Brutal (7 page)

“It's our national pastime, Poe. Come on.”

I waggled my finger at him, smiling. “I'm not saying get rid of baseball, Dad. I'm saying don't use
tradition
as an excuse to ignore a sport with more participants. There's more skateboarders in high schools than baseball players, and so what does Benders High do? Heck, they don't just ignore them, they make it against the rules to do it, because there's no reason other than favoritism that a sport more popular than baseball should get zero support or money.” I shrugged. “The very people who say that we're all equal are showing everybody that we're not. If that isn't creating negative stereotypes, I don't know what is.” I paused. “It was the same with choir today, too.”

“How so?”

I gestured to myself. “Look at me, okay? Any honest person would judge that I'm counterculture. Maybe rebellious. An independent thinker and a general pain in the rear, right? Well, guess what? I am, and honestly, part of the reason I look this way is to be judged exactly that way, and I accept it. But how does that equate to having no talent or goals or aspirations? That lady looked at me and figured right, Dad, but she tacked on the same stuff that your school tacks onto skateboarders, and it screams hypocrisy. And the school's solution to the problem is saying we shouldn't judge at all and that we're all the same, which is stupid. I want to be different, but somehow looking the way I do translates to not being able to sing. Who created that, counselor? Me or my teacher?”

He shook his head. “But you can't blame everything on other people, Poe. Your own attitude probably had something to do with her judgment of you, and that's fair.”

I rolled my eyes. “When you tell somebody over and over again that they aren't worth anything, they generally don't like you for it. Maybe I'd treat her differently if she treated me differently.”

“But people won't always do that, Poe. You can't expect…”

“I'm not talking about Joe Schmoe on the street! I can handle them. I'm talking about the people that supposedly exist in
children's
lives to show
children
what they're capable of! TEACHERS!” I smirked.

“It's a natural human trait to find categories for people, Poe. If you aren't traditional, you will be judged more harshly. Mrs. Baird did do the right thing after you performed. She told you that it didn't matter what you looked
like and that you were welcome. She based her decision entirely on your talent.”

“What if I didn't know I was good? What if I was insecure? I would have walked right out of that room without singing, Dad, just like I'm sure other students have. And you're telling me she did the right thing!”

Here I was fully enjoying the debate, and he was as calm as still water. He went on. “I see your point, but it's that way in the working world, too. An employer will judge immediately, and if you don't fall within the boundaries of what they find acceptable, you will lose. That's why we have standards. Some good and some bad.”

I laughed. I'd heard the
school is just like a job
argument from my mom for years. “Last time I heard, it was an employer's
job
to judge who is best for their business, because it's
their
business. What you're saying is that it's a teacher's job to judge who is best for their school?”

He stopped, thinking, then sighed. “You got me on that one, but not all teachers judge like that. You've never had a good teacher?”

I grunted. “Of course I have. And I'm not saying that a good teacher even has to like me. Just don't put my head in a vise and grab a sledgehammer.”

Finally, a bit of a spark in his eyes. “Good. I was afraid you were generalizing.”

I laughed. “Mr. Trillmane, seventh-grade English. He totally fought for getting not crappy books for us to read on the school list. Totally cool. He let me write three reports in poetry format because he knew I loved writing songs.” I smiled, remembering him. “He always said the only purpose the English language had was to communicate.”

Dad nodded, smiling. “Think about giving Mrs. Baird a second chance? She did end up coming through, and she's a fantastic teacher.” His eyes twinkled. “In my opinion, that is.”

“Why would I?”

He smiled again. “Because first of all, it might not be worth hurting yourself to hurt her, and second of all, I'd like to sit in the audience and say, ‘That's my daughter up there.’ Then I'd like to stand up and clap like a big goofball. Like in the movies.”

My breath caught, and I exhaled, all the fire gone from our debate. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Here I was all pissed off and enjoying our argument, and now it's gone. It's not fair. We're supposed to not talk to each other for three days now.”

He shrugged. “Sorry.”

I stood there for a moment, holding my plate, and he turned his eyes away uncomfortably. “I'll think about it.”

He shifted, staring at the TV. “Night.”

