The greatest injustice of all (Ezzy's Education: Part 10) By Garrett Murch
”Ezzy!” Sheila Jennings called to Ezzy who was walking, backpack full, several feet ahead of her in the student parking lot on Monday morning. “You gonna go for ‘Little Link?’”
Ezzy liked Sheila. Back in eighth grade, Sheila had consoled her after their classmate, Frieda Niederman, asked Ezzy why she wouldn’t “just go back to Mexico.” At the time, Frieda liked a boy who liked Ezzy instead. “She’s just jealous,” Sheila said to Ezzy then. “Not everyone can be Ezzy Bello. I think you’re great.” Since then, Ezzy had detested anything she thought was rooted in envy. And while she and Sheila had never become close friends, Ezzy had not forgotten how Sheila made her feel better after she cried that day. She had not really cried since.
“This election is making people lose their minds,” Ezzy said, trying to smile.
“Pretty entertaining if nothing else!”
“I suppose,” Ezzy said as Sheila kept walking ahead of her.
“Good luck today!” Sheila said, hustling toward the school entrance.
I wish I could think this was all so funny.
It felt to Ezzy like everyone was looking at her as she walked into school and down the hallway to her locker. She felt the eyes of students, teachers, and all the school administrators she passed. She heard comments—sometimes whispered—catching certain words: “Little Link,” “Trunk,” “InstaTok.” She thought she heard someone say, “she and hers” and she thought about how her mother added pronouns to her email signature. She definitely heard “hot Latina.” Twice.
A few minutes before homeroom, Ezzy unloaded her books from her backpack into her locker. Except for her biology textbook and her English notebook. She realized the quiz about Shakespeare’s toxic masculinity was before her first study hall, and she somehow needed to review what Mr. Catty wanted his students to say again. She put her AirPods in, even though she wasn’t supposed to, and played Beyonce’s “Mood 4 Eva.”
A moment later Ezzy felt a tap on her shoulder. “That’s a great song,” said a voice that made her stomach turn. It was Trunk Langston. His eyes imposed on her, yet she did not feel intimidated like when he’d spoken to her in recent days. She noticed her absence of fear and was surprised by it.
I didn’t think people could hear my music through my AirPods. I bet he’s making it up. “Hello Trunk. You know that song? What do you like about it?” Ha! Called his bluff.
“You’re a pretty girl,” Trunk said. “Lucinda hates pretty girls, unless they’re doing something for her. She hates smart girls who don’t agree with her, too.” He walked away,meeting his posse who began chanting “We Love Trunk!”
Weird! He recognized Queen Bey’s voice. But he guessed “Pretty Girl.” I never would’ve thought he knew that song. Or maybe it was all just a coincidence? Eh, who cares.
“What was that?” asked Kayla Jennings, who had just walked over to Ezzy. Ezzy noticed how nice Kayla looked in her rose-colored, sleeveless, mock-neck tank.
“Oh, hi Kayla. That’s exactly what I was asking myself.”
“So I hear Link Conary has a thing for you.” Kayla smiled yet she did not look happy. “Eh. Don’t worry. I-I mean, I barely know him. I don’t mean don’t worry, I just mean—” “Poor kid,” Kayla said.
“Eh. I imagine he can take it.”
“I like your camo hoodie,” Kayla said.
“Thanks! I got it from Threadsy—amazing deal.”
“When I go back to bussing tables after field hockey, I might buy one. Hey, have you noticed how Trunk’s following seems to be growing, even as he embarrasses himself more and more?”
“It’s strange, I know. I don’t get it. His crowd in the parking lot this morning was huge.”
“I don’t understand why Link ever tried to help him,” Kayla said.
Kayla’s always friendly but I think this is the first time she’s ever stopped by my locker. “He must really not trust Lucinda. Or he’s just a loyal Patriot.”
“Well, who likes Lucinda?” Kayla asked. “I’m just saying Trunk is terrible.”
“You’re not one of Lucinda’s little spies?”
“Hell no,” Kayla said. “I think she’s a psycho. But I’ll probably vote for her.”
“Fair enough,” Ezzy said. “You could just not vote.” That’s how I’m leaning. No need to say that, though. Well, we’ll see.
“Who are you voting for?” Kayla asked.
“Did you see what Lucinda did to Trunk with that video of his father?” Ezzy asked.
“That was pretty ruthless, I know. But you’re not going to vote for Trunk because of it, are you?” Kayla crossed her legs at her toned calves.
“Trunk can’t control who his father is,” Ezzy said. “Talk about underprivileged. I can’t imagine what I’d be like if that guy was my father. Doesn’t make Trunk any less terrible, though. And he still shouldn’t be student president. I might not vote.”
“You have to vote.”
“No, I don’t,” Ezzy said as she set her backpack on the floor, maintaining eye contact with Kayla.
“You know, you’re right,” Kayla said. “We don’t have to vote, do we? I forgot since we didn’t have an election last year. When is the election again?”
