Against the Grain

by Phil M. Williams

  “Now you’re ready,” she says.

  “Ms. Pierce?”

  “Yes, honey?”

  “I think you’d make a really good mother.”

  Matt reaches out and hugs her. Afterward she wipes the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand. The doorbell rings.

  Ms. Pierce smiles at Matt, her eyes puffy. “You better get going, Romeo.”

  “Thank you, … for everything.”

  Matt opens the door. Emily stands in a knee-length floral sundress. Her blond hair is pinned up with wisps of hair dangling along her cheeks. She smiles wide at the sight of Matt holding a picnic basket. He steps out on the stoop.

  “Happy birthday,” he says.

  “Thanks,” she says, smiling. “You look … clean.”

  Ms. Pierce steps outside, holding a camera.

  “Ms. Pierce,” Emily says.

  “Hi, Emily. You look so pretty,” she says. “Do you mind if I take a few pictures? I’ll make some for you to keep.”

  “Of course,” Emily says.

  Matt groans. “We’re not going to the prom.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a baby, Matt,” Ms. Pierce says. “You guys look so cute together.”

  She snaps a few pictures, forces Matt to accept another envelope, and sends the couple on their way. Matt slides into the passenger seat of Emily’s green Honda Civic.

  “So where is this mystery place anyway?” Emily asks.

  Matt and Emily drive down a country road, passing corn and soybean fields, flipping through radio stations.

  “Pull over in front of that building,” Matt says.

  Emily pulls into the empty lot of Jacobs Land Development. She parks the car and looks at Matt dumbfounded.

  “Why would you bring me here?” she asks. “Are you friends with him now?”

  Matt shakes his head. “This isn’t about him. It’s about what’s behind his building.”

  Matt and Emily walk behind the building. They stand on the hill, overlooking the pond, the late-day sun reflecting off the water, ducks swimming, and the splashing of the pond pump.

  “It’s really beautiful,” she says. “And look at the mallards.”

  “I’m glad you like it. I thought we could have dinner on one of those benches and watch the ducks.”

  They walk down the hill and sit on a bench near the water’s edge, secluded by the forest and the bluff. Matt places the picnic basket on the bench. Emily reaches over and grabs his hand, pulling him closer. Matt puts his hands on her hips. Her lips part; he leans in. They press their lips together, their tongues touching. He loses all sense of time and place. His heart beats faster; she tastes like strawberries and smells like fresh pears.

  They open the picnic basket, spread out two cloth napkins, and set out their dinners of turkey sandwiches, apples, and carrots.

  “Did you do this by yourself?” Emily asks.

  “Ms. Pierce helped.”

  “Thank you. It’s really nice.” She smiles and pecks him on the lips.

  “Ms. Pierce put this green tea with honey in here for you.” Matt holds up a glass bottle. “She said you’d probably like it.”

  “She is so nice … and beautiful. I always think she should be a famous writer living in New York City, with a gorgeous husband. Not living in this town, teaching at that school.”

  “Selfishly I’m glad she’s here.”

  “Me too.”

  The sun is orange and low on the horizon, as night settles over them, and the sunny day gives way to the cool night air. Matt puts their silverware and plates back into the basket. Emily sits on the bench with her legs pulled to her chest.

  “Are you cold?” Matt asks.

  Emily nods.

  He retrieves a quilt from the picnic basket and wraps it around her.

  “You need to get in,” she says.

  Matt sits down on the bench next to her. She sits across his lap, wrapping the blanket around them. He puts his arms around her. Emily puts her head in the crook of his neck.

  She tilts her head up. “This is nice,” she says in his ear.

  He kisses her forehead. Emily kisses his earlobe. He touches her bare knee, her dress hiked to midthigh. He turns his head; their lips graze. Emily tilts her head, her eyes fixated on his mouth. Matt presses his lips onto hers. He moves his hands up her thigh and between her legs. She breathes as if air were in short supply. She reaches down and places her hand in his lap. She moves her hand over the bulge. He slides his hand underneath her panties. She shudders. She’s warm and wet to the touch.

