The Year of the Gadfly by Jennifer Miller Read Free Book Online

discussion we were having on the first day of class about difference. Remember our slogan? ‘Difference is the essence of extremity.’”
    The class nodded unhappily. Mr. Kaplan smiled. “Dr. Van Laark’s work concerns behavioral demonstrations of obedience among emerging adults. I told her there was no collection of intellectually buzzing brains better suited to helping her research and the advancement of science than you all.”
    Dr. Van Laark nodded, her bright eyes flitting from face to face. “I’m not at liberty to provide specifics about my experiment in advance,” she said. “Except that you will find it a mentally challenging and rewarding experience.” She handed out release forms. “These signify your consent. All information collected is strictly confidential.”
    â€œAnd if we don’t want to participate?” said Stephen Fry, whose lips were always chapped and flaking.
    â€œThen you can use this double period as a study hall,” Mr. Kaplan said. “There’s no penalty for sitting out, but I’d encourage everyone to participate.”
    â€œAnd our test?” a bunch of people asked at once.
    â€œThis is your test.”
    â€œBut we didn’t study for
this!
” Marcie Ross protested.
    â€œOh, but you did.” Mr. Kaplan nodded slowly. “Just remember our slogan—‘Difference is the essence of extremity’—and you’ll do fine.”
    â€œYou will be participating in pairs of two,” Dr. Van Laark said before anyone could interject again.
    â€œSafety in numbers,” Mr. Kaplan mumbled. I tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t look at me.
    â€œAs the release form specifies, you are not to observe any part of the experiment until it is your turn. You are also not to talk about it until everyone has participated.”
    My pen wavered over the signature line.
Murrow,
I thought,
something isn’t right.
Then a shadow fell over me, and I looked up to see Mr. Kaplan. I scribbled my name and thrust the paper at him. “Very good,” he said, and for a moment there was that challenge:
I know you, but do you know me?
    â€œFirst up,” Mr. Kaplan said, shuffling through the release forms, “are Stacey Markson and Jeremy Binder.”
    They stood up and followed the adults into the theater. For a few minutes people speculated about what was happening inside. Stephen Fry pressed his ear to the door and announced that he heard nothing, so I pulled out
Marvelous Species.
I’d been carrying the book around school. It was heavy, but I didn’t mind. I liked to have it available in case I ran into Mr. Kaplan between classes. That way, I could surreptitiously slip the book into his line of sight. On the days I had biology, I made sure to be reading it when Mr. Kaplan came to class. He usually arrived early to set up, which meant that if I got there first, we’d be the only two people in the room for a good three or four minutes. The advantages of this were twofold. First, it allowed Mr. Kaplan to see how serious I was about his class. Second, it let him catch me absorbed in what was clearly nonrequired reading. This, I hoped, would pique his curiosity. Sure, I could wag the book in his face and say,
See what
I’m
reading, Mr. Kaplan!
But that was crass. Much more subtle for him to see me perusing the yellowed pages and wonder,
What’s that girl up to? She’s not like the others.
    The theater doors finally opened, and I instantly raised
Marvelous Species
in front of my face. When I didn’t hear Mr. Kaplan’s voice, however, I put the book down. Stacey and Jeremy had just come out, and they looked horribly upset.
    â€œJesus,” Chris Coon whispered. “What’s going on in there?”
    â€œThey probably answered all the questions wrong,” said David Morone, looking up from
Heart of Darkness.
“I bet a hot professor chick like Van Laark