I guess you could say Mr. Northup\u2019s downfall began the day Gretchen Chase got a boyfriend and started wearing tank tops to class. She\u2019d been a sweatshirt gal before that, showing skin being her only source of shyness. She was loud and proud about everything else, including wanting to criminalize most things Northup said we should hold dear: affirmative action, gun control, Al Gore. It\u2019s not like any of us ever asked Gretchen for her opinion. It all came out of her like mouth diarrhea, earning her the nickname \u201cWretchin\u2019 Gretchen.\u201d To say that she and Mr. Northup butted heads would be like saying that Hamilton and Jefferson had a tiff.<\/p>\n
Mr. Northup\u2019s U.S. History was the first AP class I\u2019d ever signed up for. Unlike other Advanced Placement teachers, Northup had an \u201copen doors\u201d policy: anybody could get in if they registered for it and could keep up with the work. My counselor warned me. Guys on the soccer team warned me. But my mom warned me about something else: college applications. She said if I wanted to get into UW, I needed some advanced classes on my transcript.<\/p>\n
Since I liked history, I chose to start there. Had I known that each class was going to be a Godzilla vs. Mothra battle between Mr. Northup and Wretchin\u2019 Gretchen, I might have chosen differently.<\/p>\n
Admittedly, their daily scrums kept us coming to class.<\/p>\n
\u201cCuz I don\u2019t want to miss a thang!\u201d Jason Acampo would croon Aerosmith style as we hustled into class.<\/p>\n
Jason was the closest thing our school had to a G.\u00a0He wore his black hair in a close buzz to accentuate the diamond studs in his ears. He puffed up his wiry body with a red FUBU sweatshirt and baggy, bleached Echo jeans. He was Filipino but fell into Black dude persona. I guess because it was the most natural non-white-American category to identify with.<\/p>\n
After years of penny-pinching, his parents had sent him to O\u2019Dea\u2014a private Catholic high school in Seattle. But after a year and a half, he left. He told us he\u2019d gotten kicked out for fighting and \u201cill shit.\u201d But we suspected he was blowing smoke up our asses and that the real reason was more complicated.<\/p>\n
Mr. Northup\u2019s classroom was made up of wide circle tables. We sat at one near the back.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere the fuck\u2019s Curtis?\u201d Jason asked as we sat down.<\/p>\n
Curtis Greenwood was actually Black. He kept the shiny curlicues of his hair short and neat. He wore polo shirts and slacks as if still following the uniform requirement of the small Christian middle school he transferred in from freshman year. As part of the leadership team, I toured new kids around the school. That\u2019s how I\u2019d gotten to know Curtis and Jason. I liked the new kids better because they needed my friendship more, particularly Curtis and Jason, who stuck out in our mostly white school. Or so I thought. It turned out they didn\u2019t need my friendship at all and the incident with Northup and Gretchen would prove it.<\/p>\n
When Curtis finally schlepped in, a minute before the bell, his lips squirmed like he was keeping something in.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
His face twisted in confusion, \u201cIt\u2019s Wretchin\u2019 Gretchen. She\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe looks hot,\u201d Jason whispered as Gretchen walked in.<\/p>\n
Gretchen\u2019s scooped-neck, black tank top displayed the top halves of her breasts, the pale flanks of which undulated as they grazed through the air.<\/p>\n
I twinged, realizing that I would enjoy staring at Gretchen in that tank top for much longer than appropriate. Even back then in 2006. It was early November. I could see the slyest stipples of hair follicles running along the tank top\u2019s straining hemline.<\/p>\n
Too bad she hadn\u2019t let her hair out of that ponytail, I thought.<\/p>\n
\u201cChet,\u201d Curtis snapped his fingers in my face. \u201cIf you look any longer, you\u2019ll join the Tea Party!\u201d<\/p>\n
Other kids whispered about Gretchen\u2019s tits too. She showed no indication that she heard any of us, but settled into her seat, her flesh menagerie mercifully hidden below the table. She did meet my eyes once and gave a slow blink. Freshman year, there\u2019d been a rumor she liked me and wanted to ask me out to Tolo.<\/p>\n
I told the guys that I thought Gretchen\u2019s change in wardrobe was because of big Thad, our goalie. \u201cThey\u2019re dating now. They got chummy at some Right-to-Life rally.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe better not let it mess up his grades,\u201d Jason snapped.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey won\u2019t last until Spring,\u201d I said. Big Thad went through girls like jockey shorts.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, good.\u2019Cuz I don\u2019t want our defense getting fucked up.\u201d Jason asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe you can bench-warm together,\u201d Curtis told Jason.<\/p>\n
Somehow, Jason still had a D- in Northup\u2019s class.<\/p>\n
