The Vigilante Poets of Selwyn Academy (22 page)

“Nope.”

“
For Art’s Sake
is filming here next Thursday.”

“So that’s why you wanted to come!” I didn’t want to be reminded of kTV.

“I’m just in it for the art grade.”

“Did you know beforehand that they were filming here?”

“Dr. Fern told our class.”

“Not ours,” I said darkly. Unless I’d missed it when I was chatting with Herbert.

I always find sketching in public awkward. You can just feel all those people judging you. Now, it wouldn’t have been bad at the museum—it was nearly empty except for some toddlers and their moms—except that Elizabeth’s drawing was so much better than mine. Hers actually looked like a triceratops. Mine was more like a sweet potato with ears.

“I’m off to the diplodocus,” I told her.

“The what? Ooh, are you finished? Let me see.”

“No,” I said, jerking the sketchbook to my chest. “The diplodocus is my true artistic calling.”

It was peaceful back there. The toddlers weren’t into Jurassic herbivores. “Diplo,” I said, “you know what it’s like not to be at the top of the food chain. You see why I couldn’t draw next to her.” I found a bench and got into a groove. I was thinking how nice it was to be somewhere other than school. The world was a big place. Not everywhere was contaminated with kTV.

Then I saw BradLee.

It’s always a shock to the system when you see a teacher who’s ventured out of their territory. They’re so out of place, and they don’t even seem to know it. It’s cute. BradLee came over to me. He was wearing the same thing he’d worn to school—khakis and a button-down with his threadbare purple sneakers—but there was a lump in his pocket where he’d stuffed his tie, like a kid at a wedding reception.

Wait. This was the guy who’d betrayed Luke to kTV, who’d lied about his connection to Coluber and Wolfe, who had been known to hug Trisha Meier. I stood. I shut my sketchbook and dropped—no,
hurled
—it to the ground.

“You betrayed us,” I said.

BradLee looked around nervously.

“We need answers,” I said. “You told kTV about Luke’s poem. You knew that wasn’t what we wanted.”

This wasn’t one of my trademarked daydreams, full of the courage and comebacks I’d never have in real life. This was real.

“And now Luke’s betrayed us too, and it’s your fault. And he’s screwing up his life.” I heard footsteps and I knew Elizabeth had come to join me. “I know you keep saying that life doesn’t matter, only art matters, but his
art
isn’t good anymore. I know you’ve been watching the show. I know you’ve read the new
Contracantos
. It’s crap. It’s not a tale of the tribe at all.”

“Ethan, this isn’t a good time—” said BradLee.

I held up my hand like a crossing guard. It worked, which was most satisfying. “The
Contracantos
has been kTVed. It used to be genuine but they’ve made it fake. They’re not making art at all. They’re just making money.”

“Stop, Ethan. I need to—” said BradLee.

“And you know what kills me?” Elizabeth was tugging at my sleeve, but I shook her off. This was the best part. “Ezra Pound said, ‘I should have been able to do better.’ And now, that’s what
Luke’s
going to think. That’s the worst thought you can think, and when he comes to his senses, he’ll think it.”

“Oh. My.
God
,” squealed someone behind me.

I’d been so focused on delivering my oration before my courage crapped out that I’d had tunnel vision. If this were a movie, this part would be slo-mo. Ethan spins. His world shakes. He brings his hands to his face in shock and terror.

“I was just showing Trisha the dinosaurs,” said BradLee weakly.

“We’re filming here next week, did you know?” said Trisha Meier. “The ambience is amazing. It’ll be an all-night challenge. Lots of dark corners for dark deeds!” She let loose her heinous laugh:
henc! henc! henc!
“But Brad, honey, you must introduce me to this young man.”

Trisha looped her arm into BradLee’s, and I looked around for the young man.

“Because that speech? That. Was. Incredible. I cannot believe we didn’t catch that on camera. Phone, Brad.” Elizabeth and I watched in dismay as BradLee disentangled himself and fetched Trisha’s phone from her purse, which was on a row of stools in front of my diplodocus. Trisha kept talking even as she sent a text. “But you’ll just have to do it again. We’ll polish it up a little—we’ll cut that last bit; I didn’t get that at all—but the possibilities! The controversy! Why didn’t we think of this ourselves?” She gave her phone to BradLee, turned to me, and slapped her hands flat against her thighs. “Now. Who
are
you? Tell me about yourself.”

