This Girl Is Different (16 page)

If we don’t fight hard enough for the things we stand for, at some point we have to recognize that we don’t really stand for them.

—P
AUL
W
ELLSTONE,
U.S.
SENATOR,
1944–2002

n Tuesday, a police car is parked in the student
parking lot. A cop stands beside it, looking menacing,
trying to dissuade students from breaking
into fights.

Locker. ABRAM PAUL IS AN ASSHOLE!

Classroom door. MR. WOLMAN SUCKS UP TO RICH KIDS.

I have to talk to Dr. Folger. Just to…I don’t even
know. Express my condolences at the accelerating
decline of The Institution of School? Bear witness to the
whirling vortex of a toilet flush that is his school? And
my role in creating that cosmic sewage? Should I confess?
Should I have known this was going to happen?
Should I have seen it coming?

When I open the door to the main office, Ms. Franklin
waves me in. “He’s expecting you, hon.”

I take a deep, cleansing breath and knock on Dr.
Folger’s office door, which is slightly ajar. Sitting at his
desk, Dr. Folger looks contemplative. He’s holding a
Slinky over the floor, springing it up and down. “Evie.
Come in.”

I sit. My throat is dry. What should I say? I put my
hands on my lap and try not to think about his Cornell
diploma. “Dr. Folger, I—”

“Please, Evie. For your own sake, let me do the
talking.” He sets down the Slinky. “Let us start at the
beginning.

“I strongly suspect that you, and quite possibly an
accomplice or two, began the PLUTOs website. I
believe that you were behind the lightning strike
against Ms. Gliss.”

“But I—”

“Enough.” It’s the harshest tone he’s ever taken with
me, and it makes me want to crawl under the chair. Dr.
Folger steeples his hands and taps index finger to chin.
“You should count yourself very fortunate indeed that I
lack the evidence to prove my suspicion.”

Guilt singes the tips of my ears. And relief washes
through me. He wasn’t able to connect us to the blog.
And obviously neither Jacinda nor Rajas has been persuaded
to confess. They don’t hate me quite enough to
self-destruct. Thank God for small favors.

“Assuming my suspicions are correct, I have no
doubt that your intentions were honorable, if grossly—
and I do mean grossly—misguided. Alas, we have covered
this ground before.” His chair pivots as he leans
back. “The blog has gone off-line, and that is good. But
we are approaching a crisis point here. I’ve put the
school on veritable lockdown and posted security
guards at the main entrances. We are petitioning the
school board to fund an alarm system. But as you can
see, students are still finding their way into the building
after hours.”

I keep my face neutral. Rajas says he’s not using his
key, and I believe him. But kids are trickling in somehow.
Where is the leak?

“This is disturbing, to say the least. And momentum
has not shifted,” Dr. Folger continues. “Indeed, the lightning
strikes are occurring with even greater frequency.
This is becoming, to use an expression from my
younger days, a shitstorm.”

I smile at his term, but his eyes don’t concede one
iota of levity.

“I’ve said it before: I like you, Evie. But I am not
happy, not by any stretch of the imagination, about this
situation.” His gaze fills me with so much remorse that
I need to look away.

“Evie, you may fashion yourself something of an
advocate for democracy—”

“But can I just—”

“No.” He lifts a finger in warning. “No. I am not
finished.”

Chastened, I nod and sit on my hands to keep quiet.

“Now. If you want to be taken seriously, if you are
truly the advocate for justice you think you are, you
must accept responsibility for the consequences of your
actions.
All
of the consequences, intended or not.

“If you are the person I think and hope you are, you
will put your strong ideas to work. You will do everything
in your power to rectify this situation.” He dips his
head. “That is all. You are excused, Evie.”

Dismissed and then some, I leave. Dr. Folger’s disappointment
is an acid eroding the scant remains of my
heart. I can’t even look at Ms. Franklin, because if she
gives me a sympathetic smile, I’ll dissolve into tiny
pieces. Dr. Folger wants me to do something. But I’m so
empty. What’s left to do something with?

Learning carries within itself certain dangers because out of necessity one has to learn from one’s enemies.

L
EON
T
ROTSKY,
M
ARXIST THEORIST AND
B
OLSHEVIK REVOLUTIONARY,
1879–1940

Wednesday morning, one police officer monitors
the bus circle. Another leans on his
cruiser in the parking lot.

