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the symbol of so many things that are wrong with this country. I’m personally glad that they’re not sure yet if they’re rebuilding the park.”
    â€œThere’s still Disneyland, though,” Ethan said. “And Disney in Paris, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Shanghai . . . It’s not going anywhere, Disney. If they don’t rebuild this one park, it’s because it seems too insensitive—most people have enough of a conscience to not properly enjoy a theme park directly on the spot where so many people died. But people hate the Judges; they don’t hate Disney. If anything, Disney sales are through the roof right now. People see the mouse ears as solidarity. As if wearing a Mickey shirt somehow supports the victims.”
    â€œUgh, that is so shitty and twisted,” Ari said, “andso exactly against the point of all this. I hope to God that people at least start thinking about what motivated the Judges. Maybe start doing a bit more to deal with all the blatant economic disparity going on. Because it’s not right—it’s not
fair—
that some kids get everything, and some kids are lucky to have one decent meal each day. I mean, come on. All four of us live in gorgeous brownstones, but we’re right up against people who can barely afford the rent of their tiny, roach-infested shitholes each month. And we didn’t do a thing to deserve that.”
    It was true, to some extent, but I still didn’t feel comfortable with this idea that the Judges had a point, no matter how warped and terrible it had become along the way.
    â€œHow else,” Ari continued, “do you suggest these people should have gotten attention? You think protests would change anything? A crowd of
peasants
with posters screaming outside the castle gates?”
    A few classmates in front of us turned in their chairs, their deep frowns and eyes like knives directed straight at Ari.
    â€œ
God
. Just stop talking, you crazy hippie freak. Do you even hear yourself?” The words came out in a snarl from a few rows over. I glanced up to see Carolina Matthews’s perfect pink lips pursed in disgust as she rolled her eyes at Ari. A few classmates snickered.
Crazy hippie freak
. Carolinaflipped her golden curls and turned away from Ari with a dramatic sigh.
    â€œHey. Ignore her. Let it go for now,” Ethan said, batting at Ari with his calculus textbook before she had a chance to bite back at Carolina. But Ari’s usual scowl had slipped, her blank face showing a rare trace of vulnerability. My heart ached for her, this real Ari. The Ari I knew was always there, just below the surface. “I know you wouldn’t advocate killing thousands of innocent people for a cause, but you’re sounding scarily zealous right now. Maybe just scale it down a bit. In public, at least.”
    â€œWhatever, Ethan.” Ari sighed, staring off toward the whiteboard at the front of the room. Ethan opened his mouth to say more, but then flipped through his calculus book instead, his eyes squinted as he seemed to study the page he’d landed on.
    Only Delia’s attention was still focused on me. She reached out slowly and gripped my hand.
I know. I’m scared, too
, her eyes told me. I squeezed back. I’d seen the sketches and paintings she’d been working on in the past month; there was a new darkness there, a new gritty depth. Her art told me things she didn’t always say out loud.
    â€œOkay, guys,” Mrs. Valentine said, rising from the chair behind her desk. “Less chitchat, more
Handmaid’s Tale
. I asked you to think about whether this is a
feminist
work of literature or more a critique of feminism. Any volunteers?Hm? No? Okay, then, Ari, how about you? I know you had a lot to say about feminism and
The Scarlet Letter
 . . .”
    I exhaled and slumped in my seat, letting Mrs. Valentine’s and Ari’s voices blur into a soft, calming hum