Two days later, I found out the names of the guys who made
Velveeta eat the paper. Ron Jameson and Colby Morris. Colby Morris was the guy in third-period current affairs that Velveeta avoided the first day. Colby Morris, asshole of the year. He gave me a hard stare when I walked into class, finally realizing I'd been the girl in the lot. I flipped him off.

Theo walked with me after the hour was up, and I asked him about Colby. He smiled. “Our resident god. You might have to wear sunglasses around him. The halo gets bright. Especially after a win.”

“A win?”

“Football, my little innocent. He's the star receiver. He caught for five billion yards last year and attained the ‘most likely to live in the past when you're thirty years old award.’ You know, one of those guys sitting on a barstool talking about the halcyon days of glory back in high school.”

“Oh.” I wasn't about to mention what happened to Velveeta.

Theo wore an Iron Maiden T-shirt today, and he looked cute. He slid me a glance. “Why? Got a crush on him?”

“Hardly. Just wondering.”

He laughed. “Whatever.”

“What if I do have a crush on him?”

He shook his head. “Then you have a nice way of showing it. I saw you give him the finger.”

We walked.

“Something happen to make you give him the bird?”

“No.”

“Awesome. I love people that randomly flip off strangers.”

“Not to me. Someone else.”

He sighed. “Velveeta.”

“How'd you know?”

“There's nothing not to know. Colby Morris makes a sport of it.”

“A sport of picking on him?”

He nodded. “Ever since he got here last year, some of the guys saw some fun in him. The kid is a magnet for that kind of shit.”

“The whole school is in on it?”

He smiled. “Yeah, but Colby is the main one. And the vacant lot is the gossip of the day. The paper thing. Velveeta's the school entertainment.”

I frowned. “I was starting to like you.”

“What did I do?”

“You think it's funny.”

“No, I think it's pitiful, but look at the guy, Poe. He aches for those guys to walk all over him, and Colby Morris is a natural at things like that. At least now. He used to be cool.”

“And you just sit there and laugh.”

“No, I don't. But you can't stop it. God, some weeks it happens every day.”

“Yeah, but I don't have to like it.”

He smirked. “Well, then, maybe you could borrow some halo polish from Colby, Mother Teresa.”

“That's totally uncool, Theo. You don't have to sit there and gloat.”

He smiled. “Take a breath. I don't like it either, but what am I supposed to do? Talk to Mr. Halvorson about it? Have a sit-in for anti-harassment? Jesus, Poe, this place was like a vacuum waiting for a guy like Velveeta to show up. It's unstoppable.”

“And I suppose the school doesn't do anything?”

“Look around. This place is status quo central. It ain't a problem if the problem doesn't matter.”

“Great.”

“Listen, if my dad being the mayor has taught me anything, it's that the system works a certain way for a reason. It's not just evil by chance. It's the worldview.”

“Worldview?”

“Yeah. We're not individuals, girl. We're a unit. The philosophy of collective fucked-upedness. See, if the unit as a whole is operating in a cool way, as the unit known as Benders High is, there are no problems. Velveeta is but a small glitch in the system of pumping out mindless world villagers to be productive members of society. Karl Marx had a point, you know? Give ‘em a test or ten, tell ‘em what they're good at, and bam, you've got your workforce. Velveeta is a minor distraction from the work of creating robots.”

“You sound like an anarchist.”

“Better than being a social communist.”

“True. But we need school for, like, uh, being able to read?” A jolt of shame went through me. Was Poe Holly actually defending an institution? I decided that Theo was so far out there that he was the one that needed reeling in. He made me look like a pansy when it came to counterculture attitude.

“School is just like church. The core is good, but it's all the stupid parts that make it stupid.”

“Brilliant, Theo.” I rolled my eyes. “Stupid things generally make things stupid.”

“Good, then we agree. Does that mean I can take you out for a burger after school?”

“Are you asking me on a date?”

He shook his head. “I don't believe in dating. I believe in casual encounters with other worker bees.”

“I feel special.”

He rolled his eyes. “I'm joking. Why don't we call it a predate? I'm still not sure you're good enough for me. I am the mayor's son, after all.”

