Wide Awake Read Online Free PDF

down.
    I saw Jesse and Satch and their gang sniggering at their table. They kept saying the word
Kansas,
and I could tell from their expressions that they felt the election wasn’t over yet. Jesse made some Stein jokes and made sure everyone in the cafeteria could hear them—“What do you call it when Stein’s husband has sex with him? Fill-a-Stein. Get it?”—and I had to say to myself,
They’re only trying to make us afraid again. If we’re not intimidated by them, they have no power.
    “It’s why
loser
has stayed an insult for so long,” I said to Janna, who along with the rest of the table was very aware of what Jesse and his group were doing. “Calling someone a loser is a way of saying
I’ve won
without having to actually win anything.”
    “Don’t listen to them,” Jimmy told me. “This time they’ve lost.”
    But I would’ve believed it more if they looked like they’d lost. Or acted like they’d lost.
    “Do they know something we don’t?” I asked.
    “No,” Janna said emphatically, “they don’t.”
    Luckily, the conversation was turned by the arrival of Gus, who had to be my favorite gay Jesus Freak postconsumer activist. None of his clothes had labels, but he always made sure they fit really, really well. You could see almost every chest and stomach muscle underneath his plum-pink shirt, as well as the small Jesus that always hung from his neck.
    “Who made y’all such doomster gloomsters, la? The country’s painted green and we must cel-e-brate!”
    “We’re just worried about Kansas,” Mandy admitted.
    “Kansas
Kansas,
” Gus said dismissively. “That governor won’t do diddly, la. If he tries, he’ll have a higher power to answer to—and I’m not talking ’bout Stein. C’mon—how ’bout we swing by the non-mall and make some donation purchases before we go to the victory party? That’s how we know for certain-sure that the election is secure: The party’s still on.”
    Gus had been a volunteer at campaign headquarters with us. He’d started off on the phone banks…until it became obvious that he was confusing some of the older voters with the way he talked. So instead he became a Stein street preacher, chatting up people face to face, winning some over with the facts and a smile.
    I also started off on the phone banks, and also switched away from them—but for a totally different reason. I thought I’d be fine at first—all we really had to do was talk to random citizens and upload them Stein’s position papers if they had specific questions, like “How will Stein compensate for the fuel crisis in Dry Alaska?” or “Where does Stein stand on Jesus in schools?” or even “Why should I vote for a gay guy?” I figured I could handle it.
    But then I started making the calls, and I was shocked by how mean the people could be. We were careful not to call during dinnertime or too late, so they weren’t angry for that reason. No—they took one look at my face on their phones, or heard what I was saying, and immediately started lashing out. Not everyone, certainly. There were many, many people who didn’t support Stein but still supported common courtesy and understanding. Even though I disagreed with those people, I appreciated them. It was the others—the people who felt it was their right to attack—who volted me. It was worse if they had the phonescreens on, so I had to get yelled at face to face. One of the conservative radiomeisters had told his listeners to stick their double asshalfs at us if we called. That wasn’t too bad—we used the freeze-screen feature and printed out our favorite rude butt shots. It was just stupid. But the anger, the yelling, the names I was called just for being a Stein supporter by people I’d never met—that wasn’t stupidity as much as loathing and fear.
    This was my weakness: I couldn’t stand meanness. It unnerved me. With people like Jesse, it was one thing; I knew them, and expected it, and knew that even if they