Because that is the one sure way guys like Adam get to keep power.
Sincerely,
Brynn
Folder:
Drafts
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
December 21
Subject:
Further Election Coverage
Dear Rachel Maddow,
Adam won. Turnout was incredibly low. I got 30 percent of the vote.
“That’s more than you thought you’d get,” said Lacey after it was announced.
“Yeah,” I said.
“You thought you’d get five people,” she said. “He did not win by a landslide, which is what I know you are thinking. That was really close.”
“Yeah.”
“And not to kick you when you’re down, but you didn’t actually want to help select a new superintendent.”
“Yeah, I know.” I sighed.
But I had started to want it, fuck me. In theory.
“It’s just the point of the thing. Adam won. Guys like Adam always win. He can put this on his application to Harvard or whatever,” I said.
“Actually, I heard he wants to go to Princeton,” said Bianca.
I glared at her.
“Sorry.” She shrugged.
Lacey patted my leg sympathetically. She had been optimistic, as word in the hall was that everyone knew that Adam was an awful tool demon taint. But he was a handsome, popular, wealthy tool demon taint. Holy fucking pundits.
I slumped in my chair, not paying much attention or doing anything. What was there to do?
“Lacey?” I asked later.
“Yes?”
“Where do you think you’ll go? To college, I mean.”
“Well…” she said.
“It’s an Ivy, isn’t it?
“Yes,” she said, without her board.
“Where?”
“Penn.”
“Like, Penn State?”
“No, the University of Pennsylvania. My grandparents and parents both went there, and Grandma and Grandpa still live in Philly. Mom and Dad work remotely, so we are going to move there. I have specialists there, and Justin’s first choice is Penn or Drexel next year. I applied early decision, so I could know soon.” Her face lit up. “I’m not going to lie. I’m pretty confident I’ll get in.”
“Well,” I said. “That’s the best new thing in the world, Lace.”
And it is, Rachel. Even if it means I’ll have to somehow survive life at Westing with Adam and without her.
Sincerely,
Brynn
Folder:
Drafts
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
December 22
Subject:
The Last Word (about the election)
Dear Rachel Maddow,
I have been hanging out with Leigh and Erin a lot lately, and I have formed a new life plan. I’m going to sell a lot of underwear, because this is where I see my future going. After I turn eighteen, I can move out. Without the threat of Mom or Fart Weasel, I could even quit school. Leigh got a new gig at a sporting goods store, so he could get me a position there. Then I could work with Leigh and Erin.
I briefly reconsidered dropping out when I got my grades. There were mostly all Bs, which let me tell you, was a freaking miracle. I also got an A in civics! This put Brynnie’s cumulative score to 2.0 even. Hot damn. This made me eligible for sports and sewing club and Student Government! I could now make school-sanctioned voodoo puppets of Adam and stick them with pins at the public forums.
It brings me a small measure of satisfaction that you need a 2.3 (and thus better grades) to be on the paper than you do to be on Student Government.
The paper. I cringed a little at that one. I was so close.
The paper and Lacey and Mr. Grimm are the three reasons that give me pause in my new life plan. Mr. Grimm actually stopped me from leaving the blue room after my crushing defeat to Adam.
“Stay with me for a moment,” he said.
“I have to get to work.”
“This will be quick.”
“Um. Okay.”
“Do you still write your letters? The ones you don’t turn in to me?”
“What do you mean?”
“You are always muttering to your laptop. Are you writing to Rachel?”
Oh, so he’s on a first name basis with you, too, Rachel?
“Maybe. Sometimes,” I said.
“Brynn, you are a lovely writer. Eloquent, even poetic, in your way. You are so, so smart. Your life doesn’t have to follow…” He stopped and considered. “Any path. Your path isn’t determined yet. You can do anything.”
“I’m not going early decision to the University of Pennsylvania,” I said.
“Well, maybe not, because that’s not what you want. But you have more passion and drive than most people. I’d hate to see that all go to waste. In case no one else has ever told you this, Brynn, I believe in you. I think you could do great things. What inspires you, Brynn? Do the world a favor. Find that thing and pursue it. And don’t let the bastards get you down.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “There is no glory in one path over another. There is no shame in work that doesn’t require a college degree. I just want you to know you have options. You shouldn’t give up a dream because other people make you feel like you aren’t worth investing in yourself.”
Well, hot damn, Mr. Grimm, getting all deep and shit.
That night as I neatly clipped bralettes onto hangers, I thought about what he said. What did I care about? I didn’t want Adam and his demon posse running the world unchecked, but that ship seems to have sailed. When I really thought about it, I realized amidst the bras that I was so terribly cliché as to want fucking love. My chest still twinged a little when I thought about Sarah, but it full-on felt ready to explode when I thought about Michaela. And if I’m being 100 percent, ultra fuckballs honest, the thing I loved most was the stupid school paper.
