The Unseemly Education of Anne Merchant

by Joanna Wiebe

  Imagine having that power, I think. Imagine being able to approach a father who’s just lost his little girl and offer him the chance to see her live again, walk again, talk again. Everything you never got the chance to say, you can say now. Every kiss you withheld, you can give. Every angry word you said, you can undo. Most people would give anything for one more day with someone they love. What might an entire second chance at life be worth to a grieving parent?

  “Before we play this, Anne,” Pilot says, nestling on the blanket next to me, “we need to get something out on the table. I mean, you know, right? I saw you watching me the other day, and I figured you’d figured it out.”

  “I know?”

  “Do you?”

  I haven’t actually admitted what I know to anyone. Haven’t said the words out loud yet.

  “You mean…you mean…” But I can’t finish my thought.

  “Uh-huh,” he says, his tone meaning-laden. “That’s what I mean.”

  “Dead,” I whisper, finally meeting his black eyes. “Everyone here died.”

  He sighs, but then he turns to the settling crowd and shouts, “Hey, guys, she knows! Annie knows. We’re all clear.”

  My mouth drops open. All at once, two dozen heads turn my way. Under their amused stares, I slowly exhale and nod. With that minor confirmation of such a major fact, they shrug and turn away. Being dead and then alive again is old news to them.

  “Pi,” I whisper, shocked, “why did you tell them that?”

  “Because it would’ve been a seriously dull night if we had to keep talking in code, don’t you think? It’s good that you figured it out.”

  “It doesn’t feel good.”

  “I can imagine. Ignorance is bliss, right? Hey, maybe you can move into the dorms now. Be my neighbor. We’ve still got two years together…until.”

  Jokingly, though I can’t see the humor, he closes his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, like he’s in a coffin.

  “Are you saying we don’t get to live beyond graduation?”

  “I thought you said you’d figured all this out, Anne-Ban.”

  I’m amazed at how quickly the veils have dropped. All this secrecy. Gone, just like that. There was a moment earlier tonight when I thought I’d have to weasel the answers out of Pilot, get him good and drunk so he could fess up the way my dad used to talk about drunken mourners spilling their guts about everything—the mother they secretly hated, the lover they furtively kept. I thought I’d have to torture Pilot for info. Quite suddenly, he’s giving it up so easily.

  Too easily.

  Speaking of easy, Harper jumps up, bounces to the front of the fire, and shouts out, “Well, someone get Merchant a medal!” She breaks into an undeserved fit of laughter. “All right, all right, it’s good that she knows now. ’Course we can’t go telling Villicus she knows, or the poor dear might get in trouble. And no one wants that.”

  “No one wants that more than you!” Jack shouts.

  Harper grins and shrugs.

  “Villicus will talk to her about it later, I’m sure,” Pilot adds, pulling me closer. “So let’s just go on with Tuition Battle, all right?”

  I quietly ask him, “Why shouldn’t Villicus know I know?”

  “It’s just…it’s complicated.”

  “Try me.”

  “This is a pretty big secret to keep, Anne. It’s the reason no one’s allowed to know about the school, the reason my dad got in trouble for telling your dad.”

  “But why would he think I can’t keep it quiet?”

  “Villicus just needed to know he could trust you before telling you.”

  “Why would he think he can’t trust me?”

  “Shh, the battle’s gonna start.”

  “Okay, okay,” Harper says as I contain a growl over the ongoing, relentless secrecy, “so, y’all will get a chance to come up to the fire and explain your tuition, then we vote on whose parents gave up the most to get them in here. So, okay.”

  She takes a moment to pull her hair back so the rising winds don’t whip it over her face.

  “As you know, my family’s got more money than God. Oil money. The best kind of money.”

  Letting his hand rest for a noticeably long time on my knee, Pilot whispers in my ear, “Did you know Harper got kicked in the head by a prize-winning horse?”

  “Why can’t he trust me?” I press.

