The Perpetual Motion Club

by Sue Lange

  “Actually, you sound like your mom.”

  Elsa looked at her friend. “Really?”

  May shrugged.

  “Well, If I do join, it’ll only be because you’re in it,” Elsa said.

  “I’m not joining.”

  “What?” Elsa stopped walking. She watched May move forward alone. May had recently Marcelled her hair and the ringlets plastered to her scalp made it seem smallish, pinheaded compared to the mound of backpack and fall rain parka covering it. Elsa ran to catch up.

  “So you’re trying to get me to join, but you’re not?”

  “Didn’t get invited,” May said emotionlessly, as if it was expected, deserved, and not a problem.

  “How come?”

  May turned dead on to Elsa. “How the eff should I know?” she said, and then resumed her trudge to school.

  They said nothing more. When they passed a group of anti-Rifs protesting on the stoop of the rec center a block from school, they were so locked up inside their own thoughts, neither remarked on the threat. Even when the protesters bobbed the “You See!” signage up and down at them, they didn’t notice.

  The group’s power around town was limited by a no verbalizing mandate they’d given themselves. It was an attempt to be silent and invoke the previous century’s successful pro-gay movement that used the “silence=death” slogan. This tacit protest was too subtle for the most part. They gained few believers. On the other hand, the non-threatening method had people starting to loosen up around them. It was a politically smart move considering most people thought the unidentified boy was murdered by one of their number. This misguided mandate made them seem less scary.

  But that’s not why May and Elsa ignored them. May was too distressed about the Science Society. And Elsa was too distressed about May. A fireball could descend from heaven faster than the laws of physics allowed and neither one would have noticed.

  ***

  Fourth period geometry. Time for some action. As the students filed out of Mr. Brown’s classroom at the end of the hour, Elsa hung back, something she would never do under normal circumstances.

  “Mr. Brown,” she said, after the last classmate had left. She was standing on the opposite side of the bench from him. He turned from channel surfing with the CalcuScreen, saw it was Elsa, and set the remote down. He casually sat on the corner of the table top, relaxing into a receptive, help-the-student mode. “What is it, Elsa?” he said.

  “Can I shut the door?”

  “Surely,” Mr. Brown hopped up and moved to close the door for her. A student had been on the verge of entering the classroom, but Mr. Brown held up the “wait-a-sec” finger through the window as he pulled the door to. He returned to the edge of the table and waited, all ears, for Elsa to pour out her troubles, or maybe personally thank him for the invitation to the Science Society.

  Elsa inhaled deeply and stated, “May Sedley hasn’t . . . well, she didn’t get invited to the Science Society.”

  “Uh,” Mr. Brown faltered. He hadn’t been expecting that. This was a different problem. A possible glitch in the teacher/student relationship. He watched his foot dangling off the desk for a few moments and then looked up. “Yes,” he said, pushing his lips together to brace himself and her for the truth. “Not everyone gets invited.”

  “But why not May? She has good grades.”

  “Good grades, yes,” he drew out the yes as if he was trying to remember if May Sedley actually had received good grades. “But not so much in the science area. She shows little aptitude for it, no passion.”

  Elsa’s left eyebrow twitched. She wasn’t sure what having passion was. Did she have passion? Yes. She did. For the new, tall boy. And for the Perpetual Motion Club. Did anyone else have passion? Did J.J. Walsh, Johnny Michaels, Lisa Gribbs, Jabby Tumms? These were the upper echelon in the science classes at Northawken high. Did they moon over variables, frog’s intestines, Pythagoras, Leakey, Newton, Gould, the Kreb’s cycle, reproductive cycles (well, maybe reproductive cycles), but seriously, did they show passion? She grabbed at straws for a comeback.

  “But I was invited, I don’t have any . . . ”

  “Elsa, you’re a top student in science. Your geometry comes easy to you because you are interested in it. You don’t think we can see that? Grades indicate passion. May’s science grades tell the story.”

  He hesitated momentarily as he tried envisioning May Sedley’s contribution to his stats. He saw nothing.

  “But she’s the one with the passion,” Elsa said. “She wants to join.”

