Page 61 of What You Wish For

When we were out of earshot, I said, “Don’t do this. Let us finish what we’re doing.”

He shrugged. “You broke the rules.”

“Well, they’re bad rules.”

“I disagree.”

“We’re fine,” I said, gesturing to the kids. “It’s been a lovely day. The kids have learned things and cheered for each other. We’ve been building toward this day for weeks—the moment when the kids get to do something to help out the ocean. It’s been very inspiring for them.”

“Irrelevant,” Duncan said. “They can’t be here.”

“Why not?”

“Because field trips have been canceled.”

“So uncancel them.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“You can cancel them, but you can’tuncancel them?”

“Not when people break the rules.”

I pointed at the kids. “Look how happy they are. Why not just let them stay?”

“I can’t protect them out here.”

“You’re not the Secret Service. They’re just kids on a field trip.”

“Not anymore.”

He took a step like he was about to go back and round them up.

“Wait!” I said, putting my hand on his arm to stop him.

He looked down at my hand.

“Listen to what you’re doing,” I said, counting off of my fingers. “You’re putting gates on everything and bars on the windows. You’re painting everything gray. You’re putting the kids—and the teachers, by the way—in gray uniforms. You’re hiring a whole new flock of security guards. And you fired poor Raymond—”

“He was asleep all the time!”

“He has sleep apnea!”

We glared at each other for a second.

Then I said, “Can’t you see what you’re doing?”

He blinked at me.

“Bars? Gray walls? Gates? Guards? You’re turning our school into a prison. An actual, literal prison.”

It was my zinger. Meant to get some kind of reaction—prompt even some tiny new awareness. Maybe even spark an epiphany and make him realize how astonishingly wrong he’d been all along. Wouldn’t that have been nice?

But what’s the opposite of an epiphany? A shrug? Duncan said, “It’s necessary.”

“Says who?”

“I’ve consulted extensively with security experts.”

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