JOY, CALIFORNIA | THE NEW GIRL
Because of her challenge, Joy decided to try conversing with some of the most aggressive girls at Citygrove. Joy was walking with Cleo when she saw the girls a ways off. “I wanna talk to them,” Joy said.
“Who, them?” Cleo asked, surprised.
“Yes.”
“I can’t talk to them with you!” Cleo said, laughing, as if it would be preposterous for her to approach black girls known for their attitude.
“That’s why I’m gonna go to them with Latrice.”
Joy and Cleo were still laughing as they passed by the girls. The girls stared at them.
The biggest one frowned. “You got a problem?” she said to Joy.
Uh-oh. “Do you have a problem?” Joy retorted.
The girl stepped forward. One of her friends was watching, while the other one danced, earbuds in her ears. Cleo and Joy stood their ground. “Yeah, I got a problem. I got a fucking problem with bitches looking at me.”
“Oh really now,” Joy said.
“Yeah, fucking bitch. If you got a problem with me, come and handle,” the girl said.
The girl who had been dancing took out her earbuds. “Who?” she asked.
“That one, the one in the pink,” answered the leader.
“Who is she?” asked the dancer. “She looks cool.”
“No,” said the other girl. “Fucking ugly bitch.”
Intimidated, Joy and Cleo walked away quickly. Perhaps, Joy thought, she should approach her challenge less ambitiously.
Meanwhile, Latrice, the black student Joy spoke to most frequently, continued to ask Joy to tutor her in biology. “Aw, Joy, please. You’re so smart,” she wheedled. Thanks to the biology teacher, students were well aware that Joy was the highest-scoring student in the class. She usually scored 100 percent on tests.
Latrice could be flaky, and Joy wasn’t sure if she wanted to invest the time if Latrice would be too distracted to digest Joy’s lessons. But one night before a big test, Latrice called again. “Help me!” she pleaded. “I can pay you! Please, I need to get my grades up.”
Joy sighed. She knew that Latrice could do better if she tried. “It’s okay, you don’t have to pay me. I’ll help you.” That night, at Joy’s apartment, Joy taught her the entire ecosystems chapter in four hours.
When the teacher handed back the tests, Latrice gasped. “Oh my gosh, a B! This is great!” she exclaimed. “Joy, Joy! Look! You’re so smart! Thank you! I feel smart!”
“You should always feel smart,” Joy said. “You’re an intelligent person. You just need to get guys off your mind.”
“Aw, no, I can’t do that. They’re so luscious!”
“Well, I’m here if you need me,” Joy said. Latrice hugged her.
Over the next weeks, Joy got to know Latrice, tutoring her occasionally, doing homework with her in the library, hanging out with her in classes and during breaks throughout the day. Eventually Latrice joined Joy, Anisha, and Cleo for their lunches in the biology room. Latrice confided that it had taken her a while to work up the nerve to ask Joy to tutor her. She said she’d wanted to be friends with Joy from the time they met in Joy’s first English class, but, while now Joy was easy to talk to, back then she thought Joy was distant. Joy was glad that Latrice was honest.
Joy was also glad to have a black friend at Citygrove. Sometimes D’Arnell, a congenial sophomore, also made small talk with her, but most of the other black students still scowled at her. Joy liked to think she was the type of individual who could “look past skin color and see the person, but sometimes,” she said, “you can’t help but feel more comfy with people who are like you.”
A few weeks later, Joy was walking to Ross to shop for clothes when she ran into Ariana, the foster girl from PE. “Hey! How are you doing? Where do you live?” Joy asked.
“I’m okay,” Ariana said. “I live like two hours away.”
“So you’re going to the bus stop?”
“No, I don’t have money to take the bus.”
“Oh.” Joy wanted to give her cash, but she didn’t have any and her mother was already at the store. “You’re gonna walk all the way?”
“Most of the way. My brother has a bike. Maybe if he catches up with me I’ll ride on the back.”
As they walked together, Joy kept up the conversation. “So . . . what are you going to do with your life?”
“Well, I’m gonna move in with my mom,” Ariana answered. “So I’m gonna leave. When I’m sixteen, I’m gonna quit school and work at Kmart with my mom.”
“You’re going to what?!” Joy was flabbergasted.
“Work at Kmart.”
“I’m not saying that’s a bad job, but seriously, your education is the most important thing right now! You should truly focus on that. You have the potential to be anything you want. You just need to work hard,” Joy said.
Ariana looked surprised. “Wow . . . well I don’t know, I guess.”
“You bet I know! I have so much faith in you! You can become something huge. Just finish school and focus on your life. I’m sure you don’t want to work at Kmart for the rest of your life.”
“Yeah . . .”
“Please, listen to me. I know some of your friends think I’m a know-it-all bitch, but I’m not. I care. At least take some of my words with you. You have the ability to be anything you want. All you need is hard work and perseverance.”
“Thanks, I’ll think about it.”
“You better think about it,” Joy said. “I want you to make something of yourself and become a somebody. You are somebody.”
