Are You Ready

Are you Ready?

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, dedicated citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever does.” –Margaret Mead

They were by no means brilliant. To look at them, you wouldn’t have ever been able to know that they were going to change the world. They were teenagers. They weren’t all of the same age, they didn’t dress alike, they didn’t live in the same place. They didn’t all belong to some unique group with a fancy name and they didn’t have a clubhouse. To look at them, you’d never notice that they were on the brink of discovering what thousands of philosophers and geniuses had been trying to learn for centuries.

Some were boys, some were girls, coming from different backgrounds. They had different ideals and they’d gone through hell and back again just like any other person. Some of them went to public school—They dealt with the daily pressures that school brings but somehow, they never truly “fit in.” And some of them didn’t go to school. There were various arguments on who had it harder, arguments that were never really resolved. The ones that didn’t attend school fought hard against the stereotypes that they were constantly forced to operate under because it was nearly impossible to educate someone about how unschooling actually works. Most of them didn’t even try anymore. Many people assumed they were brilliant because supposedly, all they did was sit at home and study… on the opposite end of the spectrum, many also assumed that they were stupid because they weren’t in school learning all day. Insults were flung too often to bear sometimes and the ostracism was extremely detrimental to their often-fragile self-esteem.

One of their biggest common links was that they were all lonely and looking for others that they felt comfortable around, other people that were like-minded. But they were only fighting a losing battle because every time they found someone else, they found out that they lived thousands of miles away and while the joy of being able to talk to this person was overwhelming, the pain of not being able to actually be around them was equally overwhelming. They weren’t beautiful according to the typical standards and they definitely weren’t perfect….

(they didn’t know they were going to change the world . . . if they’d known, they might never have started . . .)

Donovan lived on the West Coast. He slept in a room with white walls with quotes scrawled on them with black sharpie markers, including this above his bed: “You are my Marilyn, you are my lake full of fishes, you are my night sky set, my “Hollywood in Miniature,” my pink Cadillac, my highway, my martini, the stage for my heart to rock and roll on, the screen where my movies light up.”—Francesca Lia Block. He had curly black hair and dark eyes that had hints of various colors swirling in them depending on how he felt that day. His ceiling was one giant collage. His backpack was red and it had more quotes written on it. He defined himself by the quotes he lived with.

Celeste lived in Texas. She was small, like a fairy. She wasn’t a sweet Southern Bell and in fact, the word sweet didn’t really apply to her. No words aptly described her and it was easier to frantically throw adjectives at her until you met exhaustion than ever to find the words that could truly explain what she was about, how she was wired. She was a little punk with bright eyes and a creative flair that amazed some people and scared others.

Ty was either caught up in himself or overwrought with sympathy for those around him. He seemed to understand what you were feeling to an incredible extent… His weakness was how fragile he truly was inside, while he put forth a standoffish attitude. He was everyone’s boy. He was athletic. He was emotional. He wanted to change the world.

(that was their link . . . and they couldn’t escape the way it burnt their minds . . . they all wanted to change the world . . .)

All of them. They all wanted to change the world. They didn’t know why or how they were going to do it and they didn’t know if it would ever work and if anyone was ready, if they would ever be ready. But they knew that they wanted to.

Just by looking at these kids, you’d never notice it . . . the main difference between them and the rest of the people that walked and breathed and spoke on the planet… because everyone knows that the world isn’t perfect. We’re all aware of the depleting ozone layer and the way that the prison systems aren’t up to par and the rising extinction of various species and someone out there, maybe one in a thousand, will go and do something about it . . . they’ll start a little organization, they’ll plan a fund raiser, they’ll adopt a highway . . . using the “every little bit helps” philosophy. But most people see how messed up the world is and they shake their head sadly, spend a moment with downcast eyes and mourn the loss of the “good old days” before continuing to frequent fast food restaurants and chew their bubble gum, tapping their polished nails against the window frame of their new flashy red sports car. They would recycle a bottle every other Tuesday and appease their guilty conscience, not worrying about the gradual down fall of civilization. They’d done their part.

But these kids had no interest in every-other-week recycling. Fundraisers were a waste of their time. They had an insatiable drive to create, to fulfill, to learn, to bestow what they knew on others. They had an insatiable drive to do everything that it is possible to do and beyond that, because they never were much for accepting boundaries or limitations. To them, there was no such thing.

That’s why he noticed them.

He walked along the sidewalk like any normal person. He had a dusty brief case that swung idly in his left hand, shoving his right hand deep into his black jacket pocket. He shuffled his feet slightly, kicking away the twigs and rocks that had fallen in his path during last week’s thunder storm. He walked all the sidewalks, stopping in the coffee shops and the bookstores and the dance halls. He ducked into the bowling alleys and the libraries and the museums. He stopped in the parks and in the dance studios. He stopped in the theatres and the art supply shops. His gray green eyes scanned over each figure that walked by him, that slumped somewhere on a barstool, that stood in line . . . he knew what to look for. When he saw one, you’d see his right hand twitch . . . and out of his pocket, he’d pull a small camera. He’d get a shot of whomever it was he’d spotted and continue walking down the sidewalks. He passed the mall by . . . and the school and the gym…and the hair salons and the jewelry stores. His last stop on the edge of town where the sidewalks ended was a small photography studio. Then he’d move on.

In downtown Portland, he stopped walking. The telephone pole had caught his attention and he approached it blinking rapidly, thinking perhaps it was a mirage or an optical illusion. It was covered with fliers, nailed or stapled to it, dating from years back, like the telephone poles in Portland are. He pulled his empty right hand out of his pocket and with his pale nails with the half moons on them, he began to pull away the layers.

It was just a scrap of color he’d seen. It was bright orange and almost garish if you didn’t take it the right way. The words numbered only three and were hand drawn in bold black stencils:

Are you ready?

As he peeled away the layers, he saw that there was a paragraph printed below it . . .

