• I couldn’t believe it. I heard some kids in the hall razzing The Rule, like it was something they knew anything about. It got me so furious, I slammed my books against the wall they were leaning against, and they scattered fast. I’m not supposed to make fun of people’s beliefs, right? So why should I put up with it when someone makes fun of mine? —Dylan
• Yeah, Basket Cases! And thank you all for my last shot! I know it’s probably not a big deal to anybody else, and I’m fine if someone else comes up with something that can help everyone, but I could really use a raise at McD’s. I need some repairs on my car. It’s got like 215k miles on it, but I think I could get it running for a couple hundred bucks. —Mike
• I’d really just like to be able to move on with my life, forget the past, and focus on the future, whatever it may be. —Caleb
• The election is in four days! I’m up for whatever, but I just hope everyone remembers to vote—and to remember me when they do! I’m sure I can do a lot of good for the school and for our Crave! —Vicky
• The whole basketball thing has me weirded. I mean, did we give those guys the flu? I’m going to take a break to try and think some of this through. Doesn’t look like you’ll miss me much, what with all the new members. —Dana
• That stomach flu was amazing! Nicole got it and was out for a week! Her damn iPhone is still chugging along, but I think I’m getting closer. —Sophia
• My party was totally absolutely terrifically amazing! I managed to clean up before my folks got home and even replaced what we took from their liquor cabinet. So my Crave this time is for another get-together soon! Lock and load! Hey, did we win the game? —Jane
• I really want to thank everyone for saying hello to me whenever they see me; it really lifts my spirits! After being so unpopular for so long, I am so happy to have a bunch of new friends, and I’m thrilled about the basketball team, too! —Olivia
• I just want to say that whatever the group decides, I hope we’re careful in a way to phrase it so that no one else gets hurt, like with the flu, even if they do wish it upon themselves. Patience and peace for everyone! —Will
• So I got that date with that girl and it was going absolutely fantastic until the very end, when I guess I was so busy thinking this was a dream come true and I could finally have whatever I wanted, that I misread her signals. She got pretty upset and told her parents. I’d really like that part to just go away. —Jeff
• You guys should be careful what you wish for. Now that I have the guy I thought was the love of my life, frankly he’s turned into kind of a pain, following me all over the place, IMing me constantly, embarrassing me in front of my friends. I still like him, I guess, but I really want some time to myself. Do you think maybe we could all work on making him back off a little? —Kathleen
• Can you freaking believe it? My mother gets the freaking raise, but instead of taking some freaking time off like she said, so I could have some time off from babysitting, she all of a sudden freaking announces she wants to use the money to go back to college, which means more babysitting time for me! Really, after I spent all that time chanting for her, I deserve better. That money’s really mine, in a way. —Hailey
• Better cafeteria food! This slop makes me sick! —Benjamin
• I’d just like everyone to be really honest with themselves and take a good look at what’s going on around us. I think it’s great that we’re doing all this good stuff, and how much the club is growing, but I don’t think we need a special salute in the hallways. —Anonymous
• I really want people to stop thinking I’m gay. There’s nothing wrong with it, but I’m not, you know? Just because I like art and Broadway shows does not make me gay. That is such a stupid stereotype. —Andrew
• I still have the dreams. I don’t think the meds are working, and the guy in the lunchroom saw me looking at him and now he keeps staring at me, like he knows I’m thinking he’s a killer. Now I’m worried that maybe the dream is trying to warn me about him, and that maybe I should carry a knife to school to protect myself. But I could never get it past the metal detectors. Could I? —Lauren
10
It can be tough work being a slacker. Yeah, that sounds ridiculous, but really, there are times when it takes more effort not to do something than to do it. Like, over the next few days, I really had to fight with myself not to grab Vicky and demand that she tell me what was going on with her and Ethan. I also had to stop myself from demanding that Erica do some actual studying, because she was totally freaking me out.
Doing either seemed like a bad idea, though. I pretty much knew what was going on with Vicky and Ethan. And Erica? Aside from the fact that it was ridiculous for someone like me to tell anyone to study, how could I even suggest The Rule might not always totally work? Wasn’t I just being a wussy doubter anyway? Hadn’t we all just seen it, big-time, twice?
Anyone who hadn’t seen it sure heard about it. Ethan, Vicky, Grace, Landon, Dylan, and the others made sure of that—hanging posters all over the place, bragging about our successes. As a result, the Crave was getting so big it made me nervous, especially since some of the posts on the board were getting creepier than Erica’s notebook.
I mean, the funding was just kind of fun to think about, and the basketball game was, well, a game, but Erica was messing with her future, and the posts were getting serious and seriously weird. Like that twitchy girl Lauren, who was thinking of bringing a knife to school. I tried to talk to her about that, but every time I got near her, she just huddled up and walked away, like I was a serial killer waiting to happen.
So there I was, Super-slacker, struggling not to act. At times the only thing stopping me was a firmly held belief that there was nothing I could do other than think of my spork and chant, “Everything’s gonna be just fine. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”
Instead of easing my mind, the construction only added to my newfound spiritual anxiety. Everywhere I went, classroom to cafeteria, I heard popping nail guns and whining drills, the singsong of our fallen gym wing rising from the grave:
Pht! Pht! Zzz! Zzz!
