Page 49 of Something Rad
“Cooper, do your feet work?” Robbie asks, startling me from my trance. I turn to shoot him the stink eye. “Seriously, move it or lose it,” he says, waving his hands in a sweeping motion.
“My apologies, your highness,” I grumble, leading us down the middle row to our seats. We both sink into our desks right as the tardy bell rings.
“Alright,” Ms. Cage announces, clapping her hands to get our attention. “Let’s get started, everyone. Today, we are going to be doing a partner activity.”
There’s an even split between those who groan and those who cheer in response to this news. Some people immediately start to shuffle their things and slide out of their desks, but Ms. Cage stops them.
“Nuh-uh-uh, not so fast. Stay put for a second.” A few more groans result from this, and then the noise dies down. “Now,” Ms. Cage continues, “like I said, this is going to be a partner activity. You all will pair up in groups of two, and you will interview each other.” The classroom noise begins to start up again, but Ms. Cage silences everyone by putting her hands in the air. “But the catch is, you’ll be interviewing each other about your views on the American Revolution.” A few more groans sound. “And, there’s another catch. One of you will pretend you are a Patriot while the other will pretend they are a Redcoat.” Many more groans. “Now, won’t this be fun?” Ms. Cage claps her hands, genuinely believing itwill, in fact, be fun.
Honestly, I’ve had to do worse activities.
“Now,” Ms. Cage continues, “so we don’t have to move around and make this a big fuss, you’ll just turn to partner with the person closest to you in your desk row.”
My eyes widen, the lead of my pencil I was doodling with breaking off into my notebook.
Please say horizontally. For the love of God, Ms. Cage, please say horizontally–
“Across or long ways?” somebody calls out.
I start doing the mental math, counting the desks in the middle row and praying Robbie and I are not at an even split.
“Hmm…” Ms. Cage says, tapping her chin.
No such luck. We are desks five and six.
“Let’s do vertically.”
Goddammit.
“For example, Karen and Billy, Jesse and Paul, and Robbie and Sara–”
“Got it, Ms. Cage,” I mutter under my breath, running a hand down my face.
Robbie takes his time spinning around in his seat. Once he’s fully facing me, he raises his brows. “Come here often?” he asks.
“Unfortunately,” I sigh. I lift up my notebook, tearing a sheet of paper from it to write on. “Alright, let’s get this over with.” When I glance back at Robbie, I notice his gaze focused on my journal. I quickly lay my notebook back down on top of it, and it seems to break whatever trance he was in, his eyes returning to my face. “Do you want to be the Patriot or the Redcoat?”
“Don’t care,” Robbie says immediately.
“Okay, then,” I grit. “You can be the Redcoat–”
“Patriot,” Robbie says at the same time.
My brows pinch together. “So, youdocare?”
He doesn’t respond with anything but a shrug. “Alright, fine. You’re the Patriot,” I say. I write down each of our roles at the top of the notebook paper.
How long is this class again?
“Do you want to go first?” I ask.
“Class election sign-ups are due tomorrow.”
My mouth falls open, my eyebrows shooting up. “That’s not a question,” I say after a long few seconds.
“But it’s true,” Robbie says. “I saw it on the clipboard.”
“What is your fascination with that clipboard?” I ask, my voice low.
