Your Own Worst Enemy

by Gordon Jack

  Stacey Wynn declined to comment on this story, but Tony Guo, the other contender in the presidential race, appeared worried when confronted with the facts. “What?” he said, in a way I can only describe as perplexed.

  I’m not saying Stacey is guilty, but the case is certainly damaging. If she did vandalize Julia’s poster in some quick attempt to discredit her, it has had the opposite effect. Students at Lincoln have rallied behind Julia’s candidacy, seeing in her a new type of leader—one who holds herself to the highest principles of behavior and restraint.

  Endorsements

  15

  TWELVE DAYS TILL ELECTION DAY

  STACEY BEGAN THE next day by trying to fill every vacant hour on her calendar. There was nothing she could do about the time taken up by classes, but she could structure all the open slots in her day by meeting with various influential members of her school community. Before school, she planned a sit-down with Abby Spencer, editor of the school paper, to provide her side of the Postergate story. No way she was talking to that hack Lance Haber, despite his repeated requests for an interview. Then at brunch, she was meeting with Megan Oh, president of the Asian Student Union, to try to gauge the group’s feelings about Tony’s candidacy. She was pretty sure they loathed him, but she wanted to confirm that she could still count on the group’s support. Lunch was reserved for her Amnesty International meeting. They were working on their official statement against the persecution of China’s Muslim Uighurs, a statement Stacey hoped to use to quiet some of the criticism that she didn’t care enough about minority rights.

  Somehow during all these appointments, she needed to find time to sit down with Priya Chaudhary and convince her to sign on as Stacey’s media consultant.

  As soon as Brian mentioned having a stronger online presence, Stacey immediately thought of Lincoln’s reigning social media queen. Following all her accounts, Stacey kept close tabs on the girl throughout the day. Somehow, Priya managed to post during every period, despite the school’s ban on cell phone use during class time. At 9:00 a.m. there was a tweet about the new Cosmic Junkies single. At 9:30 there was an Instagram post of the braid she had made of some girl’s hair. At 9:45 she reevaluated her opinion of the Cosmic Junkies single from four stars to three. At 10:00, she posted an image of the bruised fruit in the cafeteria with the hashtag #cafeteriacrime. At 10:45, Priya posted three Snapchat photos of her history teacher using the exploding-volcano-head filter. At 11:00 she tweeted an endorsement of some girl’s sandals and then followed that up two minutes later by sharing a link to a Black Lives Matter protest happening that afternoon in the city. How had this girl not had her cell phone confiscated? Stacey wondered. It took all her concentration and energy just to read Priya’s posts throughout the day without getting caught. If Stacey hadn’t mastered the art of the semipertinent question/comment, her teachers would have taken her phone away hours ago.

  When Priya posted a photo of a book-poem with the spines reading:

  The Happiness Project

  This Is Where It Ends

  I, Robot

  Stacey knew it was time to act. Priya was in the library, and with only twenty minutes to go before the lunch bell scattered kids to the four corners of the quad, Stacey had to move now. She raised her hand and asked Mr. Delacourt if she could go to the bathroom.

  She raced to the library instead and signed in saying her teacher sent her to find a book on Marbury v. Madison. When the librarian tried to escort her to the right stack, Stacey waved her off and speed walked to the social sciences section. She pulled the first book she found and then moved quickly through the stacks like a lab rat looking for its slice of cheese. I, Robot was a science-fiction book, so Stacey went to the fiction section first. Nothing. The Happiness Project sounded like one of those lame titles in pop psychology, so she backtracked to the 100 stacks. Nothing again. Damn, she was quickly approaching the allotted amount of time her teacher gave for bathroom breaks. If she didn’t find Priya soon, she’d have to manufacture some lie involving her period, which she was loath to do, especially to a young, male teacher who would hold this against her gender when it came time to vote in the general election.

  Now running through the library at top speed, she finally stumbled across Priya in the most remote and lonely of sections: California history. The girl was sitting on the floor next to her backpack and typing furiously on her phone, completely oblivious of Stacey’s presence.

