The Feminist Agenda of Jemima Kincaid

by Kate Hattemer

  Before the lacrosse game the next morning, I went to the studio where Jiyoon was about to lead a tour. She was alone, arranging black velvet around the base of her sculpture.

  “You look remarkably calm,” I said.

  “Why wouldn’t I be calm?”

  “The election?”

  “I’m fine now that it’s out of my control.”

  “That always makes things worse for me.”

  “Because you’re a control freak,” she said, but in a nice way. “Shouldn’t you be out there hobnobbing with alumni? Putting on your greasepaint for the big game?”

  “Oh my God. So…”

  I filled her in about the Powderpuff teams. “Gross,” she said, shaking her head.

  “I’m going to blow it up.”

  “What?”

  “I get the mike for the welcome speech before the game. I wrote a speech. An exposé. They won’t know what’s hitting them.”

  “Jem. Come over here.” We sat on stools splattered with paint and bumpy with glue. “Swivel toward me and look me in the eyes,” she said. “You can’t do this.”

  “I’m definitely doing it.”

  “If it’s true—”

  “It’s true.”

  “—then it’s the grossest thing ever. It’s got to be stopped. It will be stopped. But you can’t stop it by giving a public speech at the biggest event of the year.”

  “That’s the best way! It’ll make the news! It’ll go viral!”

  “It’ll ruin everything,” she said firmly. “The whole Jamboree and your class’s graduation, to start. Then the rest. Donations, admissions—it could destroy the whole school.”

  “Maybe Chawton should be destroyed. Think about how many people knew this was going on.”

  “I’m going to ask you a tough question, Jem. You can get mad at me, but promise you’ll at least think about it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you giving the speech because you want this thing to be stopped, or because you want to be the one who stops it?”

  That, ladies and gentlemen, is a best friend. She sees you for all your frailty and flaws, and she loves you, and she calls you the fuck out.

  “Because this is the best way to stop it,” I said.

  That doesn’t mean she’s always right.

  “Think about it,” said Jiyoon. A student ambassador appeared at the door with a group of alumni. Without missing a beat, Jiyoon stood. “Hello!” she said. “Welcome to the sculpture studio! May I show you around?”

  * * *

  —

  The lacrosse game was under way by the time I got back outside, and the campus was buzzing with students and parents and alumni. I recognized a few of the OWDs from the Senior Triumvirates, Past and Present reception back in April.

  At halftime, I snuck away from Gennifer and her to-do list to find Mack. He was with the team on the other side of the field, and I hoped my triumvir T-shirt would give me a permissible pretense for being over there. I cornered him while he was alone at the water cooler.

  “Hey,” I said.

  He didn’t respond, either ignoring me or not hearing me.

  “Hi, Mack,” I said.

  “Yo,” he said, not looking at me.

  “I know you did it.”

  I saw him stiffen under the lacrosse pads. “Did what?”

  “Don’t bother playing dumb.”

  He finished filling the water bottle. He took off his helmet and shoved a sheaf of sweaty hair off his forehead. He spat out his mouth guard. “Fine,” he said at last. “What do you want?”

  “I want to know why you did it.”

  “You know why.”

  “To make Jiyoon look bad and win the election?”

  “I don’t care about the election.”

  This did not compute. He swigged from the water bottle.

  “I ran because everyone told me I should,” he said. “But I’ll be just as happy if Jiyoon wins and I can kick back and enjoy senior year.”

  “Why’d you do it, then?”

  “You know.”

  “No, I really don’t,” I said. “To get at me? You knew everyone would blame me for it?”

  He gave me a strange look. “Why would I want to get at you?”

  Those were my only two theories. “Then why?”

  “You know,” he said for the third time.

  “If it’s not clear already, I—”

  “Gennifer put Andy.”

  “She put—wait. She put Andy?”

  “You didn’t look at the data?”

  “Of course not!”

  He shrugged. “I flipped through. I wasn’t going to do anything. I was waiting for Gennifer to get back from her locker. But I saw her code, so I looked her up, just for the hell of it, and, yeah, there it was. She put Andy. My girlfriend put my fucking brother.”

  “It was something dumb she typed into a dumb website, Mack. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  Why was I trying to console him?

  “I got so mad,” he said. “And I was like, Okay, I’ll fuck with their fucking Triumvirate. I’ll post it.”

  “So that’s why Gennifer’s name wasn’t on it. You didn’t want everyone else to know.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “But what about me? And Andy? Why’d you take us off?”

  “No shit,” he said, squinting at me. “You seriously had that folder of data and you didn’t even look.”

  “Nope.”

  “I took you and Andy off because you put each other.”

  “I put him—”

  “And he put you. One and only, both of you. It was too fucking perfect. He always gets everything. And now, look, one more thing.”

  “He put me?”

  “Just you.”

  I goggled.

  “So yeah, sorry for ruining that,” said Mack. “He’s probably still into you. Ask him out. He’d be down.”

  “I had no idea,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said, picking up his helmet, “you’re pretty clueless.”

  “Gennifer likes you,” I said. “She likes you a lot.”