Inside, a locker: JAMIE CLEARY HAD A NOSE JOB!

A classroom door: MR. CAMPOTO GIVES FOOTBALL
PLAYERS GRADES THEY DON’T DESERVE!

Another locker: SCOTTIE FOREST IS A TOTAL FAG.
Sobbing, a kid is pulling at the lightning. He looks desperate.
I run over and help him pull it down. This one
comes off, thank God. “Thank you,” he whispers, but his
face changes when he sees who I am. “You,” he snarls.
“You started this. Get away from me.”

I leave, taking the lightning with me. Scottie’s got
enough to deal with, without being associated with the
loathsome Evensong Morningdew. Anger pulses
against my tired, empty skull. I rumple the cardboard
lightning and stuff it in the garbage. This homophobic
slur is by far the worst. It’s antithetical to why we started
PLUTOs. The diametric opposite. We wanted a flashy
way to confront abuse and oppression. Instead we
turned the fight for justice into plain old bullying.
Anonymous bullying, no less. The most cowardly kind.

PLUTOs striking Ms. Gliss was warranted. I stand by
that. And Brookner got what he deserved. As for the
other strikes against teachers…are they true? Were they
justified? I don’t know. I’m not a big fan of Ms.
Theodore, but is she racist? It’s not impossible.

Then there are the strikes against kids. Maybe some
people are assholes, and do cheat on their girlfriends or
their tests. Or someone got a nose job. Who cares? It’s
personal. They’re not oppressing others. Striking lightning
for that stuff is just plain petty.

And calling someone a fag? That’s worse than petty:
it’s hateful. Inexcusable. It’s taking the lightning and
turning it into a tool of oppression.

Dr. Folger is right. I have to act. But how? If Rajas and
Jacinda were with me, maybe we could do something.
Maybe, although I don’t know what. But they aren’t
with me. I’m alone. I’m the school pariah. Struck twice
by lightning, blamed for ruining the school. At this
point, I have as about as much influence as a leper in a
cave.

In Global View, Jacinda looks sullen and pallid. She
rests her head on her desk most of the period, but at
least she’s here. Some days she doesn’t come to class
at all.

At lunchtime, I hide out in my Fortress of Solitude,
The Clunker. I choke down a few bites of apple. I Zen
out and try to take deep yoga breaths. Think. A solution.
I stare at the familiar cracks on the dashboard. I
roll my head on the steering wheel. The only thoughts
I can muster are questions: How are people getting into
school to post the lightning? How did things go so
wrong? How can I make it all just go away?

I can’t think. I have to get out of here. At least for
now. If I make it back before geometry I won’t get
detention. I drive in a daze and I end up in the Walmart
parking lot. Out of habit, I suppose; I didn’t make a conscious
decision. Since I’m here, should I call Martha?
She’d come flying out in a heartbeat. But she’s been
missing shifts as it is, thanks to me. What if she got
fired? I don’t want to add her to the list of people getting
hurt.

Ugh.

A revolution, taking a moral stand, is one thing.
Hurting people is another. Being hurt.

Betrayal. Heartbreak. Jacinda. Rajas. Cornell.

I groan and crawl into the back of The Clunker and
lie down. I’ve got to think of something. I have to.
Think of Scottie Forest and Matt Johnson and Jamie
Cleary and Davina Whoever and the others. And Stiv
and the kids who are fighting each other, set off by the
divisive lightning. The whole school is imploding.

Focus.

But my mind won’t center on anything other than all
the hating, the pain.

I rub my temples. Time to try to stoke up some positive
energy.

Bam bam bam!

Holy crap! I’m startled nearly out of my skin because
someone’s knocking so hard The Clunker shimmies.

Bam bam bam!

What now? Walmart security guards? But you’re
allowed to camp in Walmart parking lots! It’s the only
good thing about them! I grab the latch and slide the
door open to tell whoever it is to—

Brookner. Brookner is standing in front of me.

He rocks onto his heels. “Evie.”

My stomach clenches, churning resentment and
disgust. “How did you find me?”

“I have my ways.”

“What are you doing? Are you stalking me? This is
all your fault! Everything went to hell because of you!”

“Now now. Don’t be snippy. May I come in?”
Brookner asks.

I glare at him. “Are you kidding me? You really think
that’s a good idea? To be alone in a van with a female
student?”

