The Feminist Agenda of Jemima Kincaid by Kate Hattemer

Author:Kate Hattemer [Hattemer, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2020-02-18T00:00:00+00:00

I had the attention span of a gnat. This was unfortunate, because life demanded concentration these days. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Andy. There was the intense kind of thinking (daydreaming, cruising his social media, lying in bed before I went to sleep), and there was the background kind of thinking, when I’d be doing something else—trying to do something else—and he’d be there, like a humming refrigerator, like clinks and chatter at a coffee shop.

Jiyoon and I were sitting on the floor by our lockers. We had sweatshirts over our school clothes with the hoods all the way up. It was that kind of Monday morning. “I know it’s stupid,” she said, “but I’m already nervous about the debate.”

As Andy had announced, it was scheduled for Thursday’s Town Meeting. “You’re going to be awesome.”

“I prepped a lot this weekend, but I don’t know, does prep even matter in this situation?”

“Of course it does.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Mack won’t get votes because he’s ready for the job.”

“He’ll get votes because he’s Mack.”

“And you’ll get votes because you’re Jiyoon and because you’re ready for the job.”

“As many votes as I’ll lose because I’m Jiyoon?” she said.

I glanced over, but with her hood up, all I could see was the tip of her nose. “I guess you can’t know,” I said, and she shrugged, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so we sat there in silence. Our hoods and the early morning reminded me of the monks we’d learned about in European history, the ones who sat in monasteries and copied Latin manuscripts and basically single-handedly saved classical civilization from extinction. I would have taken that life. I bet you got a lot of sleep, in between novenas and sharpening your quill. I bet the weight of heavy wool, not to mention original sin, made you not even want sex. You wouldn’t even have to worry about it. You wouldn’t have this tantalizing, painful glimpse, stuff in the back of a car that you weren’t even sure would happen again, and you wouldn’t ever think about someone so much that it felt like worrying a bump on the inside of your mouth.

“Did you submit your Last Chance Dance picks?” said Jiyoon.

“Last night.”

“Without consulting me? Who are you?”

The door at the end of the hallway opened. Andy came in this door when he parked in the back lot. But this was only some freshman, straggling along with a gym bag, pillow creases still on his cheek.

“Are you waiting for someone?” said Jiyoon.

“No. No. Why?”

“Because you jump and look down the hallway every time the door opens.”

The door opened. I didn’t jump, but I couldn’t help looking, and there he was.

“Relax,” Jiyoon whispered, her voice curling in amusement. “It’s just Andy.”

Just Andy. But should I say hi? Should I pretend I didn’t see him? Should I—

“Morning, Kincaid.”

“Oh! Hi, An—um, Monroe.”

He loped down the hallway, reaching up to touch the exit sign as he turned the corner. I exhaled.

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