  “She has a passion for an exclusionary organization,” Mr. Brown was getting his steam back. “If anyone could join, it would have no meaning, and nobody would get passionate about it.”

  “I don’t understand,” Elsa said.

  “You don’t need to.” Mr. Brown jumped off the desk and took Elsa’s arm to move her toward the door. “Just be glad you’ve been invited.”

  “But I’m not going to join.”

  Mr. Brown stopped and pulled her back to the desk area. “Elsa, you need to be in the Science Society. It will propel you to your place in the community. You could have a bright future. With this on your resume you’ll be on course for that future.”

  Elsa conjured a vision of her bright future, trapped in programming mode for the rest of her life, surrounded by programmers discussing coding theory, never able to communicate with anyone with a different type of talent—athletic, for example.

  When Elsa didn’t respond, Mr. Brown rubbed at his pencil mustache with his index finger. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising with it. “What is it you want to do with your life?”

  “I don’t know. I think maybe teach physics at University. Some place where I could have time to dabble.”

  “Dabble?”

  “You know fiddle with the Jacob’s Ladder and stuff like that.”

  Mr. Brown looked at the floor, pinched his eyebrows and then looked up at his pupil. “The point is,” he said, gently holding her elbow to propel her to the door as if he now understood Elsa’s problem and it would soon be solved. “You don’t know now what you’ll want to do when you’re older, and you need to keep all options open. You want to become a teacher? Fine, far be it for me to say ‘no.’ I’m a teacher. It’s an okay life. But later, after college, you may decide something more lucrative is what you want. Don’t hold yourself back. Joining the Science Society will never hurt those lesser dreams, but not joining will almost certainly prevent you from doing the big ones.”

  Elsa stopped the forward progress toward the door. “So if someone like May has big dreams we need to ignore them because she’s not showing the proper passion. Too bad later if she gets the proper passion, it’ll be too late then.”

  “Elsa, everyone wants to be a pop star, but not everyone can sing on key.”

  “I understand,” Elsa said. She nodded her head, and looked up at Mr. Brown and thanked him and then headed toward the door. She so wanted to ask when was the last time a pop singer worried about singing on key, but she didn’t. She was too angry.

  Certainly May only wanted to join because she needed it for her resume. That’s the only reason anybody joined. And yes, May’s grades weren’t as good as others, but it was all so hypocritical. Why was it so important that Elsa go where May couldn’t? Wasn’t this just a way to start separating out certain types of people? How could her mother not see this as an example of the undocumented American caste system that Lainie always harped about?

  Brown was a lost cause. She remembered how he’d sneered at the idea of Jason Bridges going to the Science Society meeting. Course he wouldn’t go, he doesn’t need it, but maybe he likes science on the side. There were reports that some professional athletes actually had hobbies outside of sports and groupies. It has happened. Why nip it in the bud?

  Elsa started feeling a passion grow in her. A negative passion. She was starting to hate the man.

  For the rest of the day Elsa pondered passion. She t
hought of J.J. and Lisa and the rest and how they spent their time downloading comics at the InterConnect booths. That was their passion. They were smart, but only in the way that would get them good grades. They were good at producing results on standardized tests, but actually interested in any of the information poured down their throats? She doubted it. They’d rather just joke and eat pizza and text, just like everybody else: May, Jason Bridges, and even those idiots silently screaming their protests all over town.

  ***

  “Did you get invited?” a voice asked her.

  Jimmy Bacomb’s locker was six down from hers. She’d hardly noticed him rifling through papers there. She’d been staring at the coat in her own locker, clicking her nails against her teeth for several minutes and pondering what to tell May. She shook herself free from her thoughts and turned to Jimmy.

  “No.” She said it like it was obvious she didn’t get invited.

  “No?”

  “I mean . . . I guess.”

  “I knew you would.”

  She wanted to say, “what’s it to you?” but something in his tone changed her mind. It didn’t have the excited-for-her-but-sorry-for-himself attitude that May’s would have if she were here instead of Jimmy. Jimmy’s tone was flatter, almost as if it really didn’t matter to him. And that kind of made her sad too. Or mad, maybe. She didn’t know why; who cared what Jimmy thought?

