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up against the censors. Again.” Dr. Conroy shakes her head. “We didn’t have much of a chance with this one.”
    “How does it get censored? It’s a story about medical marijuana, for crying out loud. It’s, like, about cancer and terminal illness. I put a lot of work into that.”
    “Mr. Remington and Dr. Holden both say the whole thing is a ruse to legalize marijuana, make it so anyone can get their hands on it.”
    “So because that’s what they think, I have to report it that way. What do you think?”
    “You know what I think about censorship,” Dr. Conroy says. “But I don’t have the power to change their minds.”
    “Which means you’re not a concrete worker. Did you show them the article? There isn’t one thing in there about recreational use.”
    “Of course I showed them the article.”
    “And…”
    “And I doubt either one of them read it. In fact I’ll bet Remington is as far as it got.”
    “That’s not fair.”
    “It’s as fair as it would be if he showed it to Dr. Holden. Mr. Remington is a Kennedy compared to Dr. Holden.”
    “So I wrote it for nothing,” Montana says.
    “You wrote it for an A,” Dr. Conroy says back. “Just because we can’t publish it doesn’t mean you don’t get a grade. Look, in another year, you’ll be in college. Your university newspaper would print this in a minute. You make your point; you have great quotes. It’s succinct. A work.”
    Montana stares at the article. “I didn’t write it for a grade. I can get an A anytime. I wrote it to publish.”
    “I know, Montana. But you had to realize there wasn’t a great chance. I mean, how many of your articleshave those guys stopped? You did hunting, which you called ‘slaughtering animals for fun’ you did scientific experimentation on animals, which you called the same thing. You did an article comparing Christianity with Greek mythology. What else?”
    “Gay marriage.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Isn’t there a way around this?”
    Dr. Conroy smiles. “We can take any one of those articles all the way to the school board.”
    “Right,” Montana says. “To my dad. He makes Holden look like a Kennedy.”
    “Lessons in relativity, huh?” Dr. Conroy says.
    “What do you mean?”
    “You know, ‘How far right do you have to go to make blank look like a Kennedy?’ I’ll bet it’s close to infinite.”
    “Huh. If you get much further right than my dad, you’re in outer space.”
    “He means well, Montana.”
    “He means ill.”
    “I believe your father thinks he’s keeping people… children …safe when he makes those decisions.”
    Montana lays her books on Dr. Conroy’s desk and hoists herself up. “How did this happen?”
    Dr. Conroy says, “How did what happen?”
    “I’m young and supposedly optimistic. You’re old and supposedly cynical from experience. How come I get it that my dad is intentionally a dick and you cling to a possibility that isn’t possible?”
    “That bad, huh?”
    “I’m just glad I’m adopted,” Montana says. “At least I don’t have to worry about his DNA getting on me.”
    Dr. Conroy loves the way Montana sees and says things, though political correctness doesn’t always allow her to say so. She’d give a chunk of her paycheck to have more writers like her.
    “God is a wonderful entity,” Montana says. “Takes one look at my father, recognizes the cosmic mistake, and gives him zero sperm count.”
    Dr. Conroy laughs out loud. “How in the world would you know that?”
    “I heard them fighting. That’s a real weapon, I think; sperm count. When she said it, he shut up.”
    “Well, it’s an adult weapon. You need a license to use it.”
    “Yeah, I know. I took it for a trial run.”
    “Grounded?”
    “Till I’m thirty.”
    Dr. Conroy stares at the medical marijuana article.“I’d have a backup to this if you want to keep your name above the fold.”
    Montana twirls her cheek stud between thumb and forefinger. “Hmm.”
    “Pick your