Suggested Reading

by Dave Connis

  Also, another problem with that morning: right before I left for school, my period hit me with its full rage, and it was hard to not want everything to die.

  As usual, I got to school early and went straight to the library. I’d promised Mr. Caywell I’d finally start organizing the processing room. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but Mr. Caywell wasn’t a person I could bail on. Why? Because I was actively stabbing him in the neck with my banned book–shaped knife of betrayal, and because he’d done so much for me over the last three years, including letting me borrow his car for a day when mine died, that I couldn’t say no. Ever.

  As I was working out a labeling system for the shelves, he popped open the door.

  “I stopped by your TLL by the Riverwalk the other day. I didn’t see a single one of our books in there. They must be moving quick.”

  I whirled around to see if he was being snarky or not. When I saw sincerity, a pure excitement that the books had found good homes, I decided to shove my betrayal knife all the way down to his toenails because I was a horrible person.

  “Uh, yeah! I put like five in there.”

  “Wow,” he said. Nodding. Then, turning to sit in his chair to go through emails: “That’s incredible. Hey, speaking of banned things, there are a couple of donated copies of The Chocolate War right there that you need to put in your libraries.”

  “Oh, okay. Yeah, I’ll do that. For sure. I mean, not right now—I have to do some work—but I’ll do it, no problem. Maybe I’ll put them in the TLL near the Riverwalk! Full circle, right?”

  “Why are you panic talking?” Mr. Caywell asked, not even turning around to ask.

  “What? I’m not panic talking! I mean, I’m talking. But not panicking. So I can’t be panic talking.”

  “You’re most certainly panic talking.”

  “Maybe you make me nervous with all your standing and hovering.”

  He turned in his chair. “What?”

  “What?”

  “No. What is going on?”

  I sighed and attempted to think of an excuse. “Fine! I just . . . I don’t like The Chocolate War. I think it’s overstated.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d read The Chocolate War—years ago. I didn’t remember much of it outside of the quote “Do I dare disturb the universe?” and that I’d added the name Leon to my Names of Boys to Never Trust Until Proven Wrong list. But, if you needed a critique in a pinch, overstated and understated were adjectives that worked perfectly and sounded intelligent enough to make it seem like you’d thought about it.

  “‘Overstated’?” he said, then shrugged. “It’s been years since I read that book, so I have no feet to stand on in this argument. You’re a librarian. It doesn’t matter if you like it. Add it anyway.”

  I saluted. “Yes, sir!”

  Doing my best to forget the fact that I was becoming a worse person literally every second, I took a breath, stared at the overwhelming number of old boxes filled with donations, and got to work, ignoring my screaming uterus to the best of my ability. I labeled three sets of black metal shelves and had gotten into a good and easy groove of going through box after box, putting things in piles to sort, throwing out anything that wasn’t a book, when the bell rang. I cursed, grabbed my bag and the copies of The Chocolate War on top of it, and bolted out of the processing room.

  “You’re late!” Mr. Caywell said.

  “You’re really helpful, you know that?” I yelled, running out of the library. I turned the corner; the halls were empty. And there I was again, running from the library to Honors Lit.

  “Ms. Evans,” I heard from behind me, “I must ask, why are you yelling?”

  I turned, but didn’t stop walking backward. “Sorry, Mr. Walsh; I was talking to Mr. Caywell.”

  “You realize you’re late for class, yes?”

  No, Mr. Walsh, I was running off the banana muffin I had for breakfast.

  “Yes,” I said, looking down at my shoes, trying to hide my frustration, only to see that I had two banned books clutched in my hands, exposed for the world and its mother to see. I spun back around, almost tripping over my feet. “Gotta get to class, Principal Walsh, sorry!”

  “Tut-tut-tut,” he said. “Stop, please.”

  I did, but I didn’t turn around. I just looked over my shoulder. My heartbeat thrummed in the silence. “Yes, Principal Walsh?”

  “Please come to my office for a moment, Ms. Evans.”

