Free Ask the Passengers by A. S. King

Socratic paradoxes. Here’s one of Frank’s:
No one desires evil.
Of course, that’s an insane thing to say. One look around Unity Valley will prove the guy dead wrong. One look at
anywhere
will prove the guy certifiable. Especially in fifth century BC Greece.Geez. So for him to say
No one desires evil
is about more than just challenging the obvious fact that plenty of people desire evil.
    When I raise my hand and Ms. Steck calls on me, I say, “It was about making people think. Because the only way to disprove something that defies common sense is to ask why. Why would people desire evil? Why are people evil? Don’t they think they are doing good from their perspective? What is evil, then, anyway? That’s exactly the type of thing Socrates was after. Making people think so they could find the truth.”
    “And do you have any answers?” she asks.
    “No. Only more questions,” I say. I have come so far from my Zeno-denying arm-flailing only two weeks ago.
    They say:
Astrid Jones is such a kiss-ass.
    They say:
Ms. Steck will give her an A just because of lit mag.
    They say:
You know about Ms. Steck, right?
    Anyway, our final assignment for the unit is to create our own paradox and be ready to argue it Socrates-style. This is the Socrates Project. Every year we’ve been in high school, the day before Thanksgiving break, senior humanities students dress like Greek philosophers and argue throughout the halls all day. It’s the reason people fight to get into this course, and the reason some people wouldn’t touch it with a barge pole. I fluctuate between being shit-scared and totally geeked out with excitement. I’m even going to go barefoot. I haven’t figured out my paradox yet, but I have a month, so I’m not going to push it.

    All week, Kristina is weird.
    Monday:
Are you sure there wasn’t any truth to that thing you said about a girlfriend? You know you could tell me, right?
    Tuesday: She squints at me a lot and whispers something to Justin right in front of me. Justin shrugs, then pulls up his camera and snaps a picture of me. When I complain, they claim it’s just a funny joke.
    Wednesday:
I thought we were best friends, dude. You’re not keeping secrets from me, are you? Justin and I can help, you know.
Justin nods.
    Thursday: Silent treatment. Or at least that’s what it seems like. Plus, she’s overly friendly with her plethora of more popular friends. The Homecoming Court people, the majorettes, the two lead actresses in our fall production of
The Miracle Worker
. I even see her talking to Aimee Hall—enemy of many, thanks to her knack for making shit up and spreading it like mulch so the weeds of sanity can’t poke through and doubt her.
    Friday: Kristina’s all perky and nice at lunch. “Maybe you’ll tell me the truth tomorrow night?”
    “You know the truth,” I say.
    “That’s not what I heard,” she says.
    I try not to look panicked. I call Frank S. to rescue me. Bad idea. He slides into the booth behind Kristina and looks right into my eyes. He knows the truth, too.

16
AM I WEARING A “BE PUSHY WITH ME” SIGN?
    THE HISPANIC CENTER CATERING JOB is hard core. We work from five thirty to three thirty. That’s a long day here in the land of shrimp veins. Dee and I meet in the walk-in only once. We don’t even have time to talk except catering-teamwork talk, so while we wash and sanitize big pots and pans, she occasionally hip-bumps me and I hip-bump her back.

    My quid pro quo double date with Jeff, Kristina, and Justin is at the Legion Diner on 773. It’s a popular place to get anything with fake mashed potatoes and gravy. I’m in love with theirgrilled cheese sandwiches. I don’t know what they do, but they make them taste better than any grilled cheese sandwich I’ve ever eaten in my life. I think they dip them in grease first or something.
    I decide to walk because it’s five minutes from my house. Justin and Kristina drive there together and are ten minutes late, as