by Gordon Jack
“Then what is it? Why are you here?”
“Nice to see you too, Mom,” Stacey said, bristling at the brusque tone.
“I’m sorry,” her mom said. “You just should have called first. I’m in the middle of a very important application that’s due in two days.”
“Sorry to bother you,” Stacey said, turning to go.
Her mom pushed Stacey down into her chair and ran an invisible rolling pin across her face to smooth out its wrinkles. She looked at Stacey with the same light-blue eyes Stacey saw in the bathroom mirror every morning. “What’s up?” she said.
“I think I’m losing the election for student-body president,” Stacey said. “There’s this new girl everyone likes more than me.”
“What has she done to make herself so popular?”
“She’s Latina. At least I think she is. Someone wrote something racist on her campaign poster.”
“And now everyone’s flocking to her defense.”
“Pretty much.”
“You think she vandalized her own poster?”
Stacey was shocked how quickly her mom had reached her conclusion. This just confirmed, once again, that her own brain came from this side of the family. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. But was it possible to use her mom’s powers for good? Barack Obama probably had a paranoia streak in him too, but he managed to be a kind, generous, and intelligent person.
“I mean, you gotta give her credit—it’s a smart move,” Stacey’s mom went on. “Especially from someone new to the school with no support.”
Her mom walked over to the door and removed a black training jacket off the hook on the back. When she zipped it up, she took on the appearance of a ninja warrior. This is what Stacey needed right now: some assassin squad that would kill the lights at the pity party raging inside her.
“‘All warfare is based on deception,’” her mom said.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s from Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. You should read it.” Her mom walked back to her desk and pulled the book off the shelf that held her wedding-planning binders. She threw the tome in Stacey’s lap. Stacey wondered briefly why a military treatise was sandwiched between her mom’s collections of floral arrangements and bridal gowns but didn’t say anything. Instead, she leafed through the book’s many dog-eared pages.
“I don’t think that really applies to my situation,” Stacey said.
“Of course it does. Think about it. This girl. What’s her name?”
“Julia.”
“She wouldn’t have anyone following her if she hadn’t deceived them by vandalizing her poster.”
“I guess that’s true. But we don’t know for sure—”
“What makes you think she might not be Latina?”
“She’s a French-speaking immigrant from Canada.”
“So, she may also be deceiving people about her ethnicity.”
“She’s evil,” Stacey said.
“She’s winning,” her mom corrected.
“But why? You know how much of my life I’ve devoted to that school? I’ve been in student government since I was a freshman. I’m the president of, like, seven different clubs. I go to practically every sports event, even the JV games! It’s not fair that someone can come in and win the hearts and minds of my people with one vandalized poster.”
“You’ve misjudged the loyalty of your subjects.”
“They’re not my subjects. They’re my peers. They may not like me, but I thought they at least respected me.”
Her mom took a breath. “People are selfish, Stacey. They will support you as long as they think you can do something for them. What’s your campaign slogan?”
“‘Stacey Wynn: Too Good to Waste,’” Stacey said. Every line on her mom’s face seemed to stretch in disapproval. “It’s meant to play off my promise of a zero-waste school.”
“You’re running on a recycling program?” Her mom cringed subtly.
“Yes,” Stacey said. “The environment is very important to people at my school.”
“Is it? Or is it important to you?”
Stacey paused. Of course the environment was important to everyone. Everything depended on the health of the planet, just like everything depended on the health of the body. Stacey had just assumed people accepted that, just as she had assumed people accepted her.
“What should I do?” Stacey’s body slid into a slouch. Her mom kicked her feet to send her upright.
“‘If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles,’” her mom said.
“What?”
“Page a hundred and seventy-nine,” she said, pointing to Sun Tzu’s book. “It’s highlighted.”
Stacey groaned. How did everyone suddenly get so adept at quoting famous people? First James with his Baldwin quotes and now Mom with Sun Tzu. Were these historical figures so inspirational or was it just safer to repeat someone else’s ideas rather than come up with your own?
“You need to know your enemy,” her mom went on. “This girl’s power right now is that no one knows anything about her. She’s a blank slate people can project anything on. You need to help people see her for what she really is.”
“You mean spy on her?”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” her mom said. “But everyone’s got a digital footprint these days. Follow her steps back to Canada. No one moves to a new country because they’re happy at home. Something must have brought her here, and I bet it’s not good.”
“Seriously, Mom?” Stacey said. “Lots of immigrants come to America looking for a better life, not because they did something wrong. Look at Mr. Park.”
Her mom bristled. “Please stop calling him that. He’s not your teacher anymore. In a few months he’ll be your stepfather.”
Stacey sighed. She didn’t know why she was arguing with her mother. Her mom was telling her what she wanted to hear. Why didn’t she like hearing it?
“All I’m saying,” her mom continued, “is that you should find out what brought this girl to California. Is this a temporary or permanent move?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did her father transfer here for work?”
“I don’t know. I think Brian said something about her living with an aunt.”
“Well, there you go,” her mom said, snapping her fingers. “Start with that. Why transfer schools in the middle of your junior year to come live with your aunt? That’s suspicious if you ask me.”