  Loop-De-Loopholes

  Principal Walsh sat on a fancy ergonomic mesh office chair behind his desk like it was a throne. It wasn’t even that nice a chair. As far from a throne as a toothbrush was from a car. He wasn’t even that nice a person. He sucked and his desk chair sucked.

  “The Chocolate War,” he said, flipping the book over. Scanning it. No. Not scanning it—remembering it. Reliving it. His eyes stayed fixed on the cover for longer than a simple scan. Most people wouldn’t know the difference, but I knew. I saw it all the time in the library.

  Whatever remembrance he’d had, it left as he tossed the book onto his desk. “Can you tell me why you’re carrying prohibited media around campus? You do realize that having this media is against school policy.”

  At first, I thought the best thing I could say was also the truest thing—I was getting rid of them for Mr. Caywell—but I wondered if that would get him in trouble. Surely a staff member giving a student banned books, regardless of the circumstances, wasn’t kosher. Even though Mr. Caywell probably would’ve wanted me to tell the truth, I couldn’t throw him under the bus. It’d give me circus-trash points I didn’t need. But if I couldn’t tell the truth, what should I say?

  The conversation LiQui and I had had in the library popped into my head. The one in which she’d told me exactly how a meeting like this would go. Suddenly, what had been a very inconvenient situation a few seconds prior turned into an experimental gift.

  “So these books are banned?” I asked.

  He went stiff. As if he didn’t want a stray head nod to betray some sort of vague political boundary he’d memorized.

  “There is a list of prohibited media in the student handbook, and, of course, having prohibited media is against school policy.”

  “Okay,” I said, because I was A-game Clara, “but do you mind if I ask why?”

  His eyebrows, with that one eyebrow hair that was freakishly long, fell flat. His nostrils elongated into ovals. Everything about him lengthened in bother. “Because it’s not currently conducive to your learning conditions.”

  “Oh,” I said, feigning understanding. “Okay, well, I guess I’ll go read the handbook, then, just so I know what books are banned.”

  “Yes! Which media is prohibited is something all students should know. In fact, the student handbook should be read frequently, with conviction. Considering your apologetic state, I’ll let you off with a warning for now, Ms. Evans, but if I catch you again, I’ll unfortunately have to give you a strike.”

  I forced a smile. “Right. I’ll . . . check out the handbook to see what books are banned.”

  “All good student citizens should be aware of what media is prohibited! Ciao, Clara Evans.”

  He walked out from behind his desk, grabbed the two copies of The Chocolate War, and walked out of his office, leaving me there. Alone. Without a late slip.

  I stood and glared at the desk. “You’re literally the worst desk I’ve ever seen.”

  And with that, I left, wondering what I’d say to Ms. Croft for being late. Again. Probably the truth. Maybe if I told her the truth she’d get mad and inspirational again, and I could draw some strength from her.

  I walked to Honors Lit. There were two noticeable differences in the classroom. The first was that Jack Lodenhauer was still not in his chair. The second was that Ms. Croft was not standing at the front of the classroom; in fact, she wasn’t standing anywhere. Instead there was a woman with short gray hair and a pencil skirt. She certainly didn’t have magnolia-flower tattoos, an
d it was highly plausible she’d borrowed her hair from a seventies workout video.

  I took a step back and checked the room number. The room was right. I looked for Ashton. Sure enough, he was sitting in his normal spot.

  “I’m sorry, can I help you?” The teacher paused.

  I looked at everyone for some sort of explanation, but none came.

  “Uh, is this Honors Lit?”

  “Yes, and you would’ve known that if you were here on time.”

  “Right,” I said, sliding into my chair. “I got caught up with a project for the library.”

  “Tardiness is tardiness,” she said simply, and then got back to her blackboard, which had a dusty scrawl about the benefits of reading Alice in Wonderland in Latin.

