Tessa scoffed loudly enough for him to hear.
He directed his attention to her and said somewhat curtly, “Do you have something to add, Miss Ellis?”
“I might.”
“And that is?”
“Melody is right.”
Arms folded now. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“That ‘some nonfiction is made up’?” When he went on he mocked the way Melody had said the words. “And, like ‘fiction is novels’?”
Okay, that was it.
“That’s right.”
“Well, I’m afraid both you and Miss Carver haven’t been paying close enough attention in class.”
Tessa saw Melody gaze down at her textbook, more embarrassed than before.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Tessa asked her teacher.
“Do what?”
“This? You and me, here in front of the whole class?”
Stillness invaded the classroom. Every student who’d been shuffling in his seat or doodling or sneaking out his cell phone to text stopped and stared at Tessa.
Fire rose in Mr. Tilson’s eyes.
He walked briskly to his desk and picked up the English textbook he’d chosen to use for the year and flipped through it, then said, “Page two twenty-five: ‘Fiction refers to stories that come from the imagination of the author; nonfiction refers to the record of facts.’” He closed the book authoritatively, placed it on his desk.
“That’s not the only place that textbook is wrong,” Tessa said.
“Well, perhaps you can enlighten us then.” He spread out his hands. “About how Baldric and Grisham are wrong.”
“Do you know Latin, Mr. Tilson?”
“Do I know Latin?”
“Yes. It’s the language Baldric and Grisham refer to as ‘dead,’ even though it’s not.”
“Latin isn’t spoken anywhere anymore, Miss Ellis. Thus it is referred to as a dead language.”
“It’s spoken at the Vatican. It’s not dead. So do you know it?”
His jaw tightened. “What does Latin have to do with the distinction between fiction and nonfiction?”
“The word ‘fact’ comes from the Latin facere—to make or do. The word ‘fiction’ comes from the Latin fingere—to make or shape, more specifically referring to the way a potter would shape his clay.”
“Well, then, it still remains that ‘fact’ means ‘a thing that is done’ and ‘fiction’ means ‘a thing that is made up.’”
“But that’s not true anymore.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Is poetry made up?”
“Yes, of course.”
“At every library and on every bestseller list in the country, poetry is classified as nonfiction.”
“Well, perhaps that’s because it’s based on the poet’s observations of real life.”
Even he had to know how lame an answer that was, but Tessa wasn’t going to be finical.
“And plays are nonfiction. So if I were to write a novel, it would be fiction, but if I were to leave out the passages of narration and the descriptions and simply include the dialogue and some stage directions, the story would be categorized as nonfiction.”
“I don’t believe that’s the case.”
“It is. And graphic novels are nonfiction, too. So novels without pictures are fiction; novels with pictures are nonfiction.”
“No, they’re not.”
“If you’d like, we could take a field trip down the hall to the library, find out for sure. Comic books are also classified as nonfiction. So are humor and joke books. That’s why Dave Barry won a Pulitzer prize — for writing a humor column. So here’s my question: are you really telling us that poetry, plays, jokes, humor, graphic novels, and comic books are all factual? That none of them are made up? Melody was precisely correct: novels are fiction and some nonfiction is made up. You, Baldric, and Grisham are wrong.”
The bell rang but no one in the class moved.
“Miss Ellis, I would like you to stay for a moment after class.”
“Not a problem.”
“The rest of you are dismissed.”
No one moved.
“Dismissed.”
At last the students shuffled out of the room. Tessa picked up her book bag, slung its strap over her shoulder, and stood unmoving beside her desk. Mr. Tilson was glaring at her from the front of the room but she didn’t care and she didn’t look away.
As the last few students were leaving, Tessa crossed the room to his desk.
When he spoke to her, she sensed that he was trying to slap her in the face with his words. “You haven’t graduated yet, Miss Ellis. Don’t burn bridges that you haven’t crossed. The final grade for your senior project has not been submitted yet.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Hardly. I would never threaten a student. I’m simply exhorting you to focus on your work.”
“Ah. Well, I’ll exhort you to stop putting Melody on the spot or else I’ll point out other places where your precious Baldric and Grisham — and you — are wrong.”
She exited the room and didn’t turn around, even when he called her to come back, even when he warned her not to walk away from him like that.
This was not the day to threaten her. Not when her mom-to-be was in the hospital and there was a serial killer out there targeting the people she loved.
Just down the hallway, she found Melody waiting beside the drinking fountain near Aiden’s locker — oh, yeah, Tessa definitely knew where that was.
“Tess.” Melody had a breezy smile and was one of the Beautiful People. She wore a gentle pink sweater that looked like it was made out of Muppet hair, but she somehow managed to make it look cute.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Aiden materialized from a clutch of students and went to put his books away. Blond hair that was a little too long, a little unkempt. An infectiously impetuous smile. Oh, man. Tessa tried to focus on her conversation with Melody, but it was not easy.
“Okay.”
“No,” Melody said. “Seriously, I mean it. I don’t know why he does that, it’s just… Anyway. Thanks.”
Aiden glanced Tessa’s way, and she pretended not to notice.
“You had the right answer, Melody. All I did was agree with you.”
It looked like putting his books away was taking Aiden longer than it needed to.
“You’re awesome.”
Tessa looked at Melody again. No one except Patrick had ever told her that she was awesome. “Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
Then Melody thanked her again, said they should hang out more. “There are a bunch of us going out for supper before prom Friday night. You should join us.” She winked good-naturedly. “You got a date, right?”
“Oh. Sure. Of course.”
“Text me.”
“Yeah, I’ll let you know.” They exchanged numbers.
Tessa appreciated the offer but knew she wouldn’t take Melody up on it — even if she actually did have a date. Melody’s crowd was definitely not into fringers like her.
Then Melody flitted away and merged with the stream of students walking past them — the stream that was not swallowing Aiden.
Tessa tried to hide from looking at him and checked her texts to see if there was anything from Patrick about Lien-hua and saw that he wanted her to go to the office and talk to the public safety officer ASAP.
When she looked up Aiden was right beside her. “Hey,” he said.
She flushed. She couldn’t help it. “Hey.”
“I heard about what happened in there. In Tilson’s class.”
Already?!
“Oh.”
“That was cool. What you did. I mean, standing up to him. He can be a real… Well…”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
Awkward silence.
Awkward, awkward silence.