But Michaela didn’t have a strict GPA requirement.
There’s that.
Sincerely,
Brynn
Folder:
Drafts
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
December 24
Subject:
Happy Holidays
Dear Rachel Maddow,
You’re on a break. Merry Christmas.
Mom and Fart Weasel informed me that I would attend Christmas Eve services with them. I think it worried them both that I didn’t even try to argue. One, I knew it was pointless. Two, I kind of liked it. They always darkened the sanctuary and passed out candles to hold while we sing “Silent Night.” The choir entrance, the songs, the baby Jesus laid in a manger, the long-ass sermon, all of it is done in near night. But at last they light the candles and sing in heavenly peace. Then all the lights come up, and we belt out “Joy to the World.” One of my first memories of Nick was at Christmas Eve church. He got so excited during “Joy to the World” that he started to shake, his entire body lit up like the tree and wreaths around us.
Now Nick’s light is snuffed out like a candle after the final hymn. Even his memory is dim, faded by the drug use that ended him. Nick was Christmas. Now Christmas just means another year with him gone.
Afterward we got pizza. We always open presents on Christmas Eve. Since I have a job, I got Fart Weasel new socks. I got Mom a box of candy and a book of inspirational quotes. She loves that shit.
“Socks,” said Fart Weasel.
“Thanks, Brynn,” said Mom.
They got me a dictionary. A used dictionary, from the looks of the sticker on the back.
“To help you at school,” Mom said. I thought she looked a little guilty. Maybe I just hoped she did. I don’t think either
of them expected me to get them anything, especially not something they might actually want. Technically I got Fart Weasel socks to troll both him and Mom, but neither seemed to have picked up on that. Just as well.
“Thanks,” I said.
We sat in awkward silence for a full minute.
“Well, tired. Night.” I went to my room.
I lay on my bed and looked at my dictionary. The words tumbled around on the page like usual. I reached up and shoved it onto my shelf, next to the dusty candle they’d given me last year.
I hope you had a great holiday, Rachel.
I hope you catch a lot of ice fish, or whatever it is you do with this vacation.
Sincerely,
Brynn
Folder:
Inbox
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
December 27
Subject:
Brave
Dear Brynn,
I want you to know that even though the epistolary format is better for expressing myself, it is still a giant pain in my cushioned butt. So you better appreciate this.
Oh, I mean, Merry Christmas!
I really admire what you did last semester, Brynn. You saw a need and took action. Not enough people do that these days. And you kept with it even though you weren’t sure you really wanted to. Again, that is so brave. People call me “brave” all the time, and it annoys me. As if my mere existence is some sort of war. It’s not. I don’t think I’m any braver than another person just trying to live life. I just can’t do stairs.
Anyway, my point is that I think things must be tough at home, even though you don’t talk about it much. I’m glad I got to be your resident peer tutor, and your friend.
Love,
Lacey
P.S. I got an A in my gov class at the community college. I have the 201 version next term. My teacher doesn’t believe that you get away with swearing that much at school. I said if she met Mr. Grimm, she’d understand.
Folder:
Drafts
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
January 1
Subject:
Drift away
Dear Rachel Maddow,
I have sold and exchanged and returned and stocked and sold more underwear in the last week than anyone rightfully should. I worked every second I could, spent as much time with Michaela as I could, and stayed at home long enough to fulfill my Cinderella duties and sleep. Mom and Fart Weasel haven’t been exactly nice since the candy and the socks, but they haven’t tried to keep me from going out, either.
Michaela met me outside of the store on New Year’s Eve. We closed at six o’clock, which was good, because I was ready to stick boyshorts down the throat of the next person who asked me if we had a size extra-extra-small.
Westing had a bunch of New Year’s Eve stuff that was mostly for kids. Michaela and I watched a puppet show and a recorder demonstration.
“Do you play an instrument?” I asked her as we examined an illuminated ice sculpture of a piano.
“Nope. You?”
“Nope,” I said. “But I am a gifted mime.”
“Really?” she said.
“No.”
“Oh. Bummer.” She laughed.
“What do your parents do?” I asked. It occurred to me that Michaela never really talked about them.
“My mom’s a lawyer. My dad does business stuff.”
“Here in Westing?”
“No. They are still in Michigan. I live here with my grandma.”
I thought about that. We moved on to a horse sculpture.
“Why?” I asked.
Michaela sighed. “It’s a long story.”
“I have time,” I said.
