Community of Magic Pens

by Community of Magic Pens (epub)

  SUPREME COURT OF PENSYLVANIA

  NEMO v. PENSYLVANIA

  Plaintiff argues that the Mandatory Disclosure Act violates the right to privacy. The state argues that compelling state interests, such as public health, may overcome such rights. We affirm that the Act meets this burden and that Plaintiff—and all Pensylvanians—must announce their inks before speaking.

  “Rachael, dozens of my pens are missing! Disappeared!”

  “What do you mean, Leah?”

  “Yesterday all my pens were aligned in rows, first the labeled ones and then the unlabeled ones. Today, virtually all of the unlabeled pens are gone!”

  “Like magic? Like they got up and left?”

  “Well, a thief wouldn’t steal the unlabeled ones. You wouldn’t know what you’re getting.”

  “Who speaks for the Establishment?”

  “Nick—silver and gray.”

  “Begin.”

  “Five years ago, Pensylvania drove away a valued group in the name of public health. But we have seen no change in rates of ink-related illness. Meanwhile, life here has become predictable: we all say what we are going to say before we say it, and then after we say it, we say what we have said. The Establishment has erred. We are ready to bring the thrill of anonymity back to Pensylvania.”

  “And who speaks for the Opposition?”

  “Dolores—just green.”

  “Proceed, Dolores.”

  “In my old age, I must say that I have seen a lot of change. When I was barely a wick, not all Pens had the vote. Now they do. The majority decided that progress should continue. We mandated ink disclosure and banned errant inking. I admit that I never thought I would one day be a progressive and a reactionary at the same time, but we must hold fast to our progress.”

  “Thank you, Dolores. All in favor of the Act to Repeal the Mandatory Disclosure Act and restore voluntary disclosure, click your Bics.

  [Loud clicking.]

  “All opposed, click your Bics.

  [Moderate clicking.]

  “I remind the audience to remain silent until the result is announced. Remember, no clapping, only clicking.

  “The Act passes.

  [Wild clicking.]

  “Next order of business, the Return to Homeland and Reparations for the Unlabeled Act.”

  Adam Kissel makes trouble. Influences: Petrarch, Plato. Dog: Frank (“Benjamin Franklin”). Studied with Wayne C. Booth. Taught writing at the University of Chicago. First Prize, Education Reporting, Education Writers Association. Developmental editor for historical fiction by Thomas Thibeault. Can write federal regulations. Helps philanthropists. Lives in D.C.

  Do Not Write to Wrong

  N.R. Lambert

  A metallic clap of thunder shuddered around Tubman Elementary School. The preternaturally long vibrations rattled pans in the cafeteria like cymbals, shimmied thick textbooks off the shelves in Room 305, and sent dust cascading down over Ms. Hutchinson’s 5th grade students, who were currently conducting a secret meeting in the forgotten chamber behind Room 502’s coat closet.

  Another rumble rippled around them.

  “Lonnie,” Ella Cruz grumbled.

  “Definitely Lonnie,” Derrick Richards replied, nervously drumming his fingers against the armrest of his wheelchair.

  Three days earlier, their classmate, Lonnie Blunt, had stolen the Pen of Realities from the secret room, and, with it, of course, the Ledger of Truths—neither would work without the other.

  Now, with just one day to go till 5th grade graduation, Ella, Derrick, and the rest of Ms. Hutchinson’s class struggled to devise a plan to regain custody of the items safely before they graduated . . . or Lonnie became unstoppable.

  The walls of the hidden room shook again.

  “He knows we’re here,” said Aminah Ali. “He probably knows we’re trying to stop him. He’s going to get even.”

  The dim overhead lights suddenly burst in a cascade of sparks, sending the room into darkness.

  “If he knows, why doesn’t he just stop us now?” someone whispered.

  Another kid added. “He can’t hurt us . . . right?”

  No one answered.

  For generations, the 5th graders at Tubman Elementary acted as the honored chosen custodians for the Pen of Realities and the Ledger of Truths. Chosen by whom, no one knew. Also, nobody knew why or how the Pen and Ledger came to be under the care of a rotating group of young students. Nevertheless, the 5th graders accepted their solemn duty to protect these items and, until recently, only used them with great thoughtfulness and care.

