Bliss by Lauren Myracle

Author:Lauren Myracle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amulet Books
Published: 2010-11-02T04:00:00+00:00

oward the middle of November, our school counselor gets the idea of herding all the students into the gymnasium for a series of lectures on acting responsibly and not doing drugs. In other words, not becoming hippies. The Tate-LaBianca murder trial continues to dominate the news, and Charles Manson is portrayed as the worst sort of hippie of all—a hippie who holds such little regard for rules that he kills for the sport of it.

Also, President Nixon has just instructed the Air Force to place additional B-52 bombers on ground alert, and thousands of hippies demonstrated in protest. I saw footage of the marches and wondered if Mom and Dad were bummed they were missing out.

At any rate, the lecture series isn’t much of a success, at least not in the way it’s intended. Practically everyone either falls asleep the minute the lights are dimmed or passes the time by writing notes to their friends.

On the last day of the program, the topic is dangerous behaviors. Like if someone sips a beer, the speaker tells us, it’s really a cry for help. Or if we have a friend who tries marijuana, or attends an antiwar rally, we should tell an adult we trust.

“Rebelling against society is a sign of disconnection,” the speaker says, and I think about Liliana. Does it count as rebelling against society if she wanted to create her own society? Does an obsession with blood constitute a cry for help . . . or does it just mean Liliana was a sociopath?

Let’s pretend you’re Jesus, I imagine Liliana telling poor Elizabeth.

Charles Manson has claimed, at different times, that he is Jesus.

Stop, I tell myself. I don’t want to think about Liliana or Charles Manson. There is nothing I can do about either of them except stay away—and as far as Liliana goes, this has been unexpectedly easy. I haven’t heard her slithering whisper for days now. Perhaps she’s forgotten about me. Perhaps, now that I know her secrets, she has retreated in shame.

Although based on what I learned from Agnes, Liliana didn’t know the meaning of shame.

“If you sense that someone feels disconnected, reach out to them,” the speaker urges. “Buy them a soda. Compliment their new hairdo. It’ll make them feel better, and you’ll feel better knowing you’ve been a channel of grace.”

Jolene leans over and whispers, “My pen is feeling disconnected. Will you be a channel of grace and get it for me?” She points to the floor near the end of the bleacher.

I slide off my seat and kneel, reaching for the pen. I work on a witty retort, something along the lines of how we don’t want her pen falling into a bad crowd, now do we?

But when I rise, my seat is taken. Jolene has taken it, and Thelma and DeeDee have scooched over so that there’s no room left for me.

“Hey!” I protest.

“There’s a seat behind you,” Thelma whispers.

I glance back at the next row. I feel myself blush. “No.”

“But he’s feeling disconnected,” Jolene says.

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