After another ride down and back, Danielle decided not to get on the lift again with the guys. She didn’t want them to think she was stalking them. They looked disappointed. I guess they kind of liked boarding with me, Danielle thought. I must not have been that bad at conversation.
Danielle went alone to the black diamonds.
BLUE, HAWAII | THE GAMER
Blue began spending more time with the AP Gov students as they prepared for Simulated Congressional Hearings. To Blue’s surprise, they welcomed him. Rather than disdain his unusual theories, they praised his unique perspective and integrated his ideas into their work.
One afternoon in AP Gov, Blue called out, “So who wants to go to the beach with me?” He wasn’t expecting an answer, but he was tired of going alone.
“Really? ’Cause I’ll totally go,” Leilani replied.
“Seriously?” Blue asked.
“Yeah. I’m down if you are.”
“Bro, that does sound really good,” Angelique said.
“Jess, you should come too!” Leilani said.
“Okay!”
“Are you guys all serious?” Blue said.
“I wanna go!” said Kaia.
“Wow, uh, all right.”
After school, Blue drove them to their houses to pick up swimsuits and towels, then to a small stretch of golden sand lined with large black rocks, in a cove tucked into the mountainside. The girls gushed over the beach, which they had to themselves. They could jump off the rocks into turquoise waters, watch turtles grazing nearby, and follow vibrant fish at a reef just offshore. The edge of the rocks formed a blowhole that sprayed when a wave passed through, bathing the group with a cool mist that felt blissfully refreshing in the hot sun.
A while later, Blue led the girls up a winding path to a nearby park where they could shower, then through a maze of questionable alleys in town to his second-favorite spot to watch the sun set. He guided them through a residential area to the top of a little-known mountain pass. The girls were astounded by the view. They mostly watched the sunset in silence, taking in the moment.
On the drive home, Leilani said to Blue, “You have all this edgy new music and take me places I’ve never been. I love how we just went on a full-on adventure out of nowhere.”
“Yeah!” Jess agreed. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“Well, I go out pretty much every day. You’re welcome to come,” Blue replied.
“Oh my God, are you serious?” Leilani asked.
“I don’t see why not. I just never thought anyone would want to go with me.”
“That’s so sad!” Jess said.
“Aw, but we’re your friends!” said Kaia.
Blue was momentarily speechless.
“Fine, then I guess we aren’t,” Kaia added.
“No, it’s not that,” Blue said. “I’ll show you guys something cool tomorrow too.”
Blue was overcome with warmth, as when Ty had called him his best friend, except this time was somehow different. This feels natural, he thought.
Over the next few weeks, more AP Gov classmates joined Blue on his adventures. Blue liked them all. He appreciated that they had intelligent discussions; all eight of them were class valedictorians (Kaloke granted valedictorian status to all students with a 4.0 GPA and a senior project). He had known Angelique for years. He was drawn to Jess, whose innocent image masked a vulgar wit, and Leilani, a laid-back surfer who happened to have one of the highest GPAs in the class. He was especially partial to Michael. Smart, ambitious, and disciplined, Michael was also a good listener. Blue grew comfortable talking to Michael about nearly anything. Once, they had a three-hour phone conversation while Blue was longboarding. As they quickly became close friends, Blue developed a crush on him, even though he had heard Michael mention his ex-girlfriend. Blue knew crushes on straight guys were futile, but he was glad for Michael’s company nonetheless.
As Blue helped the team prepare for the SCH state championships, his enthusiasm for the project grew. He thrived in the “constant intellectual environment that never seems to stop,” he said. “I can’t get enough of it. I feel good about myself when I’m in it, like it isn’t a waste of time. And people praise me for my work.”
For the SCH competition, teams split into six units that appeared before judges who grilled them about topics relating to the Constitution. While other schools had thirty to forty team members, Kaloke had only nine, the entire AP Gov class. In other words, Blue’s team had to do nearly triple the work of the other teams’ students, and each team member had to master two units. Blue’s favorite was unit six, which dealt with challenges the U.S. would face in the future. Enthralled by the topic, Blue wrote almost all of his group’s potential responses.