About a third of the original class, big Thad included, had already dropped out, opting for the gen. ed. U.S. History where war movies formed the core texts for each unit: Glory, Saving Private Ryan, Battle of Hamburger Hil<\/em>l, etc. But Jason didn\u2019t seem the slightest bit aware he was traversing a rickety bridge with the valley of mediocrity on one side and the abyss of failure on the other.<\/p>\n Arguably, Jason had the most to lose by staying in Northup\u2019s class and failing. When Jason arrived last year, he quickly established himself as our soccer team\u2019s star forward, scoring ninety percent of our goals that season. We\u2019d almost made state. We probably would have won the championship if Jason hadn\u2019t gotten so many yellow cards. Neither my footwork nor my nerve came anywhere near Jason\u2019s, but my legs gave me speed enough to flank him and guard him from defenders. The number of assists I gave him had welded us together as friends, but I knew the upcoming season would go nowhere without him, and neither would I.<\/p>\n Northup walked in after the bell with a folder stuffed with our essays on the causes of the American Revolution. We\u2019d written them so long ago, I\u2019d forgotten not only what I\u2019d written, but what the causes were. I went palm-to-face the instant I heard the papers begin descending on us like the falling leaves outside the window.<\/p>\n Through my fingers, I could see Northup\u2019s face was a mix of pride and chagrin, like he\u2019d just fathered a cute but colicky baby. His skin, orange from tanning booths, glowed with particular vigor that day, though his lips were tight as always, showing the strong keel of his jaw. As he tossed our essays back to us, he moved on his stork legs, clad in black denim, with the maniacal glee of an anarchist pamphleteer. Only his bald pate showed his age, definitely not his fierce, dark eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cFocus on yourselves! Try not to feel too bad! I will accept rewrites, though they have to be done on your time and show significant progress. We need to hustle through the next few chapters if we\u2019re going to finish the Civil War this semester. With that said, I am available for an hour every day after school to anyone who wants to improve.\u201d<\/p>\n Upon getting his paper, Jason declared himself to be mentally retarded.<\/p>\n \u201cNo. You\u2019re just inexperienced,\u201d Mr. Northup said. \u201cYou wouldn\u2019t put a toddler right into a soccer game and expect them to score. Part of this class, indeed part of life, is learning from failure.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ma learn hella then,\u201d Jason said.<\/p>\n Northup small-talked with us a minute, reacting to things our shirts said. Jason, for instance, had to define FUBU\u2019s acronym for him. The For-Us, By-Us slogan made Northup raise an eyebrow. \u201cHmm. Sounds subversive. I love it.\u201d<\/p>\n He then waltzed off on his jolly campaign of teen ego destruction. Curtis and I were too chilled by the wintery realities of our own grades to take any glee from Jason\u2019s misery. I\u2019d gotten a C-. Mr. Northup\u2019s red ink burrowed throughout my paragraphs like beetle markings on dead wood, widening boreholes of critique through my thick attempts at reason. There were zingers like this: \u201cYour paragraphs are like full grocery bags of facts; the bottoms fall out, and everything tumbles.\u201d<\/p>\n On Curtis\u2019s paper, Northup wrote \u201cturgid work,\u201d though he\u2019d gotten an A-.<\/p>\n Curtis laughed as he read us Northup\u2019s note: \u201cYour diction is far too loaded. Judgmental. At a certain point, you seem to be saying that the elites started the revolution just by breathing.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThis is such unfair bull crap,\u201d Gretchen hissed.<\/p>\n \u201cOooo. She said \u2018crap,\u2019\u201d Curtis said.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat? Did you get a B?\u201d Jason asked Gretchen.<\/p>\n Though she didn\u2019t look at him, she tilted her head to one side as if trying and failing to pop a crick in her neck. A red rash was advancing from her nape to her ear lobe and down to sully the beachhead of her chest.<\/p>\n I could hear Northup\u2019s voice telling me hers was a \u201cpeasant face\u201d because of her ample cheeks and weak chin. Jason would call her a \u201cButter Face\u201d; as in, everything-but-her-face was hot. But her face seemed pretty enough to me just then. As I boiled in Northup\u2019s wrath over my shitty essay, I thought about how I wouldn\u2019t have minded Gretchen\u2019s arms around me. She just needed to do something with her hair, still in that boring ponytail. And stop wearing work boots plastered with pewter-colored mud from the farm.<\/p>\n The Chase family farm stashed itself somewhere in unincorporated county land on the far flung corner of our school district\u2019s reaches. None of us ever cared enough to find out what the Chase\u2019s grew. Pumpkins? Pigs? Rightwing conspiracy theories? But it must have been some Blue Ribbon fare the way Gretchen showboated her brogans the way other girls did with their Louis Vuitton heels.