You'd Be Home Now (50)
That’s nice maybe a little higher
I raise it a little higher.
From his window, he motions for me to raise it even higher.
I shake my head, No.
He watches me for a minute and then hooks his fingers in the waistband of his pajama pants and pushes them down one hip. He motions for me to do the same.
You promise you won’t show anyone?
I would never do that, Emmy
I push one side of my pants down and hold it there, keeping my eyes on his face.
He holds up his phone. The flash brightens like a tiny star again.
Beautiful, he says. Perfect.
Mis_Educated
Today was a good day
Sometimes you win:
Go forth, Watsoners, and create
Your own list of classic reads.
We’ve been released.
No more Lolita, no more Hester Prynne, No more West Egg, East Egg
Bring forth your hobbits and faeries
Bring forth girl queens with swords
Bring forth the damn pig and spider
Your Whartons and Riordans
Your Lewises and Woolfs
Your Baldwins and Morrisons
And you can even read Proust
(what a boring old gas bag, tho).
What shall we take on next
The extremely sad practice
Of dismembering frogs in bio?
How about woodshop? I mean,
Who puts kids in charge of heavy machinery?
What about Kramer’s visual art
Is it all white people?
I was today-years-old when I learned
Those marble statues turned white Over time
They were as colorful as sunsets
Just like people
On to other things:
Fall Fest is coming up
What sort of drama is going to happen?
Young hearts, a dance, some
Thumpin bass and a little something
Snuck into the punch bowl
Should do the trick.
Who’s getting ready for the dance?
233 likes
#heywoodhaulers #heywoodhigh #heywoodhypocrisy #revolutionnow #heywoodfallfestival #millhaven
NatetheGreat nobody ever dances with me WoodyB i’m picking The Wimpy Kid books, jk GentleBen I don’t want to cut those frogs poor little froggies MandyMandy I love Edith Wharton! Detention was totally worth our book boycott, btw LzySusan I can’t believe you guys got to Watson like that BlakeMars Did you hear about the mill? Might get sold so richy riches can have nice apartments and meanwhile me and my mom are stomping on roaches every hour MrPoppersPenguins Anyone seen a little blond girl named Carly? She’s my sister. Been missing from Dover since last May. DM me LucyK Candy loved dances. She was on the dance team, remember? She taught me how to dance in eighth grade. She was so beautiful when she was dancing.
TashaJack Anybody want to do anything about Helen Hoover the History Teacher from Hell telling us slavery was a necessary evil? I’ll wait.
22
MAX DEVOS STARES AT the paper in his hand like he’s never actually seen a paper product before. “So, like, you’re saying I can read any book I want? Any book?”
Mr. Watson is fiddling with a pen. He looks at us all sternly.
“Yes. Any book. A minimum of two hundred pages. It must be fiction. And you must write a thirty-page paper on why you think this is a piece of classic literature that should be read by students of your age. You’ll need to use at least ten of the literary terms that I’ll discuss during the remainder of our classes and you must use them correctly. You must cite your sources of support for your arguments. Typed, titled, double-spaced. You may not use illustrations. That means drawing, Max.”
“I know that, I’m not stupid,” Max says huffily.
You can just tell Mr. Watson wants to say Are you sure? by the flicker of his mouth, but somehow, he reins it in.
Someone says meekly, “Thirty pages? Don’t you think that’s a—”
Mr. Watson holds up one long, wrinkly finger. “I’m asking you to read one book. One. You can write the paper. I’ll have no more discussion on this. This is what you wanted, this is what you get. No tests, but a paper. Your one goal is to make me want to read the book. Are we in agreement?”
Daniel Wankel gives me a sidelong glance. Not bad, he mouths.
He’s wearing a really soft-looking gray scarf today. I wonder what his scar must look like, how long it is, if it’s thick or thin. If it hurts, or itches, like the one on my knee, which is bumpy and raised and red.
“What are you going to read?’ he whispers as Watson starts writing things on the board. The whiteboard marker makes a pleasant squeak, like a tiny bird singing.
“I don’t know,” I whisper back. “Maybe The Portrait of a Lady. I read it last year for another class and then again after I got home from the hospital over the summer. I just really like it for some reason, you know?” I liked it, Isabel Archer figuring things out in such a quiet way, even as she kept getting bumped around. Some parts were very dense, like a lot was happening under the surface that I didn’t quite understand, which is actually how I often feel about my own life, to be honest, but reading it also made me feel a weird sense of comfort, like someone had wrapped me in a giant blanket. Isabel wasn’t quite sure what direction her life was going to go in, either.