“A week from tomorrow.” The school bell rang.
“Well, it was nice talking with you, Ezzy! Love that hoodie. See ya later.”
“Same here,” Ezzy said. Well, that was interesting. Kayla’s a genuine person. I can tell. After AP Biology, Ezzy made her way to AP English, trying to ignore every person she passed. Entering the classroom, Link Conary averted his eyes from hers as soon as they connected. Aww. Poor guy. Maybe I should go say hi.
Ezzy did not go say hi, but instead skimmed her notes on Shakespeare’s toxic masculinity. When handing out the quizzes for students to take, Mr. Catty said, “And here is yours, Little Link.” Several classmates chuckled; Mr. Catty seemed to appreciate their flattery.
What an ass! Ezzy knew Mr. Catty spoke the language of Justice and often showed anger toward national Patriot politicians, but to pick on Link because he had tried to help defeat Lucinda—that was just as unbecoming a teacher as Trunk was unbecoming a political candidate. Ezzy finished the quiz in five minutes. Below the last question, she wrote a note:
Mr. Catty,
Serious question here. Did we even need to read the play to get an A on this quiz? Yours truly,
Ezzy
When class ended, Ezzy caught Link just outside the room. “Hey, Link.”
He looked at Ezzy and mumbled, “Uh, hi Ezzy.” He looked down.
Link doesn’t have much confidence for a boy who has the interest of the likely homecoming queen. “Our school is dominated by pricks, isn’t it?”
Link looked up. “It seems that way, doesn’t it?” He smiled.
“Sometimes I think we should be pricks to the pricks.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Or just ignore it all.”
A parade of Trunk supporters raced past them through the crowded hallway, hollering.
Little Link with the little pee! Little Link with the little pee!
“Trendon Bravissimo!” Ezzy shouted, her voice transitioning ever so slightly to the mezzo- soprano she consciously kept reserved for singing alone in her Jeep. Trendon stopped. The chanting stopped. “Since you insist on thinking of me as an ethnicity, I thought I’d let you know this Latina thinks you’re pathetic. And your little leader is loco.” She wore a serious smile.
Trendon’s mouth opened wide.
“Scurry away now, weak little boy,” Ezzy said, leaning toward the target of her fury.
Trendon, looking shocked—even hurt—did more or less as he was told.
Ezzy looked at Link and said, “If only ignoring it all was possible.”
“That was amazing!”
A girl, apparently void of self-awareness, stepped between them and handed Link and Ezzy pins that read “U Mustiss Vote Lucinda for Justice.” The girl moved on to other students.
“Yep,” Link said. “Ignoring it is wishful thinking.” “I’ve been escaping the madness by going fly fishing.”
“That’s so cool. I’ve-I’ve always wanted to try fly fishing.”
“I could show you. It’s not that hard.” Ezzy made motions with her arm as if she was fly fishing. Several students heading toward them looked at her with bemusement.
“Really?” Link asked.
“‘Really’ I could show you or ‘really’ it’s not that hard?” Ezzy grinned.
“Uh, both, I guess.”
“Well, it can be kind of hard. But I can definitely show you.” “That would be awesome!”
Ezzy could see he was excited. If anything could make her warm up to someone quickly, it was a person’s shared interest in fly fishing.
“Cool. You don’t play a fall sport, right?” Another girl brought them “Lucinda for president” pins.
“I don’t.”
Ezzy’s AP Biology teacher, Mr. Toven, walked by. “Hi Mr. Toven!”
Mr. Toven smiled and mouthed “Hi Ezzy” as he passed.
Ezzy turned back to Link. “Mr. Toven’s the toughest teacher ever, but he makes science so much fun. He’s the best. Want to go fishing after school tomorrow?”
“Um, I’d love to! But, I, uh, I don’t have any fly-fishing gear.”
“Not a problem. You’re about the same size as my Dad. He’ll let you use his waders, I’m sure. And I’ve got an extra fly rod if you promise not to break it.”
“I promise I’ll be super careful.”
“Great. Let’s meet in the parking lot after school tomorrow. I’ll give you your first lesson.”
“Can’t wait!” Link said. He was looking at Ezzy and wearing a monumental grin as Kayla
Jennings walked by, looking at them.
Ezzy couldn’t tell if Kayla was upset or sad, but she was definitely not smiling. Shoot. She must really have the wrong idea now. She probably hates me. Argh!
The school bell rung. They were both late to class or, in Ezzy’s case, study hall. “Gotta run,” Ezzy said. “How do you think you did on the quiz?”
“I didn’t come close to reading all of Othello, but I know I did well.” He smirked at Ezzy. Ezzy smiled and walked away. He’s not bad for a Patriot. Trying to help Trunk is still weird,
though.
Several hours later, the school bell rung for the last time of the day. Ezzy knew she now had to be true to her word and meet with Lucinda Barron. What does she want from me?