Free The Vigilante Poets of Selwyn Academy by Kate Hattemer Page A

“I don’t have time for that shit.”
    “For worrying about the show?”
    “For guys.”
    “Oh.”
    “Everybody who knows me knows that. All I do is dance. And occasionally do homework so I don’t fail out. And occasionally poach homework answers off cute juniors.”
    I could not say a word.
    “So I don’t really care. All I want is to win this thing. Yes, my life goal is winning a reality TV show. Sad but true. And if they want to make me look like a slut, they can make me look like a slut.”
    “I can’t believe you don’t care.”
    “Ethan Andrezejczak.”
    She knew my last name. She could
say
my last name. Almost.
    “In your universe, people care about stuff like reputations. They care about whether the world is just. I don’t. I just don’t.” She made a gesture that took in her whole body—her bun, her sinewy legs, her big fluffy socks. That gesture said everything.It meant more than my best drawing could ever mean, more than the most lyrical passage I’d ever played. “I want to be a dancer. A real dancer. I want to go to Juilliard and I want to dance with New York City Ballet. Peter Martins. Lincoln Center. That is all. Period. I don’t want anything else.”
    “Oh.”
    “So yeah, they’re making me look like a slut and I’m not. I don’t even
know
those guys. Biblically or otherwise. They edit it in. It’s called frankenbiting. I read about it the last time I was on the Internet, which was two weeks ago. Because this. Is all. I do.”
    “Oh.”
    She smiled at me. “You’re sweet.”
    “Thanks?”
    “The bell’s about to ring.”
    “Don’t you have class too?” I looked around. I hadn’t even noticed that during our conversation, the dance hallway had begun to fill with other kids.
    “I’ll be late. It’s discrete math.” She laughed. “Didn’t you listen? I don’t care.”
    “Right.”
    “You have a great day, Ethan Andrezejczak.” I was dismissed. I picked up my backpack, gave her a wave, and walked down the hall.
    Herbert’s arabesque still wasn’t the kind that would get him into Juilliard, but I tried to focus on the light and the lines. My thoughts were swirling, turbid and muddy like a shakenbeaker. But about half an hour into class they settled into sediment:
    1. Maura’s ambition was admirable. I couldn’t imagine wanting anything that badly. Even her.
    2. Maura’s situation, on the other hand, was messed up. She thought she had to let them do whatever
they
wanted so that she could get what
she
wanted. And what was even more messed up? She was right. All that drama was driving up the ratings, increasing the revenues, making the show more likely to keep running, making her more likely to win.
    3. We had to do something. But it was complicated. I think Luke had the idea that we’d expose the unethical horrors of
For Art’s Sake
to the parents and alumni, and they’d rise up in outrage and force them to cancel the show. But now I knew that Maura’s whole life depended on this show. If we got it off the air, she’d go to the University of Minnesota. We’d crush her dreams. She’d never have anything to do with me again.
    I put Herbert back on the shelf where he lived. I gave him a nod of farewell and hoped that I hadn’t caused him too much embarrassment among his ilk. Dr. Fern patted me on my back. “Nice job concentrating on your drawing, Ethan.”
    Now it was time for English. That meant I’d see her for thefirst time since this morning. Would it be weird? Would she say hi? Should I say hi? I hated major life decisions.
    I walked in. From across the room, Elizabeth yelled hello. I gave her a distracted wave and sat down by Luke.
    “Well?” he said.
    “Done.”
    “And?”
    “Later.”
    Only after I sat down did I allow myself to find Maura. She was sitting at her desk, straight-backed as usual. I got out my English notebook. I looked at her again. And this was when things were just a little different from usual, just different enough. She gave