  The children changed, the teachers changed, even the Pen’s form changed—from a sterling silver fountain, to a classic blue ballpoint, to its current form, a bright green Shimmy Rollerball 3000.

  But two things did not change: 1) In any form, the Pen’s delicate inscription remained the same, Do Not Write to Wrong; and 2) the Pen’s amazing ability never wavered.

  The Pen wrote reality.

  Anything written with the Pen in the Ledger of Truths became . . . well, the truth. The Ledger also had a handy section in the back for notes, detailing every change of hands and every occasion of the Pen’s use for almost two centuries. So each new class had access to the successes and failures of the children before them.

  Until Lonnie claimed the Pen and Ledger as his own, the kids believed the Pen could do no harm. It did, after all, have limitations. It couldn’t create life (the class of 1879 tried that). It couldn’t end war (multiple classes attempted this, despite all the notes detailing the previous failed efforts).

  It couldn’t resurrect the dead.

  The Pen worked best when the Realities were small, personal, and somewhat localized.

  For example, the class of 1906 unanimously voted to write the Reality: Suzanne Sotto’s dad does not hurt Suzanne or her brothers or her mom. So it became true, and from that day forward, Suzanne and her siblings no longer wore bruises, scars, and scabs to school.

  A few years later, the class of 1931 wrote: There will always be enough food in the cafeteria for kids to take a little extra home if they’re hungry.

  The class of 1950 wrote: Our school will always be accessible to any person who wishes or needs to enter. Since then—and to the occasional bafflement of the district inspector—Tubman Elementary’s facilities were decades ahead of any local bureaucratic codes, incorporating the latest designs and technology to keep the school fully accessible to everyone, no matter their needs.

  Every student at Tubman Elementary owed a great debt to the class of 1976 for the cafeteria’s much-celebrated Sundae Mondays.

  The class of 1998 wrote the Reality: No one will bring a gun to our school.

  The class of 1999 added, for extra measure: No one will get shot in our school or on school grounds.

  The class of 2013 wrote: No one will get shot in any school ever again, anywhere.

  Unfortunately, that Reality didn’t work.

  But every class since tried again anyway.

  Lonnie Blunt strode down the hall, the Ledger tucked under his elbow and the Pen clutched in his fist. Why hadn’t he done this sooner? It was true, he didn’t need the Pen of Realities to get most of what he wanted. He had money for that. Lots of it. He never tired of reminding the other kids how his family lived in the biggest house in town, ate at the fanciest restaurants, and drove the most expensive cars. But the Pen gave him something new. It made him feel seen. Important. Feared. It made him a god. Even money couldn’t do that. Usually.

  Still, Lonnie kept his first few Realities fairly small and personal.

  Lonnie Blunt is the funniest kid at Tubman and tells the best jokes.

  All of Lonnie Blunt’s birthday parties are well attended and no one ever skips out early.

  Lonnie Blunt never feels alone.

  Lonnie quickly tired of the Pen’s small changes, so he started to go bigger with his Realities.

  Everyone in town thinks Lonnie Blunt is the coolest.

  Lonnie
Blunt is the most popular boy in town and always will be.

  As he wrote Reality after Reality, he worried a little that the Pen would wear out—no one had ever created so many new Realities in such a short time; surely there was a limit. But the Pen kept going and so did he.

  No one is allowed on the playground without Lonnie Blunt’s permission.

  Only Lonnie Blunt and his friends can take the bus, everyone else can walk.

  If anyone ever thinks something bad or mean about Lonnie Blunt, they will get giant boogers all over their face.

  Within an hour of that Reality, every single kid in the 5th grade had giant boogers all over their face. But even more satisfying, the rest of the school—the whole rest of the town—did not have boogers. The teachers, the principal, the parents, all the other kids at Tubman—they didn’t know. To them Lonnie was the most popular boy, the funniest, the coolest. They couldn’t remember the reality before Lonnie’s Realities . . . and he intended to keep it that way.

  The hidden room trembled again, now from beneath their feet.