  “What circus trash is this?” I whispered to Ashton while Ms. PencilySkirtSkirt was writing a novel on the blackboard. I reached into my backpack to grab my binder and found a white cover that I was pretty sure I’d checked out to Hanna Chen a while back. I couldn’t even remember her giving it back to me. That’s how crazy it was. I was literally forgetting parts of my day.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But I guess she’s our circus trash for the rest of the semester. She’s claiming she’s our new teacher.”

  “Uhhh . . . where’s Ms. Croft?”

  McSkirtyLackofJoy and All the Other Stuff

  In the swaying ether of the goldenrod, night had no space to settle within the yellow fractals. Desiring the same effect, in her never-ending search for simplicity, Lila considered this for days when the simplest thing to have done would have been to not consider it at all.

  —Lukas Gebhardt, A House of Wooden Windows

  “What is happening?” I asked the StuCab. “This school is falling apart, and it’s not because of the beef.”

  “You talking about the teacher they let go?” LiQui asked.

  I nearly jumped off my seat. “They let Ms. Croft go? It wasn’t like a ‘take a break, go away for the summer, go upstate’ sort of thing?”

  “Gone,” LiQui said. “Official announcement to staff was something about ‘differences in policy opinion.’”

  “She was my Honors Lit teacher!” I sat back down and buried my head in my hands. “Why does senior year suck so bad?”

  “I had Ms. Croft for English Comp when I was the freshest man; she was great. A little scary, but great,” Scott said. “Also, Clara, that Perks book is amazing.”

  I rubbed my eyes. “LiQui, did you give Perks to Scott instead of reading it yourself?”

  LiQui grimaced. “Scott, you’re killing me. I told you you could read it as long as you didn’t tell Clara.”

  “Ugh, you’re such a book jerk, LiQui. Sorry, Scott, no offense, I really am glad you like it. But LiQui should be the one reading it.”

  I looked at the star-star table, still devoid of Jack Lodenhauer, though I knew that if I listened to the conversations around me, he’d be everywhere. We were all circus trash, I guessed. We all pretended we were above a good train wreck, but most of us would derail a train with our own hands if it’d help us forget, even for a minute, that we were still sore from walking away from our own wreckage.

  I vowed then that I wouldn’t utter another bad vowel or consonant about Jack Lodenhauer.

  “Who’s teaching Honors Lit now?” LiQui asked.

  “Ms. Pencily McSkirtyLackofJoy, but that’s not important,” I said, remembering my visit to Mr. Walsh’s office. “LiQui, you need to show me the banned-book list.”

  She frowned. “Did we not have that discussion already?”

  “Oh, imagine that. I guess I’ll have to go back and talk to Mr. Walsh about the fact that I still haven’t seen the list of ‘prohibited media.’”

  “Did you get caught with a white cover?”

  “No. I got caught with banned donations that Mr. Caywell was giving me for the TLLs.”

  LiQui shook her head. “Dude pulled you in for donations?”

  “Yeah, I was in his office for a chunk of Honors Lit this morning, so you can imagine my surprise, my shock, when McSkirty was in class instead of Ms. Croft.”

  “Have you heard anything else about Ms. Croft?” Scott asked.

  LiQui shook her head. “Nothing outside of the fact that there were ‘differences in policy.’”

  “Dang, this school is getting turbulent,” I said. “I didn’t realize it was so political around here.” I shoved the last bit of food in my mouth, stood up, and started collecting my stuff. “I’ve got some books to hustle. I’ll see everyone later.”

  “Let me know what happens with Prince Walsh,” LiQui said. “Let me know if you need backup.”

  “I will—I’m about to go see him again.”

  “You’ll be great. You’re the female warrior, more badass version of Levi and Joss.”

  “I wish,” I said. “I’m not Levi and Joss. I’m just Clara.”

  LiQui scoffed. “Levi and Joss were only Levi and Joss until they were Levi and Joss.”

  I pointed to her. “You’re reading DTOM?”

  She nodded. “Keeping up with the Mav’s reading list, or, really, Jeff Goldblum’s book club.”

  Fit in Little, Belong Much

  It was happening. I was getting quotes. A lot of them.

  Beautiful. I needed beautiful.