  “Did you bring anything?” she whispers in his ear.

  He nods.

  Emily stands in front of him, setting the blanket on the bench. Matt reaches under her dress and slides her bikini underwear to the ground. She steps out of them. She unbuckles the belt on his jeans, undoes the snap, and pulls down the zipper. Matt pushes himself up a couple of inches, still sitting, but supported by his arms. She tugs his pants down to his thighs and grips his erection.

  Matt reaches into his pocket and grabs a condom. He rolls it down, his heart pounding. She wraps the blanket around her, and steps up on the bench, straddling him, her dress hiked. She sits, and places her legs through the large gap between the backrest and the bench, her legs long enough for her toes to touch the ground. Matt puts his hands on her hips and guides her onto him. She moans as he enters.

  They move, wrapped around each other, wrapped in the quilt. Emily voices her pleasure, gasping in his ear. They move rhythmically. Her lips are swollen, her face flushed, her eyes closed, and her hands grip and stretch the back of his T-shirt. She moves faster and stronger; her breathing quickens. He pushes deeper, with more force. She groans in his ear; her vagina contracts, releasing more moisture as she climaxes. He moves faster, stimulated by her pleasure, gripping her round hips. She puts her lips on his, pushing her tongue into his mouth. He shudders and releases. They collapse into each other, out of breath. He kisses her neck, her cheek, and her lips. She smiles.

  “I love you,” she says.

  “I love you too,” he says. “I always have.”

  She pulls her legs up; he pulls out. She sits next to him, laying the quilt over them.

  “Do you remember the first time we met?” she asks.

  “Like it was yesterday. … You offered to let me, a complete stranger, borrow your bike. When I told you that I had never learned to ride, you acted like it was no big deal and that you could teach me.”

  “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “And you did teach me,” he says.

  She smiles.

  “I should take this off.”

  He stands up, holding his pants just beneath his hips.

  “Nice ass,” she says.

  He looks at her, blushing. “I don’t know where to put this.” He looks down at the condom over his semierect penis.

  “Use one of the napkins.”

  Matt frowns. “They’re cloth, and they’re Ms. Pierce’s.”

  Emily laughs. “We’re not gonna give it back to her. We’ll toss it. We can buy her a new one, if it bothers you so much.”

  Matt grabs a cloth napkin from the picnic basket and wraps the condom inside. He pulls his pants up, buckles his belt, and zips his zipper. He places the napkin next to the basket, and strolls back to Emily. He sits down. She settles into his lap and drapes the blanket over them.

  “I have some news,” she says with a grin. “My parents are going on an anniversary excursion to the beach. They’re leaving Thursday morning, won’t be back until Sunday. You could sleep over.”

  Matt smiles.

  “We could sleep together, like really sleep together. Do you think you could sneak out?”

  “Grace is pretty oblivious, so definitely,” he says. “I can’t wait, … but what about your brother?”

  “He’ll be in the basement with God-knows-who. He won’t even notice.”

  The sky is clear, the stars brilliant. Outside, it’s cool and brisk, bu
t, under the blanket, in their cocoon, it’s warm and soft and safe.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you after your uncle died. I wanted to be, but you were gone.”

  “I know.”

  “My mom said you were never coming back, that they’d put you in some other town, so you could have a fresh start. I feel so stupid for going out with Lucas. I just wanted to forget you, if I wasn’t gonna see you again.” She shakes her head. “I know that sounds terrible.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “I was embarrassed. I was afraid to talk to you, because I knew you were mad at me. And you were right to be mad.”

  “I wasn’t mad at you.”

  Emily purses her lips. “But you are still mad, aren’t you?”

  Matt nods and takes a deep breath. “We just wanted to farm and be left alone. We weren’t hurting anyone. It’s always the powerless who take the beatings, and most people don’t care. They would look at someone like Uncle and say he was breaking the law, and that’s why it happened. People are too brainwashed to know the difference between the law and morality.”