After school, Theo met me at the flagpole and we walked toward town, talking about music and politics and everything else that I liked. I felt like I'd known him all my life. Like we were conjoined twins or something. He loved music with a passion, all classic heavy metal. Judas Priest, Motley Crüe, Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath, old Metallica (before they sold out, he said), and Motorhead. He also told me he wanted to be a political satirist. A natural slide in, he said, because of watching his dad operate.

As we walked through the neighborhood, Velveeta turned the corner ahead of us, heading home. I watched
him for a moment, and a pang of sickening pity accompanied the fire in my belly over my dad telling me not to hang out with him. “Mind if we invite him?”

Theo looked at the gangly stork walking. “I thought this was a predate.”

“Come on. Give him a chance. He's actually really nice.”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

I called to him and he stopped, turning around. He grinned as we neared, scratching his ear. “Hi, Poe.” Then he looked at Theo. “Hi.”

Theo held out his hand. “Theo.”

Velveeta didn't smile. “I know. Seen you about a million times at school.”

“We've never really met.”

I cut in. “We're getting burgers. Want to come?”

He looked down the street. “Burgers?”

“Yeah. Hungry?”

He thought about it for a minute. “Naw, you go. I got stuff to do.”

I thought about the vacant lot. “Come on, it'll be fun. You can do your stuff later.”

He shuffled. “You sure?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I'm starving. Come on.”

He smiled. “Okay. I don't got money, though. Can I borrow some till tonight? My stash is at home.”

Theo smiled. “Your stash?”

He nodded. “Yeah. My bank.”

Theo sighed. “Oh. Got ya.”

The burger place, off the main tourist strip and a local hangout, was full of kids. Velveeta shuffled, nervous. Arnie's, Home of the Big'un, was a hopping place. We ordered,
got our food, and sat down. I popped a fry in my mouth before we started eating, looking at Theo. “You like it here?”

“No. But I wanted to impress you with how mainstream I was.”

“Right.”

“Actually, I'm a burger junky I LOVE Arnie's burgers. Live on ‘em if I could.”

I smiled, flirting. I didn't even know I knew how to flirt. “So the real anarchist comes out.”

He leaned back, stretching. “You know me. I'll stand up for any cause if it's easy, fun, and irritating to people. Principles get in the way of hedonism and personal pleasure.”

Velveeta took the top bun from his burger, dug in his pocket, brought out a crumpled ball of tinfoil, opened it, took a chunk of warm, oily yellow cheese from it, plopped it on top of the cheese already there, and squished the bun back on. Theo and I stared. Then he opened his mouth wider than I thought humanly possible and took a bite. He chewed a few times, then looked at us, mayonnaise gathered at the corners of his mouth. “What's hedonism?”

Theo gaped at him. “What the fuck? Jesus, man, was that cheese?”

Cheeks stuffed with burger, Velveeta frowned. A piece of lettuce stuck to his teeth. “Yeah. Had some left from lunch.” He set the burger down, taking the lid off again and picking up the remaining part of the chunk. Mayonnaise and lettuce coated it. “Want some? It's good.”

I laughed into my fries, getting a kick out of Theo's expression. “He likes cheese.”

Theo smiled. “There's a difference between liking and a fetish, dude.”

Velveeta looked at the chunk of cheese in his hand, then put it on the paper beside the burger.

Theo frowned. “Dude, just put it back on. I was joking.”

Velveeta put the lid back on his burger, keeping his eyes down. “Naw. I was just joking, too.”

Theo looked at me apologetically, shrugged, then took a bite. “Hedonism means pure pleasure,” he said.

Velveeta smiled again, back on track. “I heard of that. Like in the
Girls Gone Wild
videos. They got all kinds of hedonism going on.”

I raised my eyebrows.
“Girls Gone Wild?”

“Yep. Got the whole collection. You can order ‘em from the TV. Nothin’ but a big old party all the time with girls in their bathing suits. Lotsa lesbos, too. You seen them, Theo?”

He smiled, glancing at me, then looking away. “Part of one. The ads are on all the time.”

A moment of awkward silence followed before Velveeta looked around the restaurant, craning his neck from side to side. “You ever seen hooters before?”