“One Westing, one Westing!” Justin started shouting. Sarah joined in, and soon the whole room cheered like the football team just stage dove into the crowd.
Mr. Maynard concluded the debate. Adam stalked off, clearly furious.
“What the hell was that?” asked Justin when we all made it back to the blue room. “Beautiful!”
I smiled.
“You know,” said Lacey, rolling in, “it’s generally demonstrated that politics are in fact about hate, not love. People will vote because they hate the other candidate, not because they love their own. In the absence of parties, per se, the same behavior arises. People align with a candidate not because of positions for issues, but because of feelings against others. Somehow, Brynn, you managed to appeal to both. I’m proud of you.”
“We’ll see,” said Justin.
I left the school on my way to work, pleased with everything. The general consensus seemed to be that I had pummeled Adam. If nothing else, I had made Lacey proud again. I walked down the sidewalk thinking how someday she’d be famous, and I could use her as a second reference on my application for an Aerie management position.
Sincerely,
Brynn
Folder:
Drafts
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
February 11
Subject:
Bleak midwinter
Dear Rachel Maddow,
Campaigning is going well. Off the success of the debate, Sarah commissioned the graphic designers on yearbook to make “Applied Pride” buttons and stickers. All of us handed them out to anyone who couldn’t get away fast enough. I liked them better than the “Brynn for the Win” e-mail Justin spammed to everybody he knew online. I was daydreaming about fundraising to make my own T-shirts as I walked up the stairs at the end of the day. I stopped short, a gaggle of people blocking the doors.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
A kid I knew from Music Appreciation looked at me. “Um,” he said.
The entire hallway had been wallpapered. I inspected a section of flyer-plastered cinder block.
“Brynn Harper is gay,” I read out loud. On it was an awful picture of me from I think tenth grade. (Guess Adam still had access to the yearbook files.)
“Brynn Harper hasn’t APPLIED herself and will FLUNK forever,” I read on another. That poster had a picture of me passed out on someone’s couch with a book on my chest. The irony was that that was from when I was a good student and had just fallen asleep at Adam’s house studying. Bet Adam himself might have snapped that when we still hung out. Prick.
“Brynn Harper sucks dick,” I read. I stood in front of it for a minute. Someone sneezed next to me. I looked over. Two or three of my Westing High constituents stood looking at me. I cleared my throat. “I mean, which is it?” I asked them, and four more people who stopped. “Do I suck dick, or am I gay?” I sucked in my breath. “Or maybe this is implying I’m bi?” I chuckled. “Yeah, no, I’m just a lesbian.” I ripped down the “Brynn Harper sucks dick” sign. And another one. And another and another and another. Chunks of wall stuck out, red against the white meanness I left up. “There. That’s more accurate.” I left up the lesbian signs and nodded at the wall in satisfaction.
The still-gathering crowd watched me do all this. Then one person started clapping. The kid next to her joined in, and soon everyone was chanting my name. “Brynn, Brynn, Brynn!” they shouted. I bowed instinctively, like when I was a flower in my second-grade play.
Breaking headline: I am a lesbian. I am not flunking at the moment because of Mr. Grimm and Ms. Yee and Lacey and now Michaela. So that other attack was just a lie. If this was what Adam thought would get to me, he was wrong. As I tried to leave the crowd and make for the exit at the other end of the building, Michaela threw elbows to maneuver around bodies to get to me.
“Don’t go this way,” she said.
“It’s okay. I’ve seen all these,” I said, waving my hand at the posters.
“No. There are more. Turn around,” she said.
“The lame Brynn sucks ones? Meh,” I said.
Michaela rushed in front of me. “No. They are different. Still lame. So. Why don’t you wait until someone takes them down?”
I leaned in and kissed her cheek. “How bad could they be? They are flyers. Flyers at least aren’t the Internet.” Michaela flinched a little at “Internet,” but I caught her lips this time. I then faked a left with Michaela to see if she’d follow.
“Brynn, seriously…”
I stopped short, immediately regretting that I hadn’t listened to her. On the far wall past the banks of lockers were several huge collages of Nick. Nick as a little boy with his guitar. Nick with his beloved, wretched Ford Pinto. Nick holding a knife to some kid’s throat. I’d never seen that one before. Adam must have gotten these all online.
“Brynn Harper’s hero,” it said in large black letters.
Worse still was “She’s just like him.”
My mouth hung open, my feet rooted to the spot.
“I’m sorry,” whispered Michaela from behind me. “They are foam board and superglued to the wall, and I couldn’t get any of them down. Is that your brother?”
