read a book, and I think I am the people in the book.

  —Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

  When I walked into my house with a massive bag of books hanging off my back, it was so on-brand for me that my mom didn’t even notice. With a solid “Hey, Mom!” and a very non-suspicious “Hey, Clara!” back . . .

  It was on.

  Black-Market Tactics and Best Practices

  Before I could argue it, I knew this cave belonged to something. A real library. Nothing forsaken. Nothing tossed aside. Nothing banned. Nothing off-limits. Everything permissible. I’d been claimed as a servant, just as I had to the farm fields, to the gathering of words, regardless if they sat in my stomach well. Plato, Newton, Rowling, L’Engle, Apostle Paul, all in one place.

  Joss and I were suddenly more than runaway soldiers; we were servants of unity.

  —Lukas Gebhardt, Don’t Tread on Me

  Tactic one: put the aforementioned illegal entity as close to the enemy as possible.

  I once heard the story of people growing weed in an overgrown downtown median a block from the local police department. It was genius, and though I wasn’t going to start growing weed in the mulch beds by the school’s front doors (didn’t want to start a turf war with Jack Lodenhauer), I knew there was a tactic to be learned. Because the police had only found out about said “weed median” when someone told them the story a long time after the operation had shut down. So that was what I did. I found my median and set up shop. Sneaky-book Clara was back in business.

  The next morning I showed up at school early, my back seat filled with books that shall not be named. I walked inside—chill, calm—making sure no one was watching me as I unloaded all the backpack’s contents into my empty locker. Bringing all the books I’d taken out yesterday back to make my own library. The locker playing stand-in for Levi and Joss’s limestone mine. This was what Levi and Joss would’ve done. What Ms. Croft would’ve done. What Mr. Walsh deserved. How I’d prove to him that the books he wanted to take away weren’t garbage.

  I’d devised a whole labeling system, which was important, because I had to disguise book covers. I’d taken every single dust jacket and conspicuous LA library bar code off every book and replaced them with covers made
of white construction paper. That way, if someone had one shoved into a backpack with their other books or was, stupidly, carrying one around, neither the cover nor spine would be showing.

  Instead of writing the title on the spine, I wrote a letter ID so I could match the ID to the title by looking at a list in an Excel doc on my phone. For example: The Color Purple, copy one, was A; copy two was B. Eleanor and Park was CC—I had to repeat letters because I had more than twenty-six books.

  The real point of the white cover was proof. I wanted to collect quotes from people who read the banned books. Specifically, A House of Wooden Windows, The Catcher in the Rye, Speak, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and an extra, personal copy of Don’t Tread on Me. I wanted to get as many quotes as I could. It was like a living petition. Instead of signatures, we’d see quotes that showed that these books were as impactful as I knew they were. That they actually mattered, and that I wasn’t just a crazy person. Then he’d see. If he could see the amount of change between the pages, he’d change his mind.

  On my third trip, I marched through the side doors of the school with the last of the books the same way I had before, but this time Mr. Walsh, my enemy, the jerk of unusual size, walked toward me with his typical rush-toward-who-knew-where fever.

  He slowed to make the interception.

  “Clara Evans,” he said, as congenial as ever. “Why? Why are you so early?”

  How to Handle Run-Ins with Authority Whilst Moving Contraband (Tactic Two)

  Walk like you don’t have contraband.

  That’s what I kept telling myself when I saw him. Even when he looked right at me.

  I wanted to say, Because you’re banning books. Because you didn’t listen to a word I said. Because these books aren’t just trash. But, pushing my anger aside, I walked with my head high. I was Joss. I was Levi. I could feel my fake purpose all the way down to my teal-and-purple knockoff Toms—Gregs. However, I wasn’t quite sure what to say, and it doesn’t matter how purposefully you walk if you can’t talk your way out of suspicion.

  “Library,” I said. “I’m going to the library. I mean, because I volunteer there. I’m going to volunteer at the library. Help Mr. Caywell organize the processing room. That’s what we’re going to do today, I think. That’s all, though. Mostly library stuff.”