Away We Go by Emil Ostrovski Read Free Book Online

made up of strands of wind.

 
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    THE SKY IS FALLING AND I LIKE IT
    I was trying to reform.
    After spending my first solid month at Westing married to alcohol, I’d set myself to reading numbers 10 and 51 of the Federalist Papers in Galloway’s Victorian-style lavender parlor as rain drummed against the roof, like a good, model newsie. I could make out the Galloway lawn and the empty parking lot from where I sat. The sky had darkened and the last of the teachers’ cars had rolled through security at the main gate, a funny name seeing as it was the only gate.
    I glanced at my assignment, due tomorrow.
    Please devote 3-5 pages to discussing how democratic the framers intended our original constitution to be.
    What I had so far: “Contrary to popular belief, not very.”
    It was difficult to write, when it seemed like my thoughts wouldn’t matter much to anyone, when they didn’t even matter much to me.
    A tap on the shoulder made me jump. Numbers 10 and 51 spilled out of my lap onto the polished hardwood. My laptop almost went down, too; I barely caught it in time.
    â€œBit jumpy there, eh, kid?” Zach asked as he bent over and began to scoop my papers up. I started to help him, but he said, “I got this, no worries.”
    He handed me the stack with dripping hands. He was soaked, dark hair plastered to his head, had on a T-shirt that read: I react to chemistry.
    â€œNow, Noah, I haven’t seen you in all of forever,” he said as he plopped down next to me, put a wet arm around my shoulder. I didn’t know whether to lean into it or to pull away, so I stayed limp and unmoving. “What I want to know is,” he went on, “well—how are you? Any complaints? Grievances? Issues you’re too shy to take up with the administration?”
    â€œNow that you mention it, there’s no toilet paper in the bathroom—”
    â€œBecause,” he interrupted, “that’s what the secretary is for. Or the treasurer. Or the president. Noah, do not hesitate to bother them. Consider this permission granted. That’s what they’re for, and God, I don’t particularly like them, so I won’t pretend I won’t get a certain satisfaction out of it—Noah, I know I’m pretty but please, we need to concentrate. There are times for drifting off into my eyes and there are times for serious business.” He gave me a stern look. “This is a time for serious business.”
    â€œYou’re completely wet.”
    â€œOh, that,” he said, as if he hadn’t noticed it, but he withdrew his arm. “I took a jog in the rain. Was hoping I’d catch pneumonia. So far no luck. I think I’m going back out there to try again. Care to join me?”
    â€œPneumonia together?” I said. All thoughts of reforming myself into a better student vanished.
    He nodded. “What better way for an elected officer to bond with his constituency?”
    â€œBy advocating for their best interests, à la toilet paper in the bathroom on the—”
    He scoffed. “We’re not running a socialist utopia here, Noah. There will be no redistribution of toilet paper. We must trust in the market.” Then, “Are you coming, or am I going to have to go right on out there and get pneumonia all on my lonesome?”
    I nodded to my computer, my papers. “Give me a minute?”
    I met him outside Galloway’s main entrance, under the canopy, my heart hammering as if I’d already run three marathons, and as soon as he saw me push through the door, he took off into the rain, yelling over his shoulder, “WE’RE RACING!”
    I chased after him, splashing through the wet, down paved paths, and then the dirt trails. Past the Wellness Center and the residential quad. Then up a trail that led us by the Lakeside Apartments on our left, the wall on our right, the lamps along the wall lit in the rainy dusk.
    He