I turned and nodded at her. I moved my mouth, but no sounds came out. She squeezed my hand. People rushed in and around me, stopping to stare, stopping to stare at me staring. Most of them probably didn’t even know who he was. Then Mr. Bill showed up. He took out what I swear to God was a machete and hacked the things to bits.
Moving on their own accord, my legs took me next to him.
“Gonna need the industrial solvent,” he muttered to himself. Still I stood, staring at now confetti’ed Nick.
Nick.
That one with the guitar. That killed. I wasn’t born yet. He was so happy. By the time I was aware of it, he could play more songs than I could even count.
Nick with a knife. Nick passed out. Nick, Nick, fucking Nick.
Guess Adam did know how to get to me after all.
Mr. Maynard pushed his way through the noisy bodies toward Mr. Bill. “All right, people, enough. Enough,” he shouted.
Everyone quickly dispersed. He looked at the walls. “The whole first floor is like this,” he said. “Did you do this, Brynn?”
I looked at him, shocked. “You think I put these up?” I said, aghast.
“No,” he said. “I just…” He put his hand on the back of his head, staring at the wall. “They cheered for you. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I thought it might be like the underwear again. We’ll get this cleaned up and find out who is responsible.”
“I can tell you who is responsible, Mr. Maynard.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Brynn.”
I shrugged. “You can leave it up. I don’t care.”
Oh, fuck me, how I wished that were true.
You know what, Rachel? There are a lot of people who screw up on your show. Like, governors (or mayors or senators) who take bribes, or have affairs, or do really crazy shit with porn even here in Pennsylvania, where you’d think the only thing to report on is the dairy industry. But some of them … I wonder now if some of them are just regular people. Normal, everyday people who got pissed off or fired up or felt something that made them run for office to try to do something good. But then they weren’t perfect in their lives before and stuff came up and other people used it against them. And then you reported it because it was news. Which I would do, too. Because don’t people have the right to know?
I guess it all depends on your perspective.
Sincerely,
Brynn
Folder:
Sent
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
February 12
Subject:
RE:
Dear Principal Maynard
,
I am vexed by your last correspondence. Are you seriously considering the misguided claims as true? Pictures or no pictures, there is no way Adam was involved in a prank like that. No way at all. And I assure you, I will confirm this is the case as swiftly as possible.
Sincerely,
Jonathan S. Graff, Esquire
Folder:
Drafts
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
February 14
Subject:
Don’t leap
Dear Rachel Maddow,
The school was still abuzz after the hallway incident. Adam denied it, of course. Turns out the cameras monitoring the main hallway were fake, just to trick us into behaving or some shit.
“I could issue a statement,” I said to Lacey at an emergency strategy session.
“To whom? Where? No. Let. It. Go,” she said.
“Don’t touch it. Run, don’t walk away from this,” Justin said.
“I agree with Lacey, don’t touch it,” Sarah said. She walked out with me after school.
Before I could argue, Sarah interrupted.
“I got into Westing State’s summer junior senate program. So I’ll be around!”
“That’s great,” I said.
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s not Model UN, but at least I won’t have to stay in a dorm. And I don’t know if I want to hang out with little kids all vacation, you know?”
“Ah,” I said. “Well, I should go.”
“Listen, Brynn. I’m sorry about last summer. I had a lot of stuff going on, and I freaked out. I’m really sorry, okay? I just lost track of myself.”
I turned away from her. “Things weren’t exactly peachy with me.”
“I know.” She stepped closer to me. “I’m sorry.”
“Sarah. This would have been great months ago. But now? Why now?”
I should have backed up. I should have run for my life.
“I just realized I was wrong, okay? I’ve had a lot of time to think. And you were right, a while ago, when you said I changed. And I was wrong when I said you didn’t.” She stepped even closer, putting a hand on my waist. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”
“Sarah…” I breathed her in. I had always loved stupid Valentine’s Day.
“Remember what we were like? You and I?” she whispered.
I did. Remember. The smell of her perfume. The brush of her eyelashes against my skin. I let her kiss my neck. I remembered that, too. It felt good. But also wrong.
“I have to go,” I said.
“Okay,” said Sarah. I could tell she was trying to read my face. But I doubt she had any more idea what I was feeling than I did.
I texted Michaela. “Do you want to do anything for V-Day?”
“LOL. Nah. It’s a terrible holiday. So fake.”
“Totally,” I texted back.
I sat at home listening to Mom and Fart Weasel argue about whether to go to Al’s Steakhouse or Bob’s Butchery. At least I had the house to myself after they went with Bob’s. I texted Michaela again, saying that she could come over if she wanted. No response. I figured her gram might be having trouble.
Maybe I should text Sarah.
Maybe not.
