Dear Rachel Maddow

by Adrienne Kisner

  On the campaign front, Adam had been keeping a pretty low profile. He was riding the wrestling-star cred into non-action. But I guess someone clued him in to the fable of the tortoise and the hare. With my appeal to the loser demographic (which, it appeared, made up much of the school), I was gaining on him as Ms. Vox Popularity. I should have known that would piss him off.

  Today after the morning announcements, Mr. Maynard aired our campaign commercials. I was kind of nervous, because I hadn’t actually been involved in making it. Justin felt it was better left a surprise. After Nancy wished us a good start to our weekend on the morning video announcements, the screens flickered blue for a moment.

  Then the television wavered again to show two dudes. One was … well, actually no, one was a girl. Only not. She looked like she had some kind of skin disease. With big, puffy hair and this huge ass and a shirt that read “Brynn” and, oh, of course, it was me. I looked over at Lacey.

  “This isn’t your commercial,” she said. “I saw what Justin did. This must be Adam’s.”

  The other dude on screen was clean-cut to the point where I thought he could work at Aerie. He would look better in the cheekies than I would. Kid must work out, because he could almost make me consider bi-curiosity. (Almost.) Then they started speaking.

  “Hey, Brynn.”

  “Hey, Adam.”

  “What are you doing running for SGA president?”

  “Well,” he/she snorted, “I thought it would get me some…”

  “Influence?”

  “No!” Giggle. Snort.

  “Opportunities to enact change?”

  “No!”

  “Then what?”

  “Extra credit!” Snort, laugh, etc.

  The screen clicked off. I rolled my eyes. Honestly, what was Adam’s problem? Was he saying I was too stupid to be student body president? That I was less because I was in Applied? That looked to be what Lance, Bianca, Riley, and Greg thought he meant because they all looked pretty pissed.

  But then. The screens flicked to life again. The perspective of the camera looked like a video game—like someone had a camera attached to her head. The person crunched through grass and leaves, as if in the woods. Little filtered through the lens, just darkness and sometimes a branch. But then a scream pierced through the crappy school-wide speaker system. A pale … zombie … crashed into the frame and grabbed the camera (or presumably the face of the person walking).

  “Help me, Adam,” a voice gasped.

  Another male scream erupted then. “Adam, Adam, noooooo.”

  Blood splashed the camera. Or, hopefully, ketchup. But then someone loomed over the camera. A puffy-haired girl. I ran my hand over my head. (My wavy hair got frizzy in humidity, but was that seriously my defining feature?) The character looked like me, but I couldn’t quite make me out. “I” wiped blood off the lens.

  “It’s going to be okay,” my doppelgänger said as she kicked the air violently.

  A wrenching gasp escaped from the pale thing. It collapsed to the ground out of the shot.

  “I won’t leave you when times get tough,” “I” said.

  “Thank you, Brynn,” the camera wearer sighed.

  The screens flicked off.

  The blue room burst into cheers. Justin and the AV crew were officially the Patron Saints of Epic.

  Lacey told me her aide was in the office and witnessed Adam getting yelled at. Maynard was not happy about his ad and had yanked it seconds after it got mean. Apparently it went on for another minute like that. School elections had managed to run for years without a smear campaign, but leave it to Adam to fuck it up. Because of his dick move, there would be no more commercials (they were supposed to run all next week, too). Next year, ads will have to be reviewed, if they are allowed at all. But I got several more nods from people in the hallway than before. So I’m calling it a success.

  Youth political involvement is not dead, Rachel. It is seriously, seriously, undead.

  Sincerely,

  Brynn

  Folder:

  Sent

  To:

  mmaynard@westing.pa.edu

  From:

  JSG@GraffHunterWexley.net

  Date:

  January 27

  Subject:

  RE:

  Dear Principal Maynard,

  I am in receipt of your concerns. I take issue with the implication that Adam had anything to do with that campaign ad. His friends insisted on putting it together for him. He did not view it and was under the impression it was not to be aired until next week. Had he seen it in advance, he has assured me he would have pulled it and had it redone over this Saturday and Sunday.

  However, I have viewed the content myself and honestly don’t see what is wrong with it. It spoofs the appearance of Adam’s opponent, but not in an overly cruel way. I have been led to believe that the young lady actually resembles the woman in the film. Furthermore, the satire used is accurate. The school does deserve a president who holds himself to high academic and social standards.

  I trust you will continue to work for the interest of all students, and consider no further punishment toward Adam or his team. I’m told the recent donations to the school library from my corporation have already aided students.

  Sincerely,

  Jonathan S. Graff, Esquire

  Folder:

  Drafts

  To:

  Rachel@msnbc.com

  From:

  Brynnieh0401@gmail.com

  Date:

  January 30

  Subject:

  Debate Prep

  Dear Rachel Maddow,

  I had a dream about you last night. It was the first one you’ve starred in, even though I’ve been watching you these many years. My sleeping brain isn’t usually that deep. I most often dream I have to pee but can’t find a bathroom, or find a toilet but it’s out in the open or really gross or something. Sometimes I dream about Michaela. Or, more often I’m sad to say, Sarah. We’re at her house and everything seems normal, like we never broke up. Neither of us mentions the weirdness of the past months. I keep wondering if she’ll say something, but then she doesn’t. And sometimes Nick visits me. He’s always pretty messed up on something. That’s how I remember him best. The sadness of that fills me from toes to heart.

