Page 33 of Make Me Scream

Sobered by the arrest video, I slump onto the couch. The night’s drinking weighs on me, and before long I pass out.

—

My buzzing phone wakes me in the morning. Daylight scalds my eyes. Head aching, vision bleary, I try to focus on the phone. I don’t recognize the number.

“Hello?” I say, swiping to answer before it can go to voicemail.

“Good morning, Ms. Carpenter. This is Rush Mundell.”

A spasm squeezes my gut, a tiny whiff of nausea lingering from last night. I take a deep breath, but start padding my way to the bathroom.

“Hi. What’s… uh, what’s going on?”

“Ms. Carpenter, a few hours ago a matter came to my attention that required me to contact you immediately. I take it you are aware of the online videos created by an artist calling herself Enmity Jane?”

Great. That’s just great. Secret’s out, I guess.

“I am,” I reply.

“That’s you, correct?”

Something tells me I’m going to regret not disguising my face in these videos.

“Uh, well. I’d like to… plead the fifth, sir,” I say, clutching my head.

“Now’s not the time to get cute, Ms. Carpenter. This isn’t court. I can clearly see that that’s you. And in case you didn’t know, it’s not hard to access public arrest records, and sure enough, there was one for you, dated yesterday.”

“It was just a violation,” I say. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Legally, yes. But as I said, this isn’t court. My concern is for the Academy’s reputation.”

Is he fucking kidding?

My chest tightens. I hold back a belch.

“Because I was arrested?”

“No, not exactly. The issue isn’t the legality of your work, nor is it the message you were trying to impart. I found both pieces laudable, Ms. Carpenter. That’s the truth. The issue is that my academy is synonymous with fine, classical art — not… what you’re doing. Commuters on the subway may not care about what art school you attend, but my peers do, and I cannot have them connecting your work to my academy.”

Unbelievable. Is this normal, for a prestigious art school?

A fire erupts inside me, pushing aside the nausea.

“Isn’t it your goal to support free expression?” I ask. “Isn’t that a necessity, for art?”

“I’m not looking to impede your free expression-”

“With respect, that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

Mundell sighs loudly enough to be heard through the phone.

“If you wish to be respectful, then don’t interrupt, Ms. Carpenter. My academy has standards, and as long as you are enrolled, your work serves as a reflection of what you’ve learned here. Thus, it falls under my purview.”

Is he saying what I think he’s saying? If I could reach through the fucking phone…

“So if my art was good enough to meet your standards-”

“Do you know how many students at this academy drop out?” he asks, cutting me off. “As many as half of a class, some years. Most of them are excellent artists. Talent isn’t always enough to succeed, Ms. Carpenter. Like many of them, you’re here because of a scholarship based on the promise you showed in your application. If your work no longer reflects that promise, the scholarship will be revoked. Is that clear?”

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