Junior AP English
Mr. Cogweiller
EXTRA CREDIT ASSIGNMENT: four-page paper on topic of your choice
I went to Oslo with my dad when I was in seventh grade. He was going to a meeting there for work and he took me. We landed at the airport and went in a taxi to a big hotel in the city. At first, Oslo looked like any other city. But then I began to notice how organized it was. Like the lines on the road, the way the traffic lights worked, there was an advanced logic to things.
We went to the hotel and had lunch. My dad said the food in Oslo wasn’t so great, but I liked it. There were lots of rolls. The cups and bowls were different. The plates were square. The forks were stubbier than American forks.
That afternoon, my dad went to a meeting and I stayed in the hotel. He said I could walk around if I wanted, but I was afraid, so I stayed in the room and read my Harry Potter book. After a while, though, I stopped reading and looked out the window. It was cold and misty and very gray outside. The cars were smaller than our cars. And the trucks seemed like toys somehow. I thought, These poor people. They can’t afford real trucks. They have to do everything really small and puny because they’re not Americans like us.
I went downstairs. I told the lady at the front desk that I was going for a walk. I stepped through the sliding glass doors and onto the street. It was very cold, but people were walking around. The Oslonians looked different from Americans. The actual shape of their faces was different. But they were very trim and well dressed. I was careful to stay out of their way. They looked busy.
I walked down the main street. Everyone had the latest cell phones and headsets. They had their odd minicars, and their Mercedes buses and their sleek, colorful streetcars. I went into a supermarket and everything was small and compact and computerized. It was like being in a science fiction movie, but only ten years in the future. Everything felt like it was designed very carefully. Everything was there for a reason. And it wasn’t like they were walking around congratulating themselves about it. They just did it because that was the logical thing to do.
There were no strip malls in Oslo. There was no litter. There was a McDonald’s, though, and I went there and the French fries tasted funny. I mean, it wasn’t a perfect place. But it was different. That was the lesson. Things can be different. You don’t have to keep doing things the exact same way. You can change. A lot of people do things differently and so can we.
The End
A– from Cogweiller. Barely made a mark on it. Wrote: Interesting, good description of physical location on the bottom.
At school today, Sadie came to my locker and gave me my clipboard and the petition sheets for Save the Wetlands. She told me that my days will be Tuesday and Thursday. Then she explained how you approach people and what you’re supposed to say.
She had it all on a printout. While she showed me, she breathed on me and stood really close. Our forearms touched. She pointed out my location on the map: right in front of Powell’s Bookstore downtown. She said it would be fun. She said I’d meet interesting people.
I was like, “Wait. Aren’t you going to be there?”
She said no, her days are Monday and Wednesday. And she was at a different location, out by the airport.
I was like, “I thought we were doing this together?”
She said we were, but only in different places. And on different days.
So then I couldn’t say anything more because that would be too embarrassing and would show that I don’t really care so much about saving the ducks or the frogs or whatever. I mean, I do, but not enough to go stand on a street corner by myself, harassing people to sign a piece of paper—which won’t really help anything anyway, not in the long run.
So I just grumbled and acted annoyed like I used to when we were going out and Sadie wanted me to do some weird thing I didn’t want to do, but that, usually, I was glad I did, after I did it.
Had a talk with Mom last night. She asked me about college stuff. Had I been looking into it? Did I have any thoughts?
I knew that was coming. Of course my dad will want me to apply to Harvard or some god-awful place so he can brag to his friends.
I can’t imagine where I would go. When I look around at the seniors who are going to top colleges, they seem like the biggest suck-ups imaginable. And the state colleges seem like continuous frat parties. I guess I could go to some freaky alternative college and grow my own hemp or whatever.
Another college conversation with Mom this morning.
“There’s another thing about the college situation,” she said, as she poured coffee.
“What’s that?”
“Your dad wants to buy you a car.”
That was a bit of a shock.
“I think his idea is,” said my mother calmly, “if you went to college here on the West Coast, you know, you’d be able to come home…”
A car, I thought. My own car. To feed and pet and clean up after…
“I sorta hate cars, though,” I said.
“I know. I tried to tell him that. He can’t believe that anyone your age wouldn’t want one. I think he’s hoping a car would be that little nudge to get you interested in going to college.”
“So if I take the car, I gotta go to college.”
“Something like that.”
“Has Dad ever met me?”
“He’s just remembering his own college days. That’s all it is. He’s just trying to help.”
Junior AP English
Mr. Cogweiller
ASSIGNMENT: four-page paper on an activity you have participated in outside of school
Bums need stuff. This goes against what you’d think. You’d think they don’t need anything. That’s the whole fun of being a bum. Wrong. They need: spare change, beer, someone to talk to, a hug, fourteen cents, a bed, an operation for their dog, a bus transfer, any extra pizza you might have, a paper clip, food stamps, to kick your ass, $400, a sock, a bottle opener, help getting their friend out of jail, a cooking mitt, a screwdriver, bolt cutters, a massage, etc. etc. One man wanted me to pull a tooth for him. Another woman tried to bite me.
Business people can’t talk to you right now. What? No. They can’t talk. What? They’re on their cell. What? No. Just a minute. What’s that? Petition? Sign something? No. Sorry. Can’t talk. Can’t. Sorry. Can’t.
Old people are old and in pain and they don’t have time to listen to something they aren’t going to understand anyway. They’re grimacing with the pain in their back/neck/legs. They don’t know where they are or what they’re doing. They shuffle toward the bookstore entrance and turn their whole bodies to stare at you through the enormous lenses of their eyeglasses. They don’t know why you’re standing outside a bookstore with a clipboard, rattling on about swamps. But then they understand very little about the kids these days, what with their newfangled ringtones and their pants hanging halfway down their asses and their sex parties on the internet.