Blue’s teammates were under no illusion that they would win. Waipouli, a school with four times as many team members and heavy parent involvement in SCH preparations, had won states and traveled to the national competition in Washington, D.C., for twenty-five consecutive years.
When the judges called Unit Six, Blue stepped up to the judge’s table with Michael and Kaia. As the judges asked questions, Blue took over, spinning his answers into broader-reaching observations. He was able to turn the format into a dialogue with the judges, rather than a one-sided interview. He told them that the Internet was tearing communities apart, that people were “outsourcing their relationships, becoming unengaged citizens,” that misplaced priorities and increasingly insular, self-serving associations were turning the United States into a “monster.”
After the presentation, the judges spoke directly to Blue. “I’ve never heard such insightful thinking from someone at your grade level,” one of them said.
“Your answers were original and beyond graduate-level analysis,” said another.
“I think we all know who’s the wordsmith here,” said a third judge.
Ms. Collins pulled Blue aside and hugged him. “I’m so proud of you. That’s exactly what this competition is about,” she said, her eyes tearing. “I just want to let you know that you’re making this all worth it.”
Blue’s team surrounded them. “When you were talking, I seriously had goosebumps,” Jess told him.
“Everything you said was exactly what I’ve always felt deep down, but was too afraid to say,” Leilani said.
All of the schools convened at tables in the auditorium for the announcement of the winners. While most teams filled several tables, Blue liked that his team was so tiny that everyone fit at one table, “like a close-knit little family.” As the announcer listed the winners of the individual unit competitions, Kaloke slumped in disappointment. The awards were dispersed equally among Waipouli and two other schools.
Kaloke barely paid attention when the announcer prepared to reveal the overall winner. “There’s no way we got anything,” Kaia said.
“This was a big waste of time,” Michael added.
Blue said nothing. I gave up probably winning a Modern Warfare tournament—and my friends—for this, he thought.
“Second place goes to Waipouli!” the announcer shouted. Gasps reverberated through the room. Waipouli’s streak was over. The Waipouli students looked confused as they accepted their plaques, as if someone had played a joke on them. The other two dominant schools shuffled excitedly in their seats. “The first-place winner of this year’s competition is . . .”—the announcer paused.—“Kaloke!”
As his teammates shrieked and hugged, Blue could not stop laughing at the ridiculousness of the moment and the jolt of unexpected happiness it brought him. The announcer continued. “This small but mighty team has demonstrated to us today an incredible knack for unconventional understanding of the world around us. Let’s give them a round of applause.”
From the stage, Blue could see Waipouli students crying with disappointment. I’ve finally found something worth working for, he thought as he hugged his delirious teammates. I finally have a place to belong. Blue and his new friends were headed to na
tionals.
NOAH, PENNSYLVANIA | THE BAND GEEK
Noah was walking past the locker room showers on his way to the pool when Frederick called out, “Hey, wait up.” Noah turned.
“Listen,” Frederick said, “if I’ve ever said anything about your hair that seriously offended you, I’m sorry.”
Noah looked at him quizzically but saw that Frederick was serious. “Thanks, Frederick. I appreciate it.” Noah never learned what brought on the apology.
Districts passed by in a blink. Noah swam personal bests in his races, but wasn’t fast enough to qualify for states. He got over it. There were too many other activities for him to focus his energy on, like the Chess Club and ultimate Frisbee team. Socially, he wished he could hang out with more people outside of school; he could talk to students beyond his friend group, but didn’t feel comfortable suggesting afterschool plans. Academically, Noah’s counselor had informed him, to his dismay, that his class rank had fallen to number five.
