Katie Henry - Gideon Green in Black and White

The statement below is a parody of the all persons fictitious disclaimer, which emerged as the standard please-god-dont-sue-us boilerplate language after Princess Irina Alexandrovna of Russia successfully took MGM to court for libel over the 1932 movie Rasputin and the Empress.

This book will contain no further educational content.

DISCLAIMER

This story is a work of fiction, which you probably guessed when you picked it out of the fiction section. All characters, locations, and organizations are a product of the authors imagination, except for the ones that arent. Any resemblance to real events is purely coincidental and would honestly be pretty surprising.

The investigative procedures used by the teenage protagonists are not condoned by the author, the Society of Professional Journalists, or any known legal system and should not be attempted by anyone. You will go to jail.

THE THIRD-GREATEST TRAGEDY of my life is that I dont live in a film noir.

The second-greatest tragedy of my life is that its 498 days until my eighteenth birthday, which means 498 days until I get to leave San Miguel, California, more specifically, Presidio High School, and, more broadly, my holding pattern of a life here.

Dont worry about the first-greatest tragedy, because it happened a long time ago and isnt interesting or special at all. It happens to lots of people, and I prefer to focus on the ways Im not like most people.

Here are two examples:

Everyone else at lunch is wearing shorts and T-shirts, and I am wearing a trench coat.

Everyone else is eating lunch together, and I am eating alone.

Which is fine. Its good, actually, because it gives me space to think about things.

Like how nobody would ever eat a brown-bagged lunch in film noir. I cant think of any noir Ive seen where the private investigator eats a chicken focaccia sandwich, and Ive seen pretty much every movie in the genre. Nobody goes to high school in film noir, either, but no matter how many times I ask, Dad wont let me drop out. So here I am.

Youre probably picturing me in a school cafeteria with a lunch line and tables fiercely guarded by rival cliques, but you shouldnt. Thats a trope. Every kind of movie has its tropesthe things you know youre going to see, the things you start to expectand is there a bigger one for teen dramas than cafeteria cliques?

Maybe there is. I dont watch a lot of them.

But this is Southern California. Nothing is indoors if it doesnt have to be, so benches and metal tables are scattered across the open-air campus. Everything here is sprawl, from freeways to lunch spots. And the only person who seems particularly attached to any given table is me.

Someone clears their throat. When I look up, theres a whole crowd of someones gathered around my table.

Like I said, high school cliques are a trope, not reality, but if I had to sum this particular group up, Id label them the Future Ivy Leaguer Overachievers. Perfect GPAs. Lots of extracurriculars. Would murder you with their bare hands if it meant moving one spot up on the class rank. Maybe thats not fair, I think, when I see Lily hovering in the back, looking uncomfortable. But after what she did to me... maybe it is.

And standing in frontso close her legs are touching my table, clearly in charge, clearly the one who cleared her throatis Mia. Im not sure exactly where it falls on my list, but the existence of Mia McElroy is definitely some type of tragedy.

If my life were a noir, Mia would be described in the script like this:

MIA MCELORY (F, 16): a real knockout dame with legs that go all the way up to her pelvis (because thats 000how legs work) and a slash of red lipstick two shades darker than her hair.

But this is just high school, and Mias just a girl with the personality of a piranha.

Hi, Mia says, drawing out the word over five seconds so I can better hear the go fuck yourself subtext underneath. Were going to need the table.

Youre probably imagining her in a cheerleader uniform, but you shouldnt. Thats another trope.

She clears her throat again. Did you hear me?

Yes.

So... ?

So, I dont agree. I take a bite of my sandwich. You dont need the table.

We do need the table, actually.

Shelter is a need. Food is a need. Are you going to eat the table?

Oh my God, Mia mutters.

Mia, I hear Lily say, but I refuse to look at her. Maybe we could

We need the table because, unlike you, we have actual things to accomplish this lunch period, Mia says. Were planning the Key Clubs community food drive, which I know you couldnt possibly care about, because you dont care about helping the community, or like, anyone besides yourself.

I point at the lumbering guy at her shoulderher boyfriend, I cant remember his namewhos texting on his phone, oblivious. Really? Hes helping with the food drive?

Mia looks behind her. When she swats at her boyfriends arm, he jumps out of his skin. Could you get off your phone and do something about him?

Mias boyfriend shoves his phone in his pocket so fast youd think it was on fire. He looks at me, then back to her. But... hes just sitting there.

Yeah, exactly, I say. Thank you, Hired Goon.

What? he says.

Lily leans closer to Mia. We could go on the lawn. If Gideon doesnt want to move

Thats the first time Ive heard Lily say my name in five years. Which wouldnt be remarkable, except she used to say it every day, when we were still best friends.

No. Mia folds her arms. We need a hard surface, and we need the space. He doesnt. There are plenty of other tables he could use

But this is my table, I say.

Smaller tables, more appropriate tables for one person

I always sit at this table.

that would work just fine if Gideon would stop being so selfish.

I dont know what else to say to her. I chose this table in my second week of freshman year and Ive sat here every single day since and so I have to sit here now. It makes perfect sense in my head, but I can tell from the way theyre all staring at me it makes no sense to them.

Why are you being so weird about this? Mia snaps. Just pick a different table.

Im not being weird.

Of course you are, she says, then gestures at... well, all of me. Who the hell wears a jacket when its eighty degrees?

Its a trench coat. I always wear a trench coat. This gets no reaction. People used to wear stuff like this all the time. And fedoras. And shoes that werent made of plastic. I can tell Im not helping my case, but I cant stop. If someone from the 1930s or the 40s saw the way you dressed, theyd think you were the weird one. Not me.

Wow. So youre really still doing it. When she smiles, its toothless. Youre still playing detective.

I didnt play a detective, I was one. Was.

Im not a detective.

Its almost cute, she continues, how committed you are. Almost.

You know, Mia, why dont you ask somebody else for their table?

Because youre the one eating alone.

I always eat alone.