  “We’re running out of time.” Aminah whispered. Only the 5th grade custodians of the Pen knew and remembered the different Realities, and only while they were the protectors. Once they graduated, the responsibilities of keeping the Pen and Ledger, along with any new Realities, would be forgotten until inherited by the next class . . . months later. Who knew what Lonnie Blunt would do with the Pen during that time? It was already proving dangerous in his hands.

  The lights flickered back on, but significantly dimmer, casting a flaking, yellow glow over the students. Derrick pivoted, maneuvering his chair closer to the hidden room’s door. He peered through a peephole disguised as a brass hook on the other side.

  “The classroom seems empty,” he whispered to the group. “But recess is almost over; he’ll be back soon.”

  “Unless Lonnie altered that too,” Simon Roberts hissed. “He could make recess last forever. Or make himself the sole keeper of the Pen for all time. Or make 5th grade never end. Or—”

  “Ella, your nose!” Aminah gasped. Ella reached up and touched her nose, which had suddenly grown pointed, furry, and whiskered like a rat’s. She sighed.

  “What about me?” Jina Yoon touched all over her face frantically. “I’m the one who tried to slip the Pen out of his backpack yesterday.”

  “So far so good, Jina.” Aminah patted her elbow. “I mean, besides the boogers.”

  Billy Schroder grimaced. “Yeah, but I saw him write a Reality that anyone who took the Pen from him would suffer a lot worse than boogers or a rat’s nose.” Billy dragged his finger across his throat.

  “That’s why we’re not going to take it from him,” Ella said, twitching her whiskers. “But we need to get into position now. I don’t know if we’ll get another chance.”

  The kids quietly pushed open the secret door and slipped back into the classroom one by one.

  Derrick looked over his shoulder at Ella as he rolled through the door. “You know, Lonnie thinks he’s unstoppable.”

  “Well, he’s wrong.” Ella said flipping off the dim lights and following him out the door, keeping the, I hope, to herself.

  The classroom door crashed open and Lonnie Blunt stormed in. He plopped down at Ms. Hutchinson’s desk, flipped opened the Ledger of Truths, and with a smug grin, scribbled in a few new Realities.

  With a dull metallic thrum, an enormous, gold monstrosity replaced the small, wood desk before him.

  “That’s more like it.” He smirked, looking over his classmates’ faces. “Ella, something’s different . . . new haircut?”

  Ella slunk down in her seat, whiskers sagging.

  Simon cleared his throat, “Um. You can’t sit there, Lonnie, that’s Ms. H’s desk.”

  Lonnie lifted a brow, bent to the Ledger and wrote. Suddenly, the words Lonnie’s Desk appeared across the front of the desk, written in bright jewels of every color, shape, and size.

  “Okay Lonnie, that’s enough.” As planned, Derrick rolled toward Lonnie, “How about you hand over the—” Donnie scribbled and Derrick disappeared. No, not disappeared . . . shrunk, along with his chair, to the size of a bee.

  “Hey!” Derrick shouted, but only the kids seated in the very front of the room could hear him. He rolled forward, but Lonnie just sneered down at him.

  “Buzz off, Derrick. You know what happens to bugs.”

  The rest of the class exchanged uneasy glances. It was now or never. This had to end before Derrick or anyone else got hurt . . . or worse.

  “You should let someone else have a turn now,” Billy made his lines sound totally unrehearsed. Ella suppressed a grin.

  “Um, how about no!” Lonnie gripped the Pen tighter, “Why would I ever do that?”

  “I told you he was scared,” Jina stage whispered, loud enough for everyone in the class to hear.

  “I’m not scared of anything!” Lonnie blurted, then added, “Scared of what?”

  Aminah grinned. “Jina said you’re afraid someone might write better Realities than you . . . someone like Ella.”

  Jina nervously checked her nose as Aminah spoke.

  “Ella?” Lonnie snorted. “You have to be kidding!” He looked around at his classmates, expecting approval, but finding only practiced, stony silence. His cheeks grew blotchy and red. “No one can write better Realities than me. Everyone says I’m the best at this. Everyone.”

  Billy scoffed, “Okay then, prove it.”

  It felt like the entire class held its breath. Would he take the bait?

