Page 20 of Thick and Thin

“Yes, but, Anna…weren’t you listening to the message behind the lecture? Didn’t you understand what I was telling you?”

“I mean, I got it, but—”

“Clearly, you didn’t. How did America begin?” Before I could even speak, he said, “That’s too broad a question. America became a nation and we fought for our freedom against oppressors. It’s in our blood to fight against tyrants. The French Revolution was the same—the French were tired of being ruled over by monarchs who didn’t know what it was like to struggle, to work hard—and all for the benefit of the rulers and the merchants. When the rich fail to listen to reason, it’s time to fight.”

A chill shot down my spine as I realized he was no longer talking about historical revolutions.

He was talking about now—about Winchester and the Whittiers.

“And so I ask again, why didn’t you come to office hours?”

The main reason was because he’d always had that creepy pervy vibe—and, as much as I would have liked to believe he wouldn’t have done anything to me, my intuition told me to never be alone in a room with him.

But I wasn’t about to say that out loud—because I realized I could have been wrong. Especially now, listening to a lecture outside of the classroom, I began to wonder if his strange vibe was because of what he was talking about now.

“I…I have always tried to be available for my father.”

“And yet you’ve been gone for several months. Don’t you see? This is history repeating itself.” He paced along the patio as if he’d needed to get away from me for a few moments but I wondered if he was using it as an excuse to peek in the window at my father. When he turned around, he asked, “Who do you think vandalized the simulation lab?”

It wasn’t what he asked but the way he asked it that made me suspect he knew the culprit.

Chapter 8

I didn’t have any idea who’d vandalized the lab last summer—but all I said to Mr. Sherwood was “It wasn’t me.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

Sucking in another breath, I stopped myself again from answering what was most likely a rhetorical question. Instead, I tilted my head, waiting for him to answer.

And he did.

“I know exactly who did it—and why. It wasn’t just a stupid prank. Don’t get me wrong—the cops were in the right ballpark when they tried to come up with the motive. They’d thought you were out to get revenge but it was me and my students who wanted to make a change.”

“What?” I didn’t realize the word had flown out of my mouth in knee-jerk fashion until he answered.

“There are lots of ignorant people in town who think the Whittiers are the next best thing to electricity and running water—but they don’t know a thing about what they do. The mine in Winchester isn’t the only one—and what did I always tell you in class?”

Already I was tired of the questions. I wanted answers. And so my response was a bit sarcastic. “To study for the exam.”

He sighed but didn’t stop. “All instructors will tell you that. At least once a week, you heard from me to watch history. The past is the best predictor of the present and the future. So if we look at what the Whittiers have done with their other mines, we can safely predict what would have happened here.

“They have four other mines scattered throughout the Front Range. Most of them are hidden from view—in other words, they’re not in plain sight, so they don’t attract much attention. You have to drive through less-populated areas, and one of their mines is hidden behind other hills. But the point is that every single one of them has used strip mining techniques. I’m sure you already know, thanks to your father, why strip mining is bad for the environment. It’s not just that it looks bad; it is bad. You can look back east to where companies are doing actual mountaintop removal mining, and everyone—the residents, the animals and plants, the planet—suffers for it. That’s what these companies and billionaires do—they rape the environment to grow their bottom line, and they don’t care if the rest of us suffer.”

I hadn’t known about the other mines…and I didn’t know if my father did, either. But how much did Sinclair know?

I already knew he was good about hiding the truth from me—so I suspected he probably knew about the other mines. Why wouldn’t he?

Sherwood said, “Your father is a brave man, Anna. He stood up to the Whittiers, regardless of the consequences. He did what many men would never have the courage to do—but we also know what it did to him. I know what people say about him, and look what it’s done to his health. But that doesn’t mean we quit fighting. We simply have to be stealthier about it.”

Finally, I found my voice. “What are you saying? Did you—”

“I think you know exactly what I’m saying.” Mr. Sherwood’s eyes shifted from mine, scanning the neighborhood as if anyone here might be spying on us. But on this cool Saturday morning, most of our neighbors seemed to be taking their time greeting the day. I hadn’t seen or heard anyone since we’d stepped outside.

Mr. Sherwood lowered his voice. “That’s what revolution is all about. It’s about fighting back any way you can. But it can’t just be one person. The rich and powerful own the government, from the presidency all the way to local law enforcement. They make the laws and keep us working as willing slaves, believing in the good old American dream that we’ll never quite be able to realize for ourselves. And as long as we’re blind to that, we’ll remain docile, obedient sheep.

“So it has to be lots of us—and we have to disrupt. Your father had the right idea but the execution left him exposed. And a wealthy family like the Whittiers had no problem making sure he suffered.”

My mind raked over all the conversations Sinclair and I had had over the past few months. At first, he’d seemed to be exactly what Mr. Sherwood was describing—a ruthless billionaire who would stop at nothing to inflict pain and get what he wanted.

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