  “Yeah, well . . . ” she said, and then suddenly she wanted to be sadistic, dump all the pain of the situation onto Jimmy. “Did you?” she asked.

  He laughed and then looked at her with an “are you kidding” look.

  Immediately she was sorry she had said that. Jimmy was such an easy target, his feelings on his sleeve and all. “Well,” she said, “I probably won’t join. Brown is an ass and . . . ”

  “Brown is definitely not an ass, and he’s funny as hell.”

  “What do you have him for?”

  “Algebra I.”

  “Algebra I? Didn’t you take it last year?”

  “I had to take it over.”

  “Why bother?”

  “Well, I have to take algebra eventually—and pass it. Required for graduation.”

  “Oh yeah. Stupid rule.”

  “Not really. I like it actually. I’m concentrating better this time around. It’s really quite beautiful when you think about it.”

  “Does Brown know about your passion for variables?”

  Jimmy said nothing, just looked at her with his eyebrows pinched.

  “Never mind,” she said. “Just thinking about how some people don’t get invited to his Science Society for flimsy reasons.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that deep down inside May doesn’t want to join?”

  “What?” How the hell did he know what was bothering her?

  “She thinks she wants to join, but is she really going to want to hang around a bunch of popular geeks?” He clicked his locker shut. “Did you ever notice she’s not into that popularity crap? She doesn’t care about fads. She’s too honest. I bet everything’s going to fall into place for her because of that.”

  He smiled at Elsa and then turned to walk to the exit. Elsa stared after him. It was amazing how insightful a twerp could be.

  She took a quick hit of iHigh and joined the throng of students leaving the building. The doors were programmed to state “Enjoy your evening,” but because so many people were just now passing through, they never got to complete the sentiment. They droned an endless series of “Enjoy,” “Enjoy,” “Enjoy” until the last student finally made it through.

  ***

  As they walked home, May and Elsa each kept to her own private thoughts. After a few blocks, Elsa turned to her friend. “I’m not joining.”

  “Makes no difference to me,” May said. “I think you’re crazy, but it probably won’t matter. You don’t need to.”

  “Well, I’m not joining because I don’t have time. I’ve got the Perpetual Motion Club to run and we have a meeting this week.”

  “That stupid thing? I was hoping you’d drop it.”

  Elsa reached out with her pen and began tapping on the side of a public InternetConnect booth, an almost unconscious act indicating she was both nervous and thinking but didn’t want anyone to know she was. As they walked she kept up the tapping on any post box, trash receptacle, mechanical crossing guard, and lamp post they passed.

  “Yes, well I’ve been working on my own,” she said. “And I have a presentation to make and officers to assign.”

  “I thought it was non-hierarchical. Just give up. I mean, honestly, Elsa, nobody cares.”

  “Oh how wrong you are. First off, I’m going to make this an official school club. I’m talking to Dean Williams about it. Once it gets official status, you can put it on your resume. You’ll be V.P., May. It’ll be better than joining the Science Society, especially after we win FutureWorld. How’s that going to look on your resume?”

  May sighed. She had enjoyed being slighted, hurt, angry all day and wasn’t sure she was prepared to be light-hearted and hopeful. “Did you actually speak to Dean Williams?” she asked, reaching over and grabbing the pen out of Elsa’s hand to stop the tapping. She slipped it into a side pocket of Elsa’s pack.

  Without skipping a beat, Elsa began flicking the back of her fingernails on the passing objects. “Well, not yet,” she said. “But I’m going to. I found a copy of the Northawken High School Group Application Handbook in the library so I know what we need to do. And after I speak with Dean Williams . . . ”

  “Uhh!” May said, she hung her head and reached up and massaged the back of her neck as if it was the point of Elsa’s exasperation and if only she rubbed enough, her friend’s inane idea would disappear. They’d reached her house by now. Without giving Elsa a hug, or a “goodbye,” she turned up the sidewalk pressed her thumb onto the door ID system.

  “Welcome home, May,” the door said.