 “Have you read Ishmael and believed it? Have you ever wanted to discover
what real fascination is? Have you found out just how far you can go with
your own imposed limits and now want to see just how much further you can
go? Have you ever let yourself live life through quotes, not your own words?
Have you ever thought you had something to say that the whole world ought to
hear? Have you ever wanted to celebrate the things that nobody even notices?
Have you ever believed in magic? Have you ever stretched the limits,
dissected your own imagination and pulled every bit of creativity to the
surface just because the outcome intrigued you? Have you struck out on your
own and then realized that alone is not where you want to be? Have you ever
been called an idealist and taken it as a compliment? 

Have you ever wanted to mean something to yourself, to others, to the world? If so . . . Are you ready?”-

From here down, the rest of the paper was gone. Torn away.

“Well, fuck,” the man said, resting his forehead against the rough wood. Now what, he thought. Did I come this far to lose track of them? Did they come this far to be lost track of? Now what . . . “Hey . . . are you alright?” The voice was cool, even. He turned to look at its source and was frozen into silence. The girl was beautiful in her long skirt and boys hair cut. Her eyes were like fire crackers and their sizzling went straight to his brain. “You’re one of them,” he managed to say after a few moments. He didn’t phrase it as a question but rather a statement. She didn’t need to verify it. He knew she was one of them. He knew that she was the one who had posted the sign so long ago. And he knew she was not going to let him in without a fight. “You’re one of them,” he repeated, trying to keep his voice as even and sure as hers but failing. After not really bothering to speak for so long, he was out of practice and the excitement in his chest spilled over. The girl cocked her head to the side and raised her left eyebrow. “Uh . . . okay. Anyway, if you’re alright . . .” She shifted the weight of her back pack and turned away from the man, skirt twirling a little in the spring breeze. Her backpack had patches pinned to it. In a permanent marker, she’d written a message on the cloth: We’re drawing out the revolution In the bright red blood you find there Because while everyone is practically indifferent We’re the last of the ones that really do care.”

And below that in bolder letters: Are you ready? –Vanya

She was across the street before the man could bring himself to move. His mind at a crawling pace, he turned around and ripped what was left of the sign from the telephone pole and jammed it into his pocket. He had been wrong. She wasn’t the one that had posted the sign. But she knew the one who did.

He raced after her, falling through the traffic, tripping over the curb, barely aware of where the rest of his body was. He fell into step beside her, frantically trying to think of what to say that could possibly convey the things that she was going to create in the months to come, what words could explain to her what wonders she was going to imagine into existence but all the man with the gray-green eyes could do was look at her walking.

When she stopped, it wasn’t with the typical trepidation that a girl would feel when being followed by a stranger. This girl loved strangers. They were her flavor of the day. When she stopped short, the man fumbling to a halt, her mouth did not open to scream rape or to ask him to stop . . . instead, she simply said “What?” It was the most beautiful, most heart felt word he’d ever heard. “I’m ready,” he said. His eyes were small. But the drama of the moment was lost upon her and she laughed a full-throated laugh. She stuck both hands in her pockets and shrugged. “Whatever.” She stood there for a moment longer and then began to walk away. He followed after her. She gave him a sidelong glance and gave another barely noticeable shrug and walked on. He was just another fool. She didn’t care. She wasn’t particularly interested in this flavor of the day and she was pressed for time, she had to find someone to interest her soon, someone to entertain her. She wanted to go get coffee, settle down in some secluded area with her notebook and observe the irony and idiocy that would surround her, hoping that nobody would bother her unless she felt like bothering them first.

When she reached the doorway to “The Secret’s Out” she stopped and looked at the man again. “Okay, what?” The second time she spoke the word, it contained a different meaning. Now, bitterness had crept into the previously sweet sounding voice. She was no longer walking care free, she had a goal in mind and she didn’t need some guy following her around fucking with her mind. “I’m ready.” He said it again, a pleading tone entering his voice… he could not let her escape. She was too important to the whole coming production. “No, you’re not, okay? Nobody’s ready. Go away.” She waved a hand in the air, as if she could rid herself of his presence by clearing the air. She walked into the building then, not looking back to check whether he was following her.

The couch she settled on was orange and green and looked almost violent, it was so bright. She clashed with it almost decoratively and indeed, she was part of the room’s decorations. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Fine. You say you’re ready. Well, you’re crazy. You’re not ready. You don’t even know what you’re saying you’re ready for so shut up until you know what you’re talking about, okay?” She turned her face up to look at him and one of the dimmed spotlights cast a soft glow on her features and the words came tumbling out of the man. “I’ve been looking for you for years. I’ve searched the country, I’ve interviewed hundreds of people, I’ve taken countless rolls of photos.” In his hurry, he flung his brief case onto the couch and flipped the latches with a click. It was full of stacked photos that flew out, scattering across the floor, the couch and the girl. “But I didn’t know who it was going to be to show me what to do because I’m ready but nobody ever could tell me where to go and now I know, this is the place and these are the people and I’m ready—all you’ve got to do is tell me what I’m ready for! You’re right, I don’t know. All I know is that I’m ready.” The man stopped then, kneeling on the floor of “The Secret’s Out,” looking up at the girl’s face, hands clutching fistfuls of black and white photos. His breath came in ragged bursts and his eyes didn’t seem to be able to focus right….he was going to play this moment all he could. “You’re a moron. Don’t you fucking get it? You’re no more ready than anyone else. You’re full of hype and drama. You think that you’re going to get me to confess anything to you with your pathetic photographs? These mean nothing to me, you twisted fuck. It was only a game that I played long ago. I didn’t think it was a game then but then I grew up a bit and I realized it had to be game, because nobody else believed me anyway. And nobody here is ready for it. So fuck off. Who do you think you’re fooling?” Her voice had lowered into a cynical growl and her hands had been clenched into two tight fists at her sides, knuckles white. The man’s eyes darted back and forth from the photographs to the girl to the couch to the floor, as if he was trying to get his bearings. This was not at all the way it was supposed to go. She was supposed to show him how things should be and how to fix things. She was supposed to be some powerful goddess that could create miracles. And here she was, raging at him, telling him to fuck off. It had never gone like this in all the situations he’d dreamed of. And he wasn’t going to give up.

