Dear Rachel Maddow

by Adrienne Kisner

  “Oh, now you’re done with him,” I said. “What, did someone finally get something linking him to the War Memorial fire? Is that what it takes? Major crime?”

  Sarah frowned deeply, her forehead creasing. I knew that was a sign I’d said something that really bothered her.

  “You know he was coeditor of the news section,” she said, ignoring my comment. “But he quit right before the superintendent runoff. Said he had to focus on ‘finishing strong’ in the spring. And he wants to focus on winning student body president next year. That’s the most important thing to him, Brynn. Student body president.”

  The other paper people nodded in agreement.

  “Good for him. This doesn’t have anything to do with me,” I said.

  Though, the idea of Adam-in-charge-of-even-stupid-shit did still make my skin crawl.

  “I know,” said Sarah. “But we also have reason to believe he is going to try to take down the school paper.” [BRYNN, I AM NOT YOUR PEER HERE. I HOPE THIS STORY IS GOING SOMEWHERE GOOD. You know, it occurs to me that you turned this in. So, you didn’t drop out even though I’ve overheard you fantasize about it. I’ll just read this to the end and then come back and make comments. That will likely be more useful for us both.]

  “What?” My voice rose to a comic octave. “The paper? That’s the dumbest thing ever. Why?”

  “There was that rumor that Adam might have been responsible for the War Memorial fire,” said Justin. “Adam’s friend Anderson claimed he was there and had pictures, but nothing ever came of that. And since someone refused to help me”—Justin shot me a pointed look—“I decided to look for evidence on my own,” he said. “I got substantiated info from the fire chief that the Tribune Republican didn’t publish. Someone definitely set off fireworks that caught the grass and stuff on fire. That’s what turned into the five-alarm blaze. They actually found the fireworks.”

  Justin always slipped into newspaper prose when he talked about a juicy tip.

  “Yeah, so we knew all that,” I said. “Why haven’t you run anything, then?”

  “We can’t,” said Justin. “That’s just it. An anonymous donor made a very generous gift to the journalism and computer labs, and we got all this.” Justin swept his hand around the room. There were huge new monitors all around, and a massive printer that was churning out something as we spoke. There was a SMART Board and a flat-screen in the corner.

  “Whoever gave the money said we have to stick to school-only news. No community stuff. Now Mr. McCloud said we can’t run it. Maynard was forced to invoke his right to read the paper before we publish. Even the online edition! I kept trying to tell you things were getting weird down here. But you wouldn’t listen!” 3-D art emerged on Justin’s face. “‘Our liberty cannot be guarded but by the freedom of the press, nor that be limited without danger of losing it.’ Thomas Jefferson said that, Brynn.” [Well done, Mr. Mitchell.]

  Thomas Fucking Jefferson. You know who else quotes him, Rachel? You do. In Drift. Goddamnit motherfucker, that hit me where it hurt. Bet Sarah was behind that shit.

  “Okay, okay, I get it. Adam wants to take down the free press,” I said. Even as I said it, a vein or nerve or alien baby egg started to throb in my forehead.

  “We think it might have been his dad.…”

  “Oh whatever, it’s basically Adam. What now? What do you want from me?”

  The alien baby wiggled behind my eyes. Though, I hate to admit this, Rachel, a tiny section in the back of my brain thrilled that Sarah thought me worthy of this attempt.

  “We want to hit Adam where it hurts,” said Sarah.

  “Where it matters. And keep him from ruining everything and save the paper. Two birds, one stone, and all that,” said Justin.

  “How?” I said.

  “We want you to run for student body president,” said Justin.

  “No. Noooooo. No way in hell. You run,” I said to Sarah. “This is your thing, too.”

  “I’m already running for vice president. You can do this. That underwear thing was inspired. We have some ideas but need help enacting them. We just need to stop Adam. We’ll help you,” she said.

  “Who is this we?” I asked.

  Justin stepped forward.

  “That would be me,” he said. “Obviously. And I know some people in a certain subterranean portion of the school who love you and will certainly help.”

  “And me,” said Sarah.

  Part in brain. Tiny thrill. Also activated part of brain that causes nausea. And the tiny alien baby egg.

  “I hold it that a little rebellion now and then is a good thing, and as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical,” said Justin. [Brynn, I have found his original source for this quote. I will give it to you and have you write a brief response to it for extra credit.]

  I looked at Justin, and at Sarah and back at Justin, knowing that if I went through with this, Lacey was going to think I’d lost my mind for good. Though, she would have a project for this community college semester. A student body president election would get her a fucking A-plus-plus.

  Adam had beaten me last semester using his slime mold ball sack tactics. He might have taken out my War Memorial beat, important since it encompasses the bulk of my early reporting. But now he was attacking the free press. Stupid Adam messing with my free fucking press.

  Mark my words, Rachel. I hate Westing High. But you’ve made me such a damn fan of telling stories and free speech and all that shit. If I can help try to protect it in my little shithole corner of the world, then I figure I owe it to you.