  “Pilot, you and your girlfriend need to hush!” Harper shouts, her drawl extra-thick thanks to the tequila. “So, here’s my tuition. My daddy, because he loves me so damn much, more than he loves my stupid stepmonster, agreed to do this! He told Villicus he’d cause at least ten oil spills every year. And!” Swiping her hands through the air, she cuts everyone off as the whoops begin and as my jaw drops for the second time in as many minutes. “And he agreed to make it seem impossible to clean them up. A-a-and, when he finally did get around to cleaning them up, he’d only use chemicals that are as bad as the oil.” Gleefully, she claps. “That’s what my pa agreed to do in exchange for a second chance to love me. Top that!”

  The roar of a dozen kids shouting erupts; others clap, less impressed. With a fake curtsy, Harper returns to her spot, but not before shooting a glare my way.

  I’m stunned silent.

  Next, Jack describes how his dad signed over twelve distilleries and breweries, retaining just the tequila factory in Mexico. Twelve of them. Handed to Villicus on a silver platter. All in exchange for giving Jack a second chance at life.

  “So tuition isn’t just about money,” I ask Pilot, with my throat tightening around every word, “and it isn’t just about signing over businesses, either. It’s about…?”

  “It’s about testing the lengths parents will go to for their children,” Pilot says as if I’m boring him. “How ’bout Jack? Know how he died? He was poisoned by his personal chef.”

  The Tuition Battle rages on. Tallulah’s father, a famous movie director, was forced to get a sex change. Mark’s former supermodel of a mother had to gain and keep on exactly four hundred extra pounds; every hour—night and day—she weighs herself to ensure she’s on track. The billionaire parents of a senior named Tom agreed to become homeless so he could attend Cania.

  Why would Villicus want that?

  Why would parents be so willing to do that? Especially if graduation will end our lives?

  This must be the hundredth time I’ve asked myself that very question. But it is the first time I’ve actually come up with an answer. And the answer changes everything.

  twenty

  THE ICE STORM

  I KNOW NOW. I KNOW WHY PARENTS GIVE UP EVERYTHING—and then some—to see their children come to Cania. It’s not just for the chance to extend one’s life a little on the island.

  I know why the valedictorian race means so much.

  I know why they call it the Big V. Because its rewards are as big as they come.

  I know now. Only the valedictorian gets to live again.

  It’s a lottery like no other. With a highly priced ticket to match. Little wonder the Big V race consumes our every action and thought.

  “You okay, Annie?” Pilot tries to concentrate his unfocused gaze on me, leaning in.

  I am anything but okay, I think, as Pilot watches me. His face is almost above mine, closer than it’s ever been, and oddly intimidating. Like Ben’s breath, his is candy-scented. Like Ben’s skin, like everyone else’s, his is luminescent, translucent. The acne, the scars, the extra weight, the broken bones of our previous lives, they’re all gone. One glance around the beach reminds me that everyone is flawless, above mere humanity, above mortality. The bonfire sends flecks of ash soaring through the sky.

  If those flecks landed on us, would they burn us, I wonder? Can we be hurt?

  But my tooth. My tooth was still crooked before Ben sculpted it. And I’ve had a few zits already here. I briefly entertain the idea that I’m still alive when the memory of my dad’s overly happy voice hits me like cold water. He’d
only be that happy if he thought he was never going to hear my voice again.

  “Annie?” Pilot asks, his voice low. “What about you? Will you go next?”

  Should I tell him I don’t know, that I’m terrified of what my tuition might be? If I play along, if I act like I’m knee-deep in knowledge rather than just starting to get my toes wet, Pilot might reveal more, which is exactly what I need him to do.

  “Why don’t you go next?”

  “Why don’t you?” he presses.

  “Hey!” Jack shouts. “Alistair Bloomberg didn’t show? His tuition is the best.”

  “Maybe he got expelled,” a sophomore adds.

  “I wish,” a senior tacks on. Even though he knows, as I know, that expulsion is death.

  “Who’s Alistair Bloomberg?” I ask.

  “His dad’s the one with the I Love Porno tattoo,” Pilot explains. “Did you see that guy? Seriously, Villicus outdid himself on that one.”

