Read Online XGeneration 1: You Don't Know Me by Brad Magnarella - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Brad Magnarella
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period.”
That would be Advanced Placement American history, Janis. And here you’d figured her for a burnout.
Star tensed her lips and eyes into something like a smile, then looked away. Janis’s gaze fell to the black Chuck Taylor perched on Star’s chair. Messages and little pictures covered the high top’s graying rubber. Question Everything! the toe commanded. It seemed her typing neighbor was into skulls and ravens as well.
“Used to be called Americanism versus communism,” Star said.
“I’m sorry?”
“Our history class.”
Star dropped her foot from the chair and smoothed her ruffled skirt. Beneath the black skirt, she wore black tights. A green-checked flannel shirt hung from her rail-thin torso. Janis wondered what her own father would do if she ever tried to leave the house like that. And it went beyond the clothes and makeup. Janis, who had been allowed her first piercing only last year, counted eight black studs around Star’s right ear.
“Florida legislature passed a law back in the sixties forcing the high schools to teach anti-communism. They were afraid we’d reject American consumerism if they didn’t. Isn’t that something? Using the same kind of indoctrinating as the Soviet Union—the evil empire— to cheer our system and crap all over theirs.” She snorted and began nipping at a black-painted pinky nail.
Janis frowned and tried her best to appear thoughtful.
“They only repealed the law last year,” Star went on. “Said it was outdated, and they’re probably right. We’ve got MTV now. And ‘Where’s the beef?’”
Janis nodded, thankful she’d tossed her Wendy’s cup on her way in from the senior parking lot.
“Do you watch MTV?”
“Um, I’ve watched it,” Janis said, “but I wouldn’t say I watch it.”
“Cable’s first nonstop commercial. The new opiate for the masses. And it’s not just music they’re pushing. Take a look around. It’s clothing, accessories. Telling you what to eat, what to smell like, how to act. How to think .” She snorted again. “Everyone wants their MTV. Can’t get enough of it.”
Janis was beginning to regret her decision to open her mouth.
Star narrowed her eyes. “Do you carry plastic?”
“Huh?”
“A credit card.”
“Oh, no.”
“I’m surprised, they’re everywhere. You can get one, she can get one, he can get one. I could probably even get one, and look at me.” She gave a wry smile and went back to work on her hangnail.
“Yeah,” Janis said lamely.
“They’ve swapped cash for debt. Not enough savings to buy those six Swatches you’ve been told you have to have? A little low on Giorgio Beverly Hills? Never fear. Credit is here.” She opened and closed her hands like flashes. “Oh, and that’ll be twenty percent plus principal.”
Margaret had a credit card that she used responsibly and paid off every month, but Janis doubted this would impress Star.
“And you want to know the best part? Every transaction is recorded, right down to your last box of Tampaxes.”
O-o-okay.
“Wanna know why?”
No, actually.
“They’re building a profile of you: what you buy, what brand, how much, when you buy it. Before long, they’ll know you better than you know yourself. And then—boom—they own you. Manipulating desires that are no longer yours in order to fleece money you never had to begin with. And guess who’s on the hook?” She aimed her finger at Janis, then herself. “And here we are, just bopping our heads along to the music.”
Janis glanced around at the other desks she might have taken.
“And everyone thought Big Brother was going to be government. Turns out it’s big business.”
“Seems a tad dramatic,” Janis said, channeling her father’s pragmatism.
Black flames seemed to burst behind Star’s eyes, burning away any lingering impressions of despondency. “Oh, really?” Her gaze searched all over Janis before latching onto her pants. “Guess jeans. What did those
That would be Advanced Placement American history, Janis. And here you’d figured her for a burnout.
Star tensed her lips and eyes into something like a smile, then looked away. Janis’s gaze fell to the black Chuck Taylor perched on Star’s chair. Messages and little pictures covered the high top’s graying rubber. Question Everything! the toe commanded. It seemed her typing neighbor was into skulls and ravens as well.
“Used to be called Americanism versus communism,” Star said.
“I’m sorry?”
“Our history class.”
Star dropped her foot from the chair and smoothed her ruffled skirt. Beneath the black skirt, she wore black tights. A green-checked flannel shirt hung from her rail-thin torso. Janis wondered what her own father would do if she ever tried to leave the house like that. And it went beyond the clothes and makeup. Janis, who had been allowed her first piercing only last year, counted eight black studs around Star’s right ear.
“Florida legislature passed a law back in the sixties forcing the high schools to teach anti-communism. They were afraid we’d reject American consumerism if they didn’t. Isn’t that something? Using the same kind of indoctrinating as the Soviet Union—the evil empire— to cheer our system and crap all over theirs.” She snorted and began nipping at a black-painted pinky nail.
Janis frowned and tried her best to appear thoughtful.
“They only repealed the law last year,” Star went on. “Said it was outdated, and they’re probably right. We’ve got MTV now. And ‘Where’s the beef?’”
Janis nodded, thankful she’d tossed her Wendy’s cup on her way in from the senior parking lot.
“Do you watch MTV?”
“Um, I’ve watched it,” Janis said, “but I wouldn’t say I watch it.”
“Cable’s first nonstop commercial. The new opiate for the masses. And it’s not just music they’re pushing. Take a look around. It’s clothing, accessories. Telling you what to eat, what to smell like, how to act. How to think .” She snorted again. “Everyone wants their MTV. Can’t get enough of it.”
Janis was beginning to regret her decision to open her mouth.
Star narrowed her eyes. “Do you carry plastic?”
“Huh?”
“A credit card.”
“Oh, no.”
“I’m surprised, they’re everywhere. You can get one, she can get one, he can get one. I could probably even get one, and look at me.” She gave a wry smile and went back to work on her hangnail.
“Yeah,” Janis said lamely.
“They’ve swapped cash for debt. Not enough savings to buy those six Swatches you’ve been told you have to have? A little low on Giorgio Beverly Hills? Never fear. Credit is here.” She opened and closed her hands like flashes. “Oh, and that’ll be twenty percent plus principal.”
Margaret had a credit card that she used responsibly and paid off every month, but Janis doubted this would impress Star.
“And you want to know the best part? Every transaction is recorded, right down to your last box of Tampaxes.”
O-o-okay.
“Wanna know why?”
No, actually.
“They’re building a profile of you: what you buy, what brand, how much, when you buy it. Before long, they’ll know you better than you know yourself. And then—boom—they own you. Manipulating desires that are no longer yours in order to fleece money you never had to begin with. And guess who’s on the hook?” She aimed her finger at Janis, then herself. “And here we are, just bopping our heads along to the music.”
Janis glanced around at the other desks she might have taken.
“And everyone thought Big Brother was going to be government. Turns out it’s big business.”
“Seems a tad dramatic,” Janis said, channeling her father’s pragmatism.
Black flames seemed to burst behind Star’s eyes, burning away any lingering impressions of despondency. “Oh, really?” Her gaze searched all over Janis before latching onto her pants. “Guess jeans. What did those
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