  Stacey waited for her to stop typing before clearing her throat and then saying, “Priya?”

  The girl looked up at Stacey with her large, round, brown eyes. Stacey had the distinct impression that Priya was a blind person. She looked at her, but Stacey wasn’t sure Priya actually saw her. She showed no emotion, other than mild irritation at being distracted from her screen.

  “I’m Stacey Wynn,” she began. “I wanted to talk with you about something.”

  “I’m supporting Julia Romero,” Priya said, turning back to her phone. “Sorry.”

  “Oh, that’s cool,” Stacey said. Fuck! She should have known when she saw the Black Lives Matter post that Priya would throw her support to someone suffering from systemic racism. She had to think fast. The more time she fumbled for words in front of Priya, the greater likelihood she would post something disparaging about her. What mattered to Priya more than the civil rights of an oppressed people?

  “Nice phone,” Stacey said.

  “Thanks,” Priya said.

  “How’d you get to keep it?” Stacey asked. She assumed Priya was in the library because she’d been kicked out of class for using it.

  “I have two. When I get caught, I just give them the burner.”

  “Smart,” Stacey said. She sat down next to her and looked at Priya more closely. She was cute in a Powerpuff Girl kind of way, with black hair in a pixie cut, and a short, compact body. Priya barely had to bend her legs to fit into the narrow passage between book stacks, whereas Stacey had to pull her knees to her chest to squeeze into the space. “You know, I could use someone like you on my team.”

  “I told you. I’m supporting Julia.” Priya smiled at something on her phone and then paused before typing a reply.

  “Because of the poster?” Stacey asked.

  “Not just because of that.”

  “Why else?”

  “I don’t know. She’s different. No offense.” Priya shrugged. “I like her hair.”

  “I get it,” Stacey said. She couldn’t decide if this girl was a genius or a moron. Maybe a little of both. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure,” Priya said while typing. Stacey prayed it wasn’t about her.

  “What changes do you want to see happen at this school?”

  “Changes? Like what?”

  “I’ve been following you online, and you seem to have strong opinions about the cafeteria food, police brutality, sandals.” Stacey tried to make these things sound equally important, but the list sounded like something off a crazy person’s dating profile.

  “Yeah, so?” Priya said.

  “Well, student government can help make your opinions heard. Take our cell phone policy for example,” Stacey said, pointing to Priya’s phone. “Would you like to see that changed?”

  “Yeah, right. Like that will ever happen,” Priya said.

  “Those devices are learning tools,” Stacey said, improvising. “Most schools around here have already relaxed their policies about when and where they can be used. Did you know that?”

  “No.”

  “It’s true.” Stacey glanced at the clock on the wall behind Priya. Her bathroom break time was officially over. Looks like her period would have to come two weeks early after all. “Everett High is actually encouraging teachers to have students use their phones in classes.”

  “For what?”

  “For all sorts of things. Doing research. Taking polls. Having discussions. Reading books. Education is online, and if you deny students access to that environment, you’re depriving them of
the resources that foster success and achievement.”

  “I thought you only cared about composting,” Priya said.

  “It’s not all I care about,” Stacey said slowly, an idea forming in her head. “Actually, changing our device policy fits in perfectly with my platform. The more we go digital, the less paper we’ll waste on worksheets, quizzes, and stuff.”

  “You think you could change the school’s policy?”

  “I do. I have good relationships with all our administrators. Plus, I have connections to Everett and other schools who have become more digitally friendly. I want to move our school into the twenty-first century and make these devices as common as the textbook.”

  “That would be awesome,” Priya said.

  For the first time in their conversation, Stacey saw Priya become more interested in her than the phone she clutched in her tiny, nimble fingers. At the same moment, Stacey felt a twinge of apprehension. Could she deliver on this promise? Would it be good for Priya if she did? These questions would have to be figured out later. What she needed to do now was close the deal.