“Brynn…” she started. “I wasn’t so great at my last school. Like, I was a good student. But I did some stupid stuff. I needed to clear my head. So my parents sent me here. For a fresh start. And I wasn’t even going to … I mean, I was just going to focus … but then you were…”
I threw her a blank look.
“I just would rather not talk about it. It’s seriously not worth it. It’s nothing against you. And my grandma is old and doesn’t remember, so that’s why I don’t have you over.”
I knew that there was no way I’d have Michaela over to my house, so that part I got. But Sarah had been like me. She narrated every thought that went through her head, every moment of her day. Maybe not knowing much about Michaela would be refreshing.
Or maybe it would feel really fucking weird.
“Okay,” I said.
“Really?” she said.
I shrugged. “Whatever happened doesn’t seem to have affected your math skills.”
Michaela grinned. “Good to know you like me for my brain.”
That was true. I liked every part of her. I tried to communicate that as clearly as possible in the empty theater where we enjoyed avant-garde animation.
At least, I think that was what was playing. We weren’t really paying attention to the screen.
I kissed her good night at 12:05 under the fireworks. The buses ran late for the holiday. She boarded hers and then I mine, and we texted swoony emojis to each other until my battery died.
I decided it didn’t matter what Michaela didn’t want to tell me. Maybe she’d spill it all when she was ready. What mattered is that when most people made me want to run and hide in bed forever, Michaela made me want to stay awake. Also in bed, if I’m being totally honest, but out in the world, too.
Though, it was still a world in which Adam won, and I lost. Because that’s what I did. Lose. It was my one consistent, defining skill.
Adam’s was winning.
The covers twisted tighter around my legs as I turned over and over trying to get comfortable.
I eventually dozed off, tangled and alone.
Happy New Year, Rachel. I’ll be back to school tomorrow, and you’ll be back on the air. Who knows what the new year will bring us both.
Sincerely,
Brynn
Folder:
Sent
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
January 3
Subject:
RE: Sorry this is late
Dear Rachel Maddow,
[Mr. Grimm, I know you told me to dictate this like I usually do. So I am. Rachel and I have reached a deep level of honesty, though. Not that anything probably shocks you after years teaching the Applied classes.]
I marched into school today in a decent mood. Even if I dreaded the thought of seeing Adam, Michaela had texted me all Tuesday and Wednesday. I think maybe she felt like she needed to make up for the “spooky secrets she doesn’t want to share” thing. I also cheered myself up with the vague notion that in less than two months, I’d turn eighteen and would be a legal adult who could do with my life whatever I saw fit. An invisible countdown clock ticked happily down in my head, when a hand emerged from a set of lockers and yanked me over.
“Yo, what?” I yelled, trying to maintain my balance. “What the hell?”
Justin glanced around furtively, the owner of the mysterious grabby hand.
“Shhh,” he said. “Please don’t scream. We need to talk.”
“Listen, Justin, I don’t know what the hell you are doing, but you could have just found me in the blue room.…”
“I know, I know. But there would be too many witnesses down there. Please. Just come with me. You won’t be harmed.”
If that isn’t the most compelling reason not to follow someone, I don’t know what is. [Brynn, the creative nonfiction assignment you were to make up was “Why losing isn’t the end of the world.” Did you forget the nonfiction aspect of this?] But Justin dragged me down a corridor to another set of stairs. I coul
d have fought back, but part of me was curious to see what this was about. The other part knew where we were headed.
“You can let go. I’ll go to the journalism lair willingly,” I told him.
Justin let go. He pushed open the double doors, and I followed him into my former happy place. Six or seven other newspaper kids appeared to be waiting for me. One of them was Sarah. I stopped, took one look at her, and spun on my heel to get the hell out of Dodge. I ran straight into Justin.
“How did you do that?” I asked him.
He grinned.
I sighed and turned around. “Fine,” I said. “What?” I asked Sarah.
“Listen. I know this is weird. But we need your help,” Sarah said.
“You need my help?” I laughed out loud. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, we are,” she said.
“I’m leaving. For good. I’m so over and done with all of this,” I said, and looked at her directly in the eye. “And I thought you quit the paper. You know what? I don’t even care.”
“I came back for this semester,” Sarah said. Her eyes dropped to the floor. “Hear us out. You know, we have a common enemy. And in trying circumstances, that is a compelling enough reason to come together once more.”
“What?”
“There was kind of a shake-up in Student Government over break. Adam said some things that weren’t cool. I wasn’t a big fan of his voter-suppression tactics. None of us knew about the whole ID requirement. I’m done with him,” she said.
Dear Rachel Maddow Page 12
