This Girl Is Different
Page 7
“I love the style. Not quite Shaker, but close. Strong but delicate.” I squeeze his hand before I let it go. I kneel to look along the chair’s lines and run my finger along its arm. “You used tung oil instead of stain?”
He nods again.
I stand up and walk around the chair, taking it in. “Most people go through their whole lives without creating anything this beautiful. You should be so proud.”
“It’s my first chair.”
“I guess it’s a day for firsts.” Ha. I’m funny.
“Guess so.” He grins. “Let’s eat.”
“Sounds great.” I realize I’m beyond hungry, I’m ravenous. Maybe it’s a metaphor for being alone with Rajas, like my libido is fueling my appetite. Or maybe I’m just really hungry. Give a girl a break—even Freud said sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.
Opening the door to the outside, we pull two stools into the sun. We’re in a hidden nook near the breezeway between the high and middle schools. It seems safe from detection. We unwrap our lunches. Being here with Rajas is easy and exciting and awkward and comfortable, all at the same time. How are such simultaneous contradictions possible?
“You have detention today?” he asks.
“Mmm-hmm,” I mumble through the first bite of my cheese, mustard, and arugula sandwich.
“What’s this one for?”
“This one is for snake liberation.”
He laughs. “Only you, Eve.”
“What?” I wipe mustard from my lip with a cloth napkin. “The poor thing looked miserable!”
“So you thought you’d take it upon yourself to set it free.”
“I didn’t snakenap him or anything. I wasn’t sneaky about it. I just held him in the sunlight for a few minutes between bells. I still don’t see the problem.”
“Mr. Wysent’s cool. Don’t hold it against him. It’s just school policy.” He laughs. “Too bad you weren’t here last year. You should have seen those frogs flying out of the jello.” Shaking his head, chuckling, he crunches into an apple. “Guess it’s still taking some getting used to, all the rules.”
“Not the rules. Well, not just the rules. It’s the abuse of power and lack of civil liberties I can’t get used to.”
“It probably feels that way, to you.”
“It doesn’t to you?”
Eyebrows converging, he says, “Never really thought about it that way. I don’t love it, it just…is what it is, you know?” He chews his apple. “But you know what I do hate? All the labels. Rich kid, poor kid, nerd, goody-goody, troublemaker, jock—”
“Popular cheerleader,” I offer.
He laughs. “Popular cheerleader.”
“Misfit homeschooler.”
“Misfit home—” He frowns. “You’re not a misfit, Eve. You’re just…different.” He looks at the sky, thinking. “Plus, you’re not a homeschooler anymore. You busted yourself out of that particular label, didn’t you?”
Whoa. I guess I did, didn’t I? Can I still consider myself a homeschooler if I go to public school? It’s such a huge part of my identity, I can’t just shed it like a snakeskin. I appreciate reptilian skin-shedding, but I’m not capable of it myself.
“Why can’t we all just get along?” Rajas says in a high voice like he’s quoting someone. Taking another bite of apple, he continues, “Everyone’s so stuck in their labels they can’t see past the zits on their own noses. I cannot wait to get out of here. Graduation, and I’m gone. Real world apprenticeship, here I come.”
Which seems pretty lame. But he’s a smart kid; maybe it’s a smart survival skill? Keep your nose low, keep out of the line of fire. Still, “Don’t you want to try to make this place better while you’re here?”
“Nope.” He smiles. “I’m just getting the hell out of Pandora.”
“Pandora?”
“From Avatar?”
“Oh. TV show?”
“It’s a movie! Incredible special effects. You haven’t seen it?” He looks shocked and appalled.
I shake my head.
“Okay. That’s hard to imagine. Just please tell me you’ve seen The Matrix.”
Again, I shake my head.
“Unacceptable. Not on my watch. We’re going to have a DVD night. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
DVD night with Rajas. I get feverish just thinking about it.
“Consider it your cultural education.” He pauses, drinks from his water bottle. “Anyway, I know you don’t watch TV, but I thought you liked movies. Isn’t that why you started here? All the movies about teenagers and high school?”