  “I love Julia too,” Stacey said. “But as a new student at the school, she just doesn’t have the contacts I have to make a thing like this happen. Believe me, it won’t be easy. But we can do it. You and I. What do you say? Will you be on my team?”

  Priya looked down at her phone, then looked at Stacey. It was like Stacey was asking her to conscript her only child into the army. “Let me think about it,” Priya said.

  “That’s all I ask,” Stacey said, standing up and speed walking toward the door. She ran back to class. Just before she reentered the room, her phone buzzed. It was a post from Priya. She had taken a photo of one of Stacey’s banners and written, “After much thought and deliberation, I’ve decided to support Stacey Wynn for ASB president, and you should too. #notwasted.”

  Stacey jumped and high-fived the air above her. She quickly liked and reposted Priya’s message with the comment: “You’re the best, Priya!!!” Maybe she hadn’t lost this election after all. With Priya in charge of social media, and Brian attending all the club meetings she couldn’t, she had effectively cloned herself. She texted Brian to remind him about the Gay-Straight Alliance meeting at lunch. He was a much better ambassador to James’s group than she could ever be. Who knows? Maybe the meeting would reunite these former friends and help Brian work through the struggles with his sexual identity. It sure would help Stacey if her gay best friend and gay nemesis hooked up and threw her a fabulous inauguration party.

  Stacey opened her classroom door just as the bell rang, excusing the students for lunch. Mr. Delacourt called her over and demanded an explanation for her twenty-minute absence.

  “Sorry, Mr. Delacourt,” Stacey said. “It’s that time of the month.”

  16

  BRIAN SAT IN a room with four other students and wondered again why this meeting was so important to Stacey.

  “The Gay-Straight Alliance might be small in number, but they have a lot of influence,” she said. “Everyone wants to support the gays, so I need them to support me.”

  “If it’s so important, why aren’t you going to the meeting?” Brian asked.

  “Because it conflicts with Amnesty International,” Stacey said. “Besides, James is in charge of the Gay-Straight Alliance, and he’ll say I’m pandering for votes.”

  “Won’t he accuse me of the same thing?”

  “No. You’re, like, the perfect ambassador. You and James were friends once, right?”

  Any hope that James’s attitude toward him had softened since they last squared off at Speech and Debate quickly evaporated when Brian walked into the room. “This is the GSA meeting,” James said coldly, unwrapping his sandwich from its tightly sealed aluminum-foil container.

  “I know,” Brian said, nodding at the other members. The other students were much friendlier and smiled when they introduced themselves. Sierra was model thin, with pink hair and a nose ring. Justin was an Asian boy with a thin mustache sprouting on his upper lip. And Michael was a trans boy in a trench coat and combat boots. Brian said hello and squeezed himself into a seat.

  Brian and James had been friendly rivals before becoming hostile rivals. Back when they were Scouts, their competition for merit badges pushed them to excel in backpacking, bugling, and basketry. As the most dedicated Scouts in their troop, they were often used as models for the other boys to follow, which only served to isolate them from the kids who didn’t take insect study as seriously as they should have.

  Things got weird after they kissed during a sleepover.

  It wasn’t a big deal. At least not to Brian. They were young and just fooling around. Brian didn’t remember how they had started kissing. He remembered laughing mostly, as if it was a funny thing they were doing, like blowing mouth farts into the crook of their arms. It wasn’t until much later, when the boys in the Scout troop started making fun of James’s fastidious way of eating, dressing, and speaking that Brian felt uneasy about the memory. He never let these feelings interfere with his friendship with James though. It was James who rejected him, eventually leaving the troop and turning down future playdate requests because of “violin practice.”

  James was very comfortable with his sexuality now, which Brian envied in the same way he envied the devoutly religious. How lucky, he thought, to know yourself so well you can come out to everyone in a speech for sophomore class president at a school assembly. Sure, James most certainly suffered from people’s fears and prejudices, but Brian would accept the scorn of the assholes for the confidence in knowing who you are.

