This Might Hurt(102)

“I don’t understand you,” Nat says, trying to slow me down.

I speed up. “You probably never will.”

Teacher’s absence is best for Wisewood. She distracted us during our q’s, ate up our time with never-ending tests of loyalty, pitted us against one another. She put us all at risk—Jeremiah was determined to take her down and would’ve gladly crushed Wisewood to do so. Now that I’ve eliminated the threat of her, he has the justice he wanted. If he ever speaks to the press, then I will too. I’ll explain that Rebecca Stamp is no longer affiliated with Wisewood, that we didn’t know how Madame Fearless treated her employees in the past, though perhaps we should have guessed. Teacher will never again hurt my peers or students the way she hurt Jeremiah’s brother, the way she hurt me.

My sister watches me expectantly.

“Someone has to uphold this institution,” I tell her.

Teacher was Wisewood, but Wisewood is not her. The staff designs the courses, teaches the classes, conducts the quests. We bring students to the island and lead them through orientation, guide them every step of the way. Ruth and I can lead one-on-ones. We can do this without Teacher.

Don’t flatter yourself. Without me, Wisewood is a washed-up commune.

Teacher gave birth to a movement that has outgrown her. This is the natural order of things: mothers age, languish, die, while their offspring move on without them. Teacher’s principles were right, but her means of implementing them were wrong.

If the mother makes the baby sick, you remove the baby from its mother.

“God knows Gordon isn’t capable of protecting Wisewood’s values,” I add.

Unlike Jeremiah, Gordon will never let this go. He won’t return to Wisewood without Teacher by his side—he has no attachment to this place, only to her. Just as well. We don’t need Gordon to keep Wisewood going. The community doesn’t depend on any single person. It’s bigger than that. It’s about to get much better.

Naturally I’m concerned about releasing him back into the world, but he’s an old man. Without Teacher to serve, he’ll become rudderless. Time will do what time does. I hope before then he finds peace, a way to pursue his Maximized Self in the outside world. Though I don’t like him, he has as much of a right to work the path as I do. Jesus didn’t get to kill the disciples he found grating.

The Hourglass is in sight, floating at the end of the pier. The sun warms my face. Only a couple of months until spring.

“I can’t believe you’re willing to do literally anything to keep Wisewood going.” Nat says this like it’s a bad thing.

You’re a tidal wave, Kitten.

I imagine my sister marching into the police station, demanding they dismantle everything we’ve worked so hard to build. I see Debbie returning to Carl, collecting bruises like baseball cards. Raeanne is forced into the back of her truck, four hands holding her down. Ruth is alone in Utah. Sofia weeps nightly at her daughter’s grave site. Sanderson is back on the streets, begging for booze. We’ve already had one close call with him.

A few days ago he confided to Ruth that he was leaving for good. He claimed it had nothing to do with drinking—he felt stronger than ever but had changed his mind about Wisewood and wanted to return to his family. But we all knew better than that. Luckily Ruth reported the plan to Gordon, who jumped on the Hourglass to save Sanderson right before he snuck away. I shudder to think what might’ve happened if we’d lost him.

Principle I: I want to live a life in which I am free.

I replace the ghastly images with a memory. All of us stand around a bonfire, swaying with the trees and singing “Hallelujah.” We’ve constructed our own family here, one without lies or judgment. None of us is better than another. No one wins or loses. No one is overweight or underpaid. No one is doing life wrong. We love one another as we are.

I can better this place. In some ways I already have. Take the blinds, for instance. Putting cameras in the guest rooms was too much; we don’t need to monitor our students every minute of the day. It’s enough to remove the blinds from the windows, to prove to one another we have nothing to hide. The cameras will soon come down—the one in my cabin already has.

The only person with the potential to cause real trouble for Wisewood is my sister. She is lonely and determined and has all the energy in the world. She could upend our fragile ecosystem. She could take my family from me. What wouldn’t she do to get me back under her thumb? Teacher warned me.

Principle II: As long as I fear, I cannot be free.

We reach the end of the pier, stare out at the sparkling water. How gentle, how inviting, it appears now, no longer a thrashing and crashing monster. My sister and I stand shoulder to shoulder. For a second I forget the weight of the responsibilities that have landed in my lap. I gaze at her.

I’m seven; she’s ten. I ask Mom if we can go to a baseball game. We don’t have the money, but instead of telling us that, Mom hands out glittery tickets the next afternoon. Numbers have been tacked to folding chairs in the living room. She makes a big show of ushering us to our assigned seats. She turns the kitchen into a concession stand, giving out Monopoly money to pay for tubs of popcorn and paper cups of soda. During the seventh-inning stretch, she makes us stand and belt “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” along with the crowd on TV. It’s one of the best days of my life.