Soccer moms are very concerned. They are the most concerned people of all the people the petitioner encounters. They stop. They nod. They let their eyes rest on you. They are very concerned. And they are glad for you, that you are concerned and are doing something about it. But they don’t like to sign things. Not until they read up on it more. And as soon as they do, they will sign. But they are concerned. They are very concerned. Being concerned is their job. You could never be as concerned as they are. Don’t even try. Also, they’re late to pick up their gifted child.
Aging hippies don’t think you’re doing it right. You’re standing wrong, approaching people wrong, explaining things wrong. You obviously lack passion and true commitment. It’s not the same now, not like in their day, when politics mattered and music meant something.
Tourists will sign. They come to the Pacific Northwest to think about nature and reconnect with the woods and the rivers and the streams. So if you explain to them it is a petition to save nature, they get excited. They sign. They can’t wait to sign. Here’s the weird thing: They make up fake names and addresses. It is not clear why they do this. Maybe they think the government is keeping a secret file: people who are against destroying the world. You wouldn’t want to be identified as one of those.
People in their twenties with tattoos know about your cause. They have read about it or heard something on NPR. They are very informed. Sometimes they know more about it than you do. Also, they know about other terrible things that are happening that you don’t know about. “Did you hear about the nuclear waste they’re dumping in the playgrounds?” And then you end up listening to them.
Teenagers don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. They don’t. They stare at you like you’re insane. Why are you downtown? What are you? Homeless? Don’t you have parents?
Every once in a while a teenager, usually a girl, comes by who does know what you’re talking about. These are the more artsy types with messenger bags and old Vans and graphic novels under their arms. They listen to you. They sign. Sometimes they’ll forge their parents’ signatures for you. You kinda wish you knew them or could hang with them, but ultimately they’re probably too cool or too weird. So you just smile at them and let them be on their way.
THE END
Cogs liked my petition paper. Gave me a B. I asked why not an A or at least a B+ since it was obviously hilarious (he read it to the class). He said it had no formal introduction or conclusion.
That’s Cogweiller for you, always thinking outside the box.
He did write, Glad to see you are involving yourself in your community in a positive way.
Yeah, I gave up my drug trafficking. What did he think I did with my time?
That gave me an idea, though. Since I had my petition stuff in my bag, I asked him for a signature after class. He got a little flustered and said he couldn’t do that on school grounds, it was against district policy. I said, “So we’ll do it off school grounds.”
This led to more awkwardness as I then had to meet Cogs after school and walk with him through the rain to his old Nissan hatchback. It was in the back parking lot, which is technically not on district property.
This was very weird. First of all, I’d never even seen Cogs outside of a classroom, not to mention with a ski hat on and little mittens. Also, his being elderly and all, I had to slow my pace somewhat as we walked. The other thing was: I was hoping to talk to him. I’d always been curious about the Cogman. Like what’s he like on his own time? What’s he into? What’s his wife like? And his home life?
But walking out there, I found I couldn’t start a conversation. Not at all. My role with him is: I’m the smart-ass and he’s the teacher. There didn’t seem to be any way to break out of that.
So I just followed along.
We got to his car. I got my petition stuff out and he signed it. I thanked him. He said nothing and got into his beater Nissan hatchback.
I watched him drive off. I felt bad we couldn’t manage a conversation. But I also realized that’s what’s cool about him.
Cogs is a pro. No BS. No pretending we’re buddies. I’m the smart-ass and he’s the teacher.
You gotta respect that.
So I’m sitting in the lounge with Jessica and some other people, and Rich Herrington comes over and starts talking about this new guy and something he did in the cafeteria. I don’t know what he’s talking about, but he’s very excited. So is everyone else. They’ve all heard about this new guy. Other people join in the conversation. Did you hear what he did? Did you hear what he said? What’s his name, anyway? Where’s he from? I’ve never seen people at my high school get like this.
People in my high school usually don’t care about anything.
As it turns out, what this new guy does—drumroll, please—is stand by the garbage cans in the cafeteria and take food people are going to throw away. He takes it off their trays, apples, rolls, whatever they don’t want, whatever’s edible. He’s very polite about it, but people still freak out. The first time he did it, one of the cafeteria ladies with the plastic bags on her head came out and yelled at him. Then a real teacher tried to make him stop and there was a big argument. He got sent to the principal’s office. But then he did it again, in direct defiance of the principal.
Which is kind of impressive, I have to admit.
People are calling him the Garbage Eater. His real name is Jedediah Strock. “Jedediah” strikes me as a pretentious name. Especially if you’re not calling yourself Jed but going for the long version, which sounds like you’re a pioneer homesteader or some dude out of the Bible. The garbage gathering is apparently a political statement. He’s against waste. Big deal. Who isn’t? Also, he has this straggly beard and long straggly hair that he pulls back with one of those girl scrunchy things. People say how intense he is. People talk about his piercing blue eyes. I’m not buying it. He sounds too obvious. Anybody can stand there eating garbage in front of the whole school.
What’s your point?
I see Sadie after school, and since we’re petition partners and saving the wetlands together, she comes right over and asks me if I’ve heard about Jedediah. I say I have. She wants to know if I’ve actually seen him collecting the stuff off people’s trays. I haven’t. “That’s pretty daring, don’t you think?” she asks. She’s all flushed and excited about this guy. I don’t answer. I ask her how the petitions went, out at the airport. She says good, they got a lot of signatures. She says she heard I did well, too, that I got sixty-five signatures. She says she couldn’t believe I got so many. I say, “I’m actually quite charming when I want to be.”
She says, “Yeah, when you want to be.”
Where the hell did this Jedediah guy come from? During fourth period he sits in the middle of the main lawn, playing his guitar and singing. And doing Buddhist chants. What is up with that? He wears trashed Converse low-tops that are held together with duct tape, his T-shirts are so old you can see through them, and his Hindu sheepherding jacket is shedding. He doesn’t have enough facial hair to have a beard, but he has one anyway. The mystical hippie dude thing: Don’t you have to be outta high school to pull that off? I heard some jocks are planning to beat him up. I feel jealous.