  “Pft! Okay, yeah. Let’s see if Ella can write even one Reality that beats any of mine.” His smile faded, “But I’m the only judge and then I get the Pen back right away.”

  Aminah grinned. “Deal. Now, make it a Reality.”

  Lonnie paused for a long moment then scrawled as he read aloud:

  Lonnie Blunt is the one and only judge of all Realities.

  Lonnie Blunt isn’t scared of anything, especially girls like Ella Cruz.

  Lonnie Blunt’s Realities are always the best.

  Someone stifled a groan. Lonnie threw a quick glare around the room, but resumed writing.

  Ella Cruz can have the Pen to write exactly one Reality and then she has to give it back to Lonnie Blunt immediately.

  Lonnie slapped the Ledger shut and smirked at Ella. “Over to you, rat face.”

  Ella walked up to the massive, gaudy desk and picked up the Ledger. When she reached for the Pen, Lonnie snapped his hand back and her heart dropped into her stomach.

  “Ha! Too slow, pellet breath.” Lonnie held the Pen away, just out of Ella’s reach. She struggled to keep her expression neutral. Finally, tiring of the game, he rolled his eyes and, sighing theatrically, dropped the Pen in her open hand. “Fine, here.”

  Ella’s fingers curled tight around the Pen as she turned to her desk, where, keeping her back to Lonnie, she opened the Ledger and bent over it.

  She knew exactly what she was supposed to write. What they’d all so carefully discussed in the hidden room. But for one brief and dark moment she thought about writing a different Reality, one that would take care of Lonnie for good, one like: Lonnie Blunt never existed.

  But as quickly as the thought popped into her head, she rejected it, her face hot with shame. Ella couldn’t bring herself to write him out of existence, no matter how angry she was with him. It was too awful, too dark, even for a boy like Lonnie.

  Instead, she stuck to the plan. She lifted the Pen and wrote:

  Lonnie Blunt never stole the Pen of Realities . . .

  Something shifted in the room. The 5th graders looked at each other, relieved to find their faces free of the giant boogers, but still creased with worry.

  Lonnie snorted, “That’s the best you could do? Getting rid of the boogers?” He cackled, even though no one else laughed with him. “Pretty pathetic, Ella. I’m just going to rewrite that. Now give it all back, your turn is up.”

  “I’m not done yet
.” Ella said, her back still to Lonnie.

  “You get to write exactly one Reality. I wrote it out. ‘Exactly one.’ You can’t change that.” He rose to his feet, eyes locked on Ella’s back. She whirled around and Lonnie’s smug expression fell away when he saw her rat nose was gone. When Derrick rolled up behind him, back in human scale, Lonnie’s eyes darkened in anger.

  Ella smirked. “Well, I didn’t finish writing my exactly one Reality and it looks like I already changed all of yours.” She lifted the Ledger so Lonnie could see. All of his Realities were gone. Erased. His face turned from red to purple.

  “It’s not fair!” Lonnie shouted. “Now I have to start all over again—give it back!”

  Lonnie charged forward, dodging Derrick’s strong grasp. He dove for the Pen, but Ella continued her Reality, scribbling quickly:

  and never will

  As if colliding with an invisible wall, Lonnie jolted back and crashed into the desks behind him. Some of the kids cheered. He glared, heaving and sputtering like the pasty mac ‘n’ cheese the cafeteria served on Wednesdays.

  “Fine then.” Lonnie sounded anything but fine as he righted himself and made a show of brushing off his pants. “But if I can’t have the Pen . . . neither can you.”

  He lunged again, this time reaching for Ella’s throat. Someone screamed, Ella stumbled back, but this time Derrick caught Lonnie by the wrist, yanking him away before he could hurt Ella. Billy and Aminah rushed forward to grab Lonnie’s arms.

  With a shuddering breath, Ella took a seat at an empty desk further away from Lonnie, the Ledger open before her.

  Lonnie struggled and muttered threats in Ella’s direction as her hand tipped down, about to make a period at the end of her Reality, but the unmistakable sound of spit drew her attention back up again.

  A gob of mucus dripped down Lonnie’s shocked face. She couldn’t tell which of her classmates had done it, but as she surveyed the room, their nervous expressions started shifting to something meaner.