Every day by midday, I had one freaking big headache.
Did I mention Vicky won the election? Surprise, surprise. And ever since, Madame President didn’t have any free time—not for me, anyway. I noticed something else about her that just made me sad. I don’t know if it was because she was president now or because she was worried about what Ethan thought, but she clipped her nails and stopped painting little pictures on them.
At least I didn’t vote for her.
(To be honest, by the time I remembered there was a vote, it was over.)
It was all getting to be too much. But like it or not, life goes on, or went on, or slouches on, until one day, as I walked toward bio, desperately trying to imanifest some aspirin for myself, a new sound wheedled its way above all the pht! and zzz! A sound that would change things, for me at least: the sound of paper being yanked off the wall.
Rip, rip, rip.
Mr. Eldridge, our “tough” math teacher, was tearing down Crave posters, one after the other.
Frankly, it seemed . . . unholy.
Kind of stunned, I walked up and stood at his back. I was so close that if I’d stretched, I could have touched my chin to the top of his shiny dome head. Not that I’d want to.
Rip, rip, rip.
“Mr. Eldridge?” I said. “Whatcha doin?”
He nearly leaped out of his skin.
In tried-and-true Rule believer mode, I got all offended and annoyed. I stared at him, like, “Well, young man? Do you have an explanation for this?”
Usually he has this calm look, like he’s heard it all and nothing some student could ever say would faze or interest him, but now his face looked a little red, maybe from embarrassment, like he thought he was secretly invisible, and no one was supposed to notice he was tearing down posters.
“I . . . ,” he finally said, clearing his throat. “I just don�
�t think it’s right for some club to take credit for our team’s hard work or our new grant. You kids have enough trouble making it out there without putting your faith in crap like this.”
Eldridge wasn’t the sort to fail me in trig just because I stood up for myself, so I tapped the pin on my collar. “I don’t think it’s crap. Thirty million people don’t think it’s crap.”
“Unbelievable,” he said, more to himself than to me. “Science teachers can’t mention God or teach evolution without an uproar, but something this patently absurd slips in right under the radar and no one blinks. Perfect for someone like you, eh, Dunne? Everything supposedly comes to you without you having to lift a finger.”
Now he wasn’t just attacking The Rule, he was after my slacker ways. The little adrenaline rush was just what I needed to clear my head. All of a sudden, I was totally sure about everything.
“I’m passing trig without lifting a finger, aren’t I, Mr. E?”
“Yes. So far. You’re facile, Dunne, that’s clear. But don’t confuse being facile with being smart. Things come easily to you so you’re not used to working for them.”
“Is it smart to be afraid of new ideas?” I said, nodding at the papers in his hand.
I thought I got him with that, but he just smiled. “You think The Rule of Won is a new idea?”
Fortunately, I’d read the book and even remembered some of it. “Well, technically, no. Knowledge of The Rule is ancient, but it was concealed for centuries, to keep people down, to oppress people.”
“Dunne, the only reason anyone needs to oppress people is to get something they want or to keep something they have: security, control over limited resources, wealth. If, like your Rule insists, everyone can have whatever they want whenever they want it just by asking, what’s the point in keeping it secret?”
Ha. I had an answer. I said, “Uh . . .”
He crossed his arms. “Let’s say that part’s just an advertising gimmick, okay? Your book also says we get only what we ask for. Every rape victim the world over, every victim of child abuse, of war, of famine, of disease, deep down really asked for it. It’s all the victim’s fault.”
He spoke with a kind of certainty Ethan could only imitate. Not droning or suave, like he was trying to hypnotize, but pleading and sincere, like he really wanted me to realize there was this tiger behind me that I just didn’t see, and if I didn’t move out of the way, it was going to get me.
I felt his words push at me like physical things, but I managed to hold my ground. After all, this was stuff I’d been thinking about for weeks. “How do you know life doesn’t work that way? Isn’t it possible people’s expectations are always screwing them up?”
“Sure, sometimes, but your book says it’s always true. What about a baby who dies in a car accident? A baby, who doesn’t even know it’s in a car. Where’s the baby’s expectations?”
I guess the look on my face told him I didn’t have an immediate answer for that one either.
“Think about it, Dunne; you’re not stupid. The real secret of life has got to be a lot more interesting and beautiful than a world that gives you whatever garbage you feel like asking for, doesn’t it?”
Still offended, but now a little confused, I grabbed at the one thing I knew he couldn’t argue with, not really. I pointed at the scrunched poster in his hand. “Even if you’re right, Mr. E, don’t you think people should be allowed to make up their own minds about it? See for themselves whether it works or not?”
He looked at me, looked at the posters in his hand, and made a hissing sound, like all the air had been let out of his head. Then he stormed off, leaving me alone with the sounds of power tools mixing with his arguments in my head.
It felt just like when the basketball game was over. I’d won the argument, but also, I’d lost.
I mean, what about that baby? What about Erica?
