“Ha-ha,” I pant. “But … what … if … there’s a s-snake?”
“Stella, it’s in the forties, and most snakes are brumating.”
“Which means?”
“They’re chilling at their snake pads, rather than lying in wait to freak you out,” he says, kissing me lightly on the forehead. Then he touches his lips to mine. It leaves me even more breathless, and I lay my head on his chest.
“Is it really only a little bit longer?” I mumble into his jacket. “No lie?”
“No lie,” he says. “And I promise, it’ll be worth it.”
“Okay,” I say, pulling away. “But next time I get to pick the activity, and it’s going to involve a couch, an old movie, and no strenuous activity or potentially poisonous animals.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” he says.
I set off slowly, focusing on the ground in front of me rather than ahead on the trail because I’m not sure I entirely buy the snakes-are-chilling-at-their-snake-pads story. I’m so focused on just putting one foot in front of the other I don’t even notice that we’ve made it to the summit.
“We’re there,” Adam says.
I look up to a beautiful vista of the Blue Ridge Mountains and the lake in the valley below where we started our hike. “Wow. You weren’t kidding. It is worth it.”
He stands behind me and puts his arms around me, and I lean back against him. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Stella.”
I’ve been wrestling with the idea of truth and understanding how much of our perception of it can depend on who tells the story and how it’s told. I’m starting to realize how much of what I’ve taken for granted as true about life and my country is because of who got to tell the story.
I’ve also been figuring out who my true friends are, and what it means to be a friend. Realizing how important it is to speak out, but also how important it is to listen.
We walk over to a large boulder and sit. I snuggle into the warmth of Adam’s arm and pull a bag of trail mix out of my pocket. We munch in silence, enjoying each other’s company and the beauty of the day.
When we finish the trail mix, Adam takes my hand and strokes my knuckles with his thumb.
“Now that we’re here, can I confess something?” he says.
“Wait … did you lie to me about the snakes brumating? I knew it! Tell me there are no poisonous snakes around here!”
He laughs. “No, that’s the truth! Relax and enjoy the view.”
I pull away from his arm and face him.
“I guess the view isn’t so bad,” I say, smiling.
He smiles back, revealing that dangerous dimple. He’s still holding my hand, and he reaches to take the other one.
“This isn’t about snakes. It’s not really about us. Well, not exactly. It’s just that I want to be honest with you. Really honest.”
“O-kay,” I say, wondering what’s coming. “This sounds kind of ominous.”
“It’s not. At least I don’t think it is. It’s just … well, my dad’s the best in a lot of ways, and I’m grateful that he’s taught me so much about survivalist techniques and all, because I love the outdoors, and if the zombie apocalypse ever happens, you totally want me by your side because I know exactly how to keep us both alive but …”
He stops and looks away out over the horizon.
“But what?”
“I feel guilty for saying this, because he’s my dad, and I love him, but I don’t want to live my life the way he does, thinking the worst of everyone and everything, and always waiting for horrible things to happen,” Adam says, turning back and leaning his forehead against mine. “I’d rather spend my life fighting to prevent the worst things from happening. Even though I’m just one person, and who knows if I can really make a difference.”
“It’s like Farida said, we have to keep on fighting, because we have no other choice.”
He squeezes my fingers gently. “Stella, if I tell you something, will you promise you won’t hate me?”
“You’ve had plenty of reasons to hate me and you’ve managed not to, so it’s the least I can do,” I say.
“Good point. But this is a big one.” he says. “See, my dad’s a big fan of Mayor Abbott.”
He looks in my eyes searchingly, as if to gauge my reaction before he goes on. It’s hard to hide the fact that I’m a little rattled by this news, but I squeeze his hand to encourage him to continue.
“I can never bring you guys to my house. I’ve tried talking sense to him, but we just end up having huge fights. He believes what he believes and that’s the end of it.”
So that’s why I’ve never been to Adam’s house or met his dad. I thought maybe he was too embarrassed because of all the stuff with my family, but I didn’t realize it was about his dad, too.
“Wow,” I say. “That must be hard. Especially if that’s not how you feel.”
“Stella, you know that’s not how I feel,” he says. “Since my mom died—well, my dad’s just gotten angrier at the world, and he’s taken to blaming all his problems on everyone else.”
He looks away and takes a deep breath before continuing.
“One night I got so upset I told him I was sick of listening to him and stormed out of the house. I went for a long walk in the woods and didn’t get back till almost midnight. Saw a great horned owl out hunting, which was pretty cool, but what I realized by the time I got back was that my dad was kind of a hypocrite.”
“How’s that?” I ask.
“After my mom died, he made his entire life—and did his best to make mine—about being self-sufficient, but meanwhile he’s blaming everyone else for his problems instead of looking in the mirror and facing them,” Adam says. “My dad’s got a lot of good qualities, but I don’t want to be him. Is that terrible?”
“No,” I say. “At least I hope not. I don’t want to be my parents, either. I mean, I hope I can take on their good traits, but I don’t want to be exactly like them. I want to be my own person. Example A: The military was the right decision for them, but I’m not sure if it’s the right choice for me.”