“Not all the movies. Rich introduced me to the classics. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Pretty in Pink. Footloose. Dirty Dancing. Grease.”
“And now you’re trying to change everything those movies stand for?”
“I can’t help it!” I’m laughing but I’m serious. “It just makes me crazy, all the injustices. Is that such a bad thing?”
“No,” he sighs. “No, it’s part of what I like about you. You see things in a totally unique way. And you have the guts to actually do something about it. I just wasn’t expecting you to be so gung ho.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m gung ho.”
“No? And you’ve written how many letters to the Purple Tornado News?”
“One.”
He narrows his eyes at me. Gorgeous eyes. “One! That I edited and submitted three times,” I admit.
He smirks that disarming half-smile. “Stiv still won’t print it?”
“I toned it down and took out the names, and then toned it down some more. And then you know what I did? Toned it down some more. And then some more. But he still says he can’t run it. It’s like hitting my head against a brick wall.”
He reaches over and touches my hair. “Don’t do that. Your head is beautiful.”
Heat floods my cheeks and toasts my ears. I manage to say, “You’re sweet.” Translation: you’re amazing and smart and hilarious and you get me and even your hands are sexy and your carpentry skills are mind-blowing and you just called me beautiful…
With his bandaged thumb, he pushes my hair back onto my shoulder. My heart thumps. We’re quiet awhile. I eat my sandwich. “It’s so lame.”
He looks at me, confused. “What’s so lame?”
“The newspaper,” I explain. “It’s lame that they won’t print any actual news. Stiv needs to grow a pair.”
He laughs. “Cut him some slack. He’s a good guy. His hands are probably tied by the administration. Or his advisor or whoever.”
“Hm. I’m detecting a theme here. Stiv’s a good guy. Mr. Wysent’s a good guy. Their hands are tied. They’re good people, just following the rules. Isn’t there a quote about a Nazi soldier saying he was just following orders?”
“Whoa there, cowgirl. Mr. Wysent’s not a Nazi. And Stiv—although he does look like he could belong to the Aryan nation, I’ll grant you that—he’s definitely not a Nazi.”
“No,” I acquiesce. “They aren’t Nazis. I shouldn’t have said that. I just—” I just what? “I just expected more. From teachers. And students. I know that people agree with me. They must! Students should be treated with respect and equality. Who’s going to argue with that? No one, that’s who. So why is it so hard to speak out and change things?” A thought: “Wait. How about student government? Isn’t that what it’s for?”
“Student government?” Rajas laughs. “Student government is for looking good on college applications.”
“Aren’t they supposed to be the student leaders? A voice for change?”
He almost rolls his eyes. Like he wants to be supportive of my naiveté…but can’t believe my naiveté. “You can try, Eve. But…” He frowns. “Just be careful. They’re not used to—”
“People rocking the boat?”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Why would I get hurt?” I ask.
He presses his lips together.
“What? What are not saying?”
“I don’t know. I just honestly don’t think student government does anything, apart from—” He stops midsentence. “Okay, I have no idea what they do…”
But I lose track of what he’s saying, because in my mind, I’m already writing a petition.
9
Our problems stem from our acceptance of this filthy, rotten system.
—DOROTHY DAY, RADICAL CATHOLIC ACTIVIST, 1897–1980
Minutes of Student Council Officers Meeting
Second meeting of fall semester
Present: Megan Atwater (Secretary), Kelly Lupito (President), Tera McClernon (Treasurer), Stiv Wagner (Vice President)
Minutes submitted by Megan Atwater, Student Council Secretary
First order of business: Treasurer’s report. Tera says student council has $428. After our upcoming $200 donation to senior class’s homecoming preparations (for decorations), we will have $228. Stiv suggested having a fundraiser so we can have money to donate to the other class’s upcoming activities. Kelly said funk that, seniors rule. We all laughed. Tera recommended a car wash. Kelly said no way, doodles, it’s too cold. Tera recommended a donut sale during lunch. Megan (me)’s brother works at Dunkin so she (I) will ask him if they can donate donuts for the fundraiser. Stiv will get approval from Dr. Folger. We will put this on the agenda for student council general meeting, with a sign-up sheet for volunteers. All in favor of donut fundraiser: 4.
