Your Own Worst Enemy

by Gordon Jack

  The LSU students rose to their feet and gave Julia a standing ovation, which inspired everyone else to do the same. Brian looked over at Stacey, who appeared bent and a little breathless. Her mouth dropped open like a slowly lowered drawbridge to a well-fortified castle.

  Julia walked back to her chair and sat down with a giant smile on her face. Tony leaned across Stacey and fist-bumped Julia in a show of solidarity.

  Poor Stacey, Brian thought. She was staring at the cell phone in her lap, probably wondering how her platform could compete against more junk food and less homework. Then she held her phone closer to her face. She was reading something on the screen. Something that upset her if her body language was any judge. She covered her mouth with her free hand and shook her head. Julia must have picked up on her distress as well because she put a tentative hand on Stacey’s shoulder, which Stacey shook off violently. She stood up and stomped over to the podium, dragging her shovel behind her.

  While she readied herself behind the mic, doing her deep breathing and repeating her mantra, Brian looked over at his brother, who was smiling and waving his cell phone in Brian’s direction. He was trying to communicate something to him, but Brian wasn’t sure what it was. Ignoring his taunts, he focused back on Stacey, who was about to open her speech.

  “Martin Luther King Jr. once said . . .” Her voice was shaking, and she paused to get control of it.

  “Sorry,” she said, taking a deep breath. She stuck out her arms and shook them loose at her side. “Martin Luther King Jr. once said . . .”

  The audience quieted out of respect, but the silence only made things worse. When someone coughed from the back row, it was a not-so-silent commentary on Stacey’s performance.

  “Martin Luther King Jr. once said . . . ,” she began again. “Oh fuck it.”

  Stacey dropped her shovel, turned around, and walked out the back exit of the gymnasium.

  “POLITICAL FORUM ENDS IN CHAOS”

  by Lance Haber

  “Fuck it.”

  It was probably Stacey Wynn’s most effective campaign speech.

  No statement more clearly revealed her character to the voters, at least. In two words she showed us everything we need to know about her: when faced with mounting criminal investigations and a losing campaign, she turns into a petulant, potty-mouthed princess.

  It’s hard to tell what finally broke the troubled Wynn campaign. Was it the ongoing Postergate and Cafeteriagate investigations conducted by yours truly? Probably. It could also be the fact that people are seeing through her treasonous attempt to take control of our electronic devices. Or maybe it’s that no one wants to live in a world where you’re forced to rake through fecal-infested compost bins as part of your PE class.

  In contrast to Stacey’s train wreck of a speech, came Julia Romero’s eloquent and personal account of the effect homework has had on her life and the lives of others. Judging from the thunderous applause, this issue struck a chord with the audience. (It did with me—my grades have suffered horribly because of my commitment to you, dear readers. If it weren’t for homework, I would be passing all my classes right now.)

  Perhaps this is the real reason the administration has been favoring Wynn in this election. Romero and Guo, both nonwhite candidates, want to disrupt the existing system with their calls for greater freedom from tyranny.

  Wynn, on the other hand, wants to give the administration more control over our lives, first by telling us where to put our trash, and second by telling us how to use our phones. It was an obvious attempt to curry favor with dictators that blew up spectacularly in her face.

  Damage Control

  33

  STACEY PEELED OUT of the school parking lot and drove straight home. Her phone kept buzzing with incoming texts, from Brian presumably, but she didn’t dare pick up that device again, not after what she had seen on it: three hearts from Brian in response to Julia’s selfie. Three hearts! It was like the winning combination on some doomsday slot machine.

  She came to a stoplight and screamed her head off. How could Brian have betrayed her so cruelly? He was her best friend. There wasn’t a day she didn’t see him, talk to him, rely on him to guide her with his wise counsel. And this whole time he had been a secret agent! It was like finding out your boring parents were KGB assassins assigned to kill Waffles, your pet hamster.

  At least she finally understood why she was losing this election so badly. Brian had sabotaged her, probably from the beginning. Oh my God! Was he the one who defaced Julia’s poster? It was all starting to make sense now! Why hadn’t she seen it? She’d been so blind because she was such a kind and trusting person.

  She wanted the house to herself to cry and yell and break things, but her father’s car was still parked in the driveway. The digital clock on her dashboard said it was 10:30. Why wasn’t Dad at the university?

  She raced inside, letting her concern for her father replace the horror of what she’d seen on her phone, what she’d just done in front of the entire student body.

  “Dad!” she hollered. “You home?”

  “In here, dear,” he said from the kitchen.

  Stacey walked in and found her dad nursing a cup of coffee at the table. He smiled at her, not at all embarrassed by the fact that he was still in his pajamas.

  “What are you doing home?” he asked.

  Oh that’s right. She’s the one who shouldn’t be here, not him. His class wasn’t until after lunch. She had just been used to him leaving early to fly the drone.

  “I forgot something,” she said, hoping Dad wouldn’t press her for specifics. “Why are you still in your pajamas?”