  And there is still the business of furthering the cause of women in politics and all. Look at what happens to the women who try to take on the dude bros. They get pushed down again and again and again.

  Nevertheless, they persist.

  I guess that means I fucking have to, too.

  The countdown clock to my academic departure has stopped.

  For now. [I am glad this had a good ending! Please see me about extra credit. You are one report card away from being allowed back on the paper.]

  Sincerely,

  Brynn

  [Note: The original source of Mr. Mitchell’s last quote is a letter from Thomas Jefferson to James Madison in 1787. Now, even that passage Mr. Mitchell cites has its problematic elements. Look it up and see what I mean. Feel free to write an extra-credit essay on that. No political figure deserves to be revered unchecked, you may agree.]

  Folder:

  Drafts

  To:

  Rachel@msnbc.com

  From:

  Brynnieh0401@gmail.com

  Date:

  January 7

  Subject:

  … In love and War

  Dear Rachel Maddow,

  Lacey was out sick for the rest of the week, so I couldn’t convince her she ought to strangle me (and Justin) for considering this. I thought Michaela would think what few marbles remained had rolled away, but she didn’t seem surprised.

  “You gotta do you, Brynn.”

  “Do you think I’m crazy?” I said.

  “No. I would like someone to get Adam. He’s an ass who plays dirty to get what he wants. And you might be the only woman for the job. Civic engagement looks good on you.”

  I grinned.

  “At least this will keep you from your fantasies of dropping out. Speaking of which, you have to maintain your GPA for SGA participation. So you have to keep doing your work.” She nodded at the notebook in front of me. In theory she was supposed to be helping me that very second. Maybe she was.

  When Lacey returned to school, she was delighted.

  “Thank God,” she said. “I thought I was going to have to go to my mom’s Rotary meetings. Dad offered the Masons, but I spend enough time with them as it is. I have to be here anyway! This works out well for me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Glad to be of service,” I said.

  “You should know, though, Adam will go after you. He will go after you, and
it won’t be pretty. Even if you aren’t running. Because he hates you.”

  “Tell me what you really think, Lace,” I said. “This is how it has to be. No one will go against him, and then Adam will suck the rest of the soul from the building. It will be a stinking pile of devil turd.”

  Lacey started laughing and didn’t stop for a full two minutes.

  “Turd.” She laughed and laughed. “Where do you get this stuff?” Lacey shook her head at me.

  “I have a very active imagination,” I said. “I’m sure I’ll make for an interesting chapter in that memoir you’ll get paid to write at that big, fancy college you’re going to.”

  “True,” she said. “Let’s get to work.”

  Sincerely,

  Brynn

  Folder:

  Drafts

  To:

  Rachel@msnbc.com

  From:

  Brynnieh0401@gmail.com

  Date:

  January 8

  Subject:

  Going rogue

  Dear Rachel Maddow,

  On March 19, exactly ten weeks from today, there will be an SGA election. Before that, I have to collect enough signatures to get on the ballot. Then each candidate gets to make a commercial to be broadcast to every homeroom. Then we have a debate, campaign for a few weeks, and then we vote. So far, it’s just Adam vying for student body president.

  (Of fucking course.)

  Lacey wasn’t hopeful that anyone else was going to go for it, because of Adam. But because of Justin’s apparent undying appreciation of the Academic Bowl captain, he was running for treasurer. I think he might be jealous of the fact that I am now the subject of a second semester project.

  And since Space God is known for an extraordinary sense of humor, the Cosmic Joker put Adam directly in my path today. I’d avoided him for ages. Maybe God is into S&M, I don’t know.

  I do know that both Adam and I were surprised when I was walking down the hall thinking of how to get signatures for my “intent to run for SGA” petition just as Adam was exiting the boys’ room and we came face-to-face.

  “Oh,” he said.

  When placed into these sorts of situations, really, I should walk away. No, run as fast as my shapely ass can move in a pair of boybriefs. But do I do the wise thing?

  “You are such a dick and I hate you,” I said.

  “Wow,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Are you still pissed about the committee thing? Aww. Poor Brynn.”

  “Nope. If you are even half as smart as you think you are, you’d realize that.”

  The smile faded a little. “Then why are you saying such nice things? Are you trying to ask me out? Really, you aren’t my type. Even after a few beers.” He chuckled to himself.

  “Well, granted, I like people without dicks, so maybe I’d consider you after a few myself. But no. Actually, I exist now to destroy you.”

  At this moment, I received a lighting bolt of inspiration.

  “Setting stuff on fire now, are we? I used to report on the War Memorial, Adam. You know that. Think this wouldn’t come out?”

  Adam’s eyebrows shot up, so I thought I might be onto something.

  “That’s right, motherfucker. Someone knows about your little stunt. But you know what? I don’t care about that. I care about the fact that you think you can do whatever you want to win. That you can squash the people you don’t care about to get what you want. I’m not going to stand for that this semester, either. If you want to be student body president, you are going to have to fight for it. You and me. You know the Applied rooms you don’t give a shit about? That’s where all my fucks went to die. RIP, fucks! Watch your back, SGA boy. I’m running for president of Student Government.” I turned and stormed away from him.