  “Whatever.” He put on his helmet. “Also, just so you know, don’t think I’m ever admitting this. It’s your word against mine and I will fucking deny this shit till the day I die.”

  So much for the stirring of fondness I’d felt for him.

  “I gotta go,” he said, sticking in his mouth guard. He spoke through it, the words garbled. “This conversation never happened.”

  * * *

  —

  It would have looked suspicious not to change into my Powderpuff kit, so I did, even though I knew I wouldn’t be playing. Nobody would be playing. I grabbed my red folder and found Gennifer on the sidelines. She said, “Your speech is right after the cheer routines—”

  “—so be ready to take the mike immediately,” I said. “You’ve told me. Several times.”

  “I’m just trying to make this happen, Jemmy.”

  With a nauseating rasp of feedback, the song started for the Male Tigers’ cheer routine. We turned to the field, where a dozen senior guys had run out in tiny shorts and crop tops. “Oof,” said Gennifer.

  “Oof is right,” I said. The mock cheerleading was a spectacle best avoided.

  “All that pale, hairy leg,” said Gennifer, shaking her head.

  The audience was already roaring, and they kept roaring throughout the two-minute dance, which mostly consisted of hip thrusts, prancing, and kissy faces. The problems here extended far beyond the fact that the sun had never shone on most of these thighs. By the end, the guys were flushed, waggling jazz hands around the one guy who could almost do the splits.

  “Did you put the ballots at our table in the tent?” Gen
nifer asked as the Angel Boys cavorted onto the field.

  “As you commanded.”

  “Good,” she said. “We’ll distribute them to the juniors at halftime, and then we’ll miss third quarter to count the votes.”

  We had already run through the logistics at least six times. Impulsively, I slung an arm around her shoulders. “Thanks, Gennifer. You’re great at this.”

  “I know.”

  “You should be a wedding planner.”

  “Or a CEO,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Check yourself.”

  The Angel Boys were twerking. The whole Tigers Powderpuff team joined Gennifer and me on the sidelines, and Andy and Tyler came over too. I was right in the middle of the group. The Angel Boys shook their booties to Beyoncé and the roar of the crowd, and I gazed at them and felt my eyes go wet. It wasn’t sadness, or happiness, or nostalgia, or anger. I didn’t know what it was.

  “What do you want?” Mack had asked me.

  I wanted everything. I wanted the Powderpuff scandal to be broken. I wanted to be the one to break it. And I wanted everything to stay the same. I wanted the Chawton snow globe to keep sparkling, intact. I wanted the sunshine to keep soaking the boys in problematic drag, the girls in football gear, the pastel alumni, the effed-up-ness of it all.

  * * *

  —

  A few minutes later I said, “Welcome.” I had taken the wireless mike onto the field. “It is my honor to welcome Chawton School’s proud contingent of students, parents, alumni, trustees, and graduating seniors to the forty-first annual Jamboree. On behalf of Senior Triumvirate and the entire senior class, I hope you’re enjoying the festivities.”

  I was speaking off the cuff. My prepared speech was tucked into my waistband, but I didn’t need a script.

  “I can’t believe my experience at Chawton is about to end,” I told everyone. “It’s bittersweet. I’m excited for my next steps. I’m excited to find a bigger world. But my time here has taught me so much.”

  As I spoke, my eyes scanned the audience. I couldn’t find Jiyoon. I did see Crispin, in the bleachers with our parents. He was wearing a derby hat.

  Maybe they were right.

  But I didn’t do it because anyone had told me to do it. I didn’t do it for any good reason at all. I did it because the field was green and the people were pretty. I did it because I wanted to play Powderpuff, damn it.

  For once in my life, I kept my big mouth shut.

  “That’s all,” I said. “Thank you. It’s time for the game.”

  I played the first few minutes in a daze. The Angels got a touchdown off us, and I dropped an easy catch. “What’s with you, Kincaid?” Andy barked from the sidelines. “Get your head in the game!”

  Melanie hiked to Jessica. I ranged out deep and left and saw the ball spiraling through the blue sky, and I hugged it to my chest and got in three, four, five big steps before Mackenzie chased me down. “That’s better!” yelled Andy. “Now do it again!”

  Jessica went short to Haley on the next down. But on the following one, although Andy and Tyler had called another short play, she threw long, deep into the end zone on the right side. I didn’t think I could even get close, but nobody else was near, so I sprinted with everything I had, my tight braid arcing behind me as Mackenzie tried to keep her mark. I was still ten feet away as the ball began to plummet, and I dove. I felt the ball between my chest and the grass. I knew by the screams of the crowd that I, and the ball, were in the end zone.

  Brittany spotted Jessica as quarterback, and Jessica ran a long touchdown in the second quarter. But the Angels got another one too. The game was tied at halftime. “Huddle up, Tigers!” called Andy.

  We all came in tight. “Some great work from Landover and Kincaid,” said Tyler.

  Haley interrupted him with a whoop. Andy gave me a tiny smile, and I felt a jolt of confusion. I had resolved that we were over. But he’d listed me for the dance. Only me.

  “There’s a lot of room for improvement, though,” said Andy. “Listen up.”