Second order of business: Petition written to student council. Evie M. (she didn’t put her whole last name on it?) submitted a “petition” to the student government mailbox (see attachment). She wants us to present it at the next student council meeting. Kelly says funk that, the demands are unrealistic and we’re not hippie homeschoolers. Tera wondered about the actual purpose of the petition. Megan (me) doesn’t think we (the officers), should take an official stance on political issues. Stiv suggested that we put the petition on a desk at the next student council meeting and if anyone comes up and reads it and wants to sign it, fine. That way we’ve done what Evie asked but not really. All in favor: 4.
Third order of business: None.
Meeting adjourned.
Attachment: petition from Evie M.
TO STUDENT GOVERNMENT OFFICERS: You guys are the leaders of this school so please discuss at your meeting and distribute for signatures! And then we will present it to Dr. Folger and the administrators!
PETITION TO DR. FOLGER AND THE SCHOOL
ADMINISTRATION AND THE SCHOOL BOARD
This is an official petition for a redress of grievances. Students demand the rights granted to us in the U.S. Constitution and Bill of Rights. We should have the same rights in school as we have outside of school. These include, but are not limited to, the following:
• Students should be treated with the same respect and dignity from teachers that teachers receive from students. After all, we’re part of this community too!
• Students have a right to a clean environment, especially toilets and restrooms
• Students have the right to use phones to make phone calls during lunch and free periods
• Students have the right to healthful choices in lunch foods
• Students have the right to fresh air and sunlight
We, the undersigned, petition Dr. Folger and the school administration to address these matters in a timely and responsive fashion.
Sincerely,
(Add names here)(Class)
Evie M., Senior
[Attach more signature pages as necessary]
10
The internet is the first thing that humanity has built that humanity doesn’t understand, the largest experiment in anarchy that we have ever had.
—ERIC SCHMIDT, CHAIRMAN OF GOOGLE, B. 1955
Today, Brookner doesn’t ask for a response to the quote. As soon as the bell rings, he rocks onto his toes and says, “Let’s jump right in, get the lecture over with, so we have time for something different today, hmm?”
After a bout of lecturing, he pauses and surveys the room. He claps to refocus attention. “Now. Move your desks aside and arrange your chairs in a circle.”
There are groans, like everyone’s feeling lazy, but the protests seem superficial, because people rearrange the desks and chairs pretty fast. A shift in routine is welcome, especially on a day like this when it’s drizzling and chilly and the sky is a low ceiling of musty concrete. After the chairs are circled, Brookner takes a stack of index cards from his drawer, along with a box of safety pins. “Take one of each. It doesn’t matter which card, so just pick one and pass it along, right? Pin your card to your shirt so that everyone can see it. Please.”
The cards and pins travel around the circle; by the time they get to Jacinda and me, only a few cards remain. We exchange glances. This is why I love Brookner. He piques your curiosity.
My card says, Artist, 55, three kids. I poke my safety pin through and fasten it onto my sweatshirt.
Jacinda pins Gay prostitute, 32, no kids through a buttonhole in her top. “So it doesn’t leave a mark,” she says.
Brookner says, “Everyone got one? Good. Take a look around. Peruse your cohorts.”
The class has become a montage of cards listing varying occupations, ages, family statuses:
Doctor, 62, three grandchildren
College student, 19
Student, 8
Housewife, 42, two kids
Movie star, 35, three adopted kids
Lawyer, 50, two grown kids
Firefighter, 30, one kid, divorced
Factory worker, 45, one kid
Burglar, 47, no kids
Cashier, 35, five kids, divorced
Writer, 90, lots of grandkids
Teacher, 39, two kids
Bartender, 22, no kids
Drug dealer, 25, one kid
Carpenter, 60, ten grandchildren
Janitor, 42, two kids
Priest, 35, no kids
Computer programmer, 33, one kid
Brookner clears his throat. “Class. Settle. Here’s the deal: You are in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Your cruise ship has sunk, the water is full of bloodthirsty sharks, and your lifeboat has sprung a leak. If you don’t throw someone off within five minutes, you will capsize and everyone will die.”
