You Can Run by Norah McClintock Page A

kind that, if my mother ever got wind of it, she would have been disappointed in me as only a mother could be. But I couldn’t stand it anymore. I decided to take action. I went to Ms. Lewington and told her that if it was all the same to her, I would prefer to work alone.
    It wasn’t all the same to her. Ms. Lewington spun it into a ”real-world learning experience” issue, as in, “In the real world, you have to work with all kinds of people”—here she paused to consult her seating plan for my name—“Robyn, is it?” Ms. Lewington said.
    I said it was.
    She smiled at me in that way teachers do when they are satisfied in their hearts that you are wrong and they intend to let you know precisely how.
    â€œThe modern workplace has embraced the team concept,” she said. “Disparate groups of people, each with their own strengths and, er, areas needing improvement, team up to produce results that no single team member could produce on his or her own.”
    â€œBut, see, that’s the problem,” I said.
    She kept smiling; her lips looked as if they were frozen in place.
    â€œThe grading for this assignment includes a team component,” she said. “I advise you to work it out.”
    I tried. I really did. The next day, Trisha and I got together, during class. Ms. Lewington was very generous about letting us use class time to work on our assignments.
    â€œSo,” I said to Trisha, “let’s see your notes.”
    Trisha did what Trisha would have been awarded a gold medal for if it were an Olympic sport: she stared down at her desk.
    â€œWe’re supposed to be a team, Trisha,” I said as patiently as I could. “Teamwork implies two or more people working together toward a common goal,” I said. “In this case, that means—”
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said.
    It was nice of her to say so. It would have been nicer if I hadn’t heard it a few dozen times already.
    â€œTrisha,” I said, “when we divided up the work”— actually,
I
had divided up the work; I had done everything so far—“I thought we agreed that we would share it equally. But so far—”
    â€œI’ll go to the library right now,” she said. She got up and left the classroom.
    Well, okay.
    I gathered my things and headed for the library too. I admit, I was curious. Was Trisha finally going to work on our assignment?
    When I got to the library, she wasn’t there. Of course, that didn’t mean that she wasn’t working somewhere else. And to be fair, she hadn’t explicitly said that she was going to the school library. For all I knew, she could have been at the local library, maybe even the main library downtown, beavering away on the assignment. If you’re going to dream, dream big, right?
    Trisha didn’t show up for the next three classes. I found her in the second-floor hall on the day before we were supposed to do our presentation. I hadn’t been looking for her, but she was impossible not to notice. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of a bank of lockers, her eyes closed, her crystal in her hand. I only noticed her because some freshmen near me were pointing and giggling.
    I looked at her. I considered my options. Then I walked down the hall, stood in front of her, and said her name. And got no answer.
    So I said her name louder.
    She raised her eyes and tipped her head back to look at me.
    â€œWe present tomorrow right after homeroom,” I said.
    If there was a thought, any thought at all, reflected in those blank eyes of hers, I didn’t see it.
    â€œTrisha.”
    â€œI did the work,” she said. “I did what you said.”
    If I knew Trisha, it was probably too little.
    â€œWe have to present tomorrow.”
    â€œI’ll bring my stuff,” she said. “I’ll meet you here at eight o’clock, before school