(the man was not ready . . . he would never be ready. He wanted fame and a by line for fixing the world and this is how he knew to get it. He had a glimmer somewhere in his mind about how to go after these people that knew the answers and never cared what the questions were. The man’s name was Casey and he was young . . . 25. He’d grown up in Brooklyn and had meant to do brilliant things but since a young age, he’d known that he was not brilliant. He wanted to create things but he knew that he was not creative. He wanted to learn but he knew that he could never learn the things he wanted to know. So he wanted to find those that could. He began then, searching. He had a hopeless desire to be in the middle of the drama and he liked the bright lights of the big cities. He somehow derived pleasure from exploitation. And he could think of no better thing to exploit than the answer to everything. It was better than all the self help books, it was better than blind religion, it was better than anything you could buy on the home shopping channel. He knew that somewhere out there, on the other end of the television, reading the magazines, were real people who wanted to hear the answers from other real people. He’d set out to find them. Because if he could convince these people that he was real, that he was serious… he was going to get what he wanted. Fame. He had the money and the contacts to draw upon…he was going to get what he’d been fighting for because this girl was going to lead him right to it. After years of searching, this was it, this was the last town he would have to walk through…after today, he’d be riding in style because in moments, he could draw upon millions of dollars, he could call up all the best professionals and he could create a sensation out of some beautiful girls. And oh god, were they beautiful, he thought…she was so beautiful…)

Years later, nobody would ever be able to understand how he’d convinced her. Perhaps it was bribery. Perhaps it was promises of fame and fortune. Perhaps he’d voiced threats. Nobody could ever find a logical reason why she’d risen from that garish couch, collected her things and walked out the door of “The Secret’s Out” with Casey walking beside her. Her face was still twisted up in some sort of cynical glare but she bit her lip to keep from voicing whatever bitter words were fighting to emerge. They walked down the street for a seemingly endless time. Finally, the girl stopped, turned right and climbed a flight of steps. At the top, she dug a key out of her right pocket and stuck it in the keyhole. She turned it and walked in confidently. She’d been here hundreds of times before.

They shuffled down the dark hallway to the end where the light began again and he grinned maliciously inside because he was beginning to write an article in his head, a sort of informative on the way he discovered the “Miracle Makers.” (That was only a working title for the group of course, he was trying to think of something slightly less metaphysical sounding…it might throw off some potential followers.)

At the end, they entered a room where the light came solely from a desk lamp and a high window. Casey scanned the room, logging details for the upcoming article as he went. Potted plants, book shelves, a lot of color, words written on the walls . . . “Oh, hi.” The voice was young but soft . . . without even looking, Casey could tell that the owner of the voice was smiling. He looked down to where the voice had come from. He hadn’t truly known what to expect but he had gone through plenty of scenarios in his head—a glowing princess levitating through the air, a smartly dressed business man, rows of desks where the pupils were taught the way of things—he had imagined everything but this girl.

She looked to be 19 or so and instead of sitting elegantly, like you might assume someone of this much importance would, she was sprawling on the rug that covered the center of the room. She laid on her stomach, one leg straight out on the floor and the other with the foot waving absently in the air. She had another short boys cut and Casey could see a variety of colors in her hair . . . remnants from many past dye jobs. She had on baggy gray pants and a white tank top. She was barefoot. Her wrists were covered in what seemed to be an endless amount of bracelets. She wore a sparkly belt around her waist and she was propped up on her elbows to stare at Casey who continued to stand right inside the door way. “Hello?” she said again. She gave an unreadable look at the girl standing beside Casey. “Who’s he, Kensley?” “Uh . . . I don’t know. He says he’s ready.” She gave another of those almost unnoticeable shrugs and slipped her backpack off, letting it land on the floor with a loud “thunk.” “Oh. Okay.” The girl on the floor looked back down to the notebook that she had been busy writing in when they’d come in. Kensley slunk off to the corner where she curled into a plush chair and stared at the ceiling. The moments ticked by silently.

(they could have stopped here, I could stop here, the world might have been better off if it had all stopped here….)

There have been many historical moments in the past that have gone by undocumented and nobody has ever forgiven themselves for it. This was one of those moments. People have tried to recreate the conversation that went on in the coming moments for thousands of years now . . . trying to figure out what each person would have said, how they must have reacted. But nobody has ever gotten it quite right. And you aren’t going to find out now either. All that is known is that an hour later, Casey was on the phone, Kensley had fallen asleep in the chair in the corner and Vanya on the floor was still going through the photos. “Yes . . . the show should start at 7:30 and should go to 8:00. Yeah, that’s it. Print up some fliers on this and hire someone to distribute them. Get some billboards up in Eugene, Corvallis, Monroe and make sure there are plenty on the highways by the airport. Get a news crew out here too . . . No, I don’t know the address, I’ll get it for you later. Yah, okay, get this, here’s our slogan: Are You Ready?” Casey spoke into the phone with an almost disconcerting ease. He knew all the tricks in the book—he’d practically written the book. He was the businessman’s businessman and he was good at what he did…he was too good. “Is there anyone I should call in for the show, Vanya?” Casey asked absently, flipping through his address book. “Uh . . . get . . . Celeste . . . and Donovan . . . Kensley, wake up. Who else should Casey call?” Vanya was distracted, shuffling through the pictures slowly, staring deep into each one like it was someone she’d known from long ago—and of course, she had in a way. Kensley shifted in the chair and finally woke up. “Oh, get Ty for all I care. Get some other people. Get Travis . . . and oh . . . uh, how about Theresa and Calla and Isaac and September.” She rolled over to face the wall and fell back asleep. She had no real interest in this.

It was only a week later that vanya found herself standing frozen on a stage before a sea of people that seemed to rise and fall like waves themselves. She was uncomfortable in the make up and freshly bought clothes, standing beneath the bill board the size of Dallas with her picture on it with the stenciled letters blown up: Are You Ready? Behind her, there was a row of chairs where they all sat, shifting in the spotlights. They didn’t like the cameras and the microphones, they didn’t like the news crew that was filming them as they waited and they especially didn’t like the cue cards that were waiting just out of sight of the audience, prepared for Vanya to read. Kensley sat on her feet on the hard metal chair and whined to Ty sitting beside her. “Ty, this is twisted. Casey’s fucked in the head. Vanya’s losing it. ” Ty nodded distractedly and gave a sidelong glance at the rest of the people in the chairs. They all looked fake and plastic in their matching outfits. He started studying the crack in the floor and gave Kensley’s hand a gentle squeeze.