  +++

  Matt waltzes into the media room. Madison, Tariq, and Jared study the school roster, making updates to the master list.

  “Good afternoon, everybody,” Matt says in a singsong voice.

  Madison looks up through thick black mascara. “Why are you so chipper?”

  “No reason.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I hate to kill the good vibes, my man, but we gotta problem,” Jared says.

  “Not a problem, many problems,” Madison says.

  “We’re gonna have to make some hard choices. We’re runnin’ out of time,” Tariq says.

  “All right, give me the rundown,” Matt says.

  “Well, first of all, I got quotes on all the deliveries you wanted,” Madison says. “With the out-of-town vendors, it’s gonna be ridiculously expensive.” She shakes her head and purses her lips. “The total is almost forty thousand dollars.”

  “That’s fine. Let’s wait until the Friday before to do the deals, but after school, so they can’t call anyone to confirm. We’ll have to pay these people up front, in cash. It’s a lot of vendors, so we’ll all have to help.”

  “I don’t think you heard me. I said, forty grand.”

  “And I said it’s fine. I’ll have the cash.”

  “The second problem is that we only have e-mails for about 15 percent of the student body.”

  “We don’t need to find something specific to everyone. Kids are gonna fall in line with their groups and their friends. We just need enough to light the match. Besides, I got another Saturday detention to dig up dirt.”

  “I gotta question,” Jared says. “How do we get all these kids to do this, without anyone finding out? You could never keep something this big a secret.”

  “You’re right, Jared,” Matt says. “As of now, we’re the only people who know about this. George doesn’t even know yet.”

  “What about Emily?” Madison asks.

  “She doesn’t know.”

  “You better keep it that way.”

  Matt frowns. “She wouldn’t tell her mother.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I know for a fact she wouldn’t. But don’t worry, I’m not gonna say anything to her. If this goes bad, I don’t want her implicated.”

  “That goes for anybody else outside this room,” Madison says.

  “I agree,” Matt says. “The more people we tell, the likelihood of being found out increases dramatically. My thought is that we organize this like any good conspiracy. We only let people know what we need them to know to complete the mission. And we hold the information until the last possible second, so they don’t have enough time to spread it.”

  “That’s all well and good in theory,” Tariq says, “but how do we actually do that?”

  “Everybody in high school travels in a pack. And lots of times smaller packs are actually part of a larger pack. Between all of us, and especially George, we all know who the pack leaders are. So we set up a secret meeting with them on Sunday night as late as possible. At the meeting we give them the e-mails to distribute to their people, and we tell them where to meet on Monday morning. With the chaos of what’s coming, and how pissed the kids are gonna be, we should have enough time to persuade the mob, before the SROs break it up.”

  “What happens if you can’t convince the mob?” Tariq asks stroking his goatee.

  “Then this thing blows up in my face.”

  “What if we tell the pack leaders the specifics on Sunday, to gauge whether or not they’re gonna do it?”

  “I thought about that, but, if we tell them on Sunday, the likelihood that someone in authority finds out goes up dramatically. If that happens, we’re done. They’ll bring in the police to stop it, and the kids will be too afraid. Plus people are selfish. If they think about it for too long, they’ll realize that it’s not in their best interest to participate. I’m hoping that the e-mails and my speech will piss them off enough to do what we want. I’m appealing to their emotions.”

  “These are some serious hurdles,” Madison says, “but that’s not even my main concern.”

  “Okay?” Matt says.

  “I can’t find anything on Hansen. I even tried talking to some of the parents of the juvie kids. Nothing, absolutely nothing. If we keep digging around, it’s gonna get back to her, then we’re fucked. I think we need to use the tape.”

  Matt shakes his head. “We already discussed this.”

  “She’s right,” Tariq says. “There’s not enough to get Hansen, and she’s the linchpin. What if we make a copy and threaten her with it, saying something like we’ll release it on the Internet and send it to the school board if she doesn’t resign. Nobody would find out. Emily would never even know.”