  “I went to the lab last night after you’d gone to sleep and must have stayed later than I should have. I’m trying to find a way to increase the hovering time for your drone. This got me thinking about which thermodynamic cycle would be best for using the relevant source of energy.”

  “You’ve lost me, Dad,” Stacey said.

  “Never mind. It’s complicated for me too, so I met with a colleague who specializes in robotics, and we got a little carried away.”

  Stacey’s mind envisioned an army of drones and robots descending on her school. Their heat-seeking missiles all aimed at Brian and Julia.

  “Stacey?” her dad said.

  Stacey looked up at her dad’s smiling and hopeful face. Had some Freaky Friday curse caused them to switch places, giving him all her strength and her all his weakness? She wanted to fall into his arms and let him comfort her like he used to when she fell and skinned her knee at the playground. But she couldn’t be weak now. She had to be like a shark and keep moving.

  “I’m just gonna grab that thing and get going,” Stacey said.

  She bolted upstairs, expended some of her anger furiously opening and closing her bureau drawers, and then ran back down again. “Bye, Dad!” she yelled, slamming the door behind her.

  She needed to see her mom. She’d know how to help her channel this rage more effectively.

  Stacey pulled out in a screech of tires and skidded around the corner. At the first stop sign, she punched her horn, frightening a new mother crossing the street. “C’mon, woman!” Stacey shouted. “Some of us are in a hurry here.”

  She weaved through the suburban streets, tailgating retirees and coming dangerously close to oblivious cyclists. When she reached the more populated downtown area, she slowed her pace so as not to attract the attention of the police officers on the lookout for truant students. For all she knew the school had issued an APB for her arrest for besmirching the reputation of our greatest civil-rights leader.

  She pulled up in front of the Tae Kwon Do studio and tried to get control of herself. After some deep breathing, she felt a little calmer. Then her phone buzzed. Another text from Brian. Please write back and tell me you’re okay. Stacey tried to crush the phone in her hand, but these things were made of very resistant metal and plastic. Instead, she just threw the device on the floor, screamed “Fuck you, Brian
,” and bolted from the car.

  The door to the studio was locked, so Stacey tapped on it gently, hoping her mother was in the back office. Her knocks began as gentle whimpers and then grew into fist-pounding fury. Her mom rushed to the front before Stacey’s greeting shattered the glass.

  “What is wrong with you?” she asked, ushering her inside the darkened space. Stacey stormed in and started pacing around on the hardwood floor. The mirrored wall reflected a crazed person Stacey didn’t recognize. Who was this girl with the wild hair and red, blotchy face? Stacey kicked off her heels and peeled out of her jacket, as if she were an angry stripper.

  Her mom led her back to her office and left her in the Aeron chair. She came back holding a cup of tea. “Drink this,” she encouraged.

  Stacey breathed in the herbal steam and imagined her lizard brain baking on a rock in the desert. When she had calmed down somewhat, she told her mom everything.

  “So, the enemy was never Julia,” her mom said. “It was Brian.”

  Stacey nodded.

  “What are you going to do now?” she asked.

  “There’s nothing I can do,” Stacey said. “I blew it on an epic scale today. I’m done.”

  “That’s loser talk. Let’s think about this.” Her mom closed her eyes and started rubbing her temples with her manicured fingers. “Who do you think sent you that photo of Julia?”

  Stacey paused. She had been so consumed by the betrayal, she hadn’t stopped to consider who the leaker was. The number was in her area code, but it wasn’t one she recognized.

  “I don’t know,” Stacey said.

  “Whoever it was, they executed the attack brilliantly. They found something to hurt you and then shared at the perfect moment.”

  “It sounds like you admire them.”

  “I do. That doesn’t mean I’m not sorry this happened. But I think you can learn from this to plan your next move.”

  “My next move? Voting is tomorrow.”

  “That gives us twenty-four hours. The battle isn’t over yet. Now, who stands to gain the most by having you out of the race?”

  “Both Julia and Tony do.”

  “The text was designed to do two things: to throw you off your game before your big speech and to drive a wedge between you and your closest ally. Do you think Julia is ruthless enough to seduce your best friend, gather evidence of their affair, and rub your face in it in front of the whole school?”

  Stacey thought about it. Put in such stark terms, the plan did seem diabolical.

  “Yes,” Stacey said. “Julia would totally do that.”

  For the first time, she felt her frozen heart melt a little for her friend. Brian was as much a victim here as Stacey. Could she really blame him for falling for Julia’s treachery? He had never had a girlfriend before. Of course he’s going to fall for the exotic foreigner with long legs and a French accent. It was just like one of those film noir movies her dad loved so much, where a weak man is brainwashed by a femme fatale to drown her husband in a bathtub.

  “Well, then. You’ve got to find a way to ruin her,” Stacey’s mom said. “Do it today. I’ll excuse you from all your classes.”

  Her mom was right. Julia was evil and had to be brought to justice. But how? Stacey sat in her car and tried to figure out a plan. Know your enemy, her mom had counseled. What did she really know about Julia? Nothing, except what Priya had uncovered. There was a feminist mom in Canada and no evidence of a dad. Something was off there, but Stacey didn’t know what it was. She had less than twenty-four hours to figure it out.