The jocks used to beat me up.
I see Sadie talking to Jedediah. God, I hate that guy. Supposedly his parents are missionaries and he lived in India for five years. Go back to frickin’ India, bro. Sadie is so kissing his ass. Asking him questions. Maybe they can go into the helping-people business together. He can sing songs of love and understanding, and she can get a new bike path approved.
I hate bike paths.
I finally see him doing it. He’s been forbidden to do it by every authority known to man, but there he is, during Wednesday lunch, collecting the garbage off people’s trays. He does it for like thirty seconds and then Mr. Greco, the gym teacher, swoops down on him. Mr. Greco grabs Jedediah’s very skinny arm and yanks him away from the garbage cans. All the apples and unopened milk cartons and stuff go spilling across the floor. Mr. Greco is an ex-Marine. He grabs the Garbage Eater by the back of his shirt and marches him toward the principal’s office. But here’s the killer. As he’s being led away, people begin to clap. Everyone in the cafeteria starts clapping and standing up. Soon the whole cafeteria is on their feet giving him a standing ovation, as Mr. Greco practically rips his shirt off. I have to stand up or look like a total jerk.
I don’t clap, though.
In the meantime, while the Garbage Eater is getting all the attention at school, I’m stuck downtown trying to get crazy people to sign my stupid petition. That’s my own demented sense of honor. I said I’d do the petitions, so I do them. One good thing: I finally meet Alice Weitzman. She’s the head of Save the Wetlands. She actually comes down to my corner to see the kid who got sixty-five signatures on his first day. I thought she was another street person when she first walked up to me. But she introduced herself and she had this funny way about her. You sort of instantly want to help her. But a lot of good that does me. I’m still standing in the street getting signatures, while Sadie is somewhere else, getting all sparkle-eyed over Jedediah. Everyone thinks he’s so rad. They love that he keeps doing the garbage thing no matter how many times they bust him. Of course his parents have been called. That’s the latest news everyone is buzzing about.
What will the missionary parents do?
I don’t think Sadie is really in love with Jedediah. But who knows? He keeps getting in trouble and now his parents are involved. Apparently, his mother screamed at Mr. Brown about how racist our school is. Sadie is all worked up about it. People are saying Jedediah has a First Amendment right to express himself. Collecting garbage is freedom of speech. Other people (me) think he’s a show-off. Someone interviewed him for the school paper and it turned out he has been thrown out of a couple different schools for similar escapades. The teachers all know he isn’t hurting anything, but at the same time they can’t let him do stuff he’s been told not to do.
I can just imagine Mr. Brown sitting in his office rolling his eyes.
I see the Garbage Eater and Sadie sitting out on the main lawn during lunch. His guitar is lying gently on the grass, he’s sitting cross-legged, his ancient Converse duct-taped to his feet. Sadie’s doing her “attentive” pose, her “help me be a better person” posture. So I decide to go see for myself. Maybe I’ve been too harsh on this guy. We are on the same side, after all. Probably Sadie will tell him about our petition. I’m the guy who got sixty-five signatures on my first day. So I walk over and say hi and sit down, and Jedediah pretends I’m not there. He’s too busy going on and on about India, the conditions there, the poor, the way his parents taught him to never give in to structure or authority or meaningless directives. He is a very earnest dude. I try to roll with it. I nod and agree that starvation is bad. But he barely acknowledges me. He is totally focused on Sadie. They are bonding in a deep do-gooder trance of self-righteousness and high self-esteem energies. The bell’s about to ring and I have to go, so I say good-bye and stand up. They barely notice. Sadie could have helped. She could have said: “Jedediah, this is James. He’s helping me save the wetlands.” But she doesn’t.
Sixty-five signatures in one day. Keep that in mind, Mr. Strock.
Jessica is awesome. And quite beautiful. Sometimes when the light hits her hair, it is the nicest, softest shade of brown. I bet she wouldn’t mind doing something of a semi-romantic nature. We might have to skip the sitting in the grass part, though. She doesn’t like to get her clothes dirty.
I don’t talk about Heather much but her locker is two down from mine and she likes good music and dresses cool. She’d probably want to hang out sometime if I asked her.
Cassandra is a friend of Renee’s, who once started talking to me while Gabe was talking to Renee. We had a nice conversation. That was like a month ago, though.
What is my problem with girls? I go to a huge public high school. How can I not find someone to at least hang out with? I’m seventeen years old!
Other schools is what some people resort to when they can’t get anywhere with our girls. They start talking about the mythical Lincoln girls. Or the hot babes at Wilson. “The hot babes at Wilson are not uptight like our girls,” they say. “They’re always ready to party and they’ll make out with anyone.” Sure they will.
There’s a girl who is sometimes at my bus stop going home from school. She is older, probably nineteen or twenty. I think she works at the mall. She smiles at me sometimes. I bet she’d want to hang out. I’d need her to turn off her iPod, though, so I could ask her.
I’m upstairs staring at my math homework and my dad appears at my door.
DAD: So your mother said she talked to you about college?
ME:——
DAD: What are your plans in that department?
ME:——
DAD: Do you have any preferences? Any areas in particular you’re interested in?
ME:——
DAD: You know I’ve always thought law school might be a good option for you. Down the road.
ME: ???
DAD: You know, this is your future we’re talking about. This is not the time to play out some resentment you have against your mother and me.
ME: !!!
DAD: Contrary to what you think, we’re very open about this and we want you to go somewhere you would feel comfortable.
ME:——
DAD: Will you think about this?
ME:——
DAD: All right, then…
ME:——
Sadie is getting more involved in the Garbage Eater’s situation at our school. She and several members of the Activist Club had a meeting with the principal and made a big fuss about our rights as students to make political statements. Why can’t Jedediah take food off other people’s trays if it doesn’t affect anyone else? The principal claims it’s a health risk, that Jedediah might get sick from eating other people’s food. Sadie’s crew did not consider this an adequate response. Everyone is very worked up about it. People are discussing possible protests. Jedediah Strock remains the talk of the school.