  “It’s not a terrible idea,” Matt says. “How would you get the tape and the threat to her?”

  “We could go to her house early and put it in an envelope under her car wiper, with a typewritten threat.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “What if they don’t fire her?” Madison says. “What if they decide they can’t use the evidence or the tape, because it was stolen? You do realize that everything points to you. You’d be arrested and put right back into juvie. You might actually be there long enough to go to real prison.”

  Matt looks at Madison. “It’s gonna be fine.”

  Madison shakes her head with a frown. “Really? I think the love drugs you’re high on are rotting your brain. Let me spell it out for you. If we don’t put Hansen down, she’ll make sure you get charged with computer hacking, disturbing the peace, inciting a riot, slander, breaking and entering, theft, and whatever else she can pin on you.”

  “This is a pretty insane idea,” Tariq says. “Insanely cool, if we can pull it off, but pretty awful for you, if it doesn’t work. We can always just not do it. Intellectually I can see how it could work, but it’s just that there are too many moving parts. You know? Too many things that could go wrong. Are you sure you wanna do this?”

  “I appreciate that, Tariq, I do, but we’ve come way too far to quit now. One way or another this place is going down.”

  [ 18 ]

  Some People Can’t Be Helped

  Matt opens his locker, surrounded by raucous voices. He grabs his journalism textbook and his report. The previous tenant left a mirror on the door. He catches a glimpse of his pointed nose, tan skin, and sun-lightened brown hair. He slams the locker shut with a clang. He looks to his left. He sees Colton, gyrating and gesticulating. A handful of underclassmen are captivated. Matt sees cash exchange hands, with little baggies transferring from Colton to his clientele.

  Matt strides into Mrs. Campbell’s barren classroom. Madison sits in a corner desk, tapping a black boot.

  “You ready for more Hero Worship 101?” Madison asks.

  Matt grins. “Who’d you interview?”

  �
��The old World War II guy who lives in our neighborhood. I shoulda wrote about what a fucking racist that guy is. All he wanted to talk about is how ‘gays and coloreds’ shouldn’t be in the military. His words not mine. I guess white women are okay, provided they’re nurses.”

  “That would be an interesting report. You could delve into the psychology of war. You know, like how all wars use racism as a way of dehumanizing the enemy.”

  Madison laughs. “I’d like to not have an F on my report card, thank you very much. We’re supposed to be showing gratitude for their service, not criticizing. What about you? Who’d you interview?”

  “I interviewed Herb. You know, the custodian.”

  “Are you crazy? She’s gonna give you a zero.”

  “He used to work in the coal mines—”

  “Class, sit down, now,” Mrs. Campbell says. She sports an American flag pin on her sweater. “Let’s continue with our oral reports from yesterday. Please raise your hand if you haven’t presented yet.” Seven people raise their hands, Matt and Madison included. “Okay, who would like to go first?” All seven hands drop. “Madison, I expect more eagerness from our student editor. Why don’t you take the podium?”

  Madison trudges to the podium, two typewritten papers in hand. She flips her jet-black hair off her shoulders. She wears a black T-shirt with homemade lettering that reads INGSOC. Matt smiles at the reference.

  “I interviewed Corporal Frank Nance, who lives right here in Jefferson. He’s a World War II veteran,” Madison says.

  “What a great find,” Mrs. Campbell says. “There’s not too many of those guys around anymore. They really are national treasures. Please continue.”

  “Mr. Nance is around eighty years old. I deduced that from some dates he gave me. I thought it was rude to ask an old man his age. I asked him what made him join the military. He said he was drafted. He didn’t have a choice. He was a lumberjack in Washington before the war. He was stationed to Alaska in 1943. The Aleutian Islands of Kiska and Attu had been taken by the Japanese. He was part of the 7th Infantry Division.

  “I asked him if he liked Alaska, and he said that he hated the weather, but he loved everything white.” Madison cracks a tiny grin. “He took part in the Battle of Attu in May of 1943. He said the Japanese let them land on the beach, but they dug in positions on higher ground.