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Maureen clears her throat again. “Okay,” she says slowly, rubbing along her temple. “You have made your point, Piper. But there is still the issue of swimming at the lake.”
“There is no issue,” I tell her. “You know why? Because it cancels out. I have a right to privacy. Those pictures were posted without my permission. Furthermore, it was Barbara’s daughter, Amy, who identified me in the pictures, which makes me think this whole thing is a conflict of interest. Certainly Barbara here is biased.”
“I am not biased,” she says in a huff.
I ignore her. “I have a right to privacy. Maybe I shouldn’t have been in the lake, but you don’t have the right to preside over everything I do. Those photos should have never been published.”
“It was in public,” Maureen says.
“But it wasn’t, according to you,” I remind her. “Look, you gave me the two reasons why you called this meeting, and I argued my case on each one. But what it really comes down to is, you don’t know me. You can’t vouch for me. Only Georgia here knows me, and that’s because I work with her. I’ve lived here for years, and yet I barely recognize any of you. That’s partially your fault, for not getting to know your educators. It’s also partially my fault for being a hermit. But why am I a hermit? Because I don’t feel welcome here. I feel like if I’m myself, I’ll be judged