Sadie and the Activist Club people have developed a plan to support the Garbage Eater. We’re all going to share food off each other’s plates one day in the cafeteria. As a protest. This was not Sadie’s idea, it was another girl’s. This Share Our Food Day is supposedly going to happen on Thursday.
Meanwhile, an editorial appeared by Sadie’s friend Jill Kantor.
A terrible new threat has appeared in our cafeteria. He is the so-called “Garbage Eater.” This sick individual has dared disrupt our normal lunchroom business with his outrageous claims that we are wasting food. Not only that, he actually takes the food we are wasting and doesn’t let us waste it! How dare he! It is our food. We can waste it if we want!
One freshman we spoke to was already deeply confused by his dangerous political message. “I thought we were supposed to throw our food away, but there was this guy and he was like, ‘Do you want that?’ And I was like, ‘No.’ And he took it off my tray. I think he’s going to eat it later. Can you do that?” The answer, frosh-person, is no, you cannot!
The Garbage Eater is poisoning the minds of our underclassmen. He is also getting extra milk and tater tots and corn bread! Why should he get a free lunch, just because the rest of us are throwing ours away?
I enjoyed this so much I tried to find Jill Kantor and tell her, but I couldn’t figure out where her locker was.
Gabe and I went to the cafeteria early today to make sure we didn’t miss the Share Our Food protest. We sat there while everyone waited for the word to share food. The teachers all knew about it anyway. They’d already said they weren’t going to do anything. Finally, the moment came and everyone “shared” food. Mostly they just touched each other’s food. Gabe and I switched our cookies back and forth. Overall it was not what I would call an effective protest. But it seemed to make people feel better.
Finally, the stupid Save the Wetlands thing pays off. There’s a meeting at Alice Weitzman’s house for all the people participating. Sadie comes by and picks me up.
I shouldn’t say it’s stupid. Everyone loves the pond and the woods around Carl Haney’s house. One old guy wrote a thing on the STW website about how there used to be a half-dozen ponds in the area when he was a kid. He and his buddies would ride their bikes around with their fishing poles tied to the handlebars. They’d catch bass in the ponds. Now this is the only one left, and it’s getting so polluted there probably aren’t any bass in it anyway.
Sadie and I pull into the driveway at Alice’s house. It’s a big house and there’s fancy appetizers and wine and all that. I hear someone say Alice’s husband is a high-powered lawyer. She’s great, though, Alice, padding around in her slippers and her flowing clothes and a goofy hat. It’s mostly older people in attendance, but there are some younger people here and there. A couple of cats wander around.
We get down to business. The group of us sit in folding chairs in her living room. Alice stands in front and tells us what’s going on with the petitions. She tells us how many signatures we got and thanks the petitioners individually. She reads our names and asks us to identify ourselves. Most people wave a hand, but when she calls my name, I stand up and bow deeply. Everyone thinks that’s funny. Everyone except Sadie.
After the meeting, Sadie drives me home. I’m hoping we can hang out or talk a little. That doesn’t seem to be happening, but at the last minute she asks if I mind driving by the pond to check it out.
“No,” I say. “I don’t mind.”
We pull onto the little dirt road and run right into a new metal gate. These developer guys don’t waste any time. We get out for a closer look. The gate is a long metal bar with a padlock hanging off one end. It’s only to stop cars. We can still walk in. Sadie isn’t sure she wants to. We have school the next day and it’s already ten. It’s also really deserted, and there are big new NO TRESPASSING signs all over the place. I convince Sadie we’ll be okay. We both want to see what else they’ve done.
We crawl under the metal bar and walk down the road. The moon is out, so we can see pretty well. We follow the couple curves of the road and get to the pond. It’s about fifty yards across. It looks like it always did. Mushy. Swampy. Smelly. Sadie looks around at everything. I pick up a stick and throw it into the water.
“Doesn’t seem like they’ve done anything to it yet,” Sadie says.
“How do you even drain a pond?” I ask.
“You pump all the water out and fill it up with dirt. Weren’t you listening to Alice?”
I start walking slowly through the grass around the edge. Sadie follows. We go a little ways and something jumps into the water. A frog, probably. Sadie stops. Then something else scurries into the bushes behind us. Sadie looks at me.
“Probably just a raccoon,” I say. “Or a possum.”
Sadie hates possums. We keep going, but she stays close behind me. At one point I hold her hand and help her jump over some muck.
We pick our way along the trail that circles the pond. It’s more grown over than I remember. I guess nobody is coming here anymore.
About halfway around is the bonfire spot. There’s a clearing, with a log where people sit and an ashy burn pit surrounded by rocks. A half-melted plastic six-pack ring is sticking out of it, and there’s some beer cans around, quite a few beer cans.
“Why do people always get drunk in places like this?” Sadie asks me. “And light fires?”
“That’s what people do,” I say. “They start chemical reactions.”
Sadie stops and stares at the pond. It looks different from this side. It’s awfully small as bodies of water go. And it smells. I wonder if it’s even worth saving. I don’t say that, though.
“Do you remember when we came here?” Sadie says.
“We came here a couple times.”
“Yeah, we did.”
I step closer to her. I suddenly want to do something. I’m not sure what. Comfort her? Put my arm around her?
Before I can do either, she turns away. She walks to the edge of the pond and looks out.
I pick up another stick and throw it in the water.
We head back. I remember that if you go all the way around, you hit a patch of black muck that really smells. So we return the way we came. We reach the road and walk toward the car in silence. I help her under the metal gate. But at the moment when we split up, to go to the different car doors, she stops. I almost walk into her.
“Do you mind if we hang out for one second?” she says. “I want to look at everything.”
“Okay.”