BLUE, HAWAII | THE GAMER
About once a week, when Blue woke up early or couldn’t sleep, he caught the bus to the beach. It was nicest around 4 A.M., when the darkened sky was so clear that he could see shooting stars. On shore, strange algae glowed green just before dawn. In this quiet netherworld, Blue would swim laps, gaze at the horizon, and daydream about a fictional person who would listen to him, would know him, would keep him company just to be with him. The relationship didn’t have to be romantic. All he wanted was a connection.
Blue was supposed to play in the upcoming Modern Warfare 2 state championships with Jackson, Ty, and Stewart. But at the most recent tournament, Jackson had defied every order Blue gave as captain and the team lost because of it.
The MW2 finals were the same day as the Simulated Congressional Hearings (SCH) state championship, in which Blue’s AP Gov class would compete. Although he hadn’t thought much about SCH before, Blue made the decision to skip the gaming tournament for the hearings. By leaving the MW2 team, Blue would lose his sponsor and eliminate his chances to compete in Sweden over the summer, which he had been looking forward to for months. He explained, “I wasn’t going anywhere with what I was doing. Not that I wasn’t going anywhere with gaming per se, but the people who I surrounded myself with, I mean. I wasn’t happy with my ‘place.’ ”
When he told Jackson, Jackson was furious. After yelling at Blue in the doorway of Blue’s house, he said, “Are you jealous of me?”
Blue was confused. “What would I be jealous about?”
“I have friends, girls who like me. Are you mad at me? Orrr is it that . . . are you gay for me?”
“What?!”
“Yeah. I think you’re gay for me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“No, I think that’s exactly it. You’re mad because I don’t like you the same way. Am I right?” Jackson laughed cruelly. When Blue shot him a look, he continued. “Fine, then tell me why, if I’m wrong. I’m not leaving until you tell me. Hmm?” He tapped his foot.
Blue worked up his courage. “You’re a shitty friend and I deserve better than you,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be around someone who just brings me down anymore. I actually have goals in life.”
Jackson cackled at him. “You can barely pass high school.” He was still laughing when Blue shut the door.
Because of his la
ck of Algebra 2, Blue’s only chance to get into the University of Hawaii was the Undergraduate Assistance Program. UAP’s purpose was to assist applicants who were “academically underprepared [or] economically disadvantaged” by admitting them to the university and shepherding them through freshman year and scholarship arrangements. UAP applicants had to write essays and undergo interviews, much like a college admissions process.
“Have a seat,” Blue’s interviewer said, gesturing to a chair in front of her desk. “Your reading and writing test scores were off the charts. Way beyond college levels. What else makes you different from other students?”
“Like, anything?”
“Yes, anything. Doesn’t matter what it is.”
Blue was quiet. How could he encapsulate in a pithy admissions-interview line all of his unique ideas and interests?
After a silence, she said, “It can be anything.”
“I know, but that’s such a hard question. I don’t want to make myself sound . . . conceited, you know?” He laughed self-consciously.
“I know,” she said, “but you still have twenty minutes left. Take your time.”
Hoping to diffuse the awkwardness of his silence, Blue started to answer. “I guess I tend to look at things a lot differently than other people. I can always look at both sides . . . the big picture, and draw my own conclusions. I’m very . . .”—he stumbled—“global.”
“That’s great!” she prompted. “Anything else?”
“This is still such a hard question.”
“No, that was great. We can move on if you want.”
“Okay,” Blue said, though he didn’t want to move on. There was so much more that he wanted to tell her about himself.
“How have your last two years in school been?” She looked at his report card. “You have a lot of absences. And you’re not doing so well in some classes.” From where he sat, Blue could see the Fs in English and French. “But then in classes like autos and AP Gov, you’re great. Why’s that?”
“Well, for a while my priorities were a little off. But I’ve gotten a lot better. I’ve arranged conferences with my counselors and teachers and we’ve been working on it.”
Several questions later, she asked, “So how is life at home, Mark? Do you live with any siblings?”
“No, it’s just me and my mom. My brother lives in France now.”
“Do you get along with your mom?” she asked.
Blue’s voice weakened. “Well . . . not really.”
“Really,” she said, looking concerned. “What’s that like?”
“Well, my mom and me have conflicting opinions on what I should do with my life. Our goals don’t match up. She doesn’t think I can go to college, so she wants me in the military.”
“I see.”
“But I usually don’t listen to her. It’s not that I don’t like the military, don’t get me wrong, I just feel that I won’t . . .” He paused. “I don’t think I’ll reach any sort of potential. I won’t be able to make something that lasts beyond my own lifetime. And if that doesn’t happen, I’ll never be happy with myself.”
“That’s admirable,” she said. “So on a scale of one to ten, how badly do you want this?”
“Ten,” Blue answered instantaneously.
She wrote something down. “What would you do if this doesn’t work out?”
“Probably go to [the local community college] and transfer here or . . .”
“Let’s change gears for a second,” she said. “How would you be a positive influence on other UAP students? If you aren’t going to classes in high school, how can I trust you’ll go to classes in college? Because I have that problem with my group right now.”
“I guess you could say I’ve grown up a bit. Last year, I had over thirty-eight unexcused absences in one quarter, but somehow I passed,” he said. “I was engrossed in doing things that really mattered to me, namely gaming. But this quarter, I’ve been going to my classes, even if they aren’t necessarily interesting. I’ve got perfect attendance so far.”