  She picked her phone off the floor and texted Priya. Do you have a name of Julia’s aunt? she asked. Priya had mentioned that Julia was Facebook friends with her aunt and hoped it wouldn’t take Priya long to—

  Gloria O’Brien, Priya texted back.

  O’Brien? Seriously? It doesn’t get more Hispanic than that. Thanks, Stacey wrote.

  What happened today? Priya said. Everyone’s talking about how you lost it.

  I lost it, but I’m getting it back, Stacey said.

  Don’t stress. Half my followers think your “oh fuck it” speech was the best one.

  Stacey laughed bitterly. All that work, all that preparation, and all she had to do was swear into the microphone to win people’s approval. It was almost enough to make her quit politics.

  She punched in Gloria O’Brien’s name and zip code and found her listed address. A few seconds later, Stacey was following the Google Maps directions to her home.

  Julia lived in a single-story ranch-style home with a wide, empty driveway next to a tiny patch of lawn. The curtains were open in the front window, but Stacey couldn’t see anyone inside. Stacey grabbed her phone and got out of her car, hoping a plan would come to her as she walked up the cement walkway to the front door.

  She rang the doorbell and waited. No one was home.

  She looked up and down the street, but the neighborhood was empty. There were no signs about a security system on the front lawn, so Stacey walked over to the side of the house and undid the latch on the wooden gate and slipped inside. She listened for the sound of a dog in the backyard. When she was convinced she was alone, she made her way back along the side pathway, testing the windows to see if any of them opened. They were all secure, as was the glass door on the back patio. Shit, Stacey thought. Now she’d have to look for a spare key.

  She started with all the usual places. Under welcome mats, in flowerpots, but she didn’t find anything. Then she saw the garden gnome, standing proudly amid a raised flower bed full of leafy greens. It was almost like the porcelain midget spoke to her, saying, Hey, idiot! Over here! Sure enough, the key was right under his red ceramic boots. Stacey ran back to the glass door and opened it with ease.

  Stacey was about to step in when she heard her dad’s voice counseling her against this course of action. Unlike Mom, her father always spoke of the opportunity cost of winning. What are you sacrificing to succeed in this thing? he’d ask. If you spend all your time training for the Tae Kwon Do tournament, will you be able to do your best at the piano recital? He wanted Stacey to think about her priorities. Standing at the threshold of Julia’s home, Stacey heard him ask, What are you sacrificing to win this election? Is it worth your friendship with Brian? Is it worth betraying your own ethical standards of decent behavior?

  “Shut up, Dad,” Stacey muttered, and stepped inside. “You were decent, and look where that got you.”

  Before doing anything, Stacey scanned the area for any video surveillance equipment. Not seeing any glowing red dots, she carefully made her way into Julia’s family room. The house still smelled of buttery pancakes from the morning meal, and Stacey’s stomach growled in response.

  Stacey ignored her hunger and moved down the hallway toward where she thought the bedrooms would be. As she passed the framed photos of twins that lined the walls, Stacey felt unnerved by the girls’ blank stares. It almost felt like they were tracking her as she peered in doorways, trying to locate Julia’s bedroom. She found it at the end of the hallway and went inside.

  The room was fairly nondescript, with Ikea furniture, a floral-print bedspread, and framed prints of watercolor landscapes on the walls. It felt like the kind of room you might create if you knew nothing about the occupant. Like a hotel room. Julia hadn’t done anything to personalize the space, either, except toss a few discarded dresses on the floor, which made Stacey wonder if she planned on living in it for long.

  The desk’s surface was empty, which meant Julia had a laptop she must take to school. Stacey pulled open all the drawers in the desk and didn’t find anything helpful. Nothing in the wastebaskets either. She pulled open the drawers of the bureau and carefully picked through Julia’s clothes, trying to remain focused on the mission at hand, which was hard given her desire to set the garments on fire.

  Checking her watch, she saw it was almost noon and worried that someone might be coming home for lunch. There was nothing in Julia’s room that could help
Stacey anyway, so she decided to leave. Exiting the room, she noticed something weird about the doorknob. It didn’t lock. The latch bolt that kept the door closed was there, but the deadbolt was missing, so the door couldn’t be secured. Stacey checked the other doors on her way back to the living room, and all of them had functional push-button locks on the inside. Only Julia’s door didn’t. Not a lot of trust here, Stacey concluded. Julia’s aunt must know something to take such precautionary measures.

  She decided to investigate the aunt and uncle’s room. Maybe there was something to explain why they didn’t want to give Julia any privacy. The room was neatly made up, with not a piece of clothing on the carpeted floor. The surfaces of the bedside tables were nearly reflective in their high polish. Stacey jumped when she saw someone standing on the other side of the room, but then realized she was just looking at her reflection in the mirrored closet doors. She walked over and slid the doors open. If she knew anything about parents, it was that this was where they hid the things they didn’t want their children to see.