<\/p>\n Without even letting us digest his comments on our shitty essays, Mr. Northup began waxing poetic about anti-expansionists and abolitionists during the Mexican-American War. He exalted them like a guy talking about a girl he was still holding out hope for. Joshua Giddings. James Russel Lowell. Emmerson. Thoreau. He went on particularly long about the Irish workers\u2019 protests in New England over Texas\u2019s annexation. These were men we\u2019d never heard of. No movies had been made about them. No bills carried their faces.<\/p>\n Gretchen sighed and clicked her tongue at every phrase Northup spoke.<\/p>\n Northup continued, \u201cNo roads, cities, or counties bear these men\u2019s names.\u201d<\/p>\n Gretchen\u2019s exasperated sigh interrupted him. \u201cWhy go on and on about these\u2026losers?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, here we go!\u201d Jason\u2019s eyes disappeared as his cheeky smile took over his face.<\/p>\n \u201cJust a minute,\u201d Northup said.<\/p>\n But Gretchen kept firing. \u201cNo generals. No inventors. No businessmen. No leaders.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPlease,\u201d Northup said.<\/p>\n \u201cThese people were peons.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey were speaking for the people!\u201d Curtis shot back at her. They were also all white, which Curtis would later note.<\/p>\n \u201cLosers!\u201d Gretchen shouted.<\/p>\n The room curdled. Knuckles went white. Jaws tightened. The fluorescent lights seemed to buzz and threaten to pop. Everybody wanted Gretchen to shut up. But Northup let her continue.<\/p>\n \u201cThese losers sat around all day. They wrote articles. They talked. They did nothing to get us to where we are today,\u201d Gretchen said. \u201cIf we\u2019d listened to them, we\u2019d all be speaking Spanish and living in crowded apartments!\u201d<\/p>\n Jason turned around in his chair, \u201cBro, if you hate this class so much, drop it already?\u201d<\/p>\n Gretchen turned to meet Jason\u2019s gaze. Tears were in her eyes, \u201cThis is a loser\u2019s lecture. This is a loser\u2019s class!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo! Out,\u201d Northup\u2019s voice fulminated like mortar fire. We all flinched.<\/p>\n Gretchen snatched up her stuff and trundled out.<\/p>\n \u201cBye,\u201d Jason said.<\/p>\n \u201cThank fucking God,\u201d Curtis said.<\/p>\n \u201cEnough,\u201d Northup said. He looked at the ground. He collapsed in his chair and leaned back. \u201cI\u2019ve pushed too much.\u201d<\/p>\n He took off his thin-framed glasses and wiped them with his wrinkled shirt. His eyes were moist, \u201cTake the rest of the day to revise your papers or read on. I wanted us to be inspired by these men\u2019s struggles. But I was wrong thinking that was possible.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cOut!\u201d<\/p>\n It was Northup\u2019s trump card. A trap door he could pull to excise anyone who became a problem.<\/p>\n I\u2019d been the first one he\u2019d used it on.<\/p>\n The first day of class, Mr. Northup invited us to debate him. \u201cCombat me!\u201d He smacked his fist against an open palm. \u201cWhile our illustrious school board won\u2019t let me teach it, I operate from a lens not unlike Howard Zinn in The People\u2019s History of the United States. The big shots of history did everything possible to consolidate power and dominate races, genders, and, especially, classes different from them. It took tremendous skill, intricate belief systems, precise words, and well-crafted legislation. This is not the only way to view history. But it is a compelling perspective informed by hard facts. So, you\u2019ll notice I gravitate to it. I welcome you to disagree with it, but to do so, you must find facts that suggest otherwise. There are plenty to be found in your Tindall and Shi textbook, milquetoast as it is, but I will not gift them to you on a worksheet. Yes, I too wield power. Yes, this game too is rigged. Yes, I\u2019m trying to convert you. But because I believe that a critical attitude toward power is the only way a democracy can survive. And the future of our democracy is in your hands. When we enter armed conflict with another country, do you just accept it? What are we doing in Iraq? What were we doing in Vietnam? In the Philippines? Lording military might over little brown people\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n Curtis elbowed Jason.<\/p>\n \u201cBrown,\u201d I smirked.<\/p>\n Jason nodded with a shrug, but Northup stopped dead in his monologue.<\/p>\n \u201cStop!\u201d he said and pointed at my heart. \u201cI heard you.\u201d<\/p>\n With the swiftness of a bullfighter, Northup opened the classroom door and commanded me to follow him into the hall.<\/p>\n With the eyes of all my classmates on me, my face turned into a stove burner: hot, red, and untouchable. I did my walk of shame like a prisoner through mocking crowds toward the hangman\u2019s noose. My stomach fell.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, shit!\u201d Jason laughed.<\/p>\n Northup ordered everyone to start reading and defining the fifty words and phrases scrawled on the whale of a whiteboard. He closed the door behind us.<\/p>\n In the hallway, Northup looked up at the suspended ceiling tiles, \u201cThat\u2019s what I get for talking too much.