  “So, why are you joining us today?” James asked, staring at Brian through his thick frames. He chewed his sandwich aggressively, as if it were a tough piece of steak instead of tuna fish.

  “Stacey would be here too if the meeting didn’t conflict with Amnesty International,” Brian said. “She’s president of that club and works tirelessly for human rights across the globe.” He thought this was a nice plug for Stacey. It not only demonstrated that she was aligned with the group’s interests, but that she was taking them to a more global level.

  “You’re trolling for votes, then.”

  “I wouldn’t say trolling,” Brian said. “Stacey and I were talking the other day about how the GSA should take a more active role on campus.”

  The group stared at him, waiting for Brian to continue. As he and Stacey had had no such meeting, he had to imagine the conversation in his head before he could describe it for his audience. “We thought, you know, how important gay rights are, and that, uhm, we should do more to, you know, advance them.”

  “And how do you think we should advance gay rights?” James asked, cradling his chin in his hands. Brian didn’t have time to deconstruct the pose to tell if it was serious or mocking. He hadn’t anticipated this kind of involvement. All Stacey said he’d have to do was listen to the concerns of the members and say Stacey agreed with everything they said.

  “I don’t know. Like bathrooms and stuff?” Brian was hoping this group was as obsessed with this issue as the rest of the nation was.

  “We have unisex bathrooms,” Michael said between sips of his bottled water.

  “What about, I don’t know, homecoming?” Brian said.

  “What about it?” James asked.

  “Don’t you think it kind of, I don’t know, reinforces traditional binary gender norms?”

  “Now you sound like Julia,” James said.

  “I’m sorry. Who?”

  James smiled. “Julia Romero? She’s running for ASB president? Maybe you heard of her? Some asshole vandalized her poster.”

  “Oh, that Julia,” Brian said.

  James sighed. “Let’s move on to the first item on our agenda. Michael, where are we on our website?”

  Michael flipped open his laptop decorated with a Banksy gun-toting panda and started typing. “I’m nearly finished. But I need everyone’s content. It’s not much of a site unless we have content,
people.”

  “I submitted my coming out story,” James said. “Sierra? Justin?”

  Sierra and Justin suddenly became very interested in the contents of their Tupperware.

  “What’s holding you guys up?”

  “I don’t have much of a story,” Sierra said, nibbling on a pretzel. “I told my girlfriend. We kissed. End of story.”

  “Wait, you told your girlfriend?” James asked. “That implies that she already knew you were gay.”

  “Like I said. It’s not much of a story.”

  “Justin?”

  Justin shook his head.

  “Does that mean you haven’t turned one in or you’re not turning one in?”

  “The last one,” Justin said.

  “Okay, when we brainstormed this last week, we said we’d tell our stories on the site to encourage other people to tell theirs. As the great James Baldwin said, ‘Love takes off the masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.’ That’s the purpose of the website: to take off our masks and show the world who we are. It can be anonymous, Justin, if you’re worried about someone seeing it.”

  “Do they have to be coming out stories?” Brian asked. He was just supposed to be listening, but he couldn’t help himself. He was a serial participator, unable to stop himself from contributing to a discussion, even if he knew nothing about the topic.

  “Yes, Brian. That’s kind of the point,” James said flatly, and kind of annoyed. He adjusted his bow tie. How he wore that and swallowed his food was something Brian never understood. “Why? You ready to come out?”

  “In a way,” Brian said. “It’s complicated.”

  The others in the room all laughed. Apparently, his was not the only complicated love story out there.

  “Tell us,” Sierra said, leaning forward. “This is a safe place.”

  Brian looked around. Despite James’s cold condescension, it did feel like a safe place. On the surface, this was probably the most diverse group of people Brian had ever seen at a meeting. The thing that connected them lay hidden under the surface. They could have kept this secret from one another, but instead they shared this part of themselves and became stronger. Brian had this kind of trust with Stacey, but his secret crush on Julia had made him lock a room in the house they shared. Every day he heard her rattle the doorknob to this inaccessible place and inquire, “What’s in there?”