Dear Rachel Maddow

by Adrienne Kisner

  To:

  Rachel@msnbc.com

  From:

  Brynnieh0401@gmail.com

  Date:

  November 13

  Subject:

  Super Tuesday

  Dear Rachel Maddow,

  I woke up today a new woman. Newish. A little newer. Well, okay. Maybe I was the same old woman, but I felt a fire surging around inside my body like some sort of alien from one of those movies Nick used to make me watch.

  Erin picked me up and gave me a ride to school. “You okay there?” she said. “You’re breathing funny. Like you are going to have an asthma attack. You got asthma?”

  “No. I have a mission.”

  “You still going to show up for your shift?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, go get ’em, kid.” Erin shifted into park for two seconds while I threw myself out of the car.

  I went straight to the principal’s office. I elbowed my way through the locker doors and sea of hoodies and coats. I thrust myself into the narrow room that was too quiet compared to outside. Esther, the secretary, looked up at me. We knew each other from antics past, like when I had been kicked out of English class for pointing out the teacher was a fascist.

  Four or five times.

  I maintain the truth of that claim.

  “Well, hello, Ms. Harper. It’s been a while. You don’t have an appointment?”

  I sniffed a little. “No. But could I please see Principal Maynard?”

  A head popped out of his office then. “Well, hello, Ms. Harper,” said Maynard himself. “You are here to see me … voluntarily?”

  I sniffed again. “Um. Yes, sir?”

  “Well, come on in.” He gestured grandly to his office, like this was a big favor.

  I kind of wanted to hate him, but he’d never been too much of an asshat, given the things Nick us Harpers had done at Westing High over the years.

  “I was reviewing budgets for a football boosters meeting later. I hate the budget. I was afraid I would have to stare at spreadsheets all morning.” He looked at me. “So.”

  I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Okay. I was wondering…”

  Oh man. I was in way over my head. Oh man, oh man. I should get out now. What was I even doing? I didn’t care about shit. No, wait. Get it together, Brynn. I thought of you, Rachel. I prayed that somewhere, deep down inside, there was an inner activist waiting to be unleashed.

  “Okay,” I started again. “This superintendent thing. You know how there can be a student on the committee thingy who selects him? Or her.”

  “Yes?” Mr. Maynard raised his eyebrows. “There was quite a bit of lobbying to change the law on that. Failed in the state senate a few times. Politics.” He sighed and shook his head.

  “But it’s law now.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the school gets to pick the student who sits on the committee?”

  Again he raised his eyebrows. “Well, that is up for some debate.” He chuckled. “The law didn’t specify that per se. It’s kind of a loose policy at the moment. We are working on defining that. Some of your fellow students are trying to shape that policy, as you may know.”

  “Yes. I do,” I said, trying to keep the venom out of my voice.

  “The vice principal and I were going to pick a student. We did pick one, actually. But she turned us down. Some members of Student Government were thus adamant that they get to pick their representative.”

  “But their petition is to get an Honors student to be the representative.”

  “Well, yes. Their logic for that was compelling.”

  “But that logic is flawed.” Now I was going all Mr. Grimm on him. “Why should these twenty or thirty people have some sort of advantage over hundreds? Shouldn’t anyone be allowed to be a candidate? Isn’t that American?”

  You know, I don’t know if it’s American. Can anyone run for public office? What if you did a turn in juvie? But I swear, Rachel, all the stuff you talk about makes it seem like democracy means everyone has a voice. Or some shit like that.

  “Well.” I could see Mr. Maynard regarding me. “I see where you are coming from. No one made that argument.”

  “I am. I am making that argument. If Lacey won’t do it, which she totally should because she is awesome and I respect you for seeing that, Mr. Maynard, then anyone who cares enough should be given a chance.” I banged my fist on his desk. A marble from a little pyramid puzzle rolled away. Mr. Maynard caught it with one fluid motion. Dude was some sort of fucking ninja principal.

  “I see,” was all he said.

  I think both of us were surprised that I was making something out of this.

  “Do you want a chance?” he asked. “To be on the superintendent selection committee?”

  “No,” I admitted. “No. But I’m in the blue room, you know. Applied. And not far from the red-room freshman and yellow-room sophomores and the green-room seniors…” I sighed. “Nobody cares about us down there.”

  Mr. Maynard opened his mouth. I raised my hands.

  “I mean, none of the kids here. Especially Honors and Student Government and those types.” I knew this intimately, but I couldn’t tell him that. “And maybe whoever is picked won’t, either. But there are as many of us down there with opinions as there are Honors kids. And there’s a whole lot more shop kids, or academic athletes, or whatever. And there are smart people who consider themselves parts of lots of groups, or no group at all!”

  Holy balls. I hoped he went for this because, honest to Hayes, I had used pretty much every thought my brain had to offer at this point. Fortunately he started nodding.

  “Okay, Brynn,” he said. “I hear you. But I’ll tell you—you are in fact the only other student who came in here about this. No one else has been banging down the door to represent the study body in picking a superintendent. Tell you what. Craft me a statement, telling me why you think there should be a runoff for the superintendent selection committee seat.”

