council president, such as:
Why do we need another walk-a-thon? Why do we need another car wash? What exactly does the student council plan on doing with this money they raise? Do they simply do it because last year’s student council had a walk-a-thon and a car wash? Are they, like the awful student council administration before them, only raising funds for a student council end of year party with pizza and balloons, which only the student council kids get to enjoy? Who does the student council president, William Banning, think he is? Dick Cheney? President Nixon? When will other student voices rise up to demand a moratorium on student fundraisers that do not, in the end, serve the school itself? Who will exorcise the demons of these self-serving, teenage, capitalist politicians?
D URING LUNCH, A MELIA does not usually eat. Instead, she sets up a folding table protesting the lack of vegetarian options, the school’s uncaring administration, and American imperialism in general. She has made a different pamphlet for each cause she is championing. The pamphlet about the lack of vegetarian options is green, the one criticizing the school’s administration is purple, and the one describing the horrors of imperialism is red. At lunch, two seniors, passing a football back and forth between each other, look at Amelia—short, dark-haired, wearing her black beret—and call her a fag.
“I’m a woman,” Amelia says, sighing. “I know it’s hard for you two Cro-Magnons to understand, but it’s not physically possible for me to be a fag.”
“Whatever, fag,” they say, laughing, walking away.
I F A MELIA SEES her younger sister, Thisbe, walking down the hallway of their high school between classes, Amelia will ignore her. If someone asks if she has a little sister in the freshman class, Amelia will say no without thinking.
A MELIA HAS NOT shaved her armpits in three months. The hair there is dark and wiry. Both of her legs are also covered in dark, wiry fuzz.
A MELIA IS INSULTED that a Starbucks has opened so close to their house. She has many, many different ideas about how and when she will blow it up.
A MELIA’S ONLY FRIENDS happen to work for the school newspaper as well. They are also honorary members of clubs that Amelia has started—Young Environmentalists Club, Young Socialists Club, Young Atheists Club. They do not actually attend any of the meetings because Amelia has elected herself president of each and would rather handle the business of these clubs herself. Amelia sometimes gets high with these friends from the school paper—Max and Heather—after school, hiding in the darkroom of the photo lab. Max is an eighteen-year-old white kid with long black dreadlocks who is planning on going to Yale next fall. Max wears a different Bob Marley shirt every day. He is the music and sports editor for the school paper. He supplies the marijuana, which he gets from his father, an entertainment lawyer. Heather may or may not be a lesbian, no one really knows. She wears overalls all the time and has been trying to start a Gay/Lesbian/Bi Club at the school for two years, but no one seems interested in joining. Her hair is red and short and she wears sandals throughout the winter months.
Amelia and her two friends sneak into the darkroom—ignoring the many signs warning of hazardous, combustible chemicals—to get high. Max is the first to speak, handing the joint to Amelia, who holds it like a princess, her pinky raised. She lights it using Max’s stupid pot-leaf Zippo lighter, the spark a quick flickering of light reflected in all of their eyes.
“I heard they’re cutting off people’s heads in Iraq,” Max says.
“What?” Amelia asks, coughing.
“I heard they’re kidnapping people, like aid workers, and cutting their heads off. On videotape.”
“They’re being occupied by the world’s largest and most powerful military force,” Amelia hisses. “It’s all they
Why do we need another walk-a-thon? Why do we need another car wash? What exactly does the student council plan on doing with this money they raise? Do they simply do it because last year’s student council had a walk-a-thon and a car wash? Are they, like the awful student council administration before them, only raising funds for a student council end of year party with pizza and balloons, which only the student council kids get to enjoy? Who does the student council president, William Banning, think he is? Dick Cheney? President Nixon? When will other student voices rise up to demand a moratorium on student fundraisers that do not, in the end, serve the school itself? Who will exorcise the demons of these self-serving, teenage, capitalist politicians?
D URING LUNCH, A MELIA does not usually eat. Instead, she sets up a folding table protesting the lack of vegetarian options, the school’s uncaring administration, and American imperialism in general. She has made a different pamphlet for each cause she is championing. The pamphlet about the lack of vegetarian options is green, the one criticizing the school’s administration is purple, and the one describing the horrors of imperialism is red. At lunch, two seniors, passing a football back and forth between each other, look at Amelia—short, dark-haired, wearing her black beret—and call her a fag.
“I’m a woman,” Amelia says, sighing. “I know it’s hard for you two Cro-Magnons to understand, but it’s not physically possible for me to be a fag.”
“Whatever, fag,” they say, laughing, walking away.
I F A MELIA SEES her younger sister, Thisbe, walking down the hallway of their high school between classes, Amelia will ignore her. If someone asks if she has a little sister in the freshman class, Amelia will say no without thinking.
A MELIA HAS NOT shaved her armpits in three months. The hair there is dark and wiry. Both of her legs are also covered in dark, wiry fuzz.
A MELIA IS INSULTED that a Starbucks has opened so close to their house. She has many, many different ideas about how and when she will blow it up.
A MELIA’S ONLY FRIENDS happen to work for the school newspaper as well. They are also honorary members of clubs that Amelia has started—Young Environmentalists Club, Young Socialists Club, Young Atheists Club. They do not actually attend any of the meetings because Amelia has elected herself president of each and would rather handle the business of these clubs herself. Amelia sometimes gets high with these friends from the school paper—Max and Heather—after school, hiding in the darkroom of the photo lab. Max is an eighteen-year-old white kid with long black dreadlocks who is planning on going to Yale next fall. Max wears a different Bob Marley shirt every day. He is the music and sports editor for the school paper. He supplies the marijuana, which he gets from his father, an entertainment lawyer. Heather may or may not be a lesbian, no one really knows. She wears overalls all the time and has been trying to start a Gay/Lesbian/Bi Club at the school for two years, but no one seems interested in joining. Her hair is red and short and she wears sandals throughout the winter months.
Amelia and her two friends sneak into the darkroom—ignoring the many signs warning of hazardous, combustible chemicals—to get high. Max is the first to speak, handing the joint to Amelia, who holds it like a princess, her pinky raised. She lights it using Max’s stupid pot-leaf Zippo lighter, the spark a quick flickering of light reflected in all of their eyes.
“I heard they’re cutting off people’s heads in Iraq,” Max says.
“What?” Amelia asks, coughing.
“I heard they’re kidnapping people, like aid workers, and cutting their heads off. On videotape.”
“They’re being occupied by the world’s largest and most powerful military force,” Amelia hisses. “It’s all they
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