Noah and Leigh waited in a physics classroom at the appointed time for their first recycling meeting. They had plastered signs around school advertising that Redsen’s recycling club would meet three times a week. A few minutes after the final bell, six students entered the room: Adam, a popular guy in Noah’s English class, with a jock friend; a senior pothead; and a few artsy girls who knew Leigh.
After a short question-and-answer session, Noah and Leigh explained the program’s logistics. Students were to encourage classmates and teachers to recycle, using bins in forty classrooms. Once a week, they would collect the bins and drive the paper to a Dumpster at Noah’s church. The volunteers would receive community service credit, and the revenue the students earned from the recycling center would go into a scholarship pool divided into thirds. The volunteer with the most hours (excluding Noah and Leigh) would automatically get one-third of the scholarship money. The names of the other volunteers would be entered in a raffle for each of the remaining two-thirds. “At the very least,” Noah said, “you can help by spreading the word.” The group seemed enthusiastic.
Over the next few weeks, the artsy girls disappeared because of scheduling conflicts, but the boys became recycling regulars, along with Noah, Jiang, and Leigh. Collecting the bins, which used to take an hour, now took fifteen minutes.
In English one day, when another popular boy threw a piece of paper into the trash can, Adam said, “Hey, man, you gotta recycle that!” Adam removed the paper from the can and put it into the recycling bin. “Come on, guys, you should help me and Noah with the recycling thing after school. It’s good!” Noah’s spirits lifted when he realized that a popular kid whom he had “had notions about” was so willing to help. Noah pledged to himself to fulfill his challenge. He was determined to finish the year on a high note.
REGAN, GEORGIA | THE WEIRD GIRL
After one of the community theater’s last performances, Regan waited at the exit with her castmates for the audience meet-and-greet. Her castmates complimented her, as they usually did, on her emotional scene in the middle of the show. The woman who played Regan’s mother usually ended the scene in real tears because, she told Regan backstage, Regan’s commitment to the role made her believe she loved Regan like a real daughter.
As the audience filed out the door, an elderly man stopped in front of Regan, took her hand, and held it still as he looked into her eyes. “You have a lot of intensity,” he said kindly. “You’re going somewhere.”
Regan thanked him and thought about his compliment for days. Since high school graduation, her love of the theater had brought all good things. In college, her drama group had voted her club president. “Art is funny. You do it, and you try your hardest at it, of course, but sometimes it affects people in ways you wouldn’t expect,” she said later. “To have a stranger come up to you and let you know that you inspired him in some way is an amazing thing, and probably the reason why I continue to do theater.”
REGAN WAS CHECKING EMAIL at school when she saw the message. An assistant principal wanted to meet with her immediately.
“What did I do this time?” Regan wondered aloud. Every week there seemed to be another issue of contention. Just last week, Francesca had tattled to an administrator that Regan didn’t turn in an analysis she hadn’t realized she was supposed to do. This week, at a faculty meeting, as soon as Mandy saw Regan sit down, she nudged Francesca and both of them mean-mugged Regan.
Regan’s troubles with her colleagues were not going to help with her challenge. She had met with an administrator and emailed a guidance counselor, the only faculty member she could think of who might be willing to help start a GSA, but the woman said her schedule was full. Regan wondered if trying to form the club would further marginalize her. “There’s this theory that people have about ‘the gay agenda,’ the bullshit idea that gay people want to push their ideas on other people (as if you can convert to gayism),” she said. “As the only truly out faculty member, I know that people are going to look at me like, ‘Figures.’ ”
Regan found the assistant principal in her office. “Rumor has it that you are selling CDs?” The administrator’s inflection lifted, making her accusation sound more like a question, but Regan knew better.
“Yeah,” Regan said. She wasn’t about to lie. Crystal’s band had released its first CD, so Regan was selling it at school. She wasn’t profiting, only trying to spread the word about the band. Besides, her students had asked her to update them, and because the music wasn’t yet in stores or on iTunes, the only way they could get a copy was through Regan.
