Quoth The Raven

Nothing Else Matters

Vernworth let out an incredulous laugh. "Oh, well, forgive me if I don't exactly believe the girl who just sat there and shredded some Vivaldi while everyone else was rightfully flipping their lids."

"I don't exactly know why you're surprised," Amity said, sitting forward. "You do remember what happened the last time someone built a monument that glorified colonialism and genocide in this town, correct? It does make sense that history would repeat itself."

"You—you—ugh—"

Principal Vernworth stopped, snatched a lighter from his desk, and lit his cigarette, taking an aggressive drag that ended with him blowing out the smoke directly into Amity's face.

"Missy, you are on thin ice," he hissed. "Wafer thin."

She stood up. "That little explosion was a protest, not a needless act of violence. A protest against rewriting history, against countless barriers, against centuries of outcasts being treated like second-class citizens or worse—"

"Jesus fucking Christ, what are you on?"

"I'm talking about Jericho," Amity said sharply. "Why does this town even have an Outreach Day? Don't you know the real history?"

Vernworth froze, then elegantly regained his composure with a sigh.

"Yes," he clipped, stabbing out his cigarette onto an ashtray. "To an extent."

"Then why be compliant in its cover-up?" she pressed. "Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it."

"You see a problem, I see an opportunity," Principal Vernworth said, smiling thinly. "This is a chance to build a new chapter in normie-outcast relations, without dredging up uncomfortable pasts—"

"Nothing has changed since Crackstone, Adrian. They. Still. Hate. Us," Amity emphasized. "Only now, they sugarcoat it with platitudes and smiles. Don't you want to fight for the truth?"

"First of all, call me Adrian again and you can kiss any and all privileges you have good-bye," he snapped. "Second of all, of fucking course I want the truth, but the world isn't always black and white. There's a million gray areas that you've chosen to completely disregard."

"I operate in shades of gray constantly, but there are none in this situation. It's either they write our story or we do," she told him. "You can't have it both ways."

Vernworth's eye twitched slightly. "Do you have any idea how exhausting you are?"

"Yes."

The two of them stared each other down for a minute or two.

"Get the fuck out of my office," he spat. "And tell the rest of the staff that you're the reason I've started smoking again."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night while your lungs are slowly rotting inside of your chest," Amity said drolly, turning around. "And I agree. We're done here."

She could feel the daggers of his razor-sharp glare digging into her head. It felt oddly satisfying to know she was capable of pissing off the ever-charming principal that much.

..............

"I don't care if you were sitting right next to me on the bleachers, Hunter," Luz lectured into her phone as Amity walked back into their dorm. "Your limbs move on their own even if they're not attached to you, and you could've easily yanked off a hand while I wasn't looking."

Amity blinked, unsure of what she'd just walked into.

"Wh—what do you mean, I'm just being a crazy conspiracy theorist?! You're the one who brought up your uncle's arson case this morning! Excuse me for making the clear connection!" She paused, then rolled her eyes to the sky. "That's just Amity, Hunter. An explosion in the middle of the town square is probably her idea of a beautiful atmosphere that deserves a musical accompaniment, and it doesn't mean—"