\u201d<\/p>\n He put a heavy hand on my shoulder and got close enough for me to tell he\u2019d eaten salmon for lunch. I could see the scales glinting silver on his coffee-stained teeth, \u201cNow you listen. No biases. No prejudices. You drop all that out here, now. Like contraband. I\u2019ve invited you into the realm of scholarly discourse. But it is a privilege, and I can remove you at any further provocation. Is that crystal clear? Don\u2019t you typify another student again. Particularly one like him. Oh, yes. Your friend may smile, he may laugh. But that\u2019s a mask for other feelings. Other thoughts. And we must find out what those are. Our democracy depends on it. His success depends on it. Got it?\u201d<\/p>\n Thankfully, I\u2019d been yelled at plenty by coaches. So I knew the drill well enough. I didn\u2019t argue. I didn\u2019t cry. I just stammered out, \u201cOkay. I\u2019m\u2026sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cVery well\u2026\u201d Northup ushered me back into class.<\/p>\n When I sat down again and started copying the IDs to the death march rhythm of my thumping heart, Jason was crying with glee into his fist.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, fuck! He put you on blast, dog,\u201d he said, his voice breaking into bursts of laughter. It was like he\u2019d seen a miracle. A white kid getting yelled at.<\/p>\n \u201cDumbass,\u201d Curtis said.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The shame Mr. Northup made me feel that day cauterized into affection. It took energy to get that angry. Summoning anger took work, which required love. Yelling meant somebody loved you. So I loved Mr. Northup from day one.<\/p>\n I marinated in his progressive gospel and his catechisms about class warfare. In addition to the textbook readings in the bland Tindall and Shi, I followed Northup\u2019s advice and read Zinn too.<\/p>\n As Zinn recounted Columbus\u2019s genocidal mania against the Arawkas, I realized that other than side characters in movies, I\u2019d never thought about Native peoples before. And now, as I looked out into my big, grassy backyard, I saw ghosts of the people who\u2019d walked through these lands on hunting expeditions. Only, because I didn\u2019t know anything about Washington Natives yet, I saw these ghosts as the Arawaks. Missing arms, legs, ears, and hands, they stared at me. Sure, it wasn\u2019t my idea. I hadn\u2019t branded them. I hadn\u2019t tried to squeeze gold from their genitals the way Colombus had. But I lived in a country that celebrated their conquistador with a day off work every year. Our capital had a sports team that wore one of their heads like a war trophy. For the first time, I was learning about those who had lost in America\u2019s long and sordid story and the shitty way the winners had won.<\/p>\n I told Curtis all this, but he seemed unimpressed. It was like he\u2019d read all this before and that it confirmed what he already knew. The literary voraciousness for the Bible, encouraged at his Christian middle school, had been redirected to a much more useful cannon. Curtis had an older brother in college who sent him weekly reading lists that included mostly pan-African tomes and tracks from the Black Power Movement. I\u2019d see him reading Stokely Carmichael one day, Huey Newton the next. The more he read, the less he seemed to want to talk to me.<\/p>\n *<\/p>\n Day one of the Civil War Unit was Mr. Northup\u2019s Battle of Gettysburg: the beginning of the end. Gretchen was already at her seat. The back of her tank top read Hands off our babies! Hands off our guns! in red lettering. While I pretended to josh around with Jason and Curtis about whatever, I snuck glances at her. The front of her tank top showed the silhouette of an AR-15 and read Right to Life! She had a trucker Von Dutch hat pulled low over her face, which held a flush like skin near a fire. Her face was sewn to her BlackBerry, fingers tapping out suggestive rhythms on its little keys. A smile kept playing across her face while her teeth nibbled her lower lip as if to keep in a secret.<\/p>\n \u201cThey totally fucked,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cWho gives a shit, guy. I was asking you about pre-season!\u201d Jason huffed.<\/p>\n \u201cIf that\u2019s not afterglow, I don\u2019t know what is,\u201d Curtis confirmed.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat would either of you two virgins know about afterglow?\u201d Jason said.<\/p>\n Northup came in from his lunch, smelling like kimchi and salmon, Zinn\u2019s book in the crook of his arm. The bell rang. We started on the \u2018do-now\u201d assignment, which Northup always posted on the board. Meanwhile, he hobnobbed with students. On his rounds, he noticed the back of Gretchen\u2019s shirt.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s the front say?\u201d he asked, walking up behind her.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat? Oh,\u201d Gretchen looked up from her phone. \u201cThat\u2019s okay.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, c\u2019mon now. Let\u2019s see it,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cNo. Really. I\u2019m good.