  “Why would Villicus want that?” I ask cautiously, half afraid of the answer, half afraid of what my reaction will be to it. “He doesn’t get anything out of a tattooed head. Or oil spills. Or sex changes. Or—”

  “Get anything? Are you talking about money again?” Pilot chuckles. “Anyone with money knows nothing’s actually about money. It’s about power.”

  “But money is power.”

  “Power is everything. When you have power, money follows. That said, when money comes easily, like it does here, it gets boring.” After running his finger along the inside of the glass, he licks it and scans the blanket for more. “Say you could ask a bunch of billionaire parents for anything, Annie, wouldn’t you get creative? I mean, if you’d had people sign over businesses, jets, private islands, anything you can imagine for decades, if you were running the highest-grossing private corporation in the world—which is exactly what Cania is—wouldn’t you want more than money?”

  “I wouldn’t want someone to tattoo their forehead.”

  He chuckles like I’m so simple-minded. “Villicus has the luxury of asking for whatever he wants. Sometimes, he ups the ante. Keep things interesting, y’know?”

  Knowing my dad has no money to give, I instantly picture him with a tattoo on his forehead, and I want to cry. The worst part is that I know he’d do it, too. I know that, if Dr. Zin sat down across the kitchen table from him and said he had to carve the outline of a swastika into his face, he’d do it. For me.

  “Hey,” Pilot smirks, “you’re not drinking your tequila.”

  We both glance down at my glass. Without hesitating, I knock it back. But it’s not strong enough. Once you know you’re dead and battling for a new life, nothing’s strong enough to wash the stunning awareness away. Laughing, Pilot leaps to his feet and tugs me up with him.

  “Come on!” he says. “This battle sucks; I’ve heard all these stories. Let’s go spook some deer in the woods.” And he breaks into a run.

  Just inside a dense wooded stretch off the beach, I reluctantly catch up with Pilot. Standing together in the midst of trees turned black now that the sun’s disappeared, we’re breathing heavily, listening to waves crash down by the shore. In the distance, Coast Guard boats are whizzing around. Pilot explains that they’re looking for the body of a missing billionaire; I correctly guess the billionaire is Manish, the flashy man I saw yelling at Villicus and Zin weeks ago. Before gunshots tore through the air. I’m getting tired of being right. And I’m getting tired of the callous manner in which everyone seems to think about life, death, and murder around here. Even Pilot.

  “Doesn’t this feel good? There’s so much to feel still, don’t you think?” Pilot tilts his head to the sky, hidden somewhere above these countless tree branches, and inhales deeply. “You’d never guess we were anything but alive.”

  “How did you know I knew?” I ask.

  “I figured it was only a matter of time.”

  “Why didn’t you talk to me about it? Before tonight, I mean?”

  “We’re not supposed to. Villicus’s orders. And I wasn’t sure you knew until tonight.”

  Taking me by surprise, he turns to me suddenly, grabs my hands, and pulls them to his mouth, kissing my palms. My jaw drops, and I almost rip my hands away—until I notice the tears in his eyes.

  “Oh, Annie.” He kisses both my palms again, his lips trailing lightly over my skin, his dark eyes closing. “I died before I ever had the chance to.” He pauses, sighs. “I’ll never know what it’s like to be close with a girl.”

  I stiffen.

  “Look at you,” he breathes, opening his eyes again, releasing my hands, and tenderly unknotting my scarf. “You’re all bundled up like it’s the middle of winter.”

  “Pi, what are you doing?” I ask.

  His gaze meets mine, and there’s no missing the redness, the emotion rising to the surface.

  Standing here, letting him remove my scarf, I wonder if I could fall for him, if I could love him. God, that would make things easy. He’s my closest friend, the one person with whom I’ve spent every spare hour at school, the only person who would open up to me about the secrets of Cania. Sure, he thinks of himself as the disappointing son of a narcissistic, power-hungry politician, but that doesn’t mean he actually is disappointing. And he likes me, that much is clear. Judging by the glimmer in his eyes, he likes me a lot. So why shouldn’t I be with Pilot?

  Ben.

  The moment I think his name, I shake my head.

  “What’s wrong?” Pilot asks, taking my scarf in his hands.

