Ms. Lute smiled. “I like this, Emmie, continue, please. Responsibility for what?”
Emmie rested a finger on her ratty friendship bracelet. “At leadership camp, we’re taught that when we enter positions of authority, we have a responsibility to be honest and accurate. Because those who hold higher positions are automatically perceived as more trustworthy. There’s a bias toward those in charge, that they should be believed.”
“Meaning political leaders?”
“Political, corporate, the media, all of it. Authority commands an inherent level of buy-in for a lot of people.”
Leo leaned forward. “Which is why it matters when they lie. Everybody wants to be somebody. No matter the fallout.” Angeline’s body tensed, but then he turned to her and said, “But the problem with lies and exaggerated truths is that sometimes people follow because they’re too weak to trust themselves. We’re all responsible at some point, for something. For not questioning or for not standing up or for taking the easy way out.”
“Essentially, being accountable,” Ms. Lute said. “Whether it’s your student council election or the national one, whether it’s The New York Times or the local TV news, Twitter or Facebook, or whatever’s to come, the question is what responsibility do not only purveyors of information have but also consumers? Especially now, when social media gives a platform to anyone who seeks it. An anonymous platform, if they wish, like The Shrieking Violet. What responsibility do we have when we don’t have a face or a name to hold someone accountable?”
Ms. Lute clasped her hands around the projector remote and looked out at the class.
“So . . . are you going to tell us?” Josh said. “What responsibility do we have?”
Ms. Lute flicked off the projector. “I’ve said it before. My job is to teach. But some things you have to learn and decide for yourself.”
* * *
Principal Schwartz waited outside Ms. Lute’s classroom. “Miss Quinn, Mr. Torres, may I have a word?”
His stern look was a sharp contrast to the one on the back of his phone. The photo case showed him on a boat, beaming like the foot-long striper in his hands was the size of a great white. Even in that suit in need of serious tailoring, it humanized him.
Which was why it was that much more jarring when he said, “This administration has a limit, and you two are butting up against it. We can’t have such negative attention brought to the school. And we can’t have more of these.” He kicked at a box by his feet. Inside, a dozen or so bubble wrap mailers lay torn open, and spilling out were . . . wings. Angel wings.
Angeline lifted a pair. “Is this hand-knitted?”
And could she offer the pattern online?
“And likely teeming with moths. We can’t have an infestation.” Principal Schwartz pursed his lips. “When I saw you two had signed up to run, I mistakenly thought it would be beneficial to this school. I thought you stood a chance of getting the student body engaged, but this is not the kind of engagement we want.” He held out his phone screen. “These comments are only getting worse. It’s not just our students anymore; we’ve got students from other schools in Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York . . . this one’s in Oregon. Not to mention the organizations of adults weighing in. My wife follows this Evelyn character, and she keeps telling me she’s favoriting Acedia tweets.”
Angeline’s heart skipped.
“How does someone in Oregon and some minor celebrity know about a student council election on the South Shore of Boston?”
First, minor? Second, was that a rhetorical question?
“Well,” Angeline said, “that’s basically the point of social media. It breaks down barriers and brings people closer.” That it was a stock answer didn’t mean it wasn’t true. But what Ms. Lute had been talking about was also true. Hiding behind an avatar and a quippy screen name released the darkest parts for many. Parts that were calling her “Hothead Quinn.”
“Apparently not here.” Principal Schwartz reached over their heads and popped a section of bubble wrap that Leo’s supporters had glued to the wall. “Voter engagement and loyalty is one thing, but we have a zero-tolerance policy on bullying, and this is starting to cross the line.”
“This?” Angeline blurted out. “I’m sorry, but this is absurd considering what just happened with—” She stopped herself. It wasn’t her place. She couldn’t go against Olivia’s wishes.
Principal Schwartz waited, eyebrow raised. When she didn’t continue, he said, “We’re getting calls from parents.” The yellowy-green bags under his eyes seemed to hang heavier. “Over a student council election. All these rumors circulating about Miss Quinn, these unfortunate Frankengirls, this ‘he said, she said’ squabbling . . . it’s making the school seem out of control. You both need to shut this down, or we’ll be forced to.”
Leo raked his hand through his hair. “What do you want us to do? We can’t stop other people from going online or messing with posters.”
“You can start by being better role models going forward. Turn this around and run a clean and positive campaign. We’ve got a little over a week. Use it.”
20
When Cat Enters the Watch Yard
10 DAYS TO THE ELECTION
Cat ran into Emmie in the girls’ bathroom after school.
“Finish the issue?” Emmie asked, washing her hands at the sink as if she were scrubbing for surgery.
“Just. You need a lift home?”
“Thanks, but I’ve got at least another hour of debate practice. I’m showing my team pointers from Mrs. Torres’s speech last night. Her husband introduced her, which was a nice personal touch, but I didn’t see Leo or his brother there, which seems strange.”
“Oh? Does it?” Cat pressed the automatic dryer to hide her lying face. Leo wouldn’t have been there because of the deal he made with his mom. “Homework, maybe?”
“Couldn’t keep me away if one of my dads was running.”
“Are they interested in politics?”
“One’s an immigration lawyer and the other works for an LGBTQIA for teens nonprofit.”
“So just a smidge.” Cat grinned. “Is that where you get it from?”
“In a way, though they’re more into activism than running for office.” Emmie dried her hands with a paper towel and pointed to the automatic dryer. “You know those things only spread around E. coli.”
Cat eyed her hands suspiciously, and Emmie squirted hand sanitizer into them. She opened the door with her elbow. “I assume the story about Leo’s above the fold?”