Page 69 of A Better World

“Next time you beat up a stop sign on Samhain, I guess you wear a mask,” Linda said.

Instead of chuckling or rolling her eyes, Josie started crying. Lonelycrying, where just her eyes were wet and she was trying her best to hold it in. Linda pulled into the police department lot, put the car in park, and waved her hands at the outside—the police department, Plymouth Valley, the nice houses and shops, the pleasant people. “None of this is as important as you are. You know that, don’t you?”

Josie’s voice sounded low and old. “What does that even mean?”

“I mean, relax. Don’t take this all so seriously.”

“That’s what I thought you meant,” Josie answered, disappointed.

She’d failed to answer the question correctly. But Josie didn’t explain. Instead, she got out of the car, her broad back hunched.

It took Linda a second—sometimes the right thing needs to percolate before it becomes apparent—then she followed Josie inside. She found Officer Galani standing with Josie and two other kids who looked to be in their late teens. A skeleton crew was working reception and the desks in the back. Thanksgiving decorations had been tacked to the walls: folded tissue paper caladrius ornaments, a host of white feathers stuck into an apple on the altar.

“Great!” Galani called. “We’re all here. Today’s going to be fun. So many chairs to arrange!” he announced with mock enthusiasm—the way everybody talks to teenagers, like they’re hip to the fact that kids hate adults, which is what makes the power structure so especially funny. The kids looked at their running shoes, glancing occasionally at one another.

Linda’s worries eased. Okay, nobody was going to question Josie about what had happened. She wasn’t going to get in extra trouble, or need a lawyer, or get yelled at. In fact, this kind of punishment made sense. It would give her a sense of closure and community, without belaboring the crime. Kids get in trouble. They do dumb things.

“We’re good, Mom. She’s in good hands,” Cyrus said.

Linda moved to kiss Josie’s cheek. Josie backed up to avoid her.

“Call me if anything comes up. I’m always here.”

About an hour later, the remaining Farmer-Bowens were dressed and ready to go in new sneakers and warm, breathable jackets. Hip tookthe back of the car. “Did you know that corporations have the same rights as human beings?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Linda and Russell both answered.

“Cathy’s dad says corporations are more trustworthy to work for the common good than regular people.”

“They probably are,” Russell said, though he wasn’t paying attention. He was following a text chain that had been going around his office, half work related, half fun.

“Bee Ess,” Linda said. “A corporation marketed Glamp to everybody without health insurance on the East Coast.”

“Cathy’s dad says they do bad things because everybody does bad things, but the sum value is positive. Through the lens of history, the sum value’s all that matters.”

“I love Lloyd Bennet, but that man needs to get out more if he really believes that,” Linda said. They were a kilometer from the race and already parking was limited.

“Do you think Josie’ll be able to come later?” Russell asked.

“No idea. But she’s got her device. She’ll let us know. Did you talk to her?” She’d asked Russell to check in with Josie about what had happened with the stop sign and had reminded him twice.

“Hm?”

“Did you talk to her?”

“I’ve been getting home too late. Not yet.”

She pulled into the Caladrius Parking Lot, and the three of them walked toward the crowded starting line for the race. Halfway inside the park, Hip found Cathy in a pretty wool cloak and tennis shoes, an inauspicious combination for a race. Linda expected they’d walk the whole thing, chatting about existence, philosophy, and the great corporation.

Russell found his crew: Heinrich, Lloyd, and the rest. Linda joined Daniella and Rachel up closer to the start line.

“I’m just glad we’ll have less of these fuckers running around, eating my garbage,” Rachel said, low. True to Daniella’s word, she appeared vigorous and sober. The lines Linda’d gotten used to seeing under her eyes were gone. She looked ten years younger.

The Plymouth Valley Anthem, a song to the tune of “The Merry-Go-Round Broke Down,” began to play. “I haven’t done this in years,” Linda said.

“Don’t worry. Nobody here’s looking to break a record,” Daniella said.

The crowd of about 3,500 jogged in place and stretched hips, thighs, and calves. At least a hundred penned-in caladrius clogged the podium, bumping around and gnawing the inedible wood stage. Dumb little monsters.

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