about it.
“Later,” she insists.
The bell rings.
“Come on,” Samantha says, hurrying across the hall to Mrs. Winger’s classroom. “We’re late.”
Mrs. Winger doesn’t say anything to Samantha or me as we dart to our desks. Instead, she passes out a story called “Young Goodman Brown” by Nathaniel Hawthorne. She tells us we’ll want to pay special attention to the symbolism of different elements in the story that represent good and evil. I have no idea how I’m going to concentrate on the story.
She lets us pick partners to work with, so I wordlessly take the desk next to Samantha. Partners in crime, I can’t help but think. She sits with her eyes glued to the badly photocopied story.
“Let’s get this over with.” Sam hunches over her desk and begins slowly reading aloud the story of Young Goodman Brown, a sort of regular guy who goes walking deep in the woods one night and comes across a dude I’m pretty sure is the devil. Brown sees all these people he knows from the village doing some kind of satanic ritual. The kicker is when he finds his own wife, Faith, participating.
“Duh, okay, so that’s a symbol right there. His wife’s name. Write it down. Faith. He lost his faith when he went walking with the devil.” Samantha points at the empty notebook in front of me. I write down her suggestion.
It’s hard to explain, but the story makes me feel really weird. I’m pretty sure it’s about loss of innocence, and I can’t help but feel like I went walking with the devil in the woods last night. Except I’m not sure if the devil was Scotch or whoever slid into me or maybe even me, because I left a boy in a ditch to rot.
“Okay, put your desks in a circle for discussion,” Mrs. Winger calls out. Everyone groans and maneuvers their desks to line the perimeter of the room. She draws a big T-chart on the board and asks for us to name some of the symbols we found.
“His wife,” Samantha blurts. “She represents his faith.”
“Okay,” Mrs. Winger says, scribbling on the whiteboard with a dry-erase marker. “What else?”
“The dark man,” someone else says. “Clearly he was the devil.”
“Good,” says Mrs. Winger. “Why do you think Goodman Brown went walking with the devil, even though he was supposedly a decent fellow?”
I speak up. “Because everyone walks with the devil at one point or another. Even Goodman Brown’s perfect little wife, Faith, was hanging around with the rest of the townspeople in the forest, worshipping Satan. It just means that everyone makes bad choices in their lives. No one’s perfect.”
Especially not me, I think. What if the hours I let pass before telling the police meant the difference between life and death for Scotch?
Samantha looks over at me. “Yeah, but Goodman Brown let it destroy him. If he had just let it go, he would have been so much better off.”
“Interesting,” Mrs. Winger says, tapping the marker against her chin. “You girls really seem to have gotten into the story. I’m impressed.”
The bell rings, and Mrs. Winger scrambles to pick up the photocopied stories.
Samantha and I stay in our seats, staring at each other for just a second. She passes her story to Mrs. Winger and then scoops up her books. She leaves the room without waiting for me.
Chapter Sixteen
T he day seems to go on forever. Finally, the last bell rings. I trudge toward my locker, my textbooks feeling heavier than they normally do. It takes me three tries to get my locker open because my eyes keep blurring when I stare at the little numbers. I am beyond exhausted.
“So Regina is totally pissed.” Mattie leans against the locker next to mine.
“I told her I called the police using the pay phone,” I say wearily. “I don’t know what else she wants me to do. Turn myself in?”
“She keeps talking about how Scotch was misunderstood and really was a good guy underneath it all.”
“Ugh,” I say. Though I feel bad that Scotch’s mom has
“Later,” she insists.
The bell rings.
“Come on,” Samantha says, hurrying across the hall to Mrs. Winger’s classroom. “We’re late.”
Mrs. Winger doesn’t say anything to Samantha or me as we dart to our desks. Instead, she passes out a story called “Young Goodman Brown” by Nathaniel Hawthorne. She tells us we’ll want to pay special attention to the symbolism of different elements in the story that represent good and evil. I have no idea how I’m going to concentrate on the story.
She lets us pick partners to work with, so I wordlessly take the desk next to Samantha. Partners in crime, I can’t help but think. She sits with her eyes glued to the badly photocopied story.
“Let’s get this over with.” Sam hunches over her desk and begins slowly reading aloud the story of Young Goodman Brown, a sort of regular guy who goes walking deep in the woods one night and comes across a dude I’m pretty sure is the devil. Brown sees all these people he knows from the village doing some kind of satanic ritual. The kicker is when he finds his own wife, Faith, participating.
“Duh, okay, so that’s a symbol right there. His wife’s name. Write it down. Faith. He lost his faith when he went walking with the devil.” Samantha points at the empty notebook in front of me. I write down her suggestion.
It’s hard to explain, but the story makes me feel really weird. I’m pretty sure it’s about loss of innocence, and I can’t help but feel like I went walking with the devil in the woods last night. Except I’m not sure if the devil was Scotch or whoever slid into me or maybe even me, because I left a boy in a ditch to rot.
“Okay, put your desks in a circle for discussion,” Mrs. Winger calls out. Everyone groans and maneuvers their desks to line the perimeter of the room. She draws a big T-chart on the board and asks for us to name some of the symbols we found.
“His wife,” Samantha blurts. “She represents his faith.”
“Okay,” Mrs. Winger says, scribbling on the whiteboard with a dry-erase marker. “What else?”
“The dark man,” someone else says. “Clearly he was the devil.”
“Good,” says Mrs. Winger. “Why do you think Goodman Brown went walking with the devil, even though he was supposedly a decent fellow?”
I speak up. “Because everyone walks with the devil at one point or another. Even Goodman Brown’s perfect little wife, Faith, was hanging around with the rest of the townspeople in the forest, worshipping Satan. It just means that everyone makes bad choices in their lives. No one’s perfect.”
Especially not me, I think. What if the hours I let pass before telling the police meant the difference between life and death for Scotch?
Samantha looks over at me. “Yeah, but Goodman Brown let it destroy him. If he had just let it go, he would have been so much better off.”
“Interesting,” Mrs. Winger says, tapping the marker against her chin. “You girls really seem to have gotten into the story. I’m impressed.”
The bell rings, and Mrs. Winger scrambles to pick up the photocopied stories.
Samantha and I stay in our seats, staring at each other for just a second. She passes her story to Mrs. Winger and then scoops up her books. She leaves the room without waiting for me.
Chapter Sixteen
T he day seems to go on forever. Finally, the last bell rings. I trudge toward my locker, my textbooks feeling heavier than they normally do. It takes me three tries to get my locker open because my eyes keep blurring when I stare at the little numbers. I am beyond exhausted.
“So Regina is totally pissed.” Mattie leans against the locker next to mine.
“I told her I called the police using the pay phone,” I say wearily. “I don’t know what else she wants me to do. Turn myself in?”
“She keeps talking about how Scotch was misunderstood and really was a good guy underneath it all.”
“Ugh,” I say. Though I feel bad that Scotch’s mom has
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