“You know that’s illegal?”
“Seriously?” Regan asked. “No, I didn’t know that. Say no more. I got you. Done and done.”
“No, not quite,” the assistant principal said. “[The principal] would also like to meet with you. Are you available at three?”
“Three? Yeah, I can do three,” Regan said.
“Great. We’ll see you then.”
“Okay! Not a problem.”
After school, Regan sat fidgeting in the main office. “I’ve never been to the principal’s office before,” she texted her mother. “It’s nerve-racking.” Finally the secretary called Regan in. Regan sat down across from the principal and assistant principal.
“It is entirely wrong to expose students to work that is deemed inappropriate,” the assistant principal said, “and from what I understand, the CD had both profanity and cover art that featured the artists scantily clad. Not to mention the message was inappropriate.”
This bothered Regan. If the administrators had actually listened to the album, they would understand that the songs had strong values and preached morals that were the opposite of hip-hop culture stereotypes. The cover art featured the band wearing underwear that concealed more than a bathing suit would. Regan explained later, “The message of the album is a good one: It deals with nonconformity. It begs teenagers to look deep within themselves to find out who they really are instead of following trends. The cover art was in reference to Eden. Culture tells us to be ashamed of who we are naturally, and the group says that we shouldn’t be. So I’m being persecuted for individuality and liberalism.”
Regan replied to the administrators, “Why is it okay to expose students to inappropriate language in text? I mean, teachers teach books here with language that’s worse than on the CD,” she said, thinking of The Catcher in the Rye and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. “Is it just because they have been approved as having literary merit? How can we determine that this album doesn’t have merit?”
The administrators eyed each other and gave a stumbling explanation that because the books had been “proven” to be appropriate for students, they were acceptable.
Who makes that choice? Regan thought. “Okay,” she said. “Another thing. There’s a piece of student artwork in the English hallway that features magazine pictures of people in their underwear. Why is that allowed?”
“I’d have to see it,” said the principal. “I’m sure it i
s permissible.”
“I have a picture,” Regan said, grabbing her camera out of her bag. She had come to this meeting prepared. She showed the administrators the photo. They said the art should be taken down.
“I’m not trying to get anyone else in trouble,” Regan said. “I just want to understand why I’m being singled out for ‘inappropriate’ activity. Not to mention, I was told this morning that I had broken a law, and I don’t believe that I did.” She took out a copy of the school’s Code of Ethics. “It says here that if soliciting results in ‘personal financial benefit,’ then it’s against the rules. But I made nothing out of this. I was simply doing my friends a favor.”
The administrators told Regan that she couldn’t do such favors if they exposed “inappropriate” material. “You’re young,” the principal said. “I just wanted to make you aware of the issue because I know that young people make these mistakes.”
“It won’t happen again,” Regan said, resigned. “I’m sorry. Thank you for explaining it to me.”
“Do you have any other questions?” the principal asked.
Regan shook her head and started to gather her belongings.
“Oh, there is one more thing,” the assistant principal said. “You know that administrators receive the backlash of whatever students go home and tell their parents. I’d really rather avoid those phone calls.” Confused, Regan raised an eyebrow. The administrator continued, “Whatever you do in your personal life is fine, but leave it out of school.”
Later, when Regan told her mother what happened, her mother protested, “They told you not to tell anyone that you’re gay? You’re out to people and all of a sudden, you’re getting in all sorts of unnecessary trouble, and you think that’s a coincidence?!”
Word spread quickly around school that Regan had been reprimanded again. Her students rallied around her. One student offered to tell the administration that the CD sales were his fault (Regan declined). Another wanted to organize a protest. Another asked, “How come everyone is trying to bring you down in school?” to which a classmate responded, “Because she’s the coolest teacher, and everyone else is jealous.”
The Geeks Shall Inherit the Earth: Popularity, Quirk Theory, and Why Outsiders Thrive After High School Page 29