She looks. I look, too. We’re standing in front of her dad’s car. We’re about two feet from each other.
“The moon is nice,” I say.
“Think how many people have come here over the years,” she says. “Think how many people had their first kiss here.”
“We didn’t,” I say.
“I’m not talking about us.”
“We had our first kiss in your driveway,” I say. “I was on my bike.”
“Why are you bringing that up?”
“No reason.”
“You’ve seemed kinda weird all night.”
Sadie stares at a stand of tall evergreen trees to our right. “I just want to look around. I want to feel this place. I want to know what I’m fighting for.”
“Do you think it will make any difference?” I say. “If the people bought it, they can drain it. They’ve drained all the other ponds.”
“So you want to give up? Why did you bother getting all those signatures?”
“Why do you think?” I say.
She stares at me in the dark. Then turns away.
I pick up a rock and throw it at the gate. I hit the metal bar on the first try, a lucky shot. It makes a ringing metallic sound.
“I don’t even know what difference it’s gonna make,” I say. “We’re all gonna fry anyway.”
“You know, I’ve really missed your pessimistic worldview,” says Sadie. “I miss that wonderful sense of doom you bring to things.”
This statement sparks something in me. I watch her face in the dark. I want to kiss her. The sensation starts like an itch, like a tiny urge, and then blossoms into this incredible need that I can barely contain. I take a step toward her. I’m going to do it.
But then I decide not to, and I pick up another rock.
“Realists are never happy…,” I say, throwing it.
“Is that what you are, a realist?”
“I think so.”
“You’re…,” I say. “You’re more of a…”
But I can’t finish the sentence. I face her. I don’t want to talk anymore. I want to be in that place again, that place of her.
“I’m more of a—?” she says, but her voice has dropped to a whisper. She doesn’t want to talk either. The talking is over. This is the crucial moment. It’s now or never.
I go for the kiss. I step toward her, grip her shoulder, aim my mouth at hers.
I press my lips against hers.
She lets me do this. She lets me kiss her, and I do. But when I try to coax her mouth open, she won’t. And she isn’t going to put her arms around me either. She isn’t going to do anything.
That’s not good.
I stop. I open my eyes.
She pulls herself away from me. “What, on earth, are you doing?” she says in the darkness.
“Nothing. I just—”
“You just kissed me!”
“I thought you—”
“What are you doing!?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Do you still like me?” she asks, point blank.
“I…I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I do, I guess. I must,” I hear myself say.
She stands there staring at me. Then she touches her lips with her fingertips, as if to check that they’re still there.
It’s dark enough that we can’t really see each other’s facial expressions, which is probably for the best.
Junior AP English
Mr. Cogweiller
ASSIGNMENT: describe a group or organization you have been a part of
Being a teen is an exciting time for a young person. It is the first stage of your life when you’re associated with a decade. You start off as a “baby.” Then you’re a “child.” Then you graduate onto the conveyor belt of decades. First it’s your “teens.” Then it’s your “twenties.” Then your “thirties,” your “forties,” your “fifties,” and so on until you die.
People who actually are teens think of the word as old-fashioned, a bit cheesy, but they are still attracted to things labeled “teen.” This is because they are curious about what other people think “teens” are supposed to be like and what they’re supposed to do. They are not quite sure what a “teen” is, even though they technically are one.
Despite the cheese factor, the word “teen” does help young people find each other. Certain channels on TV are for “teens.” At the bookstore, there is a “Teen” section. At one vacation spot I know, there is a place called “the TeenZone” where they have French fries and video games and booths to hang out in. Teens like to “hang out.” They also like hoodies and lip gloss and Skittles. Teen girls like shopping and TV shows about other teen girls having lavish sweet sixteen parties. Teen boys like blowing stuff up.
Teens, being younger, are envied by adults. Teens have longer to live. They can goof around more. They don’t have as many cares and worries. Also, they are cooler than adults. And better looking. They are better dancers.
But teens are also easily confused. They don’t understand the world. They have strong chemicals going through them that give them acne and make them sexually frustrated. Teen boys masturbate frequently. They can’t help it. You can pretty much grab any teen boy and accuse him of being a “masturbator” and you will be right.
Do teen girls masturbate? No one knows.
Teens are at the beginning of life. For this reason, one of their main characteristics is their inexperience. Teens spend most of their time learning to do things: how to study, how to hold a job, how to not get caught masturbating. But since the teen is so inexperienced, problems arise and the teen is not prepared.
Also, certain things that are inherently flawed appear to the teen to be perfect. For instance, drinking. The teen drinks multiple beers, plays air guitar, hangs his ass out the window of his friend’s car but then is shocked when he wakes up with a hangover and angry parents.
Or driving. The teen borrows Mom’s car, drives fast, plays European Race Car Driver, but then is shocked when the car ends up in the ditch.
Or love. The teen falls in love, wanders the streets in ecstasy, and then is shocked when that love falters for no apparent reason. When this happens, the teen thinks he can fix it. The teen does not know that some things cannot be fixed. This leads the teen to try impossible things.
For this reason, let us have some sympathy for the teen. He wants to do good, but he doesn’t know how. He wants to love, but something always goes wrong. He wants to fix the relationship because he loves the girl. The girl loves him. And yet something is broken. The teen digs down into the relationship to find that broken thing, to find it and fix it. But that thing is unfindable. The teen must face the horrible truth: The world is not going to give him what he wants. Even things that appear right in front of him, that seem easily graspable, even these things are, in reality, just outside his reach.
The End
Slinking around school today. Hiding in the library. I don’t know what I’m afraid of exactly. Sadie’s not going to tell anyone what happened at the pond. It’s still so embarrassing, though. I’m afraid to show my face…
Gabe is being a good friend, walking with me in and out of the parking lot. He’s got his license, so that’s good. Not that I enjoy riding around in the Ford Expedition, which he now drives to school. I guess it’s easier to criticize a Ford Expedition when you don’t need it to avoid the ex-girlfriend you tried to kiss in a moment of reckless stupidity.
