which sounds weird,
but wasn’t.
And the friends I have now
never knew Benicio
called me grasshopper
because they never knew Benicio.
That is another thought
I tuck away
in my brainclouds . . .
something to think
a lot more about
some other time,
if I’m ever able to
think about anything
other than this thing,
which is that
Ace
called me grasshopper.
Ace did.
Ace.
WHY
NOW
0BenwhY: hi, creeper
SBЮBEN: creeper? come on! I thought we sorted that out.
0BenwhY: we have sorted nothing out.
SBЮBEN: Is this about me having to disappear before?
SBЮBEN: i lost track of time and was about to be in big trouble
SBЮBEN: anyway. that’s a boring story.
SBЮBEN: how are you? Long time no talk.
0BenwhY: *has* it been a long time?
SBЮBEN: what do you mean?
0BenwhY: I mean, it feels like we JUST had a chat
SBЮBEN: can’t stop thinking about me, huh?
0BenwhY: well you ARE still impersonating my dead brother
0BenwhY: it’s hard not to think about that
0BenwhY: also, I think you’re reading the chat archives
0BenwhY: none of those things are great ways to get me to like you here OR irl
SBЮBEN: very fair point, and also that makes me sound like a huge turd
0BenwhY: because you are acting like a huge turd
0BenwhY: tell me who you are.
SBЮBEN: Not until you’ve had some time to get to know me. And like me.
SBЮBEN: Plus, I think you already know.
0BenwhY: tell me who you are.
SBЮBEN: I think you already know.
0BenwhY: TELL ME WHO YOU ARE
SBЮBEN: I THINK YOU ALREADY KNOW. I’VE BEEN LEAVING CLUES.
0BenwhY: anything can be a clue if you want it to be
0BenwhY: Everything can be a clue if you want it to be
SBЮBEN: More fair points. You’re good at those.
0BenwhY: stop trying to change the subject every time I ask who you are
0BenwhY: I have to go before I get mad
SBЮBEN: noooo! you’re getting mad?? Why??
SBЮBEN: i thought we were bantering . . . joking around
0BenwhY: that’s what you want me to like about you?
0BenwhY: how funny you think you are in chat????? While you’re, like, Sandbox-cosplaying my dead brother????????
0BenwhY: if you can’t figure out why that makes me mad . . . argh!
0BenwhY: make sure to go back and read THIS chat archive while you’re reading all the rest
0BenwhY: bet you’ll figure it out
0BenwhY: also, DON’T actually read the chat archives. Those are private.
0BenwhY HAS EXITED GAME
HOME
You’re in here again?
Is this your room now, or something?
Esme stands in the doorway,
watching me wipe my eyes
as I turn off Benicio’s computer.
Do you still have my markers?
Her chirps are unsure
as she looks me over,
trying to figure out
what’s going on.
I shake my head.
No markers.
I give her my best smile,
which is only a sideways half smile
because my face can’t catch up
to all my different feelings
right now.
You should come in.
I stand up
then flop myself
fast and bouncy
onto Benicio’s bed.
His pillow is still missing.
It’s okay.
He wouldn’t mind.
Esme squints,
shakes her head.
We both know
if he were alive
he would probably
still be dumb
about letting anyone go into
his room.
Well, hey.
I give her a jokey half smile
and a giant shrug.
At least he can’t get mad anymore.
Esme thinks about this
like it’s not a really bad attempt
at a really bad non-joke,
and she nods,
very seriously,
before she bolts
into the room,
crashing into me,
linking her arms
around my neck
and whispering into my ear,
He can’t be mad,
but he still loves us, right?
I don’t have a lot of answers,
but this is one answer
I do know.
My squeeze tells her
just how right
I know she is.
This day
has been a thousand days,
a forever plus infinity
and I’m so so so tired.
But when I want to sleep,
it stays just out of my reach,
like in those movies
with hallways
that stretch and stretch,
fooling you into thinking
the exit door is right there,
even though it’s always
not quite ever there.