Casey stood right off stage, waiting. The announcer spoke for a moment in a bravado type voice, resounding over the P.A. system. Then Casey glanced at his watch and gave an enthusiastic thumbs up sign to Vanya who turned away from him and towards the cue cards. She gripped the microphone as it hissed at her with her right hand and white knuckles and began reading the cards, slowly and mechanically. “I’m Vanya. This is the first show of a series that I will be presenting. I am part of a special group of people that have ideas that nobody has ever been able to understand. We’re set apart from everyone else because we want to change something. We’re here to tell you just what you can do about all the stuff in the world that you don’t like.” She cringed at the pathetic wording of the last sentence and her eyes flashed for just a moment and she turned to look at Kensley who gave her the exact response she’d expected. “Vanya—Fuck the cue cards.” Vanya turned back to the mic and slid her left hand into her pocket, relaxing now. She glanced at Casey who still stood right off stage with panic beginning to show in his eyes. She looked at the cue cards that had halted when she’d stopped speaking and she rolled her eyes. “Well folks, they’ve got some real nice cue cards all written out for me and you know, that’s really nice of them but I’ve never been partial to planning these type of things so I think I’m just going to take the advice of my friend Kensley here and ‘Fuck the cue cards.’ This is what I’ve got to say without being stilted by the idiots who write the scripts. I don’t lecture. I just state my opinion.” Another glance at Casey who’s jaw had dropped open. His arms lay limp at his sides. He glanced at Kensley who just gave him one of her nearly infamous shrugs and went on watching Vanya, deriving some sort of perverted pleasure from the almost invisible altercation. All eyes were on Vanya now. “Well, um, here we go, I guess. I’m just going to talk now, just pulling things out of the proverbial hat and I’ll hope they make sense and even sound good too.” She took a deep breath and gave another glance back towards Kensley, Ty and all the others sitting in a row. She turned back towards the audience that was getting impatient but somehow, something about her was still holding their interest… “Here’s my first bit of advice—Relax. That’s not too hard, now is it? You’re all so damned uptight, hoping that if you work hard enough and push yourself hard enough NOW, someday in the future, your life is going to be perfect because you weren’t lying down on the job—but I’ve got a little surprise for you. In reality, it doesn’t matter how hard you work—things aren’t going to be perfect at the end. Working your life away just to bring home a paycheck, hoping that it will get your kids into a “good school”… it’s a waste of valuable time and time is the one thing you don’t really have to waste. You’re all in the pursuit of happiness but once you get to the end of the track, you’re going to stop running and running and look around and find…nothing. Because there isn’t anything different down there at the end of the path. You can’t spend all your time in this pursuit of happiness because you are pursuing something that you will never be able to catch because the whole point is that you can be happy in pursuit of nothing. Be happy now, not down at the end of the road when you track down happiness. Because there is nothing to track down…the only happiness is NOW.” She swept the crowd with her eyes and suddenly… they were thinking. She could tell it. Their minds were turning, their eyes were still glazed over but underneath, their eyes were sparkling too. And they were thinking hard about what she’d just said. She didn’t understand why it was working now, after all this time—She thought back to the left over bit of poster that Casey had found tacked to the telephone pole. That had been her last vain attempt… a small production with a stage that was only rows of 2 by 4’s on cinder blocks…a microphone rented for 17.95 a day…fliers printed up at the library paid for by pooling together their dimes from their parents change jars… For weeks, Vanya had planned this, thinking of all the things she could tell people, all the things she knew to be right that nobody else knew. There was nothing else in the coming months to look forward to but this production.

Of the 200 fliers they had distributed, only 4 people had shown up—one of them was homeless and was just looking for the chance to sit down and be warm, to get away from the chilly winds of October. Two were leather dipped punks who had a glint of interest in their eye….and the last was a local preacher who leapt up in the middle of the production to begin spouting bible quotes with a malicious, demented look, hurling handfuls of bible tracts at the girl on stage who stood frozen at the interruption, clutching the rented microphone. She spent hours disassembling the make shift stage, dragging the blocks back to her neighbor’s yard, riding her bike to the store to return the microphone and angrily stuffing the bible tracts into a black garbage bag that she had heaved into a dumpster in the parking lot across the street. She’d gone home and cried. She woke up the next morning a little more angry, more cynical and more lonely than before.

Standing now on this stage with hundreds of people actually thinking about what she’d just said, she still could not rationalize it—why now, after all this time, were they thinking about her words, considering them as truth and not the fantastical words of some disillusioned, idealistic little kid?

The answer was in the marketing, of course. Vanya had not been included in any marketing decisions, foolishly allowing Casey to take care of all of the arrangements. In the coming week, she was dismayed to find tabloids boasting the headline: “Miracle child found—the Messiah is a girl!” Various teen magazines had small articles about the girl who made a speech to hundreds, interviewing other teen entrepreneurs who had started their own campaigns… recycling… a fund raiser for their school… Vanya shook her head at the comparative meaninglessness of these events. The marketing that had been handled by Casey had turned her into this brilliant brainchild who had never been in school… The teenager who had the answers… The headline from the tabloid had truly summed up the image that had been put forth to the media… and it wasn’t really the image that Vanya had hoped would appear.

(Casey loved the applause and the appearance of his name on all of the fliers that went out….)

CASEY KING Is proud to bring you Vanya The girl with a purpose!