Gabe has refrained from saying “I told you so” about Sadie. But he did tell me so.
He’s also been getting on me about my dad’s car offer. Needless to say, he thinks I should take it.
“Dude, your parents are offering you a car, and college. That’s two awesome things for nothing!”
“But I hate cars.”
“Dude, get a hybrid,” said Gabe. “Get a Prius. Get a freakin’ electric go-cart if you have to. Take the deal!”
One thought I had: I could call Sadie and apologize. That would appear very mature, very civilized.
Or I could just go throw myself off a bridge, like a real seventeen-year-old.
Or I could just grow a new humiliation zit on my chin, which is apparently what my pores have decided to do.
Bored and girl-less, Gabe and I drive around. It’s Saturday night and we’ve got nothing to do. We go to Fred Meyer’s. We sit in the car and listen to the radio and watch people in the parking lot.
Then Gabe gets a call. It’s Renee. There’s a party somewhere. Gabe is very excited about this. He still likes Renee. I don’t think that’s ever going to happen but I keep quiet. We start up the monster engine and off we go.
So we get there and the party is at this senior girl’s house we don’t know. We go in and it’s kind of crowded and we find Renee and some other people downstairs, playing foosball. It’s pretty much a jock/prep crowd. I do my best to hang, for Gabe’s sake.
Then Stephanie appears. Stephanie, from Disco Bowling. I haven’t seen her in a while. She looks good, though. She’s wearing dark eye makeup and a cute skirt. I think, Maybe I could go out with her. She’s attractive. She’s a girl. She thought I was vain, I seem to remember. Well, that will give us something to talk about.
“Hey,” I say, handing her a Coke someone just handed me.
“Thank god,” she says, putting down the Bud Light she was carrying and taking the Coke. “I hate Bud Light.”
“Me, too.”
“Why do they even have it here? We’re in high school. Can’t we drink normal beer, like normal high school students?”
“Maybe Bud Light is normal beer.”
We stand there and watch people play foosball. Stephanie might be a little drunk. “So what’s up with you these days?” she asks me.
“I’m looking for a new girlfriend,” I answer. “Gabe is making me.”
“Did you have an old girlfriend?”
“I did. Sadie Kinnell.”
“Sadie Kinnell?” she says, surprised. “I know her. She’s always doing things to save the world.”
“That’s the one.”
Stephanie sips her Coke. We look at each other. Stephanie has quite a bit of eye mascara on. She’s definitely drunk.
I feel drunk. And I feel like talking. So I do. “I tried to get back with her,” I say. “I tried to kiss her. I just sorta went for it. I thought she would be into it. But she wasn’t.”
“Guys always do that,” says Stephanie, waving at someone. “They always go for the kiss at the wrong moment. Or they don’t go for it at all.”
“Yeah…”
“Why did you guys break up, anyways?”
“I’m too depressing,” I say. “My brain. It’s full of darkness.”
“Oh.”
“I think about what you said sometimes,” I tell her. “The thing about shyness being a form of vanity.”
“Oh yeah. I remember that.” She drinks more Coke.
“I think you might be right about that,” I say.
“Of course I am.”
“So what should I do? How can I make myself more likeable?”
“You could dress normal. Didn’t you used to cut up your clothing? That’s too weird. You can’t do stuff like that.”
“Yeah, but what about my brain?”
“What about it?” she says. “Drink more. Or get some meds or whatever.” She looks at the Coke can I gave her. “This doesn’t have any alcohol in it.”
“No,” I say.
She spots a passing senior with a Heineken. “Hey, cutie,” she says, grabbing his arm. “Where did you get that?”
He points to a downstairs refrigerator. “Thank you!” she says. To me: “You want one?”
“Nah, I’m good,” I say. She disappears in the direction of the refrigerator and I turn back toward the foosball game. Everyone’s shouting and jumping around as the little ball bounces around. They look like monkeys in a zoo.
I stand there and pretend to watch. I think about Jill Kantor. That was a funny editorial she wrote. I wonder what she does on Friday nights. I wonder what sort of books she reads.
It’s been five days since I tried to kiss Sadie at the pond. I haven’t seen her since. Then this morning, in the cafeteria, we finally ran into each other. I gave her my most humble, apologetic smile. She didn’t accept it. Her eyes bounced right off me and she kept on walking.
After that I went to fifth period and sat in the back. The teacher started to talk and all I could think was: Oh my god, I have lost Sadie again. Tears came into my eyes. I thought of stuff we did when we first got together, how we used to have coffee at Café Artiste and walk around and talk about the Russian Revolution, while the yellow leaves fell around us. And then these last months, starting back at the library, how good it felt to talk to her, how happy I was to be around her again. And the feeling of having a shot. I felt like I had a shot with her. I really did. BUT I SCREWED IT UP. AGAIN. She is not getting back with me. It is not happening.
The teacher called on me. I was like, “What do you want?” I mean, I didn’t say that. But I might as well have.
Went to see Ms. Flowers today. She’s our college counselor. She wanted to see my list of schools I was interested in. I didn’t have one.
So then we talked about other stuff, and what was going on with me. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.
I told her I didn’t know if I wanted to go to college. She batted her long eyelashes at me and said, “But what would you do instead?”
That is an excellent question.
Jedediah Strock got expelled today for crawling around in the dumpster outside the cafeteria. Everyone was talking about it. People don’t get expelled from Evergreen very often, so it’s kind of a big deal. Everyone was totally pissed at first, like it’s sooo not right, it’s sooo not fair. But then this sense of gloom settled over the whole school, as people realized he’d left the administration no choice. He made them do it. He’d forced their hand.
I saw one of the Activist Club girls in the hall. She looked like she was about to cry. I’m sure Sadie is all over this right now. I’m sure she and Jedediah are off somewhere having secret, impassioned conversations. I can imagine him comforting her, telling her it is okay, he will live to fight again.