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, now I must insist.\u201d Northup edged himself around her, craning his neck to see her front.<\/p>\n \u201cNo!\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cYoung lady, this is my classroom! If you have something offensive that\u2019s going to disrupt\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFine! Here!\u201d She stood up and lifted her arms so he could read the message clearly scrawled across her back-achingly big boobs. I heard her give a nervous laugh that could also have been a whimper.<\/p>\n Jason\u2019s eyes buggered and he let out a silent laugh.<\/p>\n Northup lowered himself into a nearby chair while he read the shirt\u2019s message, nodding slowly.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd here\u2019s the back!\u201d she snapped and sat down a moment later.<\/p>\n Northup sighed, \u201cWell, I suppose the 1st amendment has its drawbacks.\u201d<\/p>\n Curtis guffawed. Then because Curtis laughed, Jason and several others did too.<\/p>\n Gretchen\u2019s face was an instant sunburn. She wrote furiously in a notebook, ending her entry abruptly by clicking in her mechanical pencil led, packing up, and leaving for the rest of the day.<\/p>\n She never spoke in class again. Not even when Mr. Northup, cribbing from Zinn, described Lincoln as a miserly power broker mostly concerned with preserving centralized authority. Without her interjections, Northup\u2019s lectures sped along, leaving us with about ten extra minutes each class to catch up on work. The silence of those work periods was as eerie and trigger-itching as the morning after a Christmas day cease-fire. Gretchen seemed to conjure up a weather system above her as she moldered.<\/p>\n It was around that time when we heard big Thad broke things off with her and she hibernated back into her hoodies.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The next couple days in class were spent pouring over original source documents, export\/import charts, and stock market records all meant to steer us to the conclusion that economic forces and states\u2019 rights were the main reason for the Civil War. After facilitating a tepid class discussion on this, Mr. Northup lectured for ten minutes or so, confirming this conclusion and declaring the matter settled.<\/p>\n Curtis looked around.<\/p>\n \u201cNow. Onward to Reconstruction! Then Industrialization, the Workers\u2019 Struggle, and the Great Depression beyond. Hell, we just might get to the \u201960s, and, dare I say it, Vietnam and Watergate!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWait,\u201d Curtis said.<\/p>\n \u201cYes, Mr. Curtis?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about\u2026slavery?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre we\u2026going to address it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIf you\u2019ve been reading Zinn, as I recommend, though the district would have me pilloried for suggesting, you\u2019ll be thoroughly reminded about the heinous treatment of slaves and African Americans\u2019 participation in obtaining their freedom. I also assume you\u2019ve all been taught rigorously about Slavery since Middle School.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWho in here has been reading Zinn?\u201d Curtis asked.<\/p>\n No surprise, only Curtis and I raised our hands. It wasn\u2019t required.<\/p>\n \u201cSo, it doesn\u2019t look like all of us have been \u201cbriefed.\u201d Tindall and Shi have like two paragraphs on slavery,\u201d Curtis argued. \u201cAnd wasn\u2019t the South\u2019s main beef with the North\u2019s economic agenda is that it didn\u2019t stand on the backs of Black people?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell. It stood on the backs of the workers, I\u2019d argue. Including Blacks. And we\u2019ll cover this in great detail in our unit on the so-called \u2018Roaring Twenties.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019d like to cover it now,\u201d Curtis said.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019d like to have the floor now. Enough!\u201d<\/p>\n Jason went slack-jawed.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re being paternalistic,\u201d Curtis said.<\/p>\n \u201cOut!\u201d<\/p>\n Gretchen looked up.<\/p>\n \u201cAre you serious?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOut!\u201d Mr. Northup decreed again, pointing to the door.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is fucking ridiculous!\u201d Curtis fumed, stuffing his mounds of books\u2014Tindall and Shi, Zinn, Dictionary, and Thesaurus\u2014into his backpack.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, you get mad, Curtis!\u201d Jason guffawed.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do you care, you jackass,\u201d Curtis rolled his eyes. But before he hustled out, he stopped. \u201cChet. You give a damn. You coming? You going to stand for this bullshit?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYoung man. I will not allow you to incite an insurrection in my classroom.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cChet\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n I looked at the ground, \u201cI need this class, dude.