(The fliers were stark white, never the bright colors that Vanya had originally sprung for… and Casey loved it, he loved the applause and he loved the money and he loved the bright lights, he’d always loved the bright lights…)

That first speech Vanya had made had been taped by a single video camera in the back of the auditorium. The reporter had been the first to air the now famous clip of Vanya rolling her eyes and uttering those now famous words…”Fuck The Cue Cards.” The clip and the small segment on it had been the first air time Vanya had gotten but not the last by any means. The calls had began flooding in during the coming weeks, fielded first by Kensley who began swearing at the callers, then Casey when he found out how many people she was simply hanging up on “because they were stupid” and finally, Buzz, a 14 yr. old boy with blonde hair and a constantly open mouth who would work for 3.00 an hour if he could have his break at the same time as Kensley’s. The caller’s purposes ranged far and wide…from wanting to book an appearance from Vanya to wanting to interview her for television to wanting to do photo shoots for pictures to run by the insane number of magazine articles that were running. Two weeks after Casey had blown into Portland, there was not a single person in Oregon that wasn’t aware of Vanya’s existence. A month after Casey arrived, he’d made sure that the entire country knew who Vanya was. Underneath Vanya’s name which was always underneath Casey’s, the others would be listed… in small italic letters; Celeste, Donovan, Kensley, Ty, Travis, Theresa, Calla, Isaac and September. They didn’t mind too much…there names were only 3 font sizes smaller than Vanya’s. But they were always there, at every appearance… once Vanya would finish with her main speech, they would take turns with the microphone, adding their own views on whatever topic Vanya had spoken about this time, embellishing, clarifying and usually adding yet another spectacular realization.

It was amazing how the audience took to the teens. For the first time, society was beginning to rid itself of the ageism that had plagued it for so long. Once they had come to terms with the idea that Vanya was able to say and know these things at 17, they’d begun changing the way they looked at the rest of the teenagers they knew. There was a general consensus that the things Vanya said were right, that if you followed her instructions, you’d be happier in the long run. They were finally understanding it. Some of what she said were things they’d all known for a long time… even her first speech wasn’t a new idea by any stretch of the imagination or the media. It was the way the entire tour was presented, the way she phrased it and who it was that was phrasing it. From that first speech on, Vanya had never used the cue cards. For the first week or two, they had still printed them up and had them running but they soon realized how pointless it was—she was never going to let her words be stilted like that. She never wrote her speeches before hand and she rarely announced the topic, even to Kensley and the others. They were coasting along on a cushion of fame and shock and while they weren’t going to ruin it by telling anyone to stop doing what they were doing, they didn’t like the way it was done all the same.

It was in the lounge after yet another performance, this one with newer, flashier lights, that the entire group finally had a chance to relax. Vanya had insisted that they all get the weekend off, instead of immediately flying off to the next auditorium, the next state, the next batch of people. They tossed themselves haphazardly on the floor, the two couches and on the round make up table, sighing. “Well, then,” said Donovan. He was sitting on the table, kicking his long legs. He looked around at the others who looked just as bored as he felt. Vanya looked at Donovan and got his immediate meaning. He wasn’t happy and he wasn’t going to say it unless someone else said it first. He had some of the most brilliant ideas, the most revolutionary… he would blurt them out to one person this day, another person the next, and then never act upon them. It was just his way. He didn’t like the regularity of these performances, he didn’t like the way all they were doing was regurgitating the ideas that had been around for years. Sure, they were finally getting people to hear the ideas as truth, they were actually listening! But it was boring. That was the problem, plain and simple. It was boring. They were all bored with it. Theresa hung upside down off the couch, drawing shapes in the air with her long fingers, black hair brushing the floor, the tips swirling in on themselves in a pile. “I know what the problem is. So does Donovan. Kensley, want to explain?” she said. Kensley raised one eyebrow and smirked. She didn’t like this whole thing. It didn’t feel right at all. “The whole point is that we’re supposed to have these brilliant new ideas, right? Or at least, Vanya is and we’re supposed to have ideas that are 3 font sizes smaller.” Kensley paused to glare at the poster for their performance that was taped to the wall of the lounge, with a photo of Casey grinning at Vanya faded into the back ground, then continued. “And have we been doing that? Not a damn bit. I bet this is how Donovan would phrase it: We’re regurgitating the ideas that everyone’s been aware of for years. That’s not our purpose! It’s fucking crazy. We all know it and I think you know it too, Vanya… Everyone knows it but that fucked up Casey. He’s in it for the money and the fame and he’s an unbelievable media jerk in actuality. We’re regurgitating the ideas and that’s the whole fucking reason that so many of us aren’t in school! Because we don’t want to have to regurgitate dates and facts . . . we want to be able to have our own damn ideas and we do, but we aren’t saying them because we’re too busy reeling off these old ideas, these fucking ancient ideas. And if we keep doing this, I quit.” Kensley glared at a spot on the floor for a few minutes, feeling dramatic and then folded herself into the corner of the couch and quickly fell asleep. There was a tension in the room that was oddly coupled with relief—they’d all thought it, but they couldn’t say it. Donovan was inwardly applauding. Ty squeezed Kensley’s hand in his usual show of affection. Vanya, sprawled on the floor, shut her eyes and rested her forehead against the cool cement. She knew that would be the next big step—The whole idea was losing its appeal. The reason she’d started in the first place was to let everyone know about her ideas, about the revolutionary concepts that the whole group agreed on. Vanya knew that it would be the big step before her last speech. She knew that the speech was coming up too. She was only going to do this so long, it wasn’t going to be her life, she wasn’t going to let it suck away years… Vanya lifted her head and glanced around. Theresa was still tracing shapes in the air, Donovan was still swinging his legs and Kensley was still sleeping. Scanning the room, she could see Buzz sitting on a counter with a cell phone held to his ear—after this most recent talk she’d given, the calls had already started to flood in heavier than before… Buzz had been on a constant caffeine high for the past week, spending about 4 hours a night sleeping, the rest of his hours filling out paper work and eyeing Kensley from the coffee machine. Vanya looked at him and remembered how she’d felt at 14—she was going to change the world at 13, but by 14, she’d shoved that foolish notion out of her head and tried to move on to more reachable goals. Now, at 17, she was back to changing the world and the 14-year-old that she used to be was just fielding calls, barely having a say in anything, swallowing his pride every time Casey yelled some derogative remark into his face. They couldn’t have done it without Buzz. While the rest of the world was evolving into a society without ageism, their own group was still letting the youngest one have all the busy work. When Buzz caught Vanya looking at him, he rushed to finish the call and hung up the phone, then leapt off the counter and crouched in front of her. “Whatcha need?” he swung the blonde hair out of his eyes and peered down at her from flashing blue eyes. “You’re fired,” she whispered, looking back up at him softly. “Oh,” Buzz said. The cell phone in his hand began ringing and he jerked his head down to look at it like it was a foreign object. He looked back at her with a confused expression. “Do you want me to answer it?” “Nope.” Vanya pulled her legs in and sat cross legged on the cement… She reached forward, grabbed the phone and flipped it open. “Hello?” “Hey. What do you think of this?” Vanya spoke into the receiver. “You know all the things I’ve said in all of these productions? Well, it’s all bullshit. I’m just taking it from books. No, not plagiarism, idiot… These ideas, everybody knows about them… Be happy during the pursuit of nothing…relax…god, what bullshit. So here. You want me to perform, whoever you are? I bet you’re some businessman in a three piece suit, sitting at some desk. You’ve got your date book flipped open and you’ve got an expensive ballpoint pen in your hand and you’re preparing to write “Are You Ready: Performance.” Well, if you want to do that, think first. Because the next performance is going to be different. No more repeating what all of you already know. Next time, I’m going to be real.” She paused. She glanced around at the bored expressions on everyone’s face and the blonde hair-ed boy that was still crouched in front of her, and then continued. “And I’m not talking after the first 5 minutes. The others deserve some coverage too—they practically have more to do with this working than I do. And lastly—I’ve got a new boy to add to the company. Buzz. That’s going to be your lead speaker. Buzz. Put it on the fliers. So how about it mister? Still want me?” Vanya stopped and laid down on her back. The cold of the cement soaked through her clothes in a few seconds and she shivered. The silence was too long… he was going to turn her down… “Are you open for an August performance in NYC?”