“Um—”

“Because you are a
cutie
and this could go so far. The voice of the common man! I can just hear the voice-over. ‘Luke
Weston has many fans’—we’ll pan to Maura—‘but even the most charismatic writer can be the target of jealousy.’ Fabulous.”

Trisha grabbed my hand and led me to the row of stools. I was so horrified I could do nothing but follow. “Sit. I can
see
it.” Elizabeth looked at me, agape, and sat on my other side. BradLee, looking at the floor, sat by Trisha. “You’ll have to confront Luke, not Brad. Yes. Yes. And we’ll throw in the romantic jealousy angle too, pretend that you have a thing for Maura. Or maybe that you and Maura—eugghh.” That’s my best shot at transcribing the suggestive waggle that came out of her mouth. “Sweetie, you do watch the show, yes?”

“Unfortunately,” I said.

Her laughter pealed. “I cannot wait to get you on kTV! Let’s get some reactions here. I’ll prep you for your big interview.” She crossed one pleather leg over the other and beamed ahead at an imaginary camera. “Tell me. What did you think of the last episode?”

“I hated it,” I said. “Ow.”

Elizabeth had poked me, hard.

“Was that an ‘ow’ of unrequited love?” said Trisha.

“Um. Not sure.”

Trisha turned to BradLee. “How long have you known this darling child?”

“Get boring,” Elizabeth breathed into my ear. “Get super boring. Make her forget about you.” I got it. Luckily, I was an expert at being forgettable. I’d been practicing my whole life.

“Let’s see,” said Trisha. “We know what you think of Luke.
Pure, wild jealousy. And we know how you feel about Maura. Who wouldn’t have the hots for Maura? But what about Miki? Miki Reagler?”

“Uh,” I said. And it hurt, and a piece of my soul withered and died, but I said, “I like Miki.”

“Really,” said Trisha. “Even though he’s Maura’s most consistent partner? Now, we all know she’ll probably end up with Luke. But you can’t discount the tension between Maura and Miki. It’s a physical thing. You can smell it. Very, what’s the word?”

Revolting?

“Primitive,” she said, her eyes narrowed in pleasure.

“Miki’s cool,” I said. I let my mouth hang open. My eyes drifted toward one another.

“Hmm,” said Trisha, disappointed. “I can handle the truth.”

“Urg,” I said.

“How much should we feature Miki these next few episodes?” Trisha mused.

“Glug.”

“He’s obviously a crowd darling, but we don’t want to play favorites.”

“Wurg.”

“That is the true woe of the reality TV producer.” She was gazing at BradLee now, though gesticulating so wildly I feared for my safety. “It’s an art form, really. So many characters! And we have to create the story line.”

Elizabeth said, “So you look at the characters you have, and then force them into a cohesive narrative?”

Trisha seemed surprised that Elizabeth could talk. “In a
way. I wouldn’t want you to get the impression that we create the story line.”

I made another digesting-caveman noise.

“Isn’t that right, Brad? Very different from a sitcom, isn’t it?”

I heard BradLee’s intake of breath, but Trisha turned to us and cut him off. “So. What’s it like to learn English from a celebrity? You must have been starstruck—”

“Glugga,” I said. “Ouch!” Elizabeth had jabbed me again. Apparently the strategy had changed again, though I wished she’d inform me without inflicting bruises. “Um, a celebrity?”

“Don’t tell me! Brad! You didn’t!”

I craned over Trisha. BradLee’s mouth was moving, but words weren’t coming out.

“You’re so modest! That’s what I love about you. Purse.” BradLee stood as if dazed, found her purse, and handed it to her. She chucked him under the chin. “Cutie-pie! Now. Brad didn’t tell you that he starred on
Mind over Matter
?” That was Willis Wolfe’s old show.

“Trisha—” said BradLee.

“YouTube. Thank God for eighties nostalgia. Half the show’s up on the Internet.”

She tilted her phone’s screen toward me. Elizabeth leaned in. I could feel her dreadlocks, her soft soft dreadlocks, dandelion-fluff soft, Selwyn-auditorium-chair soft, brushing against my neck.