Sincerely,
Brynn
Folder:
Drafts
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
February 19
Subject:
Fishing
Dear Rachel Maddow,
One month till the election. We aren’t allowed to campaign anymore after the hallway incident. I can’t even pass out my “Applied Pride” stickers. Lacey was disgruntled because she didn’t want to use the “attack on Brynn and Nick” for her community college class project. I got my grades. Three As, and the rest Bs. It was a February miracle. It also inched me on the brink of being allowed back on the paper. I took lunch to go find Mr. McCloud to see if he’d let me back on with a few hundredths to go.
Mr. Maynard stopped me as I passed the main office. “Ms. Harper, wait. I need to speak to you for a second.” His face looked somber.
I followed him to his office, where Adam was sitting, waiting for us. Maynard waved me into a seat next to Adam.
“Listen, you two,” he said. “I need you to keep this civil. The attack on Brynn was unacceptable. But so is this.”
“What?” I asked.
“Oh, don’t play stupid.…” Adam said.
“Is this still about the debate? Look, isn’t that what debates are for? It’s not my fault you weren’t prepared.…”
“This is not about the question,” Adam growled. “You know what this is about.”
I looked from Adam, to Mr. Maynard, back to Adam.
“Uh, noooo, I really don’t.”
“So you didn’t e-mail the whole school pictures of me and Anderson?”
“Anderson? What?” I wasn’t even trying to play dumb. I had zero idea what he was talking about. I gave a bewildered look to Mr. Maynard.
Maynard regarded me for a long moment but didn’t say anything. “Can you bring up your school e-mail on my computer?” he asked.
“Okay?” I said. I gave Adam one more quizzical look before getting up and leaning over Mr. Maynard’s keyboard. I never used my school e-mail. I logged in and then backed away from the desk.
“May I?” asked Mr. Maynard, gesturing to his screen.
“Sure,” I said. All it had in it were cafeteria menus and the announcements we heard every day at school.
Mr. Maynard clicked around as I sat next to Adam. Mr. Maynard looked more and more upset. He swung the computer monitor toward us.
“Do you mind explaining this?” he said.
It took me a minute to figure out what I was looking at. To my horror, I realized that there was an e-mail in my outbox, sent to “All,” with several screenshots of Adam next to the War Memorial Arena downtown pasted in the body of the letter. It was dark, but it was clearly him, with another kid (Anderson) I recognized from the student athlete display near the gym. There might have been more people there, but they could have just as well been shadows in the background.
In several pictures, Adam appeared to be lighting something. Firecrackers. In the last one, Adam was a blur running, a stupid big-ass grin on his face. The rest of the pictures were streaks of light … maybe flames.
So did this mean Adam really did cause the fire to the War Memorial? The news said just yesterday it was still under investigation, but no one was ever charged as far as I knew.
Holy Space God slimeball free-speech-and-voter-suppressing asshole. I hoped this wouldn’t make people vote for me. It would be lame if Adam went down in flames like that. (HA!) (No but really.)
“Mr. Maynard. I know how this looks. I really do. But I didn’t send those pictures.”
“Of course she did,” said Adam. Gone was the bravado. He seemed close to tears. “To get back at me for that hallway thing. Which wasn’t me. I don’t control people who want me to win. She threatened me that if I tried to be student body president, she would do this exact thing.”
My jaw dropped. “I did not.”
“You did.”
“All right, all right. Both of you. Enough. You can go. But this isn’t over.”
Adam and I got up and left. I ran away from him downstairs to the blue room as fast as I could.
“You okay, Brynn?” asked Mr. Grimm. All I could was shake my head. How did Adam hack into my account? What was Adam’s game, sending pictures of himself to the whole school?
And if it wasn’t Adam who sent them, then who was it?
Sincerely,
Brynn
Folder:
Sent
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Date:
February 21
Subject:
Further steps
Dear Principal Maynard,
It has come to my attention that there may be some merit to the claims of Adam’s involvement in the unfortunate incident at the War Memorial.
I think we both know that boys will be boys. I think Adam’s academic boredom with the Westing High curriculum might have contributed to his youthful antics.
We are willing to fully cooperate with the school and local authorities in this matter. As it happens, Adam feels he has further information about the events of the evening in question that will prove useful for the investigation. He did not want to come forward before because he did not want to get his friends (who were the actual perpetrators) in trouble. I have helped him come to see that it is time to do the right thing.
I would also like to discuss the matter of certain other parties who have recently taken it upon themselves to ruin my son’s fine reputation. This is of the utmost concern to me.
Please feel free to schedule a meeting with my secretary as soon as possible.
Sincerely,
Jonathan S. Graff, Esquire
Folder:
Drafts
To:
[email protected]
From:
[email protected]
Dear Rachel Maddow Page 16
