I am a student at a high school and on my notebook I have written a few things including “I do not believe in God” and “I am an atheist.”  Another student is passing out the lyrics to a song that our class will be singing at the next assembly.  I look over the lyrics and recognize it as a hymn with Jesus mentioned in one of the lines.  The girl asks me if I know the song and I say yes but without the necessary enthusiasm or something because she pushes, asking me again if I know the song, then humming it inviting me to hum along (which I don’t), and then insisting that I prove I know the song, suggesting that if I need help with it I can meet with her after school.  I am becoming angry, feeling put on the defense because she cannot or will not accept my assurance at face value.  I go to take my things, including my notebook, to leave because it is the end of the day but my notebook is gone.  I ask around and find out that it’s been taken and that a review panel is being convened to discuss my notebook and me.  I am outraged by this and go to confront the people who took my notebook but there are faculty monitors in the hallway and without the necessary pass/permission slip, my only option is to go out the nearest exit.  These precautions, including the taking of my notebook, are the result of recent violence in schools across the country.

I follow the herd of students outside where I am met by a boy from one of my classes, someone with whom I had hooked up in the past but we hadn’t worked out.  He says he wants to call me and I’m once again reminded how pretty he is, which is one of the reasons I assumed he dumped me—that I was not pretty enough or popular enough for him.  But here he is asking me for my number and although I should be happy about it I’m not because I’m distracted by the notebook situation.  I offhandedly give him my number, which he puts into his cell phone, and I return to the school building, hoping to get by the monitor.

She is no longer there and I am able to get past another monitor who isn’t paying strict attention.  I see a couple of my favorite teachers and confront them with what has happened.  They explain that there isn’t anything they can do.  The notebook is in a school board member’s hands and he is the one who has insisted the issue be addressed because now apparently I am an “issue.”  I ask her what might end up happening and she mutters some things about suspension, possible expulsion if I do not cooperate, or, if I agree to do so, sign a document and agree to replace the notebook with one that is less offensive.  I look at her and ask, “Exactly what government system is this school preparing me to be a citizen of because I thought this was America.”  She can’t even look me in the eye and I am broken-hearted because she is a teacher I held in high esteem, one I thought would surely support me in this.

I leave frustrated because I want to go home but not without my notebook, aware that some of my more personal writing is in there including a poem:

I don’t believe in anything they tell me to
But I believe in the things they will never know
Like the smell and taste of sweat on the small of your back
And the weight and feel of your palms pressing into my hip bones

Typical adolescent tripe but it is mine and I want my notebook back.  I make it to the administrative area of the school and carefully time my pace so that I can slip in behind a teacher as she passes through a locked door which she has opened using a key card.  I see that my favorite teachers are there and I sit down beside them.  “What are you doing here?” they ask.  “I’m not leaving until I get my notebook back.”  Neither of them can look at me and I fume but soon realize the futility of my taking a stance in this manner. I grab my bag and skulk back outside where everyone, including the school buses, has gone.  I reach into my bag for my cell phone but I realize that I don’t have any numbers for anyone who has a car, except for that one guy who asked for my number but hasn’t called yet.  I don’t really want him to call and I drop my phone in my bag, ready to walk home.