Page 17 of TJ Powar Has Something to Prove
The whole room is riveted. Nate’s expression has become unusually pensive. Yara bites her nails, and Charlie stares into space. Even Simran pauses in writing her notes. TJ wonders if they, like her, are thinking of what they’d ask from the gene fairy. She already knows what she’d wish for. Wherever the hairiness is in her DNA, she’dsnip snip snipit right out.
Dr. Chen adds, “This technology has the potential to improve a lot of lives. But the idea of playing with our own genome is still pretty controversial.”
“Why?” Saad asks.
“Well, first of all, ethically, preventing things like genetic abnormalities may seem like an easy choice, but that logic gets shakier the more you examine it. What’s really a disease, and what’s just diversity? Who gets to decide?” His brows crease. “And it goes even further than that. We might not know all the consequences of deleting a gene from the pool until later down the line. You’ve heard of the Irish Potato Famine, right?” Nods. “That happened because farmers all bred the same kind of potato. When they got infected with fungus, theyallgot infected, because there were no resistant strains to fall back on. No diversity. What might happen to us if we start trying to achieve the same sort of genetic health ideal?”
The conversation continues for a while. Some of the others are clearly way more into the topic than TJ is. She just tries her best to keep up. Once Dr. Chen has fielded all the eager questions, he leaves, waving them farewell from the door.
TJ taps her pen against her lips. A headache is building as she stares down at her notes.
“Cheer up, TJ,” Nate says, and she blinks to find him looking at her from across the semicircle. “The resolution’s not that bad. At least it’s not like that debate a few years back on euthanasia where you thought we were arguing the existence of Youth In Asia—”
“For about two seconds!” TJ snaps. “And I wasthirteen—”
“Enough, Nate,” Mr. York barks, and Nate’s smirk fades. This is what TJ appreciates about the Whitewater debate coach. He may be a hard-ass, but he’s an equal opportunity hard-ass. “Now, let’s talk debate practice for the next few months. Forthose of you new to Provincials, all our qualifying teams practice together as much as possible. You won’t be facing each other at the tournament. The competition is over. We’re all on the same side now.”
TJ almost snorts. Yeah, right. The top two seniors from their region will get spots at the national competition. They may not be facing each other directly at Provincials, but they’re still competing.
Mr. York goes on. “After Winter Break, we’ll be meeting once a week to practice, rotating our sessions between all the schools represented here. Since Dr. Chen has given us a lot to think about, let’s—”
“Go home for the holidays?” suggests one of the novice debaters.
“—play a game of Word Salad.”
Groans from the group.
Word Salad is a sadistic game Mrs. Scott crafted in which everyone writes an object or concept on a slip of paper and puts it in a basket. Then they take turns going up to the front and freestyling a speech based on whatever subject they pull out of the hat on the spot. But that’s not all—thirty seconds in, you draw another paper, and have to find a way to segue the speech intothattopic. And then once more, or however many rounds Mrs. Scott feels like on that particular day.
They’re doing three rounds, so everyone’s tasked with filling out three slips each. TJ stares at hers and draws a blank. Not a single subject is coming to mind. Finally she gives up and scribbles down three words that Freud would have a fieldday with:Soccer.Hair. And finally...Beautiful.
There. It’s anonymous anyway. She drops her slips into the pot.
“Charlie, you’ll start,” Mr. York says. “You’re closest to the front.”
Charlie’s never been particularly good at this game, from TJ’s observations. But he gets up from his chair as if he is, straightening the black blazer he’s wearing over a white tee. He’d probably call this dressing down, with those skinny pants rolled up at the ankle and pristine white Vans. TJ would wager he has a bigger closet than she does.
Plucking a slip from the pot, he reads clearly, “Underwear.” Snickers arise from the crowd, especially one of the ninth graders, the clear mastermind behind the slip. That’s another thing about this game. Everyone tries to make it as entertaining as possible.
Charlie, of course, hardly blinks. “Underwear. We all wear it, there’s a whole section in the department store devoted to it, and whole companies designed to make us look our best under our clothes.” His dramatic speaking style makes him sound like he’s delivering a TED Talk. However, he’s also pausing longer than usual, which TJ smugly notes to mean he’s trying to run the clock until the next topic. “But for most of us, while underwear is crucial, we might not even think about it much. After all, it’s rarely ever seen—”
“Speak for yourself,” Nate heckles. Mr. York shushes him.
Charlie continues as if he hadn’t spoken. “—and when itisseen, well, you don’t see it for that long anyway.”
“PG-13, please, Charlie,” Mr. York says resignedly. His watch dings. Charlie reaches into the pot again. Withdraws another.
“But despite all that,” he goes on, and looks up to make eye contact with TJ, “there’s an entire industry built on it beingbeautiful.”
TJ crosses and uncrosses her legs nervously. He recognized her handwriting? But of course. They’ve been debating since they were twelve. Maybe she should’ve stuck to getting the Brazilian. It’d probably be less uncomfortable than this.
Charlie, meanwhile, launches into his next point. “Why do people shop for beautiful underwear? There’s the obvious reasons, of course, which I can’t talk about without being thrown out of this classroom.” Mr. York massages his temples. “But there’s other reasons. There are people who say that wearing nice underwear makes them feel more confident, more right in their own skin, despite the fact that no one’s seeing it. But why is that so empowering? Is it the knowledge that the underwearwouldbe beautiful if someone saw it? Is it that wearing something beautiful makes you feel the same way? Why do beautiful things have such an impact on us?”
Mr. York’s watch beeps again. He thrusts the pot in front of Charlie, looking like he sorely regrets this whole idea.“Next.”
Charlie withdraws his last topic from the pot. He takes a quick glance at it and then again, longer this time.
“Charlie,” Mr. York says after several seconds. “No hesitation allowed, remember? Just try to work it in.”