Read Not Your Sidekick for Free Online Page B

the club.
    â€œHeyyy, Jess,” Darryl says, smiling at her.
    Jess looks at the floor. “Hey, I’m on my way to class.”
    â€œSo, did you hear we’re raising money for—”
    Jess pushes past him. “I’m not in Rainbow Allies.”
    â€œI know, I know! It’s just that, you know, you’re always welcome, you know, and I know you’re part of the community—”
    â€œGet to the point.”
    Jess makes a quick turn around a corner. Darryl, to his credit, manages to keep up with her.
    â€œWe just need more volunteers to help us meet our fundraising goal for the quarter—”
    â€œYou’re fundraising for new T-shirts, ” Jess says. “You guys don’t really do anything other than hang out together at lunch and occasionally wear the matching T-shirts.”
    â€œOh, c’mon, we totally petitioned the school board about—”
    â€œIt’s a ‘no,’ Darryl; I’ll see you around.” Jess steps into her English class. She frowns, hearing Darryl curse to himself before the door shuts.
    The room is peaceful; lining the wall are familiar colorful posters about books she’d loved discussing or projects she had fun working on. This is an AP class, and it’s her only one. She loves Ms. Rhinehart, an eccentric woman who favors circular seating patterns and has no problem when students curse in class or even eat snacks. Ms. Rhinehart makes up for leniency with frequent written quizzes, challenging projects, and interesting reading assignments.
    The door opens again, and Darryl follows her into the room. Ms. Rhinehart is the advisor for Rainbow Allies, but she’s got a laid-back attitude in contrast to Darryl’s gung-ho persistence, and raises her eyebrow as Darryl keeps talking about the fundraiser.
    â€œDarryl, you’re not in this period,” Ms. Rhinehart says.
    â€œI know, I just wanted to see if Jess wanted to help with—”
    She places a firm hand on Darryl’s shoulder and points him toward the door. “Bell’s about to ring.”
    Darryl casts Jess a frustrated look before he leaves, not before saying something sharply under his breath that Jess hears with a cold pang of hurt.
    â€œSorry about that,” Ms. Rhinehart says. “He gets a little carried away with his president duties; for some reason he thinks trying to raise money is the same thing as annoying people into helping him, even if they might not be interested.”
    â€œI’m not a traitor to the cause,” Jess says softly.
    â€œDid he call you that?” Ms. Rhinehart clicks her tongue. “I’m going to have words with him after school.”
    Jess sits down and, with a sigh, pulls up the holobooks for class on her DED. The class starts with ten minutes of quick writing in their journals, and then moves on to a discussion of The Wasteland . Jess eagerly starts planning the visual project for their current assignment.
    Lunchtime is much more fun, and she waves brightly to her friends in the cafeteria as they join the throngs of students lining up for food. MonRobots are distributing the lunches in an efficient fashion, ladling out government-issue vegetable chili with sides of tater tots and wilted salad greens. Andover Heights isn’t a particularly rich neighborhood, but a few students scattered throughout the cafeteria have brought their own lunch. Jess can smell the rich aroma of roasted chicken wafting from a nearby table.
    She thinks about one of the twenty-first century movies she saw last week, where hamburgers were served at a typical high school lunch, and wonders what that must have been like. Not just the availability of meat, either, but the abundance and diversity of fresh fruits and vegetables. Ever since the Disasters, it’s been a struggle to grow enough food to feed everyone. Now everyone makes do with what can be grown from the little fertile land left.
    The Nevada region