(She’d done it then… she’d changed things… without Casey… and he hated her for it.)

Casey listened to this entire phone conversation from the doorway of the room where nobody had even noticed him enter. When it was done, he did nothing but stand there, hoping somewhere inside him that the man on the phone had turned her down, that she had scared him away, that he could turn this into something quotable later on and that maybe, if everything else failed… she would turn, look at him and begin apologizing for making such decisions without his input. But even deeper… beneath all of these surface needs… He wanted her to leap up and begin kissing him. In the end, nothing really happened at all. She hung up with the man on the phone and craned her head backward to look at Casey. “Hey.” She looked back towards Buzz. “I didn’t mean you were fired completely…I mean, you’re just fired from this job. You deserve better. You can be on the team.” She explained. Buzz grinned a sloppy grin that made her want to melt. “Okay,” he said and then leapt up onto the couch, trying to accidentally place himself nearer to the sleeping Kensley.

The next performance was canceled. It was the first one that they didn’t carry out and Casey had been furious but they all refused to go on stage, with Buzz backing up every statement Vanya said. He had quickly adapted to his new place in their team and an amused expression passed across his face every time the phone rang and Casey had to rush to pick it up, juggling the paper work clumsily. Instead of performing, the entire group laid around the office, quietly existing, letting ideas surface in their heads. Finally, it was time for the performance that Vanya had booked herself. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Vanya felt stage fright begin to bite at the corners of her mind and knots to start tying in her stomach. This was the first time she hadn’t felt completely comfortable on the stage since she’d hosted that small production a life time ago.

Finally, Casey gave her the 30-second cue and she wiped her hands on her pants… Standing right off stage, waiting… waiting… waiting… 3, 2, 1 and Vanya burst onto the stage grinning. She grabbed the microphone and her eyes flashed towards the man that usually held the cue cards who was now sitting on a folding chair, looking bored. Bored, they were all bored. “Hey everyone! Guess what. Tonight, it’s not my turn to speak. That’s all I’ve been doing and I’m getting bored with it—so here’s tonight’s real star, Buzz!” she turned towards the line of chairs and gestured for Buzz to approach the Mic. He cocked an eyebrow at her and walked up slowly… “Um. Hi. I’m Buzz.” He was nervous… He knew Kensley was watching, he knew that Casey’s were burning twin smoking holes in his back and he knew Vanya was still standing right behind him, ready to give him a hand if need be.

Twenty minutes later, Buzz was still speaking. He’d grown animated, punctuating the air with fists and jumping around at the height of his speech. “We wonder why our children grow up to be hateful, to be angry, to be violent and unhappy and distant. We wonder how this could happen—the answer is right there—when have you been around your children? You’ve warped them from day one. You’ve taken a few weeks off from work to care for the kid, then you stick them in day care until they’re old enough for preschool… You make sure they’re in school until they’re in high school and then ship them off to college. You ask them obligatory questions at dinner about how their day was but you don’t really listen. From when they were infants, you fed them milk that came from a cow. I don’t understand how anyone can see that as natural. It’s unhealthy. The enzymes etc. in a cow’s milk are foreign to a baby—the only thing an infant’s body can naturally handle is breast milk but you don’t let them have that. You put them into a dark room by themselves, crying themselves to sleep, teaching them that their parents aren’t there for them when they need them most. They grow up as latch key kids, alone and lonely and you wonder, you people still have the nerve to wonder, why they are all so screwed up. You wonder, after the school shootings, what could have made these children become murderers. Well, how could they not. They are alone during the years that form them the most.” Buzz leapt back from the microphone and threw up his hands. Vanya clapped for him and suddenly, the auditorium burst to its feet, shrieking for the little boy wonder.

That night, Buzz slept in the back of a van, head resting softly on Kensley’s shoulder. The three black vans drove swiftly along the highway, on their way to another town. Casey sat in the front seat with papers strewn everywhere, trying to handle the incoming calls. Vanya sat facing Buzz and Kensley’s sleeping figures. Buzz had been the first to say something that that hadn’t been said a thousand times before. Now it was her turn.