“Hmm. You might be right. I’ll stay out here.” He
wags his head in the direction of his car. “Booker’s in
there. Better that he can see me. More reassuring.”

I peer past Brookner and give a small wave to
Booker. He sags in the passenger seat, looking miserable.
He looks down at something.

Brookner follows my gaze. “He takes that snake with
him everywhere now.”

“Just make sure he keeps Javier well fed. I’d hate for
him to—” Wait. Enough distraction! “What do you
want?” I demand of Brookner. “Go on in and do your
shopping.”

“I’m not here to shop. I’m here to talk to you.”

“So you
are
stalking me?”

Instead of responding, he adjusts his glasses. For the
first time, he seems to notice my eyes, red, chiseled out
from dark circles caused by tears and lack of sleep.
“Evie, have you been crying?”

“No!”

He raises an eyebrow.

We’re both quiet, as if daring the other person to talk
first. Brookner leans on The Clunker. “Well. You know
that I’ve been put on leave? That I’m being investigated?”

“I would feel sorry for you, except that you completely
deserve it.”

“Yes, well. Kind of nice, the quiet. We’re making the
best of it. It gives me a lot of time to think. Maybe I’ll
homeschool Booker. He’s been keeping me company,
helping me dig up some new quotes.” He smiles. “I’ve
got a good one. It’s contextual. ‘Great spirits have
always encountered violent opposition from mediocre
minds.’”

My breath catches. “Einstein.” It’s one of my favorite
lines of all time.

He nods.

I straighten my spine, recover my anger. “I take that
to mean you consider yourself a great spirit?”

“You don’t?”

“Consider
you
a great spirit? No.”

He laughs. “We’re a lot alike, you and I.”

I cross my arms. “No we’re not.” I sound every bit the
petulant teenager, but I don’t have the energy for anything
else.

“We certainly are. We both fancy ourselves mavericks.
Idealists. We question the arbitrary boundaries
society places upon us.”

“I don’t do sketchy things. I don’t hurt people.”

“Oh no? Well. I wonder…how do you suppose Ms.
Gliss felt after the first lightning strike?”

“She deserved it. Besides, why would you assume
that was me?”

“Please.” He waves a hand, like he’s not interested in
that argument. “Posting anonymously on the internet.
Not giving someone a chance to redeem herself, or at
the very least, respond to the charges. How sketchy—to
use your term—is that?”

“She could have posted a response,” I mutter.

“And how effective could that have possibly been?”
I don’t answer, because he’s right. About
one
thing. It
wouldn’t have done any good for Ms. Gliss to respond.

There’s a spark in his eye. “Perhaps I shouldn’t speak
in the past tense about Ms. Gliss’s response.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Perhaps she’s leaving the door open, as it were, to
the possibilities of diluting the accusations against her,
hmm?”

I blink.

He chuckles. “You’re not the only person with a
strong mind and ideas in her head, Evie. You should
give people some credit.” Pressing his elbow against the
door frame, he shifts his weight, turns, and leaves.

But I do. I do give people credit. Don’t I?

Jacinda says I give myself too much credit. “You’re
the one who should give her some credit!” I shout at
Brookner.

He swivels around to face me. “And what, pray tell,
is that supposed to mean? Enlighten me.”

“You manipulated Jacinda. You made her think it
was okay to be dating you.”

Scanning the parking lot for anyone who might have
heard me, he walks back toward The Clunker. “On the
contrary. I simply treated her like a human being, with
whom I enjoyed talking. I made it very clear that we
must wait until she graduated, until she was no longer
a student, for our relationship to progress.”

“Then answer me this: if you’re so sure that you
didn’t do anything wrong, why did you break it off with
her?”

“Besides the lightning strike and the ensuing investigation?”
He takes off his glasses and rubs them on his
shirt. “Let’s just say that a mutual acquaintance paid me
a visit.”

I lean back, realizing. “Dr. Folger.”

He puts his glasses back on. “You know, Evie, for
someone who prides herself on her precocity, you really
can be quite dense.” He jogs to his car, jerks the door
open. He says something to Booker and ducks in.

Seething, I watch him drive away.

He’s abhorrent. But he’s done me a favor. He’s given
me some clues, some pieces of the puzzle.

I know how people are getting into school after
hours.