“Hysterical!” Trisha shrieked. “Look at you!” She grabbed BradLee’s arm and stared avidly at the screen.

A chubby redheaded boy was sitting in a beige kitchen, his
head supported in one hand while the other dug into a carton of ice cream. There was no doubt that the boy was the same one who’d appeared in the photograph in Willis Wolfe’s office.

“Mind over Matter,”
said Elizabeth.

“Duh,” said Trisha. “Petey! Oh. My. God. So adorable. And he grew up to be just as adorable an English teacher!” She pinched BradLee’s cheek. “Though why you chose teaching over acting is beyond me,” she cooed. She turned expectantly to Elizabeth and me. “Who wants to see more?”

We didn’t, but she wasn’t really asking. She played clip after clip, and we watched them, and everything began to click. BradLee had known Coluber his whole life. He’d come to Selwyn to help with
For Art’s Sake
. Of course he’d told Coluber about the
Contracantos
. “You knew that wasn’t what we wanted,” I’d yelled at him, but now I knew that he didn’t care. He had never cared what we’d wanted.

Trisha’s phone rang. “This is
the
most incompetent crew,” she said. “Yes. Come on. Use a hair double. It’s lighting. How tough can it be?” She hung up unceremoniously and stood. “I am so sorry to cut this short,” she said to BradLee, “but they tell me I’m
essential
.” She gave him a triple-barreled kiss. “Mwa. Call me!” We watched as she threaded her way through the dinosaur fossils and left the gallery.

“So she forgot about you,” said Jackson in the Appelden an hour later.

Elizabeth guffawed. “Ethan, I must hand it to you. You can disappear like no one else.”

“Yup.” I knew she was offering an olive branch, but I was still peeved about the drive home.

“He’s such a liar,” she had fumed as soon as we’d shut the car doors. “The dartboard! Yeah, right. He’s Coluber’s right-hand man.”

I leaned my head on the window. “Do you think Maura’s going to end up with Luke?”

“
That’s
what you care about?” She took a left turn so aggressively that I got a seat belt burn on my neck.

“Just wondering.”

We were silent as Elizabeth drove along the Mississippi, the trees barren, the water gray and choppy and cold.

“I’ve got a prediction,” I told her.

“What,” she said. No question mark. I should have known at that point to shut up.

“Maura’s going to hook up with Luke underneath the triceratops.”

“
God
, Ethan. Somebody needs to tell you what’s what.”

“What? What’s what?”

She took a deep breath and I thought she was going to launch into a major tirade. Instead, she exhaled. “Nothing.”

“Oh, come
on
. What’s what what?”

“Go have a heart-to-heart with Baconnaise, why don’t you.”

“Huh?”

“Forget it,” she said. “Okay? Forget it. Forget I ever said anything at all.”

When Elizabeth was in the bathroom, I convinced Jackson to pull up the
For Art’s Sake
schema so I could figure out whether my prediction was right. I’d just started to skim through all the intro crap. Baconnaise was in my lap. Elizabeth was now lying like a corpse on the floor and doing her best to snootily ignore us both.

“One loose end,” said Jackson. “Yes, BradLee’s working for Coluber. As suspected. But what’s in it for him?”

“Yeah, I was
trying
to work through all that in the car,” said Elizabeth. I could tell she was glaring at me, and I tried to look innocent as I rubbed noses with Baconnaise.

“Why would he quit high finance to move to Minneapolis?” said Jackson. “To be the flunky of some corrupt producer he knew twenty years ago?”

“Maybe he likes teaching,” I offered.

“Who would like teaching?” muttered Jackson. “Improbable.”

“BradLee likes teaching,” I said. I turned from the screen with the script, in which they were still explaining the rules of the museum challenge. “He likes
us
. You know how there are some teachers who obviously hate kids?”

“Pederson.”

“Wyckham.”

“Garlop.”

There was a moment of silence, kind of like after you mention the name of someone who’s recently dead.

“BradLee likes us. He’s not just doing this to screw with us.”

“Ethan said something worth listening to,” Elizabeth told the ceiling. “Shocking, is it not?”

So much for that olive branch.

I went back to reading Episode 16. My prediction was right. O triceratops, when you roamed the earth, was there an inkling in that thick Cretaceous skull of yours that your bones
would one day serve as the backdrop to a scripted, filmed make-out session?