There’s a flood of smiles. Everyone gets engaged, studying each other’s cards and posturing so others can read theirs. Brookner’s plan—which, I assume, was to change venue enough to involve everyone in some actual dialogue—seems to be working. Clever move. Why did it take him this long to come up with it?
“Okay. Time starts…” Brookner makes a show of pressing a button on his wristwatch. “Now!”
After a moment of quiet, Jacinda clears her throat and lifts her hand skyward. It’s the first time she’s raised her hand without Brookner calling on her. “You should throw me off,” she announces.
“Not so fast,” Brookner interrupts, adding, “Sorry, Jacinda.” She blushes—she does this every time Brookner says her name. He continues, “I forgot two important rules. One: no one can volunteer himself or herself for sacrifice. Two: all decisions must be unanimous.” He presses the button on his watch again. “Five minutes. Go.”
Across the circle, Stiv clears his throat. “I vote for Jacinda, the gay prostitute.” Rajas keeps telling me Stiv’s a decent guy, and he’s nice enough, but he’s got some work to do to convince me of his cojones. “She doesn’t have any kids, so no one will miss her,” he shrugs. “Plus she might be spreading AIDS.”
“And she’s a fag,” Matt says.
Shocked, I look at Brookner. He is frowning but doesn’t say anything.
Jacinda says, “Shut up! That’s a hate word. Besides, just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I have AIDS.” Go, Jacinda!
“No, not because you’re gay,” Stiv says. “Because you’re a prostitute.”
Heads nod around the circle. Marcie says, “We’d um…we’d probably be saving lives in the long run by sacrificing her.�
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“Okay,” says Stiv. “Let’s vote. All in favor?”
Hands rise in unison, flowers reaching toward the sun. Stiv, Marcie, Matt, Jacinda, everyone’s except mine. Stiv looks at me. “What’s the problem?”
I make an apologetic face. “It’s not right to base a decision on someone’s occupation. Or sexual orientation. Or whether they have kids, or if they have AIDS.”
Stiv frowns and crosses his arms like he’s thinking.
I lean forward. “Okay. Just for the sake of argument: What if Jacinda became a prostitute because her mother has cancer? What if being a hooker is the only way she can pay for her mom’s expensive medicine? Maybe she uses condoms every time and gets HIV tests every month. How can we possibly know people’s motivation for what they do?”
“That’s true,” Jacinda agrees. “You don’t know.”
Encouraged, I press on: “And why is it relevant that she’s gay? No one else’s card specifies their sexual orientation.”
Jacinda chimes in, “Totally. Do we just, like, assume that straight is the norm?”
I beam at her.
Stiv says, “You guys have a point, but if we don’t choose someone, we all die. Most of the rest of us have kids, or are like—”
“I’m a fireman, dude,” says Matt. “You can’t kill a hero.”
I squint, thinking. “What if we—”
“We don’t have much time,” Stiv reminds us. “We should vote. All in favor?” Hands, including Jacinda’s, reach skyward. Everyone’s except mine.
Groans.
“Time!” calls Mr. Brookner. “Well. You’re all shark bait.”
“Thanks a lot,” says Marcie.
Jacinda bumps me on the shoulder. “Whatever!” She raises her voice so everyone can hear. “Personally, I appreciate not being thrown to the sharks.”
But she voted for herself! I was the lone voice of dissent. Obviously this was just a pretend lifeboat—but the lesson feels real. And harsh. People talk a good game, yet when it comes down to it…who can you trust? How do you know for sure? You think you’ve got friends but suddenly it’s Mutiny on the Brookner Bounty.
“Class, settle. Interesting.” Brookner rocks forward, claps his hands and swings back. “You are the only class to all die.”