Table of Contents
The prank.
Everybody was sitting on sleeping bags, Alaska smoking with flagrant disregard for the overwhelming flammability of the structure, when the Colonel pulled out a single piece of computer paper and read from it.
The point of this evenings festivities is to prove once and for all that we are to pranking what the Weekday Warriors are to sucking. But well also have the opportunity to make life unpleasant for the Eagle, which is always a welcome pleasure. And so, he said, pausing as if for a drumroll, we fight tonight a battle on three fronts:
Front One: The pre-prank: We will, as it were, light a fire under the Eagles ass.
Front Two: Operation Baldy: Wherein Lara flies solo in a retaliatory mission so elegant and cruel that it could only have been the brainchild of, well, me.
Hey! Alaska interrupted. It was my idea!
Okay, fine. It was Alaskas idea. He laughed. And finally, Front Three: The Progress Reports: Were going to hack into the faculty computer network and use their grading database to send out letters to Kevin et al.s families saying that they are failing some of their classes.
We are definitely going to get expelled, I said.
I hope you didnt bring the Asian kid along thinking hes a computer genius. Because I am not, Takumi said.
Were not going to get expelled, and Im the computer genius. The rest of you are muscle and distraction. Were just, you know, wreaking a little havoc.
OTHER SPEAK BOOKS
To my family: Sydney Green, Mike Green, and Hank Green
I have tried so hard to do right.
(last words of President Grover Cleveland)
acknowledgments
USING SMALL TYPE that does not reflect the size of my debt, I need to acknowledge some things:
First, that this book would have been utterly impossible if not for the extraordinary kindness of my friend, editor, quasi-agent, and mentor, Ilene Cooper. Ilene is like a fairy godmother, only real, and also better dressed.
Second, that I am amazingly fortunate to have Julie Strauss-Gabel as my editor at Dutton, and even luckier to have become her friend. Julie is every writers dream editor: caring, passionate, and inarguably brilliant. This right here, her acknowledgment, is the one thing in the whole book she couldnt edit, and I think we can agree it suffered as a result.
Third, that Donna Brooks believed in this story from the beginning and did much to shape it. Im also indebted to Margaret Woollatt of Dutton, whose name contains too many consonants but who is a really top-notch person. And thanks as well to the talented Sarah Shumway, whose careful reading and astute comments were a blessing to me.
Fourth, that I am very grateful to my agent, Rosemary Sandberg, who is a tireless advocate for her authors. Also, she is British. She says Cheers when she means to say Later. How great is that?
Fifth, that the comments of my two best friends in the entire world, Dean Simakis and Will Hickman, were essential to the writing and revision of this story, and that I, uh, you know, love them.
Sixth, that I am indebted to, among many others, Shannon James (roommate), Katie Else (I promised), Hassan Arawas (friend), Braxton Goodrich (cousin), Mike Goodrich (lawyer, and also cousin), Daniel Biss (professional mathematician), Giordana Segneri (friend), Jenny Lawton (long story), David Rojas and Molly Hammond (friends), Bill Ott (role model), Amy Krouse Rosenthal (got me on the radio), Stephanie Zvirin (gave me my first real job), P. F. Kluge (teacher), Diane Martin (teacher), Perry Lentz (teacher), Don Rogan (teacher), Paul MacAdam (teacherI am a big fan of teachers), Ben Segedin (boss and friend), and the lovely Sarah Urist.
Seventh, that I attended high school with a wonderful bunch of people. I would like to particularly thank the indomitable Todd Cartee and also Olga Charny, Sean Titone, Emmett Cloud, Daniel Alarcon, Jennifer Jenkins, Chip Dunkin, and MLS.
before
one hundred thirty-six days before
THE WEEK BEFORE I left my family and Florida and the rest of my minor life to go to boarding school in Alabama, my mother insisted on throwing me a going-away party. To say that I had low expectations would be to underestimate the matter dramatically. Although I was more or less forced to invite all my school friends, i.e., the ragtag bunch of drama people and English geeks I sat with by social necessity in the cavernous cafeteria of my public school, I knew they wouldnt come. Still, my mother persevered, awash in the delusion that I had kept my popularity secret from her all these years. She cooked a small mountain of artichoke dip. She festooned our living room in green and yellow streamers, the colors of my new school. She bought two dozen champagne poppers and placed them around the edge of our coffee table.
And when that final Friday came, when my packing was mostly done, she sat with my dad and me on the living-room couch at 4:56 P.M. and patiently awaited the arrival of the Good-bye to Miles Cavalry. Said cavalry consisted of exactly two people: Marie Law-son, a tiny blonde with rectangular glasses, and her chunky (to put it charitably) boyfriend, Will.
Hey, Miles, Marie said as she sat down.
Hey, I said.
How was your summer? Will asked.
Okay. Yours?
Good. We did Jesus Christ Superstar. I helped with the sets. Marie did lights, said Will.
Thats cool. I nodded knowingly, and that about exhausted our conversational topics. I might have asked a question about Jesus Christ Superstar, except that 1. I didnt know what it was, and 2. I didnt care to learn, and 3. I never really excelled at small talk. My mom, however, can talk small for hours, and so she extended the awkwardness by asking them about their rehearsal schedule, and how the show had gone, and whether it was a success.
I guess it was, Marie said. A lot of people came, I guess. Marie was the sort of person to guess a lot.
Finally, Will said, Well, we just dropped by to say good-bye. Ive got to get Marie home by six. Have fun at boarding school, Miles.
Thanks, I answered, relieved. The only thing worse than having a party that no one attends is having a party attended only by two vastly, deeply uninteresting people.
They left, and so I sat with my parents and stared at the blank TV and wanted to turn it on but knew I shouldnt. I could feel them both looking at me, waiting for me to burst into tears or something, as if I hadnt known all along that it would go precisely like this. But I had known. I could feel their pity as they scooped artichoke dip with chips intended for my imaginary friends, but they needed pity more than I did: I wasnt disappointed. My expectations had been met.
Is this why you want to leave, Miles? Mom asked.
I mulled it over for a moment, careful not to look at her. Uh, no, I said.
Well, why then? she asked. This was not the first time she had posed the question. Mom was not particularly keen on letting me go to boarding school and had made no secret of it.