Still grumpy a short while later, I spotted Alden Moore and his crack reporting squad. They were exiting their precious newspaper office, all four laden with boxes.
The newspaper, and the article vindicating me, had yet to appear, so all in all I wasn’t feeling too great about them. All talk. At least as a true slacker, I never promise to do anything in the first place.
I was going to ask about my article when I realized they were moving out.
“They move you because of the construction?”
Moore shot me an icy look. “No.”
“So, what? You’re redecorating? Really, if you spent half the time actually putting out the paper that you do talking about it . . .”
Mason puckered her features into a pointy, antagonistic shape and said, “We’re being kicked out. Another club, a much more important club, is taking our space.”
“Which club?” By the time I asked the question, I realized I already knew the answer.
“Ask your girlfriend, Vicky,” Drik said with unusual venom.
“She’s not . . . I mean, what do you mean?”
Moore, struggling with his boxes, leaned against the wall. “El presidente apparently pulled some strings so your Crazy Cravers got our space.”
“You’re kidding!”
This, of course, was square-man Guy’s opportunity to practice sarcasm. “Yeah, we’re kidding. We’re packing everything up just to have a laugh with you.”
“We think someone in the Crave found out about the exposé we planned, so they moved against us,” Moore said.
Guy eyed me suspiciously. “You knew we were planning that article, didn’t you, Dunne?”
“Oh sure, my fault the building comes down. My fault you lose your office. My fault when it rains. Blame the slacker. You think maybe the fact that The Ottis or whatever hasn’t come out with one issue yet might have something to do with it?”
“The Otus! We’ve had some problems!” Mason burst out. Her voice was so high pitched and defensive, I had to take a step back.
“Geez, take a breath. It’s not that bad, is it? You still have an office, right?”
“For now, but we get to keep it only if we find a new adviser,” Moore said. “We lost our old one same day as the space.”
Mason reached out and patted his shoulder. “And Alden’s allergic to mold.”
“What happened to the adviser?”
“Mr. Giddich. Wyatt’s brother-in-law. Wanted us to just print notices about meetings and letters from the administration. Any time we suggested anything that might ruffle feathers, he nixed it. That’s why the paper hasn’t come out. We finally confronted him about it last week. He said if we were really serious, we’d be better off with someone else.”
Moore moved forward. “So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this stuff into our new digs before my asthma meds wear off . . .”
He shifted his boxes, about to leave.
I was about to let him, when I saw Erica skirting the wall, writing in her book, an intense, grim look on her face as her hand scratched across the page. I shuddered to think what she was writing.
And again, I started to think about that baby.
“Wait,” I said to Moore. “You can ask Eldridge to advise you. I bet he’ll say yes.”
“The math teacher?”
“Yeah. Tell him about that article you want to do on the Crave. Tell him . . . tell him I sent you.”
Moore nodded. He and his well-oiled fighting machine marched off.
Once they were out of sight, I felt sick. I had to steady myself against the wall, my heart racing. What had I done? Eldridge. I had told them about Eldridge. I not only did something, but I did something and I didn’t know why. Wasn’t I still part of the Crave? Didn’t I believe in The Rule?
My brain was bubbling the rest of the morning, feelings bouncing around my innards like the rubber balls in a handball court. I had not only betrayed the Crave, but my strongest slacker instincts had weakened and something else, something alien to me, was gaining strength.
When lunchtime came around, I saw Ethan and Vicky sitting togethe
r. In another uncharacteristic move, I decided I had to talk to them. Hard as it was, I was hoping Ethan could set me straight, say a few words that would blow the doubts away.
As I walked closer, I realized that though their spot was cozy, it wasn’t so quiet. The construction crews sounded like they were just on the other side of the wall, and the noise of their tools grew louder with each step.
Pht! Pht! Zzz! Zzz!
I was surprised they heard me approach, but Vicky and Ethan looked up, unembarrassed. I didn’t even say hi to Vicky. What I did say was, “Ethan, some of the stuff that’s going on is getting me worried.”
He pulled himself away from Vicky a bit, straightened his back so his blue shirt looked like a smooth second skin, and looked me in the eye. “Such as?”
Pht! Pht! Zzz! Zzz!
“Some of the Craves are so serious,” I told him. “Like that guy who wants his brother home from the war.”
He shrugged with one shoulder, like my doubts weren’t worth both. “Are you saying they shouldn’t try to imanifest the best possible things for the people they love?”
“No . . . I guess I’m saying, what if it doesn’t work? What if they don’t do something else that might work because they’re busy with this? They’ll be hurt.”
Pht! Pht! Zzz! Zzz!
“Why wouldn’t it work?” Ethan said.
Vicky spoke up. “You’ve already seen what we can do. Why shouldn’t we take our lives seriously and try for more important things? It’s a natural next step.”
Ethan nodded as if it were as obvious as the table they were sitting at.
“What about Lauren wanting to bring a knife to school to protect herself?”
“Oh. I can see why that might worry you, but remember, she has to follow her own path. She has to work these things through herself.”
“What if she works them through with a knife?”
“That won’t happen,” Ethan said. “As long as we watch our negative thoughts.”
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