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cForget it,\u201d Curtis walked out, edging along the wall to be as far away from Mr. Northup as possible.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n We knew it was all over when we came back second semester and, at Mr. Northup\u2019s podium, stood Principal Sparfeld, at weary attention in his charcoal-colored suit.<\/p>\n Things had been boding badly for Northup for a while. As we were studying for and even taking our final, there were rumors of discord. Gretchen and her parents had filed grievances. Others had too, but we didn\u2019t know whom. We heard she was claiming Northup had leered at her and body-shamed her in front of everyone. Principal Sparfeld initiated inquests. Each of us got called in to give an account of classroom happenings to Sparfeld\u2019s henchmen. And then, the unthinkable happened. Jason Ocampo passed.<\/p>\n The last few days of first semester, Jason prowled the hallways with his grade printout, shoving his C- in people\u2019s faces.<\/p>\n \u201cI passed that shit! Ah ha. Pay up! The dumb kid can be smart too, oh-ho! Truth tastes good, baby.\u201d<\/p>\n Jason even taped a copy of it to Gretchen\u2019s locker with a note ironically asking her to Prom. Since Thad won\u2019t go with you, he wrote.<\/p>\n Everyone suspected Mr. Northup had passed Jason just because he liked him. Because he and the soccer coaches were friends. Because Jason was a \u201cnon-traditional\u201d student.<\/p>\n Curtis had gotten an A, not surprisingly. By practicing and taking Northup\u2019s comments to heart, I\u2019d slid through with a B+. The same grade Gretchen Chase had gotten. Gretchen never scored lower than an A. And this fact sealed Mr. Northup\u2019s fate.<\/p>\n Principal Sparfeld didn\u2019t look at us or speak as we filtered in with all the soberness of soldiers about to be briefed on an eminent battle. Sparfeld adjusted his silver-framed bifocals and with strokes of his pen, underlined phrases on the statement before him, printed on letterhead.<\/p>\n The bell rang, and with a look, Principal Sparfeld wrenched me into the gray sea of his eyes into which I knew part of me was about to drown.<\/p>\n \u201cMr. Northup will not be coming back as your instructor for U.S. history.\u201d<\/p>\n My gut dropped in the way it did after the start of a game\u2014my stomach a cold vacuum of possibility at the center of a field intensifying with movement. Who would take over? Would they be as good? Could we still get AP credit? And what about Mr. Northup? Where would he go? Where was he now? Was it because of me? I swallowed, knowing Principal Sparfeld wouldn\u2019t be answering any of my questions.<\/p>\n I too had gotten called in and questioned by an assistant principal. When asked if Northup had ever done anything disrespectful or unconventional, I was honest about the time he\u2019d taken me out.<\/p>\n \u201cSo, he yelled at you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFor being racist. And dumb,\u201d I said, hoping honesty would help.<\/p>\n In hindsight, my assertion likely quickened the administration\u2019s proceedings.<\/p>\n Even though Sparfeld wielded more power, the room felt emptier. Plus, Jason was gone. Despite the passing grade, he intuited the unlikelihood of it happening again. Especially with Northup\u2019s ouster.<\/p>\n Principal Sparfeld continued, his voice gravelly. \u201cOver a 3-week inquiry, it was found that Mr. Morrows was unfit to complete his contract. This was deemed based on confirmed bias in instruction and evaluation, lewd conduct, and indoctrination of minors.\u201d<\/p>\n As Principal Sparfeld iterated his verdict, Gretchen rotated her neck as if freed from a yolk.<\/p>\n I wanted to bellpull her ponytail. I wondered if I could make her head clang.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is fucked up!\u201d I exploded.<\/p>\n Sparfeld sputtered, \u201cWhu\u2026No! No profanity. Sit down.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s not worth it, dude,\u201d Curtis said.<\/p>\n \u201cMr. Northup might have allowed these types of shenanigans\u2026\u201d Sparfled pursued.<\/p>\n \u201cHow are you not upset about this?\u201d I asked Curtis.<\/p>\n Sparfeld took a step forward. \u201cSit down now or you\u2019ll be suspended for the day. Another word and you\u2019ll be suspended for the week!\u201d<\/p>\n I packed up my things.<\/p>\n Sparfeld called Security. \u201cEscort him off campus!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s go,\u201d I said to Curtis.<\/p>\n \u201cNah.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFine.\u201d But as I stormed out, I paused. My fists clenched and I felt my disappointment form a string of hateful words. Together they formed an arrow shaft that my mind seized and let fly.<\/p>\n Framed by the door, I turned around, pointed a finger at Gretchen, and shouted, \u201cThis is all because of you\u2026you..\u201d<\/p>\n Gretchen turned around, \u201cMe, what? Go ahead. Say it\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe will not say anything!\u201d Sparfeld commanded. \u201cHe will leave this classroom.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMe, fat cow?