The End of Ezzy's Escape (Part 7: Ezzy's Education) by Garrett Murch
Ezzy fidgeted in the passenger seat of her father’s F-150 on their drive home from camp that Sunday afternoon. They had caught over a dozen brook trout each, and when they had talked, they had only talked about fishing. An unknowing observer might have thought they spoke in code, but it was simply the language of fly fishing. What fly to try next? Try a number twenty Pheasant Tail, Dad! How to present the fly to the fish? You might get a better drift with an “S” cast there, Ezzy.
They pretended to argue over whose trout was the biggest of the day and whose was the prettiest. Each had netted the trout hooked by the other, like teammates. On their walk out from the river, her father had said, “None topped the big beauty you landed this morning. A fish of a lifetime for many. Probably not for you.”
Ezzy’s fingertips reached her phone that was tucked beneath clothing in her backpack. She gripped it and brought it to her lap. She felt uneasy, watching it rest on her sweatpants. Something dreadful must lurk inside of it.
She looked below her phone at her mud-caked boots. She looked at her father, who wore a serene pride on his face. She looked back at her phone. They had neither internet nor cell service all weekend in the mountains, but they had reached the point of the drive home where those services returned.
Ezzy watched the field they approached at sixty miles per hour; she watched its aging corn stalks and that old barn with the roof collapsing, then the long, stone wall running toward rolling, forested hills. She looked at her phone again. She pushed its power button and, as it turned on, continued admiring the old barn now behind them.
“Dad, you’re driving a little fast, aren’t you?”
Her father didn’t reply, but Ezzy noticed the truck slow down a little. She smiled at him.
The home screen on her phone lit up. It was time. I’ll check my email first. Her inbox was packed with spam emails she had to navigate to find messages of interest. Ezzy saw the name “Navratil, Verica” listed three times: The first at 2:18 a.m. on Saturday morning, the second at 11:47 p.m. on Saturday night, and the third was from only half an hour ago. She opened the oldest message first.
Hello Ezzy,
Trunk Langston went crazy tonight on InstaTok, making up lies about himself and trying to bully Lucinda. But we stood up to him and fought back! Please watch this new video of Lucinda then like, comment, and share. Go Justice!Lucinda and I sincerely hope you catch lots of fishes! Trunk is like the chemicals that poison your trouts.
—Verica
Ezzy laughed out loud. “Poor girl.” She looked at her father. He did not react. Rather than watch Lucinda’s video, Ezzy opened Verica’s second message, the one sent late Saturday night.
Hello again, Ezzy,
I know you are busy catching trouts this weekend, but we are still hoping you can react and share Lucinda’s video so we can say you have endorsed Lucinda. It is so important that you show your support for Justice as revealed in Lucinda. Latinxs and all the underprivileged need your support. We know you will not let Lucinda or Justice down. And hopefully after you do this for Lucinda, you will keep catching more fishes!
Onward Justice!
Our regards, Verica
Ezzy laughed again.
Her father glanced at her without steering his truck out of its lane. “What is it?” he asked.
“Oh, school stuff. This race for student body president is ridiculous. It doesn’t even matter who wins.”
“Trunk versus Lucinda?”
“You remembered!”
“You seemed bothered when you told me.”
“Yeah, well, this whole thing is stupid. But you know what, Dad, there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Thinking like that is why we end up with candidates like Trunk and Lucinda.”
Ezzy looked at her father. Thinking like what? It doesn’t matter what I think. They passed the country store on the corner with its weathered and moldy shingle siding that was slowly falling off, its two old gas pumps that didn’t accept credit cards, and its glass front door with a yard long crack in it. She opened the third and final email from Verica.
Ezzy,
We imagine you are back from your super long fishing trip by now and you still have not reacted to Lucinda’s video and shared it. Please do so immediately. Thanks in advance. And when can you meet with Lucinda? It looks like you have two study hallstomorrow, plus lunch, and Lucinda can meet during any of them except your 9:20 a.m. study hall. She has an important meeting with her hair stylist then.
