You'd Be Home Now (37)

Max’s voice rises. “If you guys didn’t want to read Lolita, I don’t want to read this. This is making me feel guilty for being white. Like, this stuff wasn’t my fault. I’m a nice guy!”

“You gotta face your whiteness, Max,” Tasha says carefully. “And everything that comes with it.”

Max’s face turns red. He raises his hand.

Mr. Watson comes over to our table, holding his mug of coffee. “Yes, Max.”

“I don’t want to read this book. I mean, this shit is sad. And if other people didn’t want to read Lolita and you changed that, then change this.”

“What would you read, Max, if you could? There are only so many adjustments I can make. And please, watch your language.” Mr. Watson’s voice is irritated.

“I don’t know. Like, Percy Jackson. I liked those books and they’re, like, kind of historical and mythical and stuff.”

A couple of kids take out their phones and start filming. People film everything. We’re not even human, just a series of ten-second clips and likes/not likes.

Mr. Watson shakes his head. “I don’t know those books, and we’re well into the semester at this point—”

“Well, damn, man, do you know any books that aren’t about rape?”

Daniel leans back in his chair. “Fair point.”

    Mr. Watson’s head jerks between Daniel and Max. “I’m not going to have this disrespect in my classroom. I simply won’t. You can discuss this with Principal Patterson. Now. Gather your things.”

“Are you serious? Ah, my god, man. Really?” Max stands up quickly, knocking his chair to the floor. He slings his backpack over his shoulder, almost hitting Liza, at the next table, in the face, but she ducks just in time. “God, I hate this school,” he mutters.

Daniel gets his stuff. “Later, people. Come on, Max. I’ll buy you a Hershey bar from the vending machine on the way to Patterson’s office.”

After they leave, Mr. Watson notices all the phones. “Stop that! Put those away! My god, does everything that happens in your world have to be filmed and posted and laughed over?”

Phones slide under desks.

“Any more questions? Changes? Do we remember who is in charge here and who issues grades?”

“Speaking of grades,” Liza says, very quietly.

“Yes, Liza.” Mr. Watson’s totally irritated now. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine, as always.”

“I don’t think I will, actually,” she says slowly. “Some of us, we’re not going to read the books at all. Or turn in reading logs or take the tests. We told you how we felt and…I don’t think you took us very seriously. So we’re boycotting the list until we have a say in what we read.”

The back of her neck is pink. I can tell she’s nervous. I look around the room. Other kids are nodding, putting down their pencils. She’s not wrong. I mean, if you want me to read, let me read what I want to read and I’ll take all the tests and fill out all the reading logs you want.

“That’s ridiculous,” Mr. Watson says. He looks around the room. “You’re here to learn, I’m here to teach. The rules are mine. And if you’re willing to risk a grade—”

    “I am,” says Liza. She stands up, starts putting her iPad and notebook into her backpack.

“Damn,” whispers Mandy Hinkle. “This is getting interesting.”

Liza walks to the front of the room and faces the rest of us. “I get it, if you can’t risk this, or don’t want to. But anybody who wants to can join us.”

She looks at Mr. Watson. “Don’t worry, I’m on my way to Patterson’s office now.”

I watch her walk out.

The class is quiet. Then, slowly, kids start getting up, packing their bags. Chairs scrape on the floor. I look down at my desk, my face burning.

Even though I agree with Liza, I can’t get in trouble. My mother will freak out. I can’t risk piling that on top of the Joey situation.

Half the kids in class have left.

Mr. Watson takes a deep breath. “It seems we have a problem,” he says softly. “Please return to your reading.”

No one says anything and he goes back to his desk, starts tapping at his laptop furiously.

Tasha and I look at each other. She shakes her head and goes back to her book.

But I can’t concentrate on my reading now. Liza told me to grow a spine. I don’t want to read some of these books, either, but I don’t want to get in trouble with my mother.

Tasha scribbles on a piece of paper and slides it to me.

It’s okay to stay and it’s okay to go. I have my own reasons for staying. And I’m sorry, about everything.

I write back, Thank you.



* * *



—

    On my way to the auditorium for Drama Club after my last class, I have to pass the teachers’ lounge. There are loud voices coming from inside.

I stop just outside the slightly opened door and listen, pinning myself against the wall.

It’s Mr. Watson and Simon Stanley.

“Calm down, Walter.” Simon’s voice is gentle.

“I mean, it was ridiculous. It was like a riot. A boycott, for goodness’ sake! They don’t want to read anything of substance. These are the great books! Reading isn’t supposed to be easy. School isn’t supposed to be easy. You just do what you’re told and learn.”