  Why do adults do this? You show a shred of interest in something, and they have to slaughter the good thing by assigning more work? He’s the damn principal; can’t he just change the rules? But I’d been all passionate and shit about democracy five minutes ago.

  “Make sure you clearly state what you want to see happen,” Maynard said, pointing at me. He smiled again. “Good luck.”

  I grunted something in reply. I was annoyed by how pleased he looked. Or maybe just a little confused. Can’t say I’d ever gotten that kind of reaction from his office before. It either meant that I was doing the right thing, or setting myself up for disaster.

  Watch this space.

  Sincerely,

  Brynn

  Folder:

  Drafts

  To:

  Rachel@msnbc.com

  From:

  Brynnieh0401@gmail.com

  Date:

  November 14

  Subject:

  And I’ll write your name

  Dear Rachel Maddow,

  Erin and Leigh play the “bad news, good news” game. If you have bad news and good news, you always give the bad news first. Like, Leigh will say, “Hey, the bad news is my car got towed, but I gave the guy at the impound lot a blow job—yes, I was safe—so the good news is that I didn’t have to pay the hundred-fifty bucks!” That’s a bad example, but you get what I’m saying.

  The bad news is that I got my grades for the first quarter. Mr. Grimm gave me a B, the first B I’ve gotten in years, mostly because he knows I write to you all the time. Even if my essays and tests still kind of suck, I am getting extra credit. And he doesn’t even read this shit! Ha! He also teaches civics and history, blue room being what it is and all. And I got two Cs and another B. But I got a D in math. I can’t afford Ds. I won’t have the GPA to get back on the paper (or maybe one day graduate?) with Ds. Ms. Yee is upset with me. I know she is. Teachers really hate it when they think you can do it and then you don’t.

  There is a person, you might be th
inking, who could peer tutor me in, say, math and science.

  (We’ll just stick a pin in that thought for now.)

  On the other hand, the good news is the whole statement for the superintendent selection committee. The blue room practically exploded when I announced what happened with Mr. Maynard yesterday.

  “You did something. You actually did something,” said Lacey. “Go, Brynn.”

  “Yeah, who are you?” said Bianca. She giggled. I’m pretty sure she thought I was joking.

  “I need to craft a statement!” I declared. “Lacey, craft me a statement.”

  “Bite me,” she said.

  “Riley? Greg?” I said, turning to them, hoping to affect something approaching charm.

  “You are going to have to do this, Brynn. It was your idea.” Bianca shook her head at me. “But we will help?” she said, glancing around the room.

  Mr. Grimm looked positively ecstatic.

  “This is civics!” he declared, a massive grin on his face.

  All of this positive attention in school was making me a little nauseous. With everyone’s input (everyone being mostly Mr. Grimm and Lacey), my statement was simple. It read, “We the students of Westing High School would like to make it the school policy to run a whole school election each year necessary to determine the student representative on the superintendent selection committee.”

  “Elegant,” said Mr. Grimm. He even offered to print it out and turn it in to Mr. Maynard’s office himself.

  That was pretty much the highest praise possible from him.

  Sincerely,

  Brynn

  Folder:

  Drafts

  To:

  Rachel@msnbc.com

  From:

  Brynnieh0401@gmail.com

  Date:

  November 15

  Subject:

  So here’s a thing

  Dear Rachel Maddow,

  The last forty-eight hours or so have been amazing. I worried that maybe Mr. Maynard was going to ignore me, but he didn’t. He made photocopies. And he took them to his meeting. And it went over really well. He told me this afternoon, and I smiled for the rest of the day.

  But today my buzz was slashed into tiny pieces. I was on my way to blue room when Sarah and Adam met me by the stairs.

  “Yes?” I asked. My heart pounded. There was no way this was good.

  “You dirty, underhanded little…” he started.

  “Whoa, Adam. Not cool,” Sarah said. She glared at him. “What he means to say, Brynn”—Sarah glared at Adam again—“is that we heard about your underhanded trick. That wasn’t cool, either.”

  “What underhanded trick?” I asked.

  “You went behind our backs because you were pissed Lacey decided not to do the superintendent thing. Her choice, by the way. So you went to the principal and then you somehow talked Mr. Maynard into thinking we need a runoff for the superintendent selection committee seat.”

  “Whoa. I didn’t go behind your backs. I told you to your face that the whole ‘only who Honors people want to pick’ shit was wrong. So I talked to the principal, like anybody can. And he told me to convince him. So I did.”

  Amusement or surprise or maybe even pride passed over Sarah’s face for a split second. I knew every twitch of her face so well I could see it, even if Adam didn’t.

  “You mean to tell me you went and wrote something in like ten seconds and convinced Maynard and the rest of the selection committee. Just like that?” Adam spat. “Like they’d listen to you.”

  “Funny thing, Adam. They did indeed. This whole thing is legit,” I said. I tried to get around him, but he stopped me. It was no wonder the guy was a freaking all-state wrestler, because there was no outmaneuvering him.

