Expectations (Ezzy's Education Part 15), By Garrett Murch
Just after school ended on Tuesday, Ezzy stood facing her locker, listening to Beyonce on her AirPods, hoping any flood of madness in the hallways would dissipate without involving her. It did. Miracles do happen. She walked out of school through the same door from which Ms. Scales had offered her unsolicited advice that morning. The door gave a weak, metallic creak as it opened and closed.
Seven more days and this stupid election will finally be over.
The parking lot, with Officer Holmes watching over it, was neither crowded nor mobbish.
Link was waiting at her Jeep, so Ezzy picked up her pace, hating to be late for anything she’d committed to.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said when she arrived. Link stood upright and stiff in his khaki stretch chinos and navy hoodie.
“No worries,” he said, smiling.
“Nice Wrangler. I love the black ones. Is it pretty new?”
“Ha!” Ezzy laughed. “Not even close. Seven or eight years old and over a hundred thousand miles, but Wranglers somehow always look new.”
“Are we gonna get those tires muddy?” he asked.
“I wish. Not today. We’ll be on a gravel road, but it doesn’t get muddy.” Ezzy opened the back of her Jeep. “Here, put your backpack on the right so it doesn’t sit on the fishing gear. I know you’re fine with being on the right, being a Patriot and all.” She smiled. I hope he doesn’t think I was flirting with him.
“I’m fine with it.” Link laughed a little and set his backpack down.
“Hop in!” Ezzy was ready to escape school property, this place where she once loved to be. Ezzy buckled up. Bye-bye Lucinda, Bye-bye Trunk, Ms. Scales, Verica, Trendon, Mr. Catty.
“When we get away from school, we’ll pull over and take the top down.”
“Sounds good!”
“I just don’t want to take it down here. We can be protected from any obnoxious attention on the way out of the lot.” I wonder if he thinks that’s weird, or if he understands why?
“We’ll be protected from eggs!”
He understands.
Several minutes later they were cruising beyond the Ebbing town line with the top down and radio turned off. They hadn’t said all that much to each other. Ezzy had asked him if he’d done any sort of fishing before, and Link had said he and his dad had fished for brook trout with worms and fished lures for bass.
Ezzy was itching to ask him a specific question. Her itch grew itchy enough she finally scratched it, asking, “So Link, you’ve got to tell me: why did you think it was a good idea to try and help Trunk?” She realized this curiosity may have been her biggest motivation in offering to teach a beginner how to cast a fly. She wanted to know the answer to that question. She also felt sorry for him. She did not want to be a fly fishing instructor.
Link did not answer Ezzy’s question. A lengthy silence ensued as they rode alongside a thin layer of pine trees separating them from the Bossy River, which flowed in the opposite direction they were heading.
“So this river can be pretty good fishing at times,” Ezzy said.
“I’ll answer your question,” Link said. “You don’t need to change the subject.” He turned his Red Sox cap backward. Ezzy pumped the Jeep up to over sixty miles per hour on the curvy section of the state road. “I was just thinking about it.”
A thoughtful Patriot? Who knew they existed? He’s been thinking about it long enough!
“I guess,” Link said, “Trunk was the most popular Patriot at school.”
“He’s not even popular.” And when exactly did Trunk become a Patriot? I remember him at Lucinda’s big sixteenth birthday party sophomore year. He gave that obnoxious toast to her, holding up his water bottle. Ezzy decided not to ask Link about that.
“I know he’s not all that popular. But he has a large and enthusiastic following with Patriots, so, I don’t know, that’s an important kind of popular. And he was the only person running against Lucinda. I’ve never seen someone with so much drive to boss people around as her. And from what I’ve seen in my two years at Ebbing, my word, Trunk is not afraid of her.”
“Trunk’s been a miserable bully since junior high, just like Lucinda.” Ezzy relished playing the role of Devil’s Advocate. She grinned as she fired the Jeep along the road and around curves, enjoying the wind sailing over her head. Her espresso hair streamed behind her as she looked ahead with vigor through her teal-framed, polarised sunglasses. She had one hand high up on the steering wheel as she tugged on her seatbelt with the other, tightening it against her athletic torso. Link looked at her as if he was mesmerized.
Ezzy had gained some appreciation for Link’s point of view, even if her opinion of Trunk remained as low as ever. “Why don’t you just not vote?” Ezzy asked. “That’s what I might do.”
“You’re not voting for Lucinda?”
Does he not realize Lucinda must be behind the whole Yellow Bello thing? “Lucinda? Yeah, right. If you only knew.”
“Knew what?”
“Lucinda,” Ezzy said, “is, well, in her own way, as much an abomination as Trunk.” She hadn’t thought of it quite like that before, given how different Trunk and Lucinda were. I think that’s correct. In a way.
“Wow, I pegged you as a Lucinda supporter.”
“Why?”
“I guess because I know you don’t like Trunk.”
“Not because I’m Latina?” Ezzy glanced at Link. Let’s see how he reacts to that.
“No,” Link answered right away. “That shouldn’t matter.”
Good answer. “I agree. A lot of people seem to think I’m supposed to support Lucinda and the Justice Party for that reason alone, like my skin color is supposed to make my decisions. It’s demeaning.”
“I don’t think that. I don’t believe most people think that way. Maybe the ones who do are just extra loud and obnoxious.”
“Perhaps,” Ezzy said. “My skin color doesn’t define me, and a party that thinks it does is a turnoff. Although it doesn’t make me like Trunk and the Patriot Party, either. It just makes me dislike them both.” She slowed the Jeep down and turned onto a gravel road. “This is Renovation Road. We’re getting close to the pond.”
“I might write you in as my choice for student body president,” Link said. “Wait, we’re going to a pond, not that river we drove by?”
“Ha!” Ezzy laughed over the sound of the tires rolling on gravel. “Ha on both counts.”
“On both counts?”
“First, you writing me in for student body president,” Ezzy said. “That’s funny.”
“Why not?” Link asked.
“It wouldn’t make any difference.”
“I disagree. Protest votes can send a message.”
“In theory, I suppose that’s true,” Ezzy said. The Jeep slowed as the road grew bumpier.
“I mean, with Lucinda plotting to get rid of football, Trunk is going to win now. You must have seen the uproar; it’s practically all kids talked about today, even during classes.” Link took a breath. “So my vote is not going to affect the outcome. The race is over. That leaked email did Lucinda in.”
“You clearly don’t know Lucinda,” Ezzy said. “What do you mean?”
“She’s not done yet. Not someone that demented and ruthless. She’s not finished.”
“If you say so.”
“I bet she’s got something up her sleeve.” Ezzy parked. “And to answer your question, yes, we are going to a pond, not a river.” She saw his surprise and disappointment. Poor boy. “Did you think we’d be standing in the middle of a scenic river like on TV?”
“Well, sort of, yes. Whatever. A pond is fine.”
“I figured this would be like in the movie A River Runs through It. When the boys are really young and starting out fly fishing, their father teaches them how to cast a fly from a dock on a pond. My dad gave me my first casting lesson on the same dock we’re about to be on.”
“Roger,” Link said.
“You’ll want to forget you’ve ever done any other type of fishing. Casting the old way won’t work here. You’ll need to break your old habits if you have any.”
“Kind of like how we need to cast aside our current politics?” Link asked, smirking.
I bet he thinks that was clever. It was—somewhat. And more or less on target. “I suppose,” she said. “There are some basics that are the same as any other fishing. Now get out and put your waders on. It’s time for you to learn to cast a fly.”