\u201d Gretchen offered. \u201cMe, slut? Me, trailer trash? Bible thumper? Fascist? I\u2019ve heard it all.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2026\u201d Everyone\u2019s eyes were on me. \u201cI think you\u2019re wrong. About everything!\u201d<\/p>\n Gretchen had chestnut brown eyes. Those eyes stared at me sweetly while she told me to eat a dick. Preferably my own. If I could find it.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I replayed the last one-on-one moment I\u2019d had with Mr. Northup. I\u2019d come in during my lunch to finish up my final before leaving for Christmas. It had been snowing. I watched it from Northup\u2019s window. A row of American Hornbeams colonnaded the path down to the field, their bare branches wearing fluffy white coats of new snow, like overdressed parents in line for concert tickets. I handed in my final paper, and thanked him, wishing him a happy holiday.<\/p>\n He\u2019d been eating kimchi and reading Al Franken\u2019s Lies and the Lying Liars that Tell Them<\/em>. Northup looked up at me with a sleepy, sober expression, as if he were about ready to Rip-Van-Winkle himself through to spring.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you, Chet,\u201d he said. \u201cI will always remember you as a young man who, despite his station, was open to new ideas.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n After I returned from my week-long suspension, Curtis, Jason, and I met up at lunch.<\/p>\n It was the longest we\u2019d gone without seeing each other since the summer. And everything had changed. I had so many questions for them, so much I wanted to tell them, that my thoughts gridlocked my brain into silence. I think the same things happened for them because five minutes passed in complete silence.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is awkward.\u201d<\/p>\n Jason said what we all were thinking. A week\u2019s time had split crevasses among us in the shape of a peace sign. Each of us clung to our own quadrant of land.<\/p>\n Curtis tapped his fingers on the table and looked at me. \u201cYou were way out of line with what you said to Gretchen. That\u2019s called blaming the victim, dude.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cVictim?\u201d I shot back. \u201cWhat the hell are you talking about? She said he leered at her? Give me a break.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe did leer at her, bro. We all were there. We all saw it,\u201d Curtis said.<\/p>\n \u201cI guess I was in a parallel universe then,\u201d I said. \u201cBecause I remember him just wanting to read her t-shirt.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere her tits were, guy,\u201d Jason put in.<\/p>\n \u201cHe read all our shirts! He read your fucking shirt. FUBU. Remember?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe probably just read guys\u2019 t-shirts to distract from his creepin\u2019,\u201d Jason said with a dismissive wave of his hand.<\/p>\n \u201cLike a decoy,\u201d Curtis finished.<\/p>\n I scoffed. \u201cA busy teacher has time to come up with decoys?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCreeps are never too busy to come up with decoys. Then that thing he said about her body,\u201d Curtis said.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat thing?\u201d<\/p>\n Curtis sighed. \u201cHe implied that her choice in clothing was one of the downsides of the first amendment.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, for fuck\u2019s sake!\u201d I said. \u201cHe was talking about what the shirt said. That we can\u2019t have gun control or abortion. Two things you guys want. Two things everybody in their right mind wants! I mean, Jason\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n They shifted in their seats, hoping to wait me out.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s like you guys are forgetting that you both hate Gretchen.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGretchen wasn\u2019t the only one who filed a grievance against Northup,\u201d Curtis said.<\/p>\n \u201cYou?\u201d I stammered. \u201cBe\u2026because of the slavery thing?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah. Because of the \u2018slavery \u2018thing,\u2019\u201d Curtis said. \u201cHave a race of landowners and powermongers profit off your ancestors\u2019 unpaid labor for 400 years and tell me it\u2019s just a \u2018thing.\u2019 Northup was biased at best, bigoted at worst. So, I told those peckerwoods I thought he had to go. Divide and conquer those bitches just like they do with us. Fight the power!\u201d Curtis said and pumped a fist in the air.<\/p>\n His nostrils flared, his eyes glazed in tears. For years my most vivid memory of Curtis fixated on his anger. Now I know how strong Curtis was for not showing more. The bovine response of white people amid skeletons of oppression is visible to me now, my own included. But then? Sorrow over the loss of my teacher and friends overwhelmed me with a power I couldn\u2019t yet comprehend.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about you, dude,\u201d I pointed at Jason. \u201cHow can you turn on Northup after all he did for you? I mean, giving you that passing grade\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe fuck you talking about?