  In your dream, I was a guest on your show with Michaela. She told some story about her life, and you were sympathetic. I mostly goofed around, and you and I got into a giggling fit that was inappropriate given whatever elected official you were about to interview. It was a ridiculous thing that could never happen, but I woke up happy.

  My good mood held even though I saw Adam in the hallway again. He literally sneered at me, but I ignored him. In the blue room, Lacey and company took over. She had Justin cram the white board with tiny red print. “Cafeteria concerns,” reads one column. “Student programming budgets,” read another. I saw Sarah’s notes from my vox populi–ing neatly outlined.

  “Ask me anything,” I said to Justin. Sarah handed him some index cards so we could prep for the debate next week. It would be in a town hall sort of meeting. Anyone could ask questions from the audience. This had its pros and cons.

  Mostly cons.

  I took my place up front. Lacey lined up Bianca and company to observe. They sat with my campaign team. Sarah nervously perched on the edge of her seat.

  “Brynn.” Justin eyed me. “What are your thoughts on gray peas?”

  “While I understand it is difficult to cook for hundreds of different students, many of whom have specific dietary needs.” I looked down at my notes. “I also contend that lunches may be nutritious and delicious. I propose forming a student advisory committee to work with the cafeteria staff to uphold governmental guidelines while finding creative culinary solutions.” I waited a beat. “A vote for me is a vote against gray peas!”

  Bianca and the others cheered.

  “Ms. Harper,” started Sarah, “I had heard it alleged that you are running f
or this position because you are angry about the censorship of the student paper. You do realize no one reads the student paper, right?” I could tell that startled Justin. A look of betrayal crossed his face before he composed himself.

  “There have been certain new restrictions imposed on the student paper recently. Administration has invoked their right to read all content before it is published. That has led to a new direction for a class and club I had at one point considered a second family. However, as with all change, there are opportunities for growth and expansion and increased readership. Now we can move more into the digital age.”

  The rest of the day flew by. Ms. Yee shooed everyone out for her classes, but by then it was obvious that I was ready.

  “You have a one-liner for everything?” Sarah asked me afterward.

  “Just about,” I sighed. “Sound bites. You know.”

  “Aren’t you underestimating your voters?”

  “Sarah…” I cocked my head at her. “You’ve met me, no? I’m a voter.”

  “Fair enough.” She smiled. “You ready for this?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Wish you could be there to see this, Rachel, liberty and justice for all. Well. Shmiberty and shmustus, anyway. I could go on your show and we could do a point-by-point analysis. One day, maybe.

  Sincerely,

  Brynn

  Folder:

  Drafts

  To:

  Rachel@msnbc.com

  From:

  Brynnieh0401@gmail.com

  Date:

  February 2

  Subject:

  The first family

  Dear Rachel Maddow,

  I convinced Michaela to walk around down by the War Memorial with me. I snapped pictures of fraying caution tape waving in the wind and of the tarps flapping around, now doing little to protect what was left from winter weather. The city still didn’t have enough money to repair it. A committee formed to find donors, and they were doing okay. So much had already gone out of Westing. This place, which held concerts and hockey games and high school graduations, was one of the last points of pride Westing had. People wanted to save it.

  I kicked around stones in the parking lot. They wedged in dirty snowbanks, melting ice mingling with oil to make rainbows. I remembered when Nick would bring me here to play on the “ice mountains.” Snowplows brought much of the downtown snow here, so the piles reached over my head, even now. They’d found Nick’s body not far from here. I wondered what he thought, as he died. Did he remember we used to laugh and try to sneak snow down each other’s backs?

  “You really think Adam did this?” Michaela asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Who knows? It’s a real shame, no matter who did it,” I said.

  “Yeah,” said Michaela. She rubbed the dark circles under her eyes.

  “You okay?” I asked. These days all I talked about were zombies and political opponents. I wondered if she somehow felt the sadness of the abandoned lot.

  “I’m just tired,” she said. “Grandma has started yelling at night. She calls out for people I don’t know. My uncle works eleven to seven, so I’m in charge of her when he’s not there. It was fine, but now she yells.”

  “I’m sorry. Could I help, somehow?”

  “No. I don’t think so.” She looked out into the orange water flowing in the pale concrete riverbed beyond the parking lot.

  “Hey. Come here,” I said. I wrapped my arms around her. She put her face in my hair.

