Snark and Circumstance (Novella) - By Stephanie Wardrop Page 0,12

want to let on. I mean, when I was really little, my dad read me to sleep at naptime with offerings from Alfred, Lord Tennyson; not Goodnight, Moon or Pippi Longstocking. But most people have more normal parents. I guess Michael’s superior prep school education gave him early exposure to the classics.

“‘Why’ is because there are only three women,” I say. I can feel the bad taste of that garbled sentence on my tongue but I keep going. “We could explain why women would have been excluded from religious pilgrimages.”

Michael sighs and says in a patient voice, “They were excluded because they were women. Because the church barely tolerated their presence on Sundays, let alone on spiritual quests. I mean, the answer is obvious.”

I’ll give him this—he knows his Middle Ages.

“Right, but what exactly were the reasons behind it?” I ask. “Were the reasons political or religious? Political reasons pretending to be religious ones? Why does the Wife of Bath go then?” I drift off because Michael is looking at me steadily, eyebrow cocked, waiting for me to finish so he can set me straight.

He says, “Did you notice that no one likes the Wife of Bath? No one is happy she is there. Look, are you going to pick ‘backgrounds on women’ for every topic all semester, just because you’re a woman? Because if you are going to be on some kind of feminist crusade for the whole year, let me know while there’s still time to switch groups.” Michael stretches out in his chair, crossing his ankles. He flips a pencil in his fingers as he appraises me.

“Maybe. Unless I do one on ‘pompous snobholes descended from British colonials.’ Are you available for an interview?”

Michael’s gaze fixes on my battered, black Chuck Taylor low tops and he smirks again.

Shondra shakes her head, smoothes out the edge of her turquoise t-shirt, and says, “Maybe we could look for all the black people in the texts. That won’t take long.”

I laugh and she smiles back at me, but Michael just sighs again. He closes his notebook as if dismissing the whole conversation and says, “She didn’t say we all have to do the same thing. You look at women and I’ll look at the church hierarchy. It is about a religious pilgrimage, after all.”

“Yep. Why waste your time thinking about all those pesky, insignificant women when you can talk about abbots and bishops and friars? Fascinating.”

He opens his mouth to respond but the bell cuts him off. He is out of his chair and on his way out the door faster than Wile E. Coyote in an ejection seat.

Later, in the cafeteria, I’m sitting alone because Gary and Dave are skipping lunch to get concert tickets or something. I feel pretty conspicuous by myself, but Shondra comes up to me soon and I feel myself smiling really hard.

“Dave’s not here?” she asks.

“Not today. But you can sit if you want.”

She hesitates and looks over at the table where the other kids from Netherfield usually sit.

“I was going to talk to him about the alternative paper. The Alt, I guess it’s called.”

“Yeah, Dave says they can’t think of a better name that doesn’t sound like they’re trying too hard. You should. Talk to him, I mean. He’s gotten me to write for it, too,” I say, and Shondra sets down her tray.

After biting into a pear with a sense of accomplishment that has nothing to do with fruit, I ask, “So what did you think of our first English group meeting?”

She just shrugs.

“I gotta warn you,” I say as I open my hemp lunch bag and pull out some chips, “Each time I see Michael Endicott he gets even snottier.”

She twirls her spaghetti on her spork—no mean feat—and grins.

“So he’ll fit right in here,” she says. “He’s new right?”

“Oh, to the school, yes. But his ancestors built the town. Didn’t you know that? He seemed to think I should.” I grin back at her as Maggie Parker, who is also in Ms. Ehrman’s class, sits down, eager to gossip about something. Maybe she heard who we were discussing because she leans forward as she shakes up her carton of orange juice and says, “Do you guys know Michael Endicott was kicked out of the Pemberley School?”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “I mean, he looks like the poster boy for Obnoxious Prep School Douchebag. I’m sure he fit in there perfectly.” Shondra laughs.

“Really. I’ve heard a lot of stories about it,” Maggie