Maybe if I was more like him, she would want me back. If I stood up more for what I believed in. The problem is, I don’t believe in anything.
By some strange coincidence, I happen to be in the hallway when Jedediah gets escorted out of school for the last time. He’d cleaned out his locker and was walking through the hall with an armful of books and his old Tibetan backpack. Our vice principal and some security guy were with him.
He looked very heroic, very much like a martyr for the cause. It’s weird, though, because class had already started and there weren’t any people in the hall to see him go. Maybe they planned it that way. I was the only one there because I was blowing off study hall. It was kind of an important moment, and everyone was missing it.
I saw it, though. Poor guy. I wonder what goes on in his head? No one really knows him. I wonder if he’s ever had a girlfriend. You’d think he’d have his pick of the Activist Club girls. Probably he won’t lower himself to hook up with girls. He’s too pure. Or maybe that’s all he’s after. Maybe the whole Garbage Eater thing is a way to get chicks.
Jedediah Strock: mystery man.
Back entrance, after school, Sadie is standing against the wall, waiting for me.
SADIE: James?
ME (surprised): Hey—
SADIE: I need to talk to you. Do you have a second?
ME: Sure.
SADIE: Come over here.
ME (following her around the building): What do you want to talk about?
SADIE (stopping): What do you think?
ME: I don’t know.
SADIE: How about what happened at the pond?
ME: Okay.
SADIE: Why did you do that?
ME: What do you mean?
SADIE: You can’t just kiss people randomly, you know.
ME: Why not? Is it against the law?
SADIE: Because it freaks people out!
ME: Sorry.
SADIE: You totally…I was totally…in shock!
ME: I didn’t mean to—
SADIE: And now what am I supposed to do? Can we even hang out? Can I trust you? Can we even be friends?
ME: I don’t know. Maybe we can’t.
SADIE: Maybe we can’t? That’s your answer?
ME: Well, what do you expect me to say!?
SADIE: That’s the other thing about you. You are a total quitter. You just give up the minute things get difficult.
ME: Like what things?
SADIE: Like being friends! Or anything. You can’t just grab me in the middle of the night and do something like that and not have any kind of…explanation.
ME: What do you want me to say?
SADIE: God. I can’t believe you sometimes. And we’re supposed to be saving the pond!
ME: Maybe that’s how I felt.
SADIE: And you don’t have anything else to say about it? Except that?
ME: No. Not really.
SADIE: All right then. So I guess I should just ask the obvious question. If I do, will you answer it truthfully?
ME: I’ll try.
SADIE: Okay then.
ME: Okay.
SADIE (shifting her stance): Do you still like me?
ME: You already asked me that.
SADIE: But you didn’t answer!
ME: Okay, I’ll answer. I…I do. I mean—
SADIE: See! You’re not answering again! You’re being wishy-washy. You’re being noncommittal!
ME: Okay. Yes. I do like you still. What do you want from me? It wasn’t my idea to break up.
SADIE: And whose idea was it? Mine?
ME: It seemed like it was. You brought it up.
SADIE: It was mutual! I thought we agreed that it was.
ME: Maybe you did.
SADIE: So did you!
ME: Okay. Maybe I did. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe that’s not what I wanted.
SADIE (shaking her head): This isn’t the way this is supposed to happen. You know that, don’t you? Even if we do still like each other. This is not the way to handle the situation!
ME: How am I supposed to know how to handle it? I don’t want to get hurt again.
SADIE: I wouldn’t do that to you…
ME: Yes, you would. You wouldn’t try to. But you would.
SADIE: Well, what about me? You’re the one kissing people with no warning! What about my feelings?
ME: Your feelings? Are you kidding me? I would do anything for you. You’re the only thing I care about in this entire world.
SADIE:——
SADIE (catching her breath): Wow. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.
ME: Me neither.
SADIE: This is really weird.
ME: I know.
SADIE: So what do we do now?
ME: I don’t know.
SADIE: Well, I don’t know either.
ME: I guess we should just try to…figure something out.
We go to a movie that weekend. Sadie and I. We decide that’s a low-key, relatively safe thing to do, considering our situation. We’re just gonna try it. See how it goes. It’s an experiment.
She picks me up in her dad’s Camry and we drive to the cineplex. Everything’s cool. I’m excited, and a little nervous. I’m wearing my favorite deck shoes and my sweater with the elbows cut out for good luck. We drive through my neighborhood. I roll down my window and breathe in the soft spring air. I watch the houses pass, the streetlights move by in rhythm.
It’s a little strange, sitting beside Sadie and knowing that this is pretty much a date. But I’m okay. I’m loose. I’m hanging in.
On the main road, we talk about stuff. She tells me about this fellowship she’s got where she’s going up to British Columbia for eight weeks this summer, to help build an eco-park. You build the eco-park during the day and at night they teach you forestry and conservation and stuff like that. It sounds amazing. Also, her older brother is flunking out of Berkeley. He doesn’t want to go to med school now. Her parents are not happy about that. She talked to him and he said he wants to take a year off and do music, since that’s his first love.
She asks me about my family, and I tell her my parents are freaking out about my lack of interest in college. I tell her about the deal my dad is offering me. Go to college, get a car. She laughs when she hears that. I laugh, too.
At the theater, we go inside, get popcorn, and find a place to sit. It’s been almost one year since we broke up. May 12th, it was. A Tuesday. It was a relatively orderly breakup. No crying. No pleading. We were both more relieved than anything. We sat on her parents’ steps outside her house and talked it through. I remember picking at the laces of my tennis shoe for most of it. It was mutual. That part is true. I wanted…I don’t know what…to run around with my guy friends more, to meet other girls, to have different experiences. She wanted freedom, too. Girls don’t think of it that way, but it’s true. She wanted to meet new people, do new things, grow into a different person.