  We stood like that for a long time, hidden by the charred remains of Westing’s dignity. Eventually we got cold and went home. Her to her grandmother, me to Mom’s rage that I forgot to shut the back door firmly and leaked expensive heat all day. I offered to pay her back just to make her stop yelling. She just gave me a disgusted look, but after she went to put laundry in the dryer, Fart Weasel grabbed the twenty that I’d waved in Mom’s face. That made me feel icky and gross, and I needed to not feel that way immediately or I was going to barf.

  “Hey,” I texted Michaela.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “You’re awesome. For taking care of your gram. I don’t know why you had to move here, but I’m glad you did.”

  “I’m not that good at it. Taking care of her.”

  “It’s hard,” I said.

  I stared at the infuriating blinking dots.

  “I’m glad I moved here, too.”

  I grinned. “Did I tell you about the new Aerie tank tops?”

  “Brynn Harper, I’m in pain, are you going to start sending dirty texts?”

  “I was planning on it, yes.”

  “Good.”

  I don’t know if I was the best at cheering Michaela up, but she seemed in much better spirits. Sometimes when things are falling apart, you can’t rebuild. And sometimes, maybe you can.

  Sincerely,

  Brynn

  Folder:

  Drafts

  To:

  Rachel@msnbc.com

  From:

  Brynnieh0401@gmail.com

  Date:

  February 6

  Subject:

  Debatable Debacle

  Dear Rachel Maddow,

  I tossed and turned so much that I gave up trying to sleep because I was worried I’d strangle myself in the covers. My brain wouldn’t quit so I got up to lay it all on you, Rachel.

  Today I was not myself. I was better. I was on Brynn overdrive. Mr. Maynard was a “moderator” and had starter questions for us before the audience could chime in from the town hall.

  “Ms. Harper, what are your thoughts on cafeteria food?” Maynard started with an easy question. I had won the coin toss, so I got to answer first.

  I went into my prepared response.

  “A vote for me is a vote against gray peas,” I finished triumphantly.

  The audience cheered.

  “I hope to get outside vendors to cater lunch at least once a week!”

  The audience roared for Adam, as if what he proposed could ever find funding.

  “All students need to be represented equally. I will listen to your opinions, and even if I hate you and you hate me, I will still try to get your shit on the table. I mean, issues. Issues on the table.” Mr. Maynard hadn’t even tried to bleep my answer.

  The audience cheered for me once again.

  “I will come to your club meetings and homerooms. I will dance with you at homecoming and get you punch at the prom. I’m just this guy who wants to be your friend. And if we get some cool stuff done, that’s great, too, you know?” Adam grinned at the world.

  He was one toothy motherfucker.

  “I’ll get the band out of the basement,” I’d answer.

  “The band is in the basement?” Adam honestly sounded confused.

  (Score one for Brynn.)

  “I’ll … uh … what’s wrong with the football padding again?” I said, in answer to an athletics question.

  “There is a reason cheerleaders and boosters and the band and everyone comes to see you on a Friday night. It’s because you’re the best thing this town has ever seen. You’re going to go to state, and, damn it, you are going to go with new helmets and the best gear available!” Adam threw a thumbs-up to his fellow athletes.

  (Score one for Adam.)

  Adam played his part well, the slime mold ball sack. That kid is probably going to be in politics one day. That’s enough to make a girl like me study harder so that I can prepare to defeat him. For every pithy thing I said, Adam pithed back. There was a lot of cheering as both of us seemed to agree on the importance of adequate ketchup availability. The final minutes were ticking down. Adam and I glared at each other when Maynard asked for any final questions from the audience.

  Michaela rose from her chair and took the microphone in the middle of the room.

  There was a moment of silence as eyes and faces shifted toward her. Someone whooped for her in the
back.

  “This question is for Adam,” Michaela said. “If elected, how will you make sure to represent the interests of the entire student body and not just those of your own social group?”

  God, how I loved that girl in that moment.

  “I promise to do everything I can for all of the voters. I know that I will need to forge my own path,” he said. “I pledge allegiance to Westing High, and to God and country!”

  Legit, he actually said that, God and country.

  “Right, but how?” she said.

  “I will continue to work for the betterment of all students,” he said.

  “You still didn’t answer the question.”

  “I believe I did.”

  “Um. No. I would like you to at least say how you will pledge allegiance to issues other than your own.”

  A stir circled around the crowd.

  “I can tell you how I would represent everyone,” I offered.

  “Why don’t we give Mr. Graff a chance, Ms. Harper,” Mr. Maynard said. “The question was for him.”

  I looked at Adam. “So, if you are elected the SGA president, how will this be about the students and not about you?”

  Adam grimaced. “I answered the question,” he said. Was he choking? Or did he just not have anything to say? Adam had bragged that he hadn’t prepped, like it was a point of pride to just wing it. It seemed the strategy had backfired.

  Mr. Maynard looked at Adam for a few seconds longer, waiting to see if he was going to say anything else. When Adam remained silent, Mr. Maynard said, “Ms. Harper? Your thoughts?”

  “Well, I would represent the students of Westing by talking to as many of you as possible. Making your concerns my concerns. No one group would be treated differently from any other. One Westing!” I shouted.