  “Um, Tyler needs to handle this alone,” said Gennifer. “We’ve got to run the election. Now.”

  “That can wait.”

  “No, it can’t.”

  He turned back to the team, wordlessly dismissing her. “I want to see more focus out there,” he told the huddle. “You’re getting distracted by the crowd, and—”

  “Come on, Gennifer,” I said loudly. “We’ve got a job to do. Even if this asshole won’t do his part.”

  “What did you call me?”

  “You heard me.” I met his glare. “The three of us have responsibilities, and Gennifer and I, at least, intend to see them through.”

  “Let’s go,” said Gennifer.

  The two of us left and headed toward the tent. The huddle closed in behind us like we’d never been there. Andy didn’t follow. “Why am I surprised?” I said.

  “You shouldn’t be,” said Gennifer. She was right. This was a guy who’d sorted us by our breasts.

  “I need to tell you something,” I said.

  “Now? We’ve got a hundred and twenty juniors swarming to get their chairman ballots.”

  “I can say it on the way to the tent.” I told her about Mack: how he’d leaked the Last Chance Dance picks, and why. “Do you believe me?” I said.

  “Yeah. I believe you. I didn’t know. But I believe you.”

  “I know he’s your boyfriend, and maybe he’s not a bad guy, but—”

  “But,” she said.

  She met my eyes. Gennifer is so cool, so collected. Her forehead remained smooth. Her eyes were dry. We were at the tent. “Juniors!” she called. “Form two orderly lines, please! After you sign your acknowledgment that you have received your ballot, you may make your vote wherever you choose.” The juniors were excited for their first senior activity. They were annoyingly full of themselves, like they thought they were seniors already. Don’t trust tomorrow, I thought, because tomorrow brings the people who will take your place. “Your ballot must be in the box by the beginning of the third quarter.”

  * * *

  —

  Andy didn’t show up at the tent until the third quarter had begun. “Was that so hard?” he said, sauntering in. “It’s called division of labor.”

  Ms. Edison shooed everyone out of the tent before leaving herself. (Chawton tradition. You know.) Gennifer got out her gel pens and binder, and I unfolded the first ballot, read it, and handed it to Andy to be read aloud. “One vote for Jiyoon,” he said, his voice even.

  Gennifer made a tick mark.

  I handed him the next ballot.

  “One for Mack,” he said.

  And so it went.

  * * *

  —

  In the fourth quarter, we were behind by seven points. It was fourth down with less than a minute on the clock. We were at the twenty-yard line, and we needed a touchdown and a two-point conversion. Andy and Tyler called a time-out. “Kincaid, go deep,” said Tyler. “Bowling, you go shallow.” Jessica was quarterbacking again. “Get it to whichever one looks more open.”

  “This is it, girls,” said Andy. “This is our chance to win it for the Tigers.”

  I ran deep. I darted around the Angel linewomen and sprinted down the sideline and turned for the pass, squinting against the sun.

  Jessica flipped it to Brittany.

  She was instantly tackled.

  The clock blared, and the Angels—the team, their fans—rose up in exultation.

  I didn’t care at all.

  * * *

  —

  After Mackenzie accepted the Powderpuff trophy on behalf of the Angels, Ms. Edison, Gennifer, Andy, and I came onto the makeshift stage. “Chawton tradition holds that the new Triumvirate is announced directly after the Powderpuff game,” said Ms. Edison. “Let’s have
one last round of applause for the current Triumvirate.”

  I didn’t have much trouble looking modest, given how little we deserved any applause whatsoever.

  “Without further ado,” said Ms. Edison, “I’ll announce the rising Senior Triumvirate. The new Social Committee president will be Madison Porter.”

  No surprise there. Madison squealed and ran onto the field. Gennifer hugged her.

  “The recipient of the Mildred Mustermann Award for Academic Excellence,” said Ms. Edison, “is Ashby Fleming.”

  Again, no surprise. Ashby looked pleased. She got a round of polite applause. I shook her hand.

  “And the senior-class chairman—” said Ms. Edison.

  I was nervous even though I knew the results.

  “—will be Jiyoon Kim.”

  A moment of shock, and then the audience erupted into claps and cheers and hollers, and Jiyoon, beaming, made her way down from the bleachers and took the field. Andy shook her hand and pulled her into a bro hug, pounding her back.

  There they were, I thought, looking at the three of them. All girls. They would be the ones running Powderpuff. If they followed the advice I planned to give them, they’d cancel the whole corrupt event. If they wanted to keep the game, they could divide the teams however they wanted to. The tradition would die.

  I’m not saying I did the right thing, and I’m not saying I did it for the right reasons. But I was pretty sure it’d be okay.

  * * *

  —

  Crispin found me after the ceremony. “Congratulations,” he said, hugging me. “You’re no longer a triumvir.”

  “Thank God,” I said.

  “You decided not to do anything?”

  “Do anything about what?”

  “Good girl,” he said, patting my head.

  I’d been getting a lot of that.

  Good job, Jemima.

  Nice going up there.

  Good work, girl.

  And nice run on that last play!

  Good. Nice. Good. Nice.