I can’t stop thinking about Ace
and the bus
and the grasshopper
and the chat I had with Not-Benicio tonight
and the last chat I ever had with Real Benicio
and the thing is,
I know I ask a lot of questions
and I know I complain
when I don’t have answers,
but right now,
even though
I’m pretty sure
I have the answer
to a really big question,
I kind of wish
I didn’t.
There’s no use trying to sleep,
so I climb off my bunk,
sneak past Esme,
who chirps
even in her sleep,
and into Benicio’s room
where I left my backpack
when I got home from school.
I pull out the folded sheet
Ms. J gave me,
to help me research
my authorized admin profile,
and I sit at Benicio’s desk,
turning on the lamp
that looks like
a Sandbox torch.
It’s a page
from an old Hart Times
with a few things circled . . .
and . . .
ooooh.
Whoa.
Is this what she meant?
About paying attention?
We were all so busy laughing
at Jordan’s Hot Takes
and Ms. J’s giant glasses
that we missed this,
completely.
Malcolm Mann.
Deputy Editor.
Not bald yet.
No mustache yet.
But those eyes don’t lie.
It’s him.
For sure.
And the title of his column?
“Fight the Mann:
Students’ Rights are Human Rights.”
WHAT.
< NEWSPAPER TYPING CLUB CHAT >
JJ11347: Whoa whoa wow! What happened in here? I hardly recognize this place!
BenBee: shiitake mushrooms! WHO did all of this?
jajajavier:): Look at this over here!
jajajavier:): hahaha, check it out!
jajajavier:): the sign says
LOUD ROOM instead of STUDY ROOM.
jajajavier:): You can blow stuff up in here! Cool!
BenBee: And look at this! It’s like that accidental chickenfall I made once, but with books.
jajajavier:): A bookfall! Don’t stand at the bottom of it.
JORDANJMAGEDDON!!!!: A library really CAN be magical. Just like you said, Ms. J.
JJ11347: Oh, you y’alls.
BenBee: seriously, though. Who built all of this?
BenBee: 0BenwhY, *you’re* super quiet.
Who’s ready for some Newspapering?
Ace’s voice echoes toward us
as an Ace-shaped blur runs top speed
through the library,
interrupting our chat,
making us look up,
eyeballs peering over monitors
like we’re all . . .
what are those animals
that peek their eyes
out of the holes in the ground
where they live?
Prairie dogs?
Like that.
PlanetSafeAce ENTERS GAME
JJ11347: Hello, Ace. Nice of you to join us . . . THIRTY minutes late.
PlanetSafeAce: Sorry about that, Ms. J.
PlanetSafeAce: dress coded AGAIN. I told Mr. Mann to talk to you
PlanetSafeAce: like you said to do
PlanetSafeAce: I hope that’s ok
JJ11347: Absolutely ok, Ace. Thank you for listening to me.
PlanetSafeAce: Hi, everybody.
0BenwhY: someone better take credit for all this cool stuff, before Ace does
JJ11347: Ben Y!
jajajavier:): Hi, Ace.
JORDANJMAGEDDON!!!!:
JJ11347: Jordan!
JORDANJMAGEDDON!!!!: sorry. my hand slipped on the keyboard.
JJ11347: Time for some newspapering, everyone.
JJ11347: Those authorized articles aren’t going to write themselves.
JJ11347: Let’s save and exit and get to work.
jajajavier:): Aw, really?? But there’s still a bunch of new stuff we haven’t even checked out yet.
JORDANJMAGEDDON!!!!: hahaha, get it?? Checked out?? And we’re in a library??
PlanetSafeAce:
JORDANJMAGEDDON!!!!: that high five was for Javi
PlanetSafeAce: oh. sorry.
Ms. J stands,
smoothing her caftan.
Ben Y.
Can I see you for a second?
Ms. J tilts her head,
resting her giant hoop earring
on her turquoise shoulder
as she sneaks her way
into looking at my face.
Did you look at the . . .
research . . .
I provided?
For your authorized article?
I . . .
Uh . . .
A smile sneaks
to the corners
of my mouth.
I did.
Her eyes catch mine,
holding them
for just a second
so I can see
the sparks.
And?
she asks.