The next night, they pulled into Dallas. Vanya stood on stage with her hands resting in her pockets. “Compulsory education sucks.” The audience’s frenzied pre-show murmuring slowed to a silence—She was on stage a full 8 minutes before the scheduled show time. Casey was exploding off stage in the corner of Vanya’s eye and she felt a little more of her boredom slip away. “It does. Did you people know that? Probably not. It does though. It screws with the natural learning processes. It mutilates your creativity. It stamps out all individuality. It creates angry children that grow into angry adults. It could very well be one of the biggest downfalls of our society.” Vanya spoke each sentence in a clipped, curt manner, shrugging her shoulders at the end. What am I thinking…she shook her head. Nobody is going to listen to me on this one…. “Ask your children how much they hate school, how pointless the work is, how little they actually learn will be used later in life. They’re wasting their time in school… minute after minute of their precious time going down the drain because you people are screwed up enough that you made it a law that you have to go to school. You’re insane. The second you made it a law, you made hundreds of children wish they didn’t have to go. And you still wonder. You people are always wondering about the things that have the easiest answers. The smart kids get made fun of because they’re smart. The dumb kids get made fun of because they’re dumb. The pretty ones are sluts and the ugly ones are never even noticed, when none of it even has to happen. It’s a breeding ground for horrible stereotypes that get imprinted in everyone’s mind… and then those stereotypes last long into adulthood.” She looked out at everyone… they were all frozen in place, not clapping, not speaking, not whispering in each other’s ears about the ideas they’d just heard…just frozen… Vanya felt someone standing beside her. It was Ty. “But its not the full answer. Because I’ve never been in school—and I get all sorts of shit thrown at me because of it. I get told I’m stupid, I get called lazy…and its not just by other kids, its by you fucking adults more than anything. We’ve got just as much shit to deal with—just a different kind.” He squeezed Vanya’s hand and stepped to the side. The microphone lingered in its stand, hissing in the silence, until Theresa grabbed it. “Nobody really understands this—but public school is a relatively new thing in education. There used to be nothing but homeschooling and unschooling. Then, along came one room school houses and those weren’t too bad, because all the grades were mixed up, you got to hear things at lower levels and higher levels, which is much more attune with the natural learning process.” She swung her black hair around and smiled at Ty, Buzz and Vanya. She turned around and held out the microphone… September leapt up and snatched for it, wiry and strong. “And you know, we’re just as smart as anyone else. Just because we aren’t enrolled in public school doesn’t mean we aren’t learning… it just means we aren’t learning things in a text book style—which has never been my thing anyway. We’re learning at our own pace, in our own way—which is, of course, the best way for us.” They took turns with the microphone… Isaac, Travis and Calla didn’t have anything to say, since they had always been in school. Kensley took her turn eventually, stating some facts, some statistics and then beginning to swear at the audience, her anger showing… Celeste pointed out how their maturity levels swooped up because they weren’t being babied in school… Donovan was the only unschooler that refused to state an opinion… he nodded enthusiastically at all the points he agreed with but hung back until the show was over. Vanya took the microphone back for the last few moments of the show. “So get rid of it. People say “Oh, I could never do that!” but they’re horribly wrong. So force it! Get rid of compulsory schools and let it become a choice. You’ll find out how easy it really is. And perhaps you’ll make it easier on the unschoolers that already exist. Just get rid of it and see what happens.” She hung up the microphone and hit the off switch, waved to the audience and they all paraded off… The applause started out as just a half-hearted sound, as if they were confused as to whether it was time to clap or not… but soon it was explosive and they were on their feet.

That was the first speech that you could actually gauge the response of. It was incredible—schools began to lose their attendance… kids were dropping out or being pulled out, thousands by the day. Some of the smaller schools shut down. Vanya, Buzz, Donovan and the others all read about these occurrences in the magazines, saw the news reports on TV and listened to them being spoken of on National Public Radio. It was the first time they’d been scared.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t just a game anymore. Before, you could only see the response by asking the random person how they’d taken the last Are You Ready? Performance to heart… and even then, you couldn’t be sure because they rarely could tell the truth… But now, you could watch the number of public school attendees dropping daily… It was the first thing that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were actually changing the country and it was scaring the hell out of all of them.

(they didn’t know they were going to change the world . . . if they’d known, they might never have started . . .)

They went on for another week but nothing topped the reaction they’d gotten at their performance about homeschooling. They went on performing, covering topics they’d wanted to speak on for so long, but never had. They each took more and more microphone time, Buzz becoming a little star, appearing on the cover of teen magazines… soon, a fan club was started for the sweet boy with blonde hair.

That Saturday, when they were lying in the black vans again… Donovan laid crossways across the laps of the girls… “You know, they aren’t doing these things because they agree that what we say is right.” He had his eyes closed and one of the girls was stroking his hair. Everyone looked up at him—he never volunteered opinions like this… “Well, they aren’t!” He pulled himself up to a sitting position and looked around. “We’re a fad. We’re a trend. We’re ‘in.’ and just as easy as we’ve come up into fame, we could fall back out again. They can’t not act in accordance with our seemingly brilliant ideas because then they wouldn’t have anything to discuss while they walked out to their cars after the PTA meeting… They wouldn’t have anything to call each other about… But if they aren’t doing these things, they’d all find some new self-help book that tells them what they want to hear—the only difference between us and all the other self help wizards out there is that we aren’t saying what they want to hear… we’re saying what we want to say and they’re still nodding enthusiastically and obeying our every word. But in no way are they listening to us because they think we’re right.” Donovan shrugged and slipped his fingers into his belt loops before lying back down. Something went black behind Vanya’s eyes. Dear god, he’s right, she thought. He’s right, I know he’s right but I don’t want to stop now… they’re listening, I don’t want to stop now… but they aren’t listening because we’re right. They’re listening because they love the idea of who we are. She stopped and pressed her palms hard against her eyes until she saw flashes in the blackness behind her eyelids.

