Allen Zadoff: Food, Girls, and Other Things I Can't Have

That makes the class laugh, and Eric looks pissed off.

“Anyone else?” she says.

I’m thinking as fast as I can, looking for some way to get into the game, but I’m coming up blank.

“That means it’s not objective. It’s someone’s opinion,” a girl says.

The voice sounds familiar. I shift around to see who said it, but there’s a big guy in front of her blocking my view.

“How can history be someone’s opinion?” Eric says. “I mean, it happened, didn’t it?”

“No,” the girl in the back says. “It didn’t happen.”

The class laughs uncomfortably. Whoever she is, she’s got serious attitude. Ms. Hartwell raises an eyebrow. I look over at Eytan, and I can see he’s excited. He’s rubbing his hands together like he’s ready for some action. He lives for this stuff.

“That’s stupid,” another guy says. His name is Justin. I recognize him because he was vice president of Model UN last year, and that’s my only club. Eytan’s, too. Eytan nominated me for chairman of the Botswana Election Committee, but Justin was a dick and blocked me. He said a freshman didn’t have enough experience to be chairman. Then he gave the position to some cute girl.

Now he tries to block the girl in the back. He says, “Things happen, and people write about it, and those things become history, right? That’s what history is.”

Most teachers would jump in and explain it now, but Ms. Hartwell doesn’t say anything. She just folds her arms like we’re discussing something really important, and she’s got all the time in the world. She shifts her attention back to the girl I can’t see.

“Would you care to elaborate, Ms….?”

“April,” the girl says. “April Park.”

My heart drops about forty-seven feet and bounces up into my chest. I’m not sure I believe in God, but moments like this get you thinking, you know?

I get a sharp elbow in the ribs. Eytan is staring at me. “April?” he mouths silently.

Crap. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth earlier.

Ms. Hartwell says, “What do you think, Ms. Park? Is that a correct definition of history?”

April bites at her lip for a second, thinking hard. She’s wearing a pink Izod that reveals a little V of honey-almond skin below her neck. I happen to like honey and almonds. Especially when they’re together. She has on those same genius glasses, only now that we’re in AP History, they don’t seem so out of place.

“I don’t think that’s an accurate definition,” April says. “It reminds me of when we learned about World War Two in my old school.”

“What about World War Two?” Justin says with a sneer.

“How did it end?” April says.

“Duh,” Justin says. “We won.”

“We kicked ass!” Eric says, and the class laughs.

“But the Japanese don’t think so,” April says. “They think they were on their way to a compromise surrender, and we committed a crime by dropping the bombs.”

“Why would we do that?” this Goth girl says.

“The Japanese say we’re too arrogant to compromise,” April says.

“Ah, yes. History repeats itself,” Eytan whispers to me.

Justin rolls his eyes like April’s an idiot. “That’s not the real story,” he says. “That’s Japanese revisionism.”

“First of all, I’m not Japanese,” April says. “I’m giving an alternate view.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have entered the spin zone,” Eric says.

I can see April’s pissed.

“It’s like my parents,” I say all of a sudden.

The attention shifts in my direction. I feel sweat break out under my arms. I glance at April. She looks surprised.

Ms. Hartwell says, “Yes. Mr….?”

“Zansky.”

“Tell us, Mr. Zansky.”

Eytan looks at me like I’m nuts. The seniors lick their lips.

“I went to Hyannis Port with my family a few summers ago,” I say. “We were walking through town, and my sister got lost. She was, like, seven, and she wandered away from us in the crowd.”

Eric makes a loud yawning sound. I want to crawl into a hole and die, but I can’t give up so easily with April listening.

“Right away my folks started blaming each other,” I say. “Mom said it’s Dad’s fault Jessica got lost because he wasn’t paying attention. Dad said it’s Mom’s fault because she was supposed to hold her hand. But probably it was nobody’s fault. I mean, Jess is a kid and she got distracted, right? But they were so freaked out they just yelled at each other and bolted in different directions. So I stopped and I tried to think like Jess. Where would she go? What does she like? And I looked behind us and I saw these shirts hanging in a doorway that have all kinds of animals on them, like cutesy Asian stuff.”

I shouldn’t have said “cutesy Asian stuff.” Maybe that’s an insult to April. Maybe now she thinks I’m a jerk. I glance at Nancy Yee for a status check, but she’s sketching in a little book.

“What happened then?” Ms. Hartwell says.

“I pulled my parents into the store, and we found Jessica.”

“News flash. You’re from a dysfunctional family,” the Goth girl says.

Half the class cracks up.

“What’s your point?” Justin says.

I don’t know what my point is. I don’t know why I told this story. I glance at the clock, hoping lunch is coming soon.

“Well?” April says. She sounds kind of snooty, and I hate her for it.

I take a deep breath. Focus.

“I guess my point is that Jessica got lost, and right away my parents started making up stories about it. Nobody bothered to find out what really happened. They couldn’t even see the truth. That’s what history really is. It’s people making up stories to suit themselves. Different countries, different parties, different stories.”

“Whoa,” Eytan says. “That’s deep.”

Ms. Hartwell nods. “How do they tell the story now, Mr. Zansky?”

“They don’t,” I say. “They split up.”

Everyone’s quiet for a second, and then Justin rubs his fist on his eyes. “Waaah,” he says like he’s a baby crying. The class giggles uncomfortably.

“Screw you,” I say really loudly. I feel good about saying it. At least until Justin stands up and cracks his neck like a weightlifter. Come to think of it, Justin is a weightlifter.

“You want to repeat that?” Justin says.

I glance towards Ms. Hartwell, and her eyes are jumping around like she doesn’t know what to do. She might have ideas, but she’s never had real students to teach them to. Real students are trouble, and I can see she doesn’t know how to handle it.

Justin stares at me, his palms out by his sides. “What’s up, bro? You got something to say to me?”

The class is really quiet.

I know I’m supposed to do something, say something, take him on in some way. But I can’t. I’m totally frozen. I try to meet April’s eye, but she won’t look at me now. She just stares at her desk.

That’s when Ms. Hartwell pulls it together. “All right. That’s enough,” she says.

Justin sits down, but he takes his time doing it, sinking slowly. Just before his ass hits the seat, he coughs and says, “Fag” under his breath. A couple guys laugh.

“Let’s get back to work,” Ms. Hartwell says.

“That guy is ass lint,” Eytan whispers to me. “Don’t let it faze you.”

“It doesn’t,” I say. I want to be a guy who doesn’t give a crap. I want to be a guy who doesn’t get fazed.

I want to be a lot of things, but I’m not.

Eytan and I walk out of class together. As soon as we’re clear, he pulls me aside.

“Is that the April you were telling me about?” he says.