The Geek Revolution ✓

35 | ceasefire

REECE'S CAR IS AN ABSOLUTE enigma to me.

There was a fair amount of shock when I realised he was leading me to the school car park, which only grew when Reece unlocked his car and gestured for me to get in. "Sorry for dragging you out here." Reece sullenly says, "This is my calm place. Better than a classroom, in my opinion."

I disagree. I've always taken a liking to classrooms. But if being in his car will make Reece more comfortable, therefore more likely to tell me things, then I will gladly oblige. "It's fine."

The outside of his car is so pristine, with a shiny black finish and sleek streamlines. But inside? Oh, boy.

It's practically a junkyard.

Old clothes, a folded lawn chair and books — so many books. I can't read any of the titles from my vantage point, but I do glimpse a football star's biography among them. The clutter is on the cusp of becoming a hoarder's dream. An easy explanation for this would be that Reece dumps whatever junk he can't be bothered taking home in the back seats.

Slightly disturbed, but mostly curious, I ask, "What's with all the junk?"

Reece stays frozen for a moment, then says roughly, defensively, "It's not junk."

"Oh."

Confused, I twist around. Upon further inspection, my impression of the paraphernalia in the backseat changes. The lawn chair is placed parallel to the door. While all the clothes are ratty and discoloured, they ultimately are folded neatly and stacked carefully. On top of the shirts and jackets are the books, gathering dust in symmetrical rows.

With each passing second, the mess in Reece's car morphs into something more structured than random discards. Little things tell me this is something intentional. Like everything here means a great deal to him. "Um. Not to be rude, but I didn't come here to stare at your childhood toys."

His eyebrows tug upwards ever so slightly, surprised at the lack of interest from me about why his car is so full of oddities. "I know," he begins. "Whatever you said to Brittany before winter break really rattled her. I've never seen her so anxious." So Reece doesn't know what we talked about. Does he know that I eavesdropped on him?

"Thanks to you and all the different ways you've come for her, she doesn't feel safe anywhere. You geeks have spread your little fight online, in front of the teachers, in front of the town, amongst the student body."

I stifle a scoff. So what if we used everything available to us? School events, town events, assemblies, the internet, the clubs. Video, photos, music, words. We had to get creative to fight the Monarchy.

"And we all realised that she was acting more and more crazy since your run-in. She started making threats not just to students but to us, too. She's never done that before, because we're worth way too much to her."

His voice is so smooth and pensive that I start rethinking what he said. Suddenly it's not so absurd, how his car is his safe place. He looks comfortable here, despite me soaking up every word I can. And being here when the car is clearly quite sacred to Reece should make me feel a bit imposing.

But I tell myself that if Reece didn't want me here, then he wouldn't have offered. The shadow of his thoughts graces his features, as he stares at the intricate charm hanging from the rearview mirror. It's a little sculpture of the Seattle Space Needle.

"The four of us made her take a mental health break."

I feel like spitting out that everyone deserves a mental health break from what Brittany's done to them, but I don't deny what the Revolution must have made her feel. Insecure, even threatened. Instead I ask, masking my irritation, "Why would she need a mental health break?"