It was August 26^th when Vanya sprinted from behind the curtain to the stage where another microphone was hissing at her. Everything had built up to this day. This was the last speech—after today, she didn’t really have anything else to say. This was the big one, the one big talk she’d wanted to do all her life, what she had been readying them for… at 7:00 p.m. she was standing at the podium and the group was big, it was bigger than ever, there must have been thousands this time. This performance was to be done outside and regardless of the light mist that had begun to fall, tickling the backs of everyone’s necks, they began an enthusiastic round of clapping as soon as she reached the stage. The rest filed in behind her and sat. They knew it was going to be today, that this was the last time they were going to be polished and paraded… They were almost as eager as the audience to hear what Vanya said. Although they knew the topic of the talk, they wanted to know how she was going to say it, how she was going to make it sound plausible—it was too big to say simply, bluntly. It must be carefully phrased, oh god, carefully phrased. They were all inwardly amazed that Vanya thought the world was ready for this. Kensley and Donovan sat down at the end, arms crossed across their chests. They hated the idea that Vanya was going to let the secret out…these people weren’t ready. These people were just getting high off this international self help program that would be dropped later…they had the amazing power of suggestion and yes, they’d changed things. School shootings had stopped, people seemed happier… but it was all a show, just like the performances they put on. The people barely came for the words they said, they came for the pyrotechnics and the ability to say yes, I’ve been to an Are You Ready? Performance, whipping out a ticket stub to prove it. Vanya tapped her nails against the metal podium and glanced about. It was the same as everywhere else—there was nothing to show that today was the last appearance she’d make… she and the others in the group were the only ones to know—and most importantly, Casey didn’t know. He had booked more appearances far into the future of the year… they were never going to happen. After today, that was it. After this, there was nothing else she needed to say. She could feel the pressure weighing on her to speak and she tapped the microphone once, twice, three times and then everyone was silent. “When I began these performances, I hadn’t known that they were going to be a series that lasted this long and later, I didn’t think they were ever going to end—it seemed as if I had thousands of topics to speak on! But I don’t. I realized that after Donovan explained some things to me. And in fact, tonight is our last performance.” She glanced to the left and saw Casey’s jaw drop. She had shocked him many times… starting way back when, a lifetime ago, when she’d created the famous clip “Fuck the cue cards.” But this was the biggest one yet. “Yes, this is it. I’m going to let you see one more thing—I’m going to let you know about the one last secret that none of you have ever thought of before. Its going to damn well fix things that you thought there wasn’t even a chance of fixing before. It’s the most important thing I can think of.” She nodded and took another look at the audience…

In the back of the auditorium, there were around 25 video cameras with live film streams, sending their images directly to the networks where they were broadcasted to thousands. She looked carefully at the tilling audience that was waiting impatiently for the inspiring words they expected her to spout. She looked at the way they clutched pens to get post-show autographs. She looked at the way they glowed and how they looked at her with glassy eyes of idolization and somewhere, she knew they weren’t idolizing her knowledge… they were idolizing her fame. They loved the beautiful girl, the confidence that they saw in her. But none of it was real—and none of this was real. Casey wasn’t real. The audience’s attention wasn’t real. The smoke that drifted lazily across the footlights wasn’t real smoke, it came from a block of dry ice. The T-shirts that were sold after the show at a collectible price were cheap and badly made… the programs distributed now looked nothing like the gaudy fliers she had printed up so long ago, dreaming of when she would have the money to make this work. And from there she made the leap… These shows did not reproduce over night from popularity but from money. Things like this took thousands, millions to produce… and Casey had the cash and the connections. Overnight, he could create a star out of a teenage girl who loved to write poetry and short stories and take black and white photographs…who had grown content to reside in the back of coffee shops and to work as a waitress long into the night. She had flown up to the top of everything on the idea that they were adoring her for who she was, for the things she had to say… but they weren’t. She had thrived on the idea that she’d finally been able to make the world ready… it was the slogan—Are You Ready?

“Are you ready?” she whispered softly to herself… They all leaned forward in their seats, wanting to catch each whispered word. She looked at the young girls who had begun to dress like her, cutting their hair short… she looked at the teens who waved colorful signs decorated with markers, saying things like “We love you Vanya!!!” or “Marry me, Ty!!!!” She looked at the reporters who were making hurried observations, jotting down comments in the silence. She looked at the shifting audience who she had thought was ready two minutes ago. She looked at her own mind and saw the big secret resting on the tip of her tongue, ready to slip into the air and be heard… she saw it happening… she would tell the secret, she would let them know how to fix everything, to heal everything… she would tell them what needed to be done—and they would do it. They would do it. But then they’d want more. They’d need more and they’d need something even more flashy and revolutionary next time. The pyrotechnics would need to be fancier, the outfits would need to be more beautiful, the posters would need to boast new, more out-there quotes… they would waste it. She looked at them, she looked at them all who were sitting there, leaning forward, almost tasting the brilliance they wanted from her, the new direction to take their lives… they were silently begging for it. They wanted the new instructions. The needed them, craved them. Vanya looked at the people who she had thought were ready 5 minutes ago and then turned to look at the people behind her. Lined up, sitting in uncomfortable plastic chairs… those were the only ones that were ready. They were beautiful… Donovan sat on the end, long legs fidgeting, wondering what would come next with an unattached interest. Kensley was stunning, sitting beside Donovan with her hand being held gently by Buzz. She faced the audience again and leaned in closer to the microphone and the audience matched her angle and leaned in as well.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re not ready.”

The End.

Sweeeeeeeeeeeet!... Well, go on! And Jasmine, sign your name dammit!

Oh hush. ~Jasmine

This gets more and more suspencefull!!! Keep writing!!!!! Please!

WOW.

Besides the story itself, which I hope you continue, You have some beautifully descriptive phrases there! I'm impressed!

I love it! Write more! The LHF

You already know how much I love this story. I love it more'n ice cream and bowling and sitting on my roof, all put together. this is simply an amazing piece of work. and nothing i could say about it would do it justice. WOW. RoyaBoya

This story...makes me want to live. ~Wind.

this story opens me up to the infinite possibilitys the world has to offer me. it makes me hungry for life. you have incredible talent to be able to do this jasmine. - EmilyOh

Wow....wow....jeeze...wow. that was really really cool. ~Malia