I think my actions might’ve bumbled their lines a little, I said. What I did yesterday was demonstrate that I could help you — that if you get rid of the Cage, I will help you.
“Did you not believe me when I said I wasn’t bargaining, Gurion?”
He seemed more entertained by this than he should have.
That was before you knew I could do what you pretended to believe I could do, I said.
“No, Gurion. I pretended nothing yesterday. I reached out to you, and I did so in good faith. I was honest with you.”
Reach out by getting rid of the Cage.
“It can’t happen.”
Fire Botha, I said.
“Your biggest backer?” he said. And laughed. “Mr. Botha admires you, Gurion.”
Tch, I said.
“After school, yesterday, after I’d discussed with him what you and I had talked about regarding Scott Mookus, he described what you’d done in the Cage. He said he’d never before seen the students behave so well.”
He acted more like he’d never seen them behave so badly, I said.
“He said that, too. He even admitted some culpability for the chair-scooting, but claimed that you, Gurion, and I am quoting directly, ‘have shown him the error of his ways.’ I was, I think, even more surprised than you look right now. Mr. Voltz and Mrs. Sepper were also impressed. But where they left off, Mr. Botha did not. He suggested that you might be ready to move on. He thinks you no longer require what the Cage has to offer.”
I nearly jumped from my chest, but I swallowed me down. My voice stayed level.
He just wants to be done with me, I said. I said, He’s trying to railroad me.
“Railroading usually leads toward locked rooms, Gurion.”
Are you in on it? I said.
“What a way to speak. Back up a second. I understand you believe yourself and Mr. Botha exist in some irrevocable state of enmity, but I’m certain you’ve got it wrong. After we discussed Scott Mookus, and after Mr. Botha finished praising your behavior, he, without prompting, explained that he understood the reasons behind this scooting thing you were all doing.”
You guys understand a whole lot, I said. There’s so much understanding going on—
“He said that yesterday morning, during announcements, Scott had told everyone that he would be singing with Boystar, and Mr. Botha had not believed it — he thought Scott was confused. And he had assumed that the rest of you had thought so too. But. He said that now he realized that all along, the lot of you had known that Scott would sing, and that that was why you had reacted with the scooting behavior when he took away your pep rally privileges. And then, Gurion, then Mr. Botha told me that he thought hearing Scott sing at the pep rally could only be good for the morale of the rest of the Cage students, and so he would allow all of you to go to the pep rally. And I did not prompt him to say any of these things. He said it all out of the goodness of his heart. What do you think now?”
I think he warped everything that happened yesterday, I said, including the basic sequence of events. I think he just wants me out of the Cage. I said, He’s trying to wash his hands of me.
“And I’m sure you’re incorrect, but let’s say you’re right. That you’re right about his motives. What if I remove you from the Cage, anyway?”
Now you’re threatening me? I said. I said, I thought you were reaching out.
“And I thought I’d just offered you a bargain. What quarrel could you possible have?”
It’s no bargain to keep me from my friends, I said.
“Maybe it is,” he said. “From some of them. Maybe some of your friends hinder your education, put you at risk. Your father seems to think so — that’s what he told me over the phone the other day. I think separation from them will be good for you. You’ll make new friends.”
I can make new friends whenever I want, I said.
“Be sensible,” he said. “Who’re those pastries in the napkin for?”
They’re donut holes, I said.
“They’re for your girlfriend. She’s very talented, by the way, June Watermark, a very intelligent girl. And more to the point: she’s not in the Cage. She’s in all of the gifted classes we offer for seventh-graders, classes you would certainly be placed in, were you not in the Cage.”
I said, You can’t use June against me.
“Against you, Gurion? If anything, I’d think she’d play carrot to the Cage’s stick.”
Don’t give away your carrots, I thought.
I said, Stop trying to arrange me.
“I’m offering you an incentive to be good,” he said. “Yes,” he said, slapping the desk, “I wasn’t certain before, but talking through this with you — now I see I was right. You need an incentive, not a deterrent. Deterrents backfire with you. They make you resent us. This is the right incentive. It’s all over your face. You should see yourself. I’ll file the papers this afternoon. You’ll be out of the Cage on Monday. You won’t be going back in, either. And we’ll put you on the regular STEP system. We will no longer damn you with our low expectations.”
I said, I’ll get expelled by the end of the week.
But the words sounded obligatory, even to me.
“I hope that’s not true,” he told me. “I believe that after the weekend, after some time to think, you’ll see this is a good decision and you’ll be a mensch about it. That said, I will not tolerate you holding yourself hostage. If you try to get back in the Cage by misbehaving, you will be expelled. I’ll explain that to your father, and he’ll be fine with it, I’m certain.”
I stared speechlessly at the wingnut on his desk. It shined bright without meaning, and my thoughts spun, tractionless. Hold myself hostage? Was that even possible?
Brodsky opened the door for me. “Ms. Watermark,” he said.
June rose from her chair. We brushed wrists as we passed, and she whispered in my ear: “The Israelites live!” Then she looked at Eliyahu and he turned up his thumbs, and only then did I realize June had spoken in Hebrew.
Smiling, Eliyahu said: “Nice girl, this redhead, who tells you you’re smart and handsome in the language of the patriarchs.” He was sitting at the desk nearest Pinge’s. While Pinge wrote my hallpass, he took off his hat and flipped it upside down. Two rolls of pennies were hidden in the sweatband. Affixed to the crown by tape was his weapon.
“He’s a pretty good buddy, this guy,” said Pinker. “He’s no shmeckel.”
I was glad. There was no way around it. There’d be no more tapelines. No more Face Forward rule. No more blindsiding wings extending from the walls of carrels. No more carrels. I could make out with June at recess. We could trade notes in classrooms where only one robot presided. Steal kisses. Make faces at each other across aisles between desks.
Wasn’t I glad? Was there no way around it? Why was I looking for some way around it?
Why should I care what Botha intended? Why should I care if he got to save face? If he behaved in a way that was to my benefit, what did it matter if it was also to his? Wasn’t that the ideal, anyway? Wasn’t it better to make allies of your enemies than it was to defeat them? Maybe allies was overstating the case, but even stilclass="underline" wasn’t it better to achieve a steady détente with your enemies than it was for the two of you to suffer? And maybe détente was overstating it, too, steady or no — but a ceasefire? Not so much a de-escalation of hostility, but an end to hostilities? No more hostile acts? That was understating it, actually, ceasefire. This was better than a ceasefire. At least a little. It was more secure. The lines we’d have to cross to bring new hostilities weren’t abstract — they were walls. The same walls inside of which we’d been trapped with one another for ten weeks. Now they’d be between us, physical blockages. I’d rarely see him, if ever. The Cage, after all, was a cage.