  He just stood there, unable to speak.

  Lacey later pointed out that we might have had an element of surprise on our side before the confrontation. That my outburst alerted him to my candidacy before I had even declared it.

  “Although,” she said, “have you considered writing poetry? You really do have a way with words.”

  Fuck me. That was one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said.

  Sincerely,

  Brynn

  Folder:

  Drafts

  To:

  Rachel@msnbc.com

  From:

  Brynnieh0401@gmail.com

  Date:

  January 11

  Subject:

  Sleeping and the Enemy

  Dear Rachel Maddow,

  Conversations like this have become the norm between Michaela and me:

  “When are you going to get signatures? I’m pretty sure they are due really early. You need to check on that date.”

  “I know, I know. I will. Sarah said she’d check for me.”

  “So have you been talking to Sarah a lot lately?” Michaela’s voice had a strange note in it.

  “Not a lot,” I said. “But some.” I looked at her quizzically. “Does that bother you?”

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  “Maybe. A little,” Michaela said.

  “Why?” I said.

  “Because I think she still likes you.”

  “She’s with Nancy now.”

  “They broke up ages ago. I think Sarah talks about you in front of me to piss me off,” said Michaela.

  “We just have a common cause,” I said.

  “A common cause that she talked you into,” she said.

  “Technically it was Justin. And Thomas Jefferson.”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. Sarah’s there. I don’t know. I don’t still have a thing for her. I’m totally over her.”

  (Totally over. One hundred percent, ultra over. Even if she still talks about me. Except she wore this pleated skirt ensemble with her hair down today and of course I noticed. I mean, I’m only human, Rachel.)

  “It’s just the cause, then. Not because you still want to be with Sarah?” she said.

  “No more exy-sexy times! I’m yours! Wait…” I said, realizing we were in fact having this conversation out loud. “Uh. I mean. Am I officially yours? Is this what this is about?”

  Michaela picked a loose strand on her jeans. “I’d understand if you weren’t interested.”

  “Not interested? Are you insane?”

  She smiled. “Possibly.”

  “That’s fine. Aren’t we all? Listen, I’m all yours. It’s just that Adam must be stopped.”

  “Okay, okay. Just don’t sleep with Sarah?”

  “Wasn’t gonna.” I shook my head.

  Fortunately the bell rang and Michaela had to leave, ending this painful exchange.

  Painful.

  But! Girlfriend! I had a girlfriend!

  I checked my phone at lunch, to notice that Sarah had texted. Nine times. I didn’t even read them. But. What was this girl’s game? Did Michaela know something I didn’t? I clicked my phone off and looked out the window.

  What did Sarah want with me now? Was she sorry she dumped me? Did I have potential again? Was I less drama? Yes and no.

  Rachel, I don’t want Sarah back. Not even a little. Because Michaela!

  Though Sarah was my girl first. My first. Everything, really.

  Shit.

  Sincerely,

  Brynn

  Folder:

  Drafts

  To:

  Rachel@msnbc.com

  From:

  Brynnieh0401@gmail.com

  Date:

  January 14

  Subject:

  Canvassing

  Dear Rachel Maddow,

  Before I even started to walk to school, I saw Sarah’s car idling down the block from my house. I stopped and tapped on the window.

  “There you are,” she said. “Hop in.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll give you a ride. I have to talk to you.”

  Every cell in my body knew it should flee this scene, but every cell also did
n’t want to brave the ice and snow for three-quarters of a mile. And Sarah had her mom’s car, which had heated seats.

  “Okay,” I said. Those damn seats felt like a hug.

  “Signatures are due today,” she said.

  “What?”

  “You have to declare your intent to run by today. Didn’t you get my texts?”

  “Uh…”

  “Brynn, there is no way you forgot when you had to turn these things in. You are doing this on purpose.”

  “Well…?”

  “You have to get signatures in. Today,” she said.

  “But I haven’t even started yet! Maybe Maynard will make an exception for me?” I said.

  Sarah was right. The due date haunted my once-sexy dreams. I had kind of been hoping a signature fairy would collect names for me. Or another worthy candidate who wasn’t me would magically appear and I wouldn’t have to do this at all.

  “Don’t chance it, Brynn. This is Adam we are talking about.”

  “Okay, okay. You’re right. I got it.”

  We pulled into the parking lot. Panic started to churn in my stomach.

  “Do you want help?”

  “No. It’s okay. I got this.”

  I threw myself into the blue room. Mr. Grimm let me go around and everybody in the Color Coded Kingdom signed, so I was up to thirty-two already.

  “How am I going to get any more?” I asked everyone at lunch. “My only friends are down here. Surely somebody down here has connections?”

  Lacey chimed in. “I have spent the better part of my education trying to ignore most of the people on the floors above. But surely Greg or Riley could at least scare people into helping you during art. Or what about gym?”