  Jack L is Hott.

  Fit in little. Belong much.

  So far, my years have only ever asked questions.

  Despite the second quote, people writing things on the white covers was downright moving in ways I hadn’t thought it’d be. Maybe simply getting people to write their love of a book down was worth more than having proof. Maybe it was a movement. Maybe it meant something different, and I just didn’t know what that was yet. I kept rereading the quotes. Over and over. They made checking a book out exciting because I was excited to remember them.

  What a way to live, being excited to remember.

  Not a Walsh to Be Found

  It’s like the smarter you are, the more things can scare you.

  —Katherine Paterson, Bridge to Terabithia

  I stood in Mr. Walsh’s office, but there wasn’t a single Mr. Walsh to be found. The school was fresh out. I hung there for a few minutes, thinking maybe the prodigal principal would return, but seconds flew by and I was running out of time before my next class. I’d already been late to one that day, and I didn’t feel like being surprised by another pencil-skirted Komodo dragon. If any of my other classes had changes in teachers, I wanted to find out without being ridiculed in front of the whole class.

  A little defeated, I walked out of his office.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if I was witnessing his trick. It was common knowledge he walked the halls a lot, but maybe it wasn’t because he wanted to keep tabs on the students. Maybe if he didn’t sit in his office, he wouldn’t have to deal with things like me. Maybe that was why LiQui had such an involved student-body position, why the StuCab existed at all. Maybe the entire system of LA had been set up to make it so complicated and confusing to get anywhere that we would all let things go when they came up.

  Maybe that was why Mr. Caywell pushed back with the gusto of a sneeze. Maybe the people who pushed back, like Ms. Croft, ended up like Ms. Croft. Maybe LA’s entire administration system was built around “students don’t care enough to fight this.” So they found the ones who would care—LiQui—and they put them in positions they could control. A process of eliminating the dissent. Not that LiQui didn’t rock at being StuPres or that she didn’t do awesome things. She did and she was way too good for LA. But maybe StuCab was a way to give the student body a placebo feeling of control. A way for the administration to run a school to ensure they get their hard tuition cash and then herd us through our four years without incident. Panem et circenses. Money to buy the bread. Just enough we-care-about-what-you-thinks to make students feel entertained. It was hard to not see the emptiness of everything once you read DTOM. To be honest, some days having read DTOM felt less enlight
ening and more demoralizing.

  Focus. Knowledge. Impact. What if those principles were second to Contain, Control, and some third word that served equally as an antithesis? And maybe also started with C?

  These thoughts were so stunning, so conspiratorial, I stopped in the middle of the hall.

  Maybe Mr. Walsh just . . . couldn’t sit still. Maybe I was seeing politics where politics didn’t exist. Maybe Mr. Walsh wanted to reach ten thousand steps on his Fitbit. I was taking the leadership in all the dystopian novels, including Don’t Tread on Me, and injecting it unfairly into LA.

  Right?

  Questions from Strangers About Strangers

  That night, there was a wall of texts asking me for books.

  This time from people I knew of but had never interacted with. A.k.a. Mr. Caywell/StuCab referrals. But there was one text that had to do with books from someone I did know. And that was the most mind-consuming of them all. A conversation that, going into the new week, I couldn’t shake.

  Ashton [6:56 PM] So, I gave Jack those books. I told him they were from you. How do they fit into all this?

  Why did you choose them?

  Me [6:56 PM] Outside of just that they are my favs?

  Well, Holden and Charlie deal with a lot of things.

  I thought they’d be helpful in that regard. Like, this line from Catcher:

  “‘Did you ever get fed up?’ I said. ‘I mean did you ever get scared that everything was going to go lousy unless you did something?’”

  Ashton [7:01 PM] Yeah.

  Also, is Queso Book Club tomorrow?

  Me [7:01 PM] Queso too long for you?

  Yeah. We shoot for every other week. You going to come?

  Ashton [7:01 PM] Yeah. Jack, too.

  Me [7:02 PM] This might be a weird question.