\u201d Jason pulled the lapels on his sports coat. \u201cHe didn\u2019t give me shit. That asshole made me work.\u201d<\/p>\n Jason told us how every day the last week of the semester, he had answered Northup\u2019s class-wide invitation for extra help after school and Northup had helped him. Unlike the O\u2019Dea educators who\u2019d just wanted to see him fail. That, it turned out, was why Jason had left. \u201cFuck those bougie bastards anyway.\u201d In contrast, Northup sat with him, and through his step-by-step guidance, Jason had written a five-paragraph argumentative essay, earning him a C-.<\/p>\n \u201cNorthup was a great teacher,\u201d I said as if looking at a cold dead fire.<\/p>\n \u201cIt doesn\u2019t change anything,\u201d Curtis said. \u201cHe was a dumb, old bigot who liked to stare at girls\u2019 boobs and gloss over this country\u2019s greatest atrocity. And he got what was coming.\u201d<\/p>\n Curtis got up and left.<\/p>\n After a while, I got up too. \u201cWell, I guess I\u2019ll see you at practice.\u201d<\/p>\n Jason shook his head. \u201cMy folks say I got to work now. I don\u2019t got time for kid shit no more.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n We didn\u2019t hang out anymore after that.<\/p>\n That spring, I took my disappointment out on the soccer field, running, shoving, and sliding more than any previous season. It got me nothing but yellow cards. But that didn\u2019t stop me that last game from cutting across the field like scissors through Christmas paper. I faked out two defenders and got the ball in range of the net. Beneath the humming white lights of the stadium, out of the corner of my eye, I saw another guy coming at me. I slid to kick the ball into the net as the defender tripped on my knee. I was too busy teeth-gnashing through the pain of my torn ACL to see or hear the smack of the goalie catching my shot, losing us the season.<\/p>\n The pulsating pain eclipsed my whole body. Yet it wasn\u2019t enough. Not enough to win us the season. Not enough to bring Mr. Northup back. Not enough to make things okay with Curtis. Not enough to keep tight with Jason.<\/p>\n I passed Advanced History with an A+. The dufus they brought in to replace Northup just had us watch movies the rest of the year. I read the rest of Zinn and Tindall and Shi and aced the AP exam, bagging college credit and later, helping me get accepted into UW. But at the time, it didn\u2019t seem to matter. I saw life through shit-smeared glasses.<\/p>\n Because of my injury, I had to go to Junior Prom in a wheelchair, alone. For an hour or so, I scooted myself around the dance floor, trying to laugh it all off. But my arms got tired. And so did my face from fake-smiling.<\/p>\n I rolled myself over to the refreshment table to sulk.<\/p>\n \u201cHey.\u201d<\/p>\n It was Gretchen. She was wearing a white gown with a plunging neckline. Heels cupped her surprisingly delicate feet. Her softness… Her fullness\u2026I wanted to lay my head against her and cry.<\/p>\n \u201cHey,\u201d I croaked.<\/p>\n She\u2019d come alone. She asked about my injury. I told her how they\u2019d put a dead guy\u2019s tendon in me.<\/p>\n \u201cSo, you\u2019re basically part zombie now,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cNot dead, just\u2026 broken,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n She nodded and, while playing with a string of blonde hair, frosted and curled into perfection for her night out alone, she asked me to dance. I said yes and she held my hands and pulled me in slow, wide circles around the dance floor in my wheelchair.<\/p>\n We wouldn\u2019t agree with each other on anything. Or even like each other that much when it came down to it. But we were together. And that night, that was enough.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Mr. Northup began waxing poetic about anti-expansionists and abolitionists during the Mexican-American War. He exalted them like a guy talking about a girl he was still holding out hope for. These were men we\u2019d never heard of. No movies had been made about them. No bills carried their faces.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":19445,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[3196,3195,2808,3194,3192,3193,3191,3190,1350],"class_list":["post-18715","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-classroom-conflict","tag-conflict","tag-mens-fiction","tag-misfits","tag-multiracial-friend-group","tag-outcasts","tag-students","tag-teachers","tag-toxic-masculinity","writer-shaun-anthony-mcmichael"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18715","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=18715"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18715\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19446,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18715\/revisions\/19446"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/19445"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18715"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18715"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18715"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}