  “Um, nothing.” I notice my breath is coming faster, and so does he. But he’s misreading it.

  He smiles sheepishly. “You’re unbelievably sexy.” Placing my scarf on the boulder behind us, he reaches for the top button of my coat, holding my gaze as he does. “There’s something about you. You don’t even know the effect you have on men.”

  I just want him to stop. All I can think is Ben.

  Shut up, I tell my stubborn brain. Ben is with Garnet—he’s seeing a teacher. He explicitly told me today, in front of everyone, that there’s nothing between us. He lives right next door to me, and yet he never walks with me to or from school or offers me a ride on his precious bike. And every time I see him on campus, he’s cold. Let’s not forget that he took the liberty of reshaping my entire smile to better suit his need for perfection. So what if he left a book in my room? Ben’s father is in cahoots with Villicus. Sure, sure, Pilot’s father is no stellar example of what a man should be, but—okay, fine, scrap the dad comparison.

  Ben is dangerous. Pilot is safe. There’s nothing wrong with safe. Safe’s good. If you want your boyfriend to be there for you, you choose a safe guy to be your boyfriend. Or am I going to be one of those dimwit girls who falls for the risky, elusive, unattainable guy in the hopes that she’ll be able to change him? No. Not me. Pilot has only ever been friendly with me, and he obviously likes me; as he presses himself closer to me, I can feel how much he likes me. Even wants me. Nice, safe, loving Pilot is the only way for a smart girl to go.

  I glance down to see that Pilot has unbuttoned my coat and pushed it aside. He’s positioned himself between my legs and is gazing at the curves under my shirt. Back at the beach, Jack is calling for us, heading our way.

  “We should go,” I stutter.

  “I haven’t told you about my tuition,” Pilot says, not meeting my eyes. “I win the battle every time because what my dad exchanged for my life here is so major.”

  “Oh?” My voice chokes. I can’t help but notice that his hands are on my waist and that his fingers are sliding beyond friendship territory.

  “Villicus forced him to confess his sexual affairs publicly.” His stare rolls over my collarbone, up my neck and down again. “He had to hold a major press conference. It ended any chance he had of becoming president—the most important thing in the world to him. But he did that for me, Anne.” His gaze, at last, meets mine. “I guess he must believe in me a little.”

  With Jack’s vo
ice nearing us, I can’t think of much other than how badly I want Pilot to remove himself from between my thighs—before the whole school gets the wrong idea about us. He’s just drunk; I can forgive him for acting like we’re together. But everyone else, including Ben, will hear, and then my fate with Pilot will be sealed.

  “Pi, we should get back to the beach.”

  “He may still be president one day,” Pilot says, as if he’s trying to convince me to want to stay here with him. His palms roll over my hips. “God, you feel so good.”

  “It’s gonna rain. And we’ve been telling these sad tuition stories and drinking. I just…”

  His dark eyes burn. “If I could just be close to you, my dad might respect me.”

  I catch his hands just as they’re moving up my back, and I pull them away from my body. “I can’t fix your relationship with your dad.” With an awkward half-smile, with my heart thumping in my chest and with all the sensitivity I can muster, I bring my legs together, pushing him back. Rejecting him. “I’m sorry. This is not about your dad. This is about me.”

  No, turning Pilot down has got nothing to do with Dave Stone. It has everything to do with my heart. My brainless, wasted heart. But I can’t deny it and I won’t hurt Pilot by leading him on now that I can feel how badly he wants to move from friendship status to something else.

  “But there were all those signs,” he says, looking both puzzled and drunk. “You laughed at my jokes. You held my hand.”

  Just then, Jack jogs in and stops short as he looks at us in our very unfortunate position. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Neither Pilot nor I say a word. “Come on, Pi. Plum wants to sing, and we all wanna dance. We’re waiting on your musical talents.”

  “I’m coming,” he says, backing away from me and looking in every direction but mine. He stumbles as he walks and clutches Jack’s arm for support.

  Suddenly nauseated—I’ve never had to turn anyone down and sure as hell didn’t want my first to be Pilot—I follow behind. At a distance. But just within earshot of the guys.