I stood looking at flyers.
“Can you tell which is mine?”
I scanned the school announcement board outside the main office. There were reminders for sports, drama, blood donations, and fundraisers. Many went back weeks. I saw next week’s Club Dead flyer. Words mostly covered the space, but images flourished too.
“That one,” I pointed. An open eye stretched across the page.
With his arms folded across his chest, Frank smiled.
“What do you think?”
I lean my head closer and read.
“Do you feel uncomfortable, like you are being watched? That’s because you are!! Want to know more about how your rights are being violated EVERY SECOND OF THE DAY. Come to the Awareness Club! Lift the veil and see!!”
“Too many words. Teens don’t read.”
“Oh, come on!”
“I like your metaphor. The veil, that’s very good.”
“You like exclamation points.”
“Well, it’s provocative.”
“Provocative? That’s all? Our government is spying on us. Our phones are tapped. Social networking sites hands over our private details to corporations, and you say I’m provocative?”
“And that coming from a chronic crier.”
“I cry for a different reason. I’m not crying over the state of the nation.”
“You should. I think you need to attend my club and get informed Miss CJ! By the way, what’s your real name?”
“You’re a smart guy Frank. I bet you could find out.”
“I am not going to spy on you.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“Really. What do you think of my club?”
“Have you talked to Mr. Blok about it?”
“Blok? He’s the reason I’m starting this club!”
“You think Mr. Blok is spying on us?”
“What are all of those files filled with?”
“And the moon is made of cheese.”
We both stared at the eye.
“I know what you’re up to.”
“You have no intention of seeking Mr. Blok’s approval.”
“And why am I not?”
“Because you want your theory proved true.”
“Which theory is that?”
“That our school is run by fascists.”
“If you don’t inform him about your club and he learns about it through the gossip mill, he’ll find you and shut you down.”
Frank whistled a tune.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“How do you know me so well? We haven’t known it each other for two weeks.”
“I see you well enough.”
“That hurts. You think I’m simple.”
“But I like what I see.”
“Without tears and mascara all over your face, you’re cute.”
“Please, no compliments. I’m not strong.”
“And what does strength have to do with accepting a compliment?”
“Any emotion results in tears. Good or bad.”
“Why are you crying so much?”
“Because I’m emotional!”
I said nothing.
“Okay, different topic. What are you going to do with Club Dead? From my seat I’d say it lacks focus.”
“Like duh. I have no idea what’s going on. I have no idea what the point is. I can’t find a point. In fact, there probably isn’t any point. None at all.”
“But there was energy.”
“I am not equipped to do that.”
“Want some advice?”
“Look at that.”
I looked at the bulletin board, following Frank’s finger.
“Write a play.”
“What do you mean, ’write a play’?”
“Exactly that. Write a play called Club Dead.
I read the rest of the flyer.
Open to any Blissfield High School student. The best three plays will be shown as part of the Blissfield’s Annual Drama Festival. Entries due next week. A draft of the screenplay must be submitted to the judges a month before the festival. Sponsored by the Blissfield Arts Council.
“It’ll give your club something to do.”
The bell rang and I walked towards math class, and Frank split for gym. Frank was very supportive. I needed support. That smacked of dependency. Being dependent upon Frank might be good. Or it might be bad.