Her mom was right. Students at Lincoln spend most of junior year preparing for AP tests, sucking up to teachers for letters of rec, and building résumés of community service. Who interrupts this process to start over? Shifty girls with French accents do, that’s who.
“Thanks, Mom,” Stacey said, going in for a hug.
Her mom’s body stiffened like Stacey had interrupted some plank exercise. Stacey backed off.
“Sorry,” she said, and bowed curtly at the waist, just as she had to her former instructor earlier.
“Don’t be sorry,” her mom said, grabbing Stacey by the shoulders and steadying her. “Be smart.”
“I will,” Stacey said.
“And don’t forget, we’re going bridesmaid dress shopping next Sunday,” her mom said.
Stacey acknowledged the reminder with a wave and then left the building before getting drawn into a conversation about color combinations and accents. She was more comfortable discussing The Art of War with Mom than Eat, Pray, Love.
20
9 DAYS TILL ELECTION DAY
BEFORE BRIAN DID anything, he scanned the area. The public library was not a hotbed of activity on Sunday afternoons, but occasionally, the librarian would sponsor a gaming tournament that would draw crowds of boys looking to sneak in extra screen time outside their restrictive households. Kyle came to these occasionally if Mom was home revising her latest manuscript. If Brian saw his brother here, he would ignore him as usual, grab a study carrel, and do some
homework.
So far, the coast was clear. The place was quiet and empty except for some retirees getting their magazine fix. A couple tech workers typed away on laptops on the desks near the east-facing windows. Brian walked past the librarians manning the reference section and made his way to the nonfiction stacks in the back. The bookshelves were practically floor to ceiling and offered little tunnels of privacy for clandestine meetings.
Brian walked to the designated meeting place—the 500 section, where all the science books were located. The area offered an ideal space to hook up, er, study. It was located in the middle of the stacks, away from the popular social science and biography sections. A wide support beam blocked the window, making it darker and more private. If someone did venture into the area, Brian and Julia would hear the person approach in enough time to separate and go back to browsing the biology texts for their project on genetic variation in giraffes.
No one was in the stacks when Brian arrived, so he threw his backpack on the ground and tried out a few poses while waiting for Julia to show up. Should he be reclined on the floor in a sexy, suggestive pose or thoughtfully browsing one of the many hefty tomes on the shelves? He tried out both positions and found he was more comfortable leaning back, holding a light paperback. The book he chose to pretend-read was called Charles and Emma: The Darwins’ Leap of Faith. There were three silhouetted figures on the cover: a man, a woman, and an ape. It was a love story, Brian surmised scanning the back. Charles and Emma were opposites—he, devoted to science; she, to religion. Maybe he could learn something from this impossible relationship. If the Darwins could overcome this hurdle, maybe he and Julia could find a way to be together, despite their political opposition.
“Why are we meeting all the way back here?” Julia asked, appearing suddenly at the end of the row of books. She looked amazing, as always. Her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail gave Brian full access to her face, which was a bit flushed from her bike ride. She was wearing a light flannel button-down over a low-cut T-shirt. Her shorts stopped just at mid-thigh. Brian felt his pants leg vibrate, and knew it wasn’t his phone.
“Uh, this is where the bio books are?” Brian said lamely.
Julia arched an eyebrow and approached. “What are you reading?” she asked, throwing her bag down next to Brian’s backpack.
“It’s really interesting, actually,” Brian said. “About Charles Darwin and his religious wife.”
Julia plucked the book out of his hands and opened to a random page. “‘One’s tendency to kiss, and almost bite, that which one sexually loves is probably connected with flow of saliva, and hence with action of mouth and jaws.’” Julia paused. “That’s hot.”
Brian felt like he might drown in the flow of saliva his body was producing right now. He swallowed and tried not to look at Julia running the tip of her tongue along her upper lip.
“You want to get started . . . ?” Before Brian could finish his sentence, Julia pressed her lips and then her body against him. Instantly, he was transported out of the musty library and into a field of strawberries and honeysuckles. Their mouths opened, and Julia’s tongue started slow dancing with his. Brian reached behind Julia and pulled her closer. He wanted their bodies to do the thing their tongues were doing—break through the barriers of skin and share the softest places of themselves.
The squeak of a book cart brought them back to reality. They quickly separated and sat down next to each other on the carpeted floor. Julia picked up the Darwin book and Brian rested his binder on his lap to hide his erection.
“Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on back here,” the clerk said as she passed by with her cartload of books. She was an older Asian woman with streaks of white in her hair, as if she had just walked through a cobweb. There was a hint of a smile when she stopped to address them. “Just so you know, I’m going to be shelving books in this section in about fifteen minutes.”
The woman pushed her cart down the center aisle toward Ancient History.
“I thought we were being so discreet,” Julia said, wiping the saliva off her lips.
They both laughed.
“Is this why you chose this spot for us to work?” Julia said, leaning her head against Brian’s shoulder. “So you could have your way with me?”
“Yes,” Brian said. “There’s no better aphrodisiac than scientific studies on sexual reproduction.”