  Unperturbed by the final note of May’s disbelief, Elsa tapped two fingers against her teeth, the mental gears turning so quickly in her head she had to do something with her hands to relieve the pressure. She watched May go and simultaneously put it all together: she’d help May and placate her Mom. Lainie would not approve of her declining the Science Society, but this new effort was definitely going to go a long way in smoothing things over.

  Earlier when she’d read the Handbook, Elsa hadn’t thought much of it. Too many requirements. Coming to no decisive plan of action, no motivating force, she’d forgotten all about it during her conversation with The Twerp. But now, trying to cheer up May, the whole thing came back to her, materializing in her mind. She thought about how having Dean Williams on her side would finally give it some legitimacy her mother couldn’t refute. Why not start a brand new school sanctioned club? Why not improve your resume with such an achievement? Wouldn’t everyone think she was great?

  ***

  During supper of primavera with angel hair and garlic, Elsa delicately broached the subject. She treaded ever so lightly to soften the blow. She needed to tip-toe, elegantly tap dance, somehow soften the shock.

  “I’m not joining the Science Society,” she blurted.

  Lainie choked on a strand of pasta. Actually gagged. Elsa shoved her chair back, stood and punched her mother on the back, then ran to refill her water glass.

  “I don’t understand,” Lainie said between gasps.

  Elsa returned to her seat, took a deep breath, and as non-chalantly as possible, explained her plan to work with Dean Williams to get the PM club sanctioned by the school.

  “Elsa, Elsa, Elsa,” Lainie said, dropping her fork onto her plate. “You can’t win with perpetual motion. It’s a mirage, a fraud, like fighting a windmill with a broomstick.”

  “Actually a broomstick would be perfect. You could wedge it in between—”

  “I don’t care.” Lainie glared at her daughter. “What you’re doing is nothing. Nobody’s going to buy it. And you won’t win. There’s always
too much friction.” She shoved her half-empty plate of food away.

  “Friction is not the problem. That’s what everyone thinks. It’s really the designs that prevent the machines from working. All you need to do is study the physics better. You need to work with the laws of nature, not against them. Think of the power in an atom.”

  “You’re going to build a nuclear reactor now?”

  “If I have to.”

  Lainie shook her head. “You joke.” She stood and began collecting up the dinner plates and scraping them down into the garbage collector. She slammed on the water and slapped at the switch. Then she pulled the sanitizer door open and threw the dishes inside.

  “Thank you,” the appliance said.

  Elsa watched silently as most of her dinner was tossed into the collector before she’d had a chance to eat it. Lainie, the perfect mom: so understanding, so forgiving of criminals and the unfortunate, so knowledgeable in the ways of the greater world. How could she be so clueless now?

  Elsa listened as Lainie ranted on about the unfairness of everything, glossing over the fact that the problems of the world probably started in high school where the have-talents were separated from the have-not talents. How could her mother not see the Perpetual Motion Club’s battle against the injustices of elitism? Lainie slammed dishes and cupboard doors, exercising parental right to easily disregard truth that she herself had taught to Elsa. If nothing else, Elsa would have to prove the strength of her idea to her mother, get the club sanctioned. She had to have Lainie behind her. Otherwise what was the point?

  ***

  The following day after her last class, Elsa went directly to the administrative office. The meeting with Dean Williams went well. The only rough spot was the Science Society. The dean wanted to know why Elsa hadn’t yet sent in the acceptance form. Elsa found it difficult to explain why she didn’t want to join. She wasn’t really sure why herself. She only had her boredom with programming for a reason, a weak response.

  Her loathing of coding was not truly the reason anyway. In her heart she simply disliked Mr. Brown, the Society’s faculty advisor. But she didn’t know why. He wasn’t smarmy like the leering Mr. Bartch who sidled up to Jenny Winstrom and Lisa Gable, the school’s big-breasted girls. He wasn’t the testosterone bull Coach Budzynksi who puffed up and down the hallway before a big game to let everyone know their duty was to be in the stands worshipping the “team” that night. Mr. Brown wasn’t diminutive like the history teacher or ugly like the remedial English guy. It wasn’t the conversation Elsa had with Mr. Brown concerning May even.