“I can see that,” he says.
“But then I worry if it’s because I’ve always felt like a coward in my family—a coward and a loser. Everyone else has served in the military. I’ve had it drilled into my head that we’re supposed to serve. Walkers are patriots. That’s what we do,” I explain. “And then when the graffiti happened and people started calling Rob a traitor, it made me wonder about what it means to serve, and what it means to be a patriot.”
Adam nods.
“And I wondered—do I have to be in the military to serve my country? Is that the only way to be a patriot? Can’t I serve in other ways?”
“Well, there’s the Peace Corps, AmeriCorps …”
“Yeah, but I’m thinking something else,” I say. “Journalism. Asking hard questions. Looking at how stories are told. At what stories are told. I’m going to take a journalism class and join the school paper. Try to report the things that happen at school besides just sports. See if this is the path for me instead of boot camp.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Adam says.
“You think? You don’t think it’s a cop-out? That I’m letting down my family?”
“It’s not a cop-out. What if you have other skills? Or if you just want to go in another direction? Is there some law that says we have to do exactly what our parents do and think exactly the same way they think?” Adam says. “I mean, we’re being encouraged to use critical-thinking skills, right? And doesn’t that mean that maybe, sometimes, we might come up with different answers?”
“Good point,” I say, so relieved I feel like I could float off this cliff and soar hawk-like down to the lake below. But instead, I lean over and give Adam a kiss.
“Did I ever tell you how awesome you are?”
“You might have,” he says. “But it’s something that can never be said enough as far as I’m concerned.”
“You’re awesome,�
� I repeat, curling into his side and looking up at the clear blue sky, decorated with a few puffy cumulus clouds.
I close my eyes, enjoying the feeling that for at least this moment, everything feels right in the world. I know that there are more battles to fight, that beyond this valley, this day, this moment, there are bad things we have to deal with. But for right now, I’m going to enjoy this time, this place, and being with this boy, because it will help to give me the strength for whatever lies ahead.
More of my election posters have been ripped down on Monday. Others have Traitor written across them in black marker. I take them to the office to show Principal Hart.
“It’s bad enough I’ve had to take my social media accounts private because of what’s going on with my brother,” I complain. “But now I can’t even have posters up around school without them being torn down or defaced?”
“I hear you, Stella. But unfortunately, the divisiveness of the state elections is trickling down to our school,” Principal Hart says. “Some parents and, I hate to say, even some of the faculty have suggested suspending elections in favor of having administration appoint class officers.”
“Suspend elections?” I exclaim. “But that’s … that’s so wrong! We’re allowed to elect our own officers!” I point to my posters. “Anyway, it’s too late. The ‘divisiveness’ is already here.”
“Exactly. That’s why I refused to entertain the notion, even though there was significant pressure from certain quarters,” he says. “Not only that, I still believe it’s our job to prepare you for citizenship, not just employment. If I gave in to pressure to suspend elections, what message would I be sending about the importance of democracy and using your vote when you graduate from high school?”
“Thanks for not doing that,” I say. “But what can I do about my posters? It takes time and money to make them, and if they keep being destroyed …”
“I’ll make an announcement later today,” Principal Hart says. “And it’ll be clear what the consequences are for tampering with election posters.”
“Thanks, Principal Hart,” I say. “It’s hard enough running right now as it is.”
“I know. I’m going to be taking flak from the school board for this decision. But ‘right is right and politics is politics,’ as my grandma used to say.”
I think about that saying for the rest of the day. Do the two have to be mutually exclusive?
We prepare dinner on trays that evening so we can watch Stephanie Nagy’s special report together.
My brother’s super quiet, sitting on the corner of the sofa with Peggy by his side, his knee bouncing constantly under his dinner tray so that I’m afraid his meat casserole is going to end up on the carpet.
I’m beginning to suspect Peggy isn’t just sitting by his side for supportive purposes; this time I think she might have an ulterior motive.
“Are you scared this is going to make it worse?” I ask Rob.
“I’d be crazy not to,” he says. “It’s hard to know who to trust anymore.” He gives a short, bitter laugh. “Heck, I thought I could trust the nation I served to have my back and look how well that worked out.”
I feel like I should remind him that there are people in the nation who still have his back—look at how the people from the Legion came over and helped to clean the graffiti off the house. But I get what he’s talking about. It’s the system. How long it’s taking Rob to get his appointment. It’s how the Powers That Be had no problems writing the checks to go to war, but suddenly there’s not enough money now that the soldiers who fought it need care.
But there are still individuals like Mayor Abbott. And Chris. And Wade and Jed. Not to mention all the people who believe Mayor Abbott. People who think my brother is some kind of violent person, even though they don’t know all the facts. They’re individuals, not “the system.”
So I just lay my head on his shoulder and say, “We’ve always got your back. Don’t ever forget that.”
“Yeah. I know,” he says. “Thanks.”
I think we’re having a moment, and I smile.
Then Rob says, “Now can you get your greasy head off my shoulder?”
World’s Shortest Moment Ever.
“I washed my hair this morning, loser!” I retort.