She glanced down at her papers. “Right, I see. But how could you get the kids I have now to go to class?”
“Well,” Blue said, “I think they haven’t found what they really want to do yet.”
“Exactly! But they still have to go to these boring classes. Not all of your classes are going to be interesting, so how do I know you’ll actually go?”
“The only thing I can say is that I’ve grown up.”
“Okay. By the way, what’s the hardest class you’ve ever taken?”
Blue didn’t hesitate. “AP U.S.”
“And the easiest?”
“AP Gov.” That class inspired him by challenging him.
She looked surprised. “Interesting.” She chewed her pen. “This is what I’m going to do. I’m going to pass you on to the final interview with the committee. Usually I say, ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ But you’re obviously very different from others, so I’ve passed you on to the final step. Are you excited?”
“I guess so!” Actually he was somewhat disappointed that the questions hadn’t been more probing.
She leaned back. The air lightened. “What do you want to major in?” she asked.
“Futurology.”
She nodded. “Well, bring this to the front desk and they’ll give you the rest of the forms.”
“Okay, thank you,” Blue said. The woman behind the front desk looked at the papers Blue handed her. “Congratulations!” she said. Other applicants fidgeted as they waited their turn.
Blue left the building, still underwhelmed. The impact of the interview didn’t hit him until his mother came to pick him up. As he got into the car, he realized that UAP was his ticket to a new, inspiring life—and he was only one interview away from getting in.
DANIELLE, ILLINOIS | THE LONER
Danielle sat in the librarians’ office for the first meeting of the book-selection subgroup of Stone Mill’s Summer Reading Committee. The staff and three students were tasked with compiling the list of books that students would choose from to read over the summer and discuss at school in the fall. At first Danielle was hesitant to speak up, but as the deliberations went on, she grew increasingly disturbed.
Danielle had joined the committee determined to get some good books onto the list so that her school didn’t end up with the inanities that comprised the previous summer’s list. She thought it was pathetic how few Stone Mill students liked reading for pleasure.
“We have to pick books that students would be interested in,” one teacher pushed.
“All of my students keep talking about Twilight,” said another teacher.
Danielle watched incredulously as the librarians added Twilight and another YA book to the list. Danielle didn’t understand why every summer book had to be “targeted to idiots.” Shows a lot about how Stone Mill views its students, she thought. These books are as stupid and as shallow as a puddle. She tried to counter some of the books the teachers recommended with classier fare, but the librarian in charge said, “No, we need something more interesting and less literary.” Most of the books Danielle suggested drew reactions such as, “That’s an adult book.”
When an English teacher suggested 1984, Danielle was relieved. Finally a decent literary book for the list. “Or Animal Farm!” she suggested.
“I don’t think 1984 is a good idea because it’s too much of a school book,” said the teacher who headed the committee. Danielle bristled. Stone Mill didn’t even teach Orwell.
When the discussion moved on to books that would appeal to Hispanic students, Danielle piped up again. “What about Blindness? It’s by José Saramago,” she said. Despite a teacher’s protest that the books for Hispanic students had to be more relatable to Hispanics, a librarian tentatively added Blindness to the list.
Another teacher suggested a book that she said “glorifies gangs.” Danielle rolled her eyes as the librarians brought up similar titles. The idea that Hispanics could relate only t
o books about gang life was both ridiculously stereotypical and insulting. Because you’re Hispanic, you’re Mexican, Danielle thought. Because you’re Mexican, you’re in a gang and have a really low IQ and reading level.
“What about Gabriel García Márquez?” Danielle asked a librarian. Danielle loved One Hundred Years of Solitude.
The librarian looked at her condescendingly. She thinks all of my suggestions suck, Danielle thought. “We’re trying to get books for lower-level students, so we need books that are less literary,” she said.
Danielle was speechless. What’s the point of having a summer reading program if the students are just going to read crap? she thought. She didn’t make any other suggestions for the rest of the meeting; instead, she kept fighting for Blindness.
After the meeting, Danielle lent a teacher her copy of Blindness to prove how good it was. She was determined to get at least one of her book suggestions onto the list.
The day after the meeting, a librarian distributed the minutes to the committee members. She added an editorial: “Remember, the books have to appeal to lower-level readers.” Danielle knew the reminder was directed at her. No one else had repeatedly suggested classic literature.
A week later, the teacher returned Blindness. “It was too difficult for me to get through,” she said. “The writing was so confusing!”
AFTER A SHORT VISIT to her father’s house in Florida, where she learned to ride a RipStik (a skateboard shaped like a snowboard), Danielle was back at home watching television when the phone rang. Danielle checked the caller ID. Stone Mill High School again. Someone from Stone Mill had been calling repeatedly, but Danielle had ignored the calls, presuming they were about registration or something else that she shouldn’t have to think about on a nonschool day. This time, Danielle picked up, if only to stop the calls.
The Geeks Shall Inherit the Earth: Popularity, Quirk Theory, and Why Outsiders Thrive After High School Page 26