“Seriously,” Julia said, lifting her head and looking at Brian with her beautiful brown eyes. “Why are we here?”
“I wanted to be alone with you,” Brian said. “Away from all this election . . . bullshit.”
“Is that any way for a campaign adviser to talk?”
“Can we make a deal not to talk about the campaign when we’re together?” Brian asked.
“You worried you might reveal one of Stacey’s secrets?”
“It’s not for Stacey. It’s for me. I want this time to be about us.”
“You don’t want Stacey to know you’re with me,” she said flatly.
“No. Well, yes. That would be problematic. But more important, I want you all to myself. I don’t want to think about the election while we’re together.”
“That’s going to be difficult.”
“I don’t think so,” Brian said, and leaned over and kissed Julia on her neck. He hadn’t kissed her there yet, and now he had. He planned to work his way through every part of her body, cataloging the distinct flavors of her arms, legs, and chest. Her neck tasted salty and sweet. A mixture of sweat and perfume, Brian guessed. He liked the combination. Julia moaned softly in response. “See?” Brian said. “Not thinking of the election.”
“How long are we going to have to do this in the library?” she asked.
“We could go to your house,” Brian said, caressing Julia’s bare arm.
“My aunt would flip. She’s only given me this much freedom because she thinks I’m campaigning right now. If she caught me at home with you, I’d be under house arrest again.”
“It’s crazy. We can’t be together unless you’re running for president, but while you’re running for president, we can’t be together.”
“A real Catch-22,” Julia said. “And what’s wrong with your house?”
“I told you. My mom works from home. Plus, my brother might be there.”
“I’d like to meet your brother.”
“Trust me. You don’t.”
“What’s wrong with him? I’m picturing a smaller version of you.”
“Picture a scabby kid with a blue Mohawk.”
“That’s your brother?” Julia said, laughing. “I’ve seen him around school. I would have never guessed you two were related.”
“My mom wrote a book about us. It takes place in a world where baby factories supply the military with soldiers. One woman rebels and refuses the drugs the government feeds her and gives birth to a pacifist.”
“Let me guess,” Julia said. “That’s you?”
Brian nodded. “The government punishes her by giving her extra doses of testosterone powder during her next pregnancy, and she gives birth to a fighting machine.”
“Your brother.”
“Only in her story, the brothers end up working together to bring down the government and restore balance to the universe.”
“I like happy endings.”
“Yeah, me too. Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s one in store for my brother and me. Kyle’s in therapy now, trying to work through his issues, but it’s not helping. I overheard my mom talking to my dad about putting him on some antianxiety medication.”
“I’m sorry,” Julia said, grabbing Brian’s hand.
“It could be the best thing for him,” Brian said. “But Kyle has shown no interest in ‘inviting Big Pharma into his body.’”
“That must be hard,” Julia said.
Brian’s phone buzzed, showing an incoming text from Stacey. “Shit,” he said.
“That from Stacey?”
“Yeah. I
promised her I’d help her frost her campaign cupcakes tonight. She’s making, like, a thousand.”
“Campaign cupcakes?” Julia asked.
“Yeah, you know, to pass out at brunch. People love them.”
Julia was silent.
Brian realized he had just broken their rule of not talking about the election while they were together. Maybe this was an impossible situation after all. How could they keep the election out of their relationship if it controlled where they could meet and what they could say to each other?
The two stayed silent and stared at the rows of books neatly stacked in front of them. Julia pulled down the title DNA Is Not Destiny and started thumbing through its pages. Before long, she was immersed in the book and had forgotten all about the horny lab partner sitting next to her.
“Anything there on giraffes?” Brian asked, gently running his hand along Julia’s leg. Her skin was soft and slightly goose bumpy from the library’s air-conditioning.
“What?” Julia said, looking up.
“The book,” Brian said. “Can we use it? Cohen loves when you include additional sources on projects.”
Julia shook her head. “It’s on human DNA.”
“Humans are so boring compared to giraffes. Did you know scientists now think there are four distinct giraffe species?”
“I don’t get it. All giraffes look alike to me. Humans seem way more diverse as a species.”
“But we’re not. Whenever people try to say we are, it gets into troubling eugenics territory.”
“You sound like my mom.”
“Is your mom supersmart with smoldering sex appeal?” Brian leaned in for a kiss and was blocked by the hardcover in Julia’s hands.
“Don’t ever use the words ‘mom’ and ‘sex’ in the same sentence again,” she said emphatically. Julia continued with her reading, making little sighs and grunts as her eyes scanned the pages. Brian looked in his book for another passage that would get them making out again.
“If there’s so little genetic variation, why are these DNA tests so popular?” Julia said after a few minutes of silence.
Brian shut his book and considered Julia’s question. “I don’t know. I guess people want to know about their geographic ancestry. That can be interesting.” He paused, because suddenly Stacey’s voice was whispering in his ear, Ask her about her geographic ancestry, you idiot. Find out if she’s really Latina! Brian groaned. Clearly, the library was not the demilitarized zone he hoped it would be.