“Quiet, you two! The news is starting,” Mom says.
Dad turns up the volume.
Mayor Abbott’s face flashes on the screen as they cover his latest campaign event. Dad starts booing and the rest of us join him.
“I know I’m setting a bad example for you kids,” Dad says, “but after what that man’s done to Rob …”
“Stella, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that you shouldn’t act like Dad when Chris speaks at your school assembly,” Mom says, giving Dad warning look. “Don’t visit the sins of the father on the child.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes. “No, you don’t need to tell me,” I say.
But what I’m thinking is: Like he and his friends aren’t ‘visiting the sins’ of my brother on me? Or even worse, on Farida and her family?
Finally, the anchor says, “And now it’s time for Special Report with Stephanie Nagy. Tonight she reports on the plight of American veterans—and how lack of resources at the Department of Veterans Affairs has affected one local vet’s life in a very dramatic way …”
Stephanie starts off outside the local VA hospital, talking about problems with the VA system and long delays for people getting appointments, particularly for mental health care. She tells us that thirty veterans die by suicide out of 100,000 in their population compared to fourteen people out of 100,000 in the civilian population. Then she’s sitting in our living room, the one we’re all gathered in now, watching her, talking to Rob and my parents about the challenges we’ve faced as a family since he got back.
The cameraman zooms into a close-up on Rob’s face when she asks him what happened at the mall. He starts talking about Jason and then covers his face. Then they cut to an interview with Ashar and his parents. He talks about how Wade and Jed were harassing him, and repeats the awful things they were saying. “What country am I supposed to go back to? I was born right here in Virginia. I’m just as American as they are!” he says. “It’s gets real old real fast having to explain my skin color and my religion all the time. Why do some people think they’re more American than I am just because their skin is lighter than mine?”
Then it cuts to an exterior shot of Tigris, and Ms. Nagy talks about the cable news piece where Wade made what she calls a “spurious link” to a local Iraqi American family, proprietors of a successful restaurant in Argleton, because of Farida’s friendship with me. She interviews Mr. and Mrs. El-Rahim, and she looks as horrified as I felt when they show her some of the terrible comments on Yelp and Facebook.
Finally, there are short clips of Mr. Neustadt and Mr. McNeill from the American Legion talking about how disgusted they were when our house was covered in graffiti calling Rob a traitor, and why they came to help clean it off.
Then it cuts back to Rob. “I take the Marine Corps values seriously. Things like integrity, respecting human dignity, adhering to a higher standard of personal conduct, and leading by example. I thought that by intervening in the situation I was living up to those values. But I failed when I allowed myself to be provoked into losing control. I failed to maintain personal discipline. In my defense, I recognized I was struggling since I got back from my last deployment, and I was trying to get help before the incident happened. The problem for me, and so many vets like me, is that the wait to get an appointment for evaluation at the VA hospital is way too long. I’m still waiting for mine. The appointment didn’t come soon enough for my friend Jason, and as you can see, the delay has affected my life. Not just mine. I regret that I’ve let down the corps. I regret that I’ve let down my family and that a totally innocent family, our friends the El-Rahims, have been drawn into this, just because of their faith. That a kid just trying to earn some money at a part-time j
ob was treated the way he was. That doesn’t seem to reflect the American values I put on a uniform for and risked my life to defend.” The last shot is of Mom and Dad sitting on either side of Rob. Dad says, “We raised our son to stand up for others. Why is this country breaking its promise to stand up for him?”
Rob exhales loudly as Ms. Nagy concludes with, “This is Stephanie Nagy for Channel Seven News,” like he’d been holding his breath the entire time.
Dad turns off the TV.
“She did a great job,” he says. “That should help turn things around.”
“I sure hope so,” Mom says.
“If people watched it,” Rob mutters.
“We’ll encourage them to watch it,” Mom says. “I’m going to send out the link to everyone I know and tell them to send it to everyone they know.”
“Your mother and her networks are on the case,” Dad says. “Mayor Abbott is going to learn he should never have messed with the Fightin’ Walkers.”
“I’m going to take Peggy out for a walk,” Rob says suddenly, getting up off the sofa. “I need some fresh air.”
Mom casts him a worried glance.
“I feel like some fresh air, too,” Dad says, catching Mom’s glance and acting like he really does need fresh air.
I’m pretty sure Rob sees through the charade, but he doesn’t say anything.
“I’ll get the leash,” he says.
I wait till I hear the front door close behind them before asking Mom the burning question. “Do you think it’s going to be enough to change peoples’ minds about Rob?”
She takes long enough to answer that I feel panic struggle to take flight in my stomach.
“There’s no way we can change everyone’s mind, Stella,” Mom says, speaking in the soft voice she always used when I was a kid and had a bad dream and she was trying to tell me it wasn’t real. Except that this one is real. “But I do think this’ll help Rob in the court of public opinion. It was smart of Ms. Nagy to interview Ashar. He made Wade and Jed look like ignorant, badly behaved teens, parroting the words of their elders—and he provided context for that video clip Mayor Abbott used to make Rob look like he was being violent out of nowhere.”
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