Trunk will fear you like the trouts do after you advance Lucinda Justice.
—Verica and Lucinda
“What on earth?” Ezzy slammed her phone on her lap. Her olive face reddened and her teeth clenched.
“What is it?”
“They—these girls—somehow know my school schedule. This one girl keeps trying to get me to meet with Lucinda.”
“Is it easy to get your schedule?”
“If it is, it shouldn’t be.”
“I suppose.”
Ezzy was surprised her father didn’t seem to care, or at least didn’t seem surprised. “Oh, I think I know. They probably got it from Ms. Scales.”
“Who’s Ms. Scales?”
Ezzy thought for a few seconds before answering, “I don’t really know,” she said. “She’s been, like, this permanent presence in the school since late last year. I have no idea what her official job is. She walks around keeping tabs on all the students, always writing things down. It’s like she doesn’t have an actual job. And she’s weird.”
“Interesting.”
Interesting? No, weird. “But here’s the thing, Dad. I know Ms. Scales loves Lucinda. And she’s been reminding students to vote. She’s been going up to students and saying, ‘Ebbing High School encourages you to vote in the upcoming school election. Ebbing takes no side in elections and asks only that students consider which candidates are most in line with Justice.’”
“Say no more; I know the type,” her father said.
Ezzy laughed. “Yup.”
“Ms. Scales trying to tip the—”
“I get it, Dad.”
“Okay.”
“ You have the most obvious sense of humor.” Ezzy snorted a little.
“Worse things to have in life, I suppose.”
Ezzy decided she better check out Trunk Langston’s InstaTok posts to see what Verica’s fuss was all about. She pulled them up.
Seeing Trunk’s face crawl out of her phone screen below Pennywise the Clown, Ezzy cringed. She read his post. His words. Is he crazy? What’s wrong with him? “I think Trunk Langston is insane.”
“Narcissists have difficulty with reality.”
”I wish we could have fished longer.”
“Don’t we all.” He glanced at his daughter again. Ezzy felt his care during a short silence. “Why don’t you run?” he asked.
“For student body president?”
“You’d probably win.”
“I’d get crushed by both of them.” Ezzy thought of Trunk torturing her online (and possibly at school), and being turned into a non-entity by Lucinda and her passive-aggressive mob. They’ve done that to kids before.
“I doubt they could crush you.”
“I hate politics.”
“That’s why you’d be good.”
“The deadline for entering the race already passed,” Ezzy said. “Politics at school is just like the Patriots versus the Justices on the news. It’s crazy. It’s stupid. And if you don’t pick a side then you’re stuck out in the cold. It’s like the two parties colluded to make it that way. I don’t know why both parties let crazy people lead them.”
“Seems like the system is infected,” her father said.
“But our river isn’t!” Ezzy grinned and, in her fleeting happy state, she fired off a reply to Verica that read, “I can meet tomorrow after school. Two-thirty afternoon in the cafeteria.”
She stared at the sun-singed hills as they rolled south over the bumpy road. Her phone made a sound. A notification popped up on its screen: “InstaTok Alert: Trunk Langston Speaking NOW on Ebbing High School Page.”
I don’t want to watch this. She clicked on the notification.
“Trunk Langston is speaking on InstaTok. Want to listen to his nonsense?”
Her father did not reply.
“He’ll probably tell people how great he is and how we are lousy,” Ezzy mused. “But we will be great like him again if only we show him how great we think he is.” Ezzy saw amusement in her father’s eyes his sunglasses could not hide from the side. “So do you want to listen?”
“If you want me to I will.”
“I’m taking that as a yes.” Ezzy set her phone to play on the truck’s speakers. “Get ready, Dad. This guy’s a piece of work. He’s wearing his football jersey. He’s number one.” She turned up the volume and looked at her phone screen.