We had to give stuff back to each other. Sadie was a big mixer of stuff. We had a lot of crap at each other’s house. So we had to sort that out. Also, she offered to make me a copy of the love letter I wrote her at Christmas from Costa Rica, but I said no, I didn’t want it.
Then, a week later, I ran into her mom at Fred Meyer’s. Of course, I stopped and talked to her like I always did. But then as I stood there making conversation, I remembered that I wasn’t going out with her daughter anymore. We didn’t have to talk anymore. I was like, “Okay, Mrs. Kinnell, I should probably get going.” I cried all the way home. It was the first time I cried. It was the first time I truly understood what I had lost.
In the movie theater, I eat my popcorn. Sadie eats hers. She puts her feet up on the seat in front of her, which she always used to do. I do the same. The weird thing about this is we already know everything the other person is going to do. We’ve done all of this before.
The movie comes on. It’s a thriller with some sort of plot twist that I miss, so I’m confused the whole time. Sadie doesn’t seem to get it either. But we sit there. We watch the car chase scene. Stuff blows up at the end.
Afterward, we walk around the mall and go back to her car. We’re both thinking, Now what do we do? At the same time, there’s no real pressure. Like what’s the worst that could happen? We’re gonna break up? We already broke up. We’re broken up now.
We get in the Camry. We both seem older somehow, and we act older around each other. There isn’t that electricity that comes when you’re out with someone you barely know. Not that I’ve done that so many times. Twice, actually: Kristine the Goth Chick and Lucy Branch.
A strange thing happens then. I think about Lucy Branch, who I never think about. I wonder how she’s doing. Good, I hope. She was nice. I wonder if she feels weird about going to that French movie that time. I should remember to say hi to her in the hall sometime. I never really see her, though.
Sadie pulls out of the parking lot. I’m not saying anything and she’s not sure what the plan is, so she says, “I should probably get back. I have that big history test…”
“Yeah, I have a paper due,” I say. We drive a little more. But then I start to feel like I did at the pond, like I want to kiss her, like if I don’t kiss her, I’m gonna die.
“You don’t by chance…feel like…,” I say.
“What?” she says.
“You wanna go check out the pond for a minute?”
“Okay,” she says.
We drive to the pond. We pull in and the metal gate is open. That’s odd.
Sadie cautiously drives down the dirt road and slows down as we near the water. We both look around to see what else has happened. That’s when we see a row of property stakes stuck in the hillside to our left. Each one has a bright pink ribbon tied to the top.
“Here they come,” Sadie murmurs.
I say nothing. But I stare at them, too. The stakes. The concept of private property. They are coming. And when they’re done, there will be no pond, no trees, no nothing—just spanky new houses, with chemical lawns and SUVs parked out front.
Sadie turns off the engine and we sit for a moment. Frogs croak in the warm night. The property stakes seem to change the mood between us. I still want to kiss her. But there’s something I want to do first.
We get out of the car. Sadie stands by her door, her arms crossed. I go after the stakes.
I hop over the ditch, crawl up the muddy hill, and try to yank the top stake out of the ground. It won’t come out. I have to work it back and forth. While I’m doing that, Sadie crawls up the hill and tries pulling on one herself. I finally pull mine out, then break another one, then pull out two more. Sadie has managed to pull out a couple as well.
When we’ve uprooted all of them, we throw them in the ditch.
“That’s not going to do much,” Sadie says, wiping the dirt off her hands.
“Yeah, but it feels good,” I say back.
We both jump back over the ditch. We walk back toward the car. Both our shoes are caked with mud. I try to kick the mud off mine.
That’s when I notice Sadie watching me. She’s staring at me.
“What?” I say.
“Nothing,” she answers.
“You don’t approve of my methods?”
“Have you ever approved of mine?”
I smile. I go back to my shoes. I scrape the mud off with a stick.
She holds her foot out and I scrape the mud off hers, too. She steadies herself by gripping my shoulder.
We are standing very close. I hold her ankle. I clean her shoe.
When I stand up, she’s there, those blue eyes are watching me, waiting for me in the dark.
I kiss her.
She is ready for it this time. She welcomes it. She kisses me back.
We separate briefly, letting the weight of what is happening move through us.
Then I slip my hands inside her coat, grip the curve of her waist, pull her closer still. Our foreheads rest together. We kiss more, slowly, intimately, breathing each other’s air.
Eventually, we end up in the Camry, in the backseat. We really start to make out then. She gets like I’ve never seen her, breathless and pressing against me. I am getting like that, too. We’re older now; we know what we want.
“This is getting a little intense,” she finally gasps, in the quiet of the backseat.
“I know,” I breathe.
“Should we stop?”
“I don’t know.”
“I feel like…, ” she whispers. “Like maybe…”
We keep going. We go and go and go.
“Do you have something?” I finally say, my shirt off, my face damp and hot.
“What do you mean?”
“You know.”
“I don’t—”
“We need something.”
She sighs. She breathes. “In my coat. Hand me my coat.”
She has a condom in her coat. This is a huge surprise.
But I say nothing. I reach into the front seat, find the coat, and hand it to her. She untangles it, digs through the pocket. She finds the condom. She hands it to me.
I fumble with the plastic wrapper. I can’t open it.
“Here.” She takes it from me, tears it open, and hands it back.
I fumble with it more. She watches me. “Is it on right?”
“I don’t know,” I gasp.
“It has to be on right.”
“I think it is—”
She checks it. It’s okay. She puts her head back. “Oh God,” she whispers to herself.
We do it. I kiss her while we do it. I hold her, I stroke her hair. I lose myself in her. I can’t believe how good it feels. I am lost to the world. I am in another place…
Afterward, a deep silence settles over us. I lift my head and stare into her eyes. I touch her flushed face, stroke her mussed hair, kiss the side of her cheek.
I rest my head on her shoulder and she strokes my neck.
Outside, the pond sits silently, waiting to be drained.