  “Fine,” Sarah said, her lips back into their typical thin line. “Fine, then. A whole-school runoff it is. Whoever gets the most votes will be the voice of the people, fair and square.”

  Adam narrowed his eyes for a second, like he was thinking. A smile spread across his face. “Yes.” He grinned. “The popular vote is the will of the people.”

  Heat crept into my cheeks. An icky feeling followed it. Of course they had the fucking advantage. God I was stupid. Who would go up against them?

  “Thank you, Brynn,” said Adam. “I guess this is for the best. You would know and all.” Sarah looked at him warily, like even she was afraid of what he was thinking. He turned and walked down the hall. Sarah’s gaze lingered on me for a second, her eyes filled again with a look I had longed to see for months. She leaned over a little as if to whisper something to me, but then she must have changed her mind. She leaned back, considered me for a second longer, and turned and followed Adam.

  I got the distinct feeling things weren’t going to be amazing again for quite some time.

  Sincerely,

  Brynn

  Folder:

  Sent

  To:

  mmaynard@westing.pa.edu

  From:

  JSG@GraffHunterWexley.net

  Date:

  November 15

  Subject:

  Follow-up

  Dear Principal Maynard,

  Thank you for the productive conversation. I now understand the reasoning behind how the superintendent selection committee seat will be determined for students. I am confident that the outcome will be one we will all find acceptable. I would hope that all relevant parties would be allowed plenty of time to state their case to the “voters.”

  You will also be hearing from several contacts of mine concerning donations addressing some of the school’s technological deficits. I am happy to do my part for my alma mater.

  Sincerely,

  Jonathan S. Graff, Esquire

  Folder:

  Drafts

  To:

  Rachel@msnbc.com

  From:

  Brynnieh0401@gmail.com

  Date:

  November 16

  Subject:

  Days off

  Dear Rachel Maddow,

  It’s downright distressing when you are not on your show. It’s a little less distressing now. Now I might be at work or I can bug Erin or whatever. But still. I depend on you. Thanksgiving is coming, and I know you’ll be off fishing or relaxing for days then. Days, Rachel. I guess I’ll just listen to Drift to tide me over.

  Today was far from relaxing. Mr. Maynard actually came down to the blue room to find me.

  “Ahem.” We heard someone clear his throat from the blue threshold. “Hello, students,” said Mr. Maynard awkwardly. “Brynn, may I have a word with you?”

  I looked over to Ms. Yee. It’s not like I should really be leaving the rocks and minerals lecture. On the other hand, the principal was standing right there. She shrugged her consent. I glanced at Lacey, who I think threw a subtle thumbs-up at me. I followed Mr. Maynard into the hall.

  “Brynn, I wanted to let you know how impressed we all were with your dedication. Your argument was thoughtful, concise, and so quickly executed. You have a way with words.”

  If by “a way with words,” he meant “that statement was nice, but you still aren’t allowed back on the paper,” then sure.

  He cleared his throat. “I wanted to let you know that we wanted to hold elections before winter break, since the spring gets into Student Government elections and all. So the runoff vote for the superintendent seat will be held the day before we leave for winter break.”

  “Sure, Mr. Maynard, okay.”

  “You and Mr. Graff can begin to organize accordingly.”

  “Wait, what?” I said. “Me and Mr. Graff?” I was annoyed Adam and I were in the same sentence. “I told you I wasn’t going to try for the spot. I just thought … you know … others might like the chance.”

  Mr. Maynard’s smile faltered. “I see.” He rubbed his chin. “Well, I guess we’ll see if any other of your fellow students step up by Wednesday.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  I went back to the blue room, and I tri
ed to pay attention. At the end of the day, we were called to a school assembly. The pep band played. The cheerleaders cheered. Ms. Suarez, the vice principal, gave a speech about civic engagement and what a superintendent does. She encouraged us that if anyone wanted to help pick one they could participate in the runoff to win the committee seat. There was a lot of cheering. I put my face in my hands in the back row. At least my name was not mentioned.

  Afterward, feeling desperate, I physically threw myself in front of Lacey. “Lacey, oh my God,” I said.

  “What?” She looked at me like I had three heads.

  “You have to run. You have to. Bianca. Riley. Lance. Greg, tell her she has to run.”

  “Brynn, she’d be running for a thing she could have had with no effort at all,” Lance said.

  I glared at him. “Lacey, you must know some high-achieving people from this school. They can do it.”

  “I”—pause—“do.” Pause, pause. “They are afraid of the guy who wants the seat.” Click, click. “But I will help you”—buttons—“when you realize you are the only other one.”

  “Only other one what?” I said.

  Lacey rammed into me, and I moved. The look on her face clearly stated that she was over this conversation.

  “Only one what?” I asked out loud to no one in particular.

  “Don’t you pay attention, Brynn?” Bianca said. “Only one who wants to help select the next superintendent!”

  “No way.” I shook my head vigorously at her. “You know those lean and hungry Student Government types. They live for this. Making the world a better place and shit. There will be five people signed up to try for the spot on that selection committee in a day. I’m not worried.”