Did you prepare some questions?
We’re staring down a deadline, so . . .
how about we go
conduct
that
interview?!
She looks excited
and maybe angry?
But not angry with me.
I think.
Shouldn’t we, like—
call first or something?
My heartbeat doubles
at the thought of
walking right into
Mr. Mann’s office.
That’s like
walking right into
the belly of a beast.
Are we even allowed to . . .
just . . .
show up . . .
in Mr. Mann’s office?
He’s always in the halls.
How are we supposed to find him?
Unless . . .
we could use Ace as bait.
Haha.
Sorry.
Not funny.
I keep talking
because there’s no way,
no way,
I can tell her
I don’t have any questions.
Ms. J’s face looks pointy,
flashing,
almost like Benicio’s
when he knew
he was starting an argument
just for the fun of it.
We will NOT be using anyone
as bait.
We WILL be using
your smart questions
and journalistic intuition.
Ready?
Let’s go!
I nod.
I hold my breath,
feeling my heart pound.
I’m sure I can think of some questions, right?
I mean, that IS my specialty.
We walk down the hall,
and it’s like her swooshing caftan
carries us both
on a breathless breeze.
I can’t believe you both
went to school here,
I manage to stammer
as we blow through
hallway
after hallway.
Ms. J slows her pace, nodding.
Malcolm Mann,
Hart Times
Deputy Editor,
and I . . .
we go way back.
The sparks
from Ms. J’s eyes
turn to bursting fireworks.
It feels a little bit
(or maybe a lotta bit)
like Ms. J wishes she
was the one
about to conduct
the Malcolm Mann Admin Profile.
As we wait
to get called back
to Mr. Mann’s office,
a thought pierces my brain.
Maybe it’s weird
this never occurred to me
before I saw all those old
Hart Times circa 1988,
but:
Ms. J was my age once.
She lived in this town
as a kid
like me.
Maybe she rode the 315.
Maybe she hated gym.
Maybe she waded through beige
every day
and dreamed
of swimming through
sparkles and rainbows
instead.
How could she not dream of that?
How could she not plan her escape?
How could she still be here?
Still working on the Hart Times?
Now??
A hundred thousand years AFTER
1988???
Still spending nearly every day
looking into the weasel face
of Malcolm Mann,
former Deputy Editor,
current
[fart noise]????
A shiver
spills down
my spine
as I wonder,
Will I still live here,
in this
same small town
when I am
as old
as Ms. J?
Will I still be
a Hart Rocket,
never blasting off
to a new world
or a new life
or a new anything?
Will I still have to face
[insert name of anyone
from the beige blob
here]
nearly
every
day?
I shudder
like I just drank
orange juice
after brushing my teeth.
Well, HELLO.
Mr. Mann stands
in the doorway
leading back
to all the admin offices.
What a . . .
lovely SURPRISE.
Ms. Jackson,
MX. Ybarra,
come on BACK.
I throw a look at Ms. J
that says,
This feels like a terrible idea.
Ms. J throws a look at me
that says,
This is about to be an ADVENTURE.
And I don’t know how
she can make fun of him
with only her eyes,
but she does,
and it makes me relax,
just enough
to almost make me
smile.
Thank you for seeing us,
Mal— Mr. Mann.
Mr. Mann leans back,
his chair squeaking,
his eyes narrowing.
We won’t take up too much time.
Ben Y has some questions for you.
For the—
authorized—
admin profile.
Ms. J continues.
Her voice is
as easy-breezy
as her caftan.
I thought I’d tag along
to listen in.
Take it away, Ben Y.
They both stare at me.
I stare at my hands,
which miraculously hold
both a pencil
and a piece of paper.
When did that happen?
Uh.
I clear my throat.
The paper in front of me is blank.
I close my eyes.
I think of all the questions
crashing into each other
between the walls
of my skull
last night,
when I saw
the old article
about students’ rights
being human rights,
and how Malcom Mann,
Deputy Editor
of the Hart Times
circa 1988,
seemed to be . . .
a nice
and thoughtful
kid.
If I reach out
and grab one,
just one
of those questions,