Page 19 of Fade into You
“Music is pretty much my entire life. When I’m not listening to it, I’m thinking about it. When I’m not thinking about it, I’m writing about it. I’m going to be a music reviewer—that’s kind of the only job I’ve seen myself doing. So, that’s why I’m here. Iwant to learn more about how to get started doing this professionally.”
“Very good,” Mrs. Rivera answers, smiling even wider. “Well, seeing as this is your fourth year of journalism, I think you’ll have a lot to offer others in this class, Jessa.”
I definitely didn’t peg her for the teacher’s pet type.
Mrs. Rivera looks at me now, impatience radiating off her. I’m never getting a second chance at my first impression with her. “Elizabeth?”
“Oh, it’s um, Bird. My name, I mean. I go by Bird.” I hear someone at another table snicker—Paige, no doubt. Mrs. Rivera doesn’t make a note of it. “I—I—I w-wanted to take this class because I’m a writer.”
She’s looking at me like I’m supposed to have a better reason.
“Well, I write poetry, and I figure I’ll never be able to make a living doing that, but maybe I could still write as a journalist as like a backup plan.”
Mrs. Rivera’s smile is tight. “Okay,” is all she says, and somehow I feel like my reason for being in this class is even worse than the kid who just showed up here because it was randomly listed on his schedule.
She hands out the syllabus as she starts talking about the first-semester project. A zine.
“Who knows what a zine is?”
Jessa raises her hand and doesn’t wait to be called on before answering, “It’s a handmade magazine—people make them about all different kinds of topics. You can photocopy the pages and leave them around for people to find.”
“Exactly, Jessa.” Mrs. Rivera beams. “Can you tell us where you’ve seen some zines?”
“Well,” Jessa begins, looking around like maybe she’s as surprised as I am that she’s holding the teacher’s attention in this way. “I know I’ve seen them around at coffee shops, like Six Roots. Um, the record store has some good ones sometimes, about music, bands, that sort of thing. The Rainbow Rabbit has some queer ones that are pretty cool.”
I hear someone cough out the word “dyke” and it brings on a sudden flush of anger, bubbling up in my chest. I look over at Jessa, and she’s staring down at her battered composition notebook covered in duct tape and permanent marker. For a second it seems like she might crack a bit, her icy exterior showing the slightest fracture in the tremble of her lip.
“Great, that’s great.” Mrs. Rivera is clearly pleased and clueless about the cruelty happening. Either that or she’s ignoring it. “Anyone else ever see a zine out in the wild?”
I raise my hand immediately, before I’ve even had a chance to gather my thoughts.
“Elizabeth, where have you seen a zine?”
“I—” I begin, but I’m not prepared to answer yet. I haven’t lined up my words in the proper order, but they’re there. I know they are. I can answer a simple question like a normal person. “O-over the summer, I did a creative writing workshop for high schoolers up in Rhode Island, and…” God, why do I sound like I’m bragging instead of explaining? “And, and there were zines all over campus. In the libraries and the student union and at the art building and…” My voice justfades out, like a stupid song that doesn’t know how to end.
“Right,” Mrs. Rivera says. “Well, this zine project is meant to ease us into the practice of journalism. It’s meant to be fun. Creative, and a way to practice collaboration. Which means…” she pauses. “I want you to partner up on this one.”
Reluctantly, I turn my head to look at Jessa. She’s returned to herself and is now pointing back and forth between us. I’m nodding along, agreeing, because ironically, she might be the closest thing I have to a friend in here.
While Mrs. Rivera talks and puts up grainy slides on the projector, Jessa flips her black-and-white composition notebook to a blank page and scrawls out in black marker:
ANY IDEAS??
For the zine?I write back.
She clicks her tongue and whispers, “No,” pulls the notebook back, and starts writing again.
HOW DO WE BREAK THEM UP?
I don’t know. Maybe we get them to do things together we know they’ll hate?
I look over to see her reaction; she’s nodding as she reads. Then she reaches over, pen in hand, to write something underneath, but I can’t quite tear my eyes away from her face. Not until she looks up and sees me staring at her. She slides the notebook closer to me and taps her pen against the paper.
PERFECT! DADE HATES SOOOO MANY THINGS!
JESSA
I was tasked with thefirst group outing and spent the past week trying to think up something that both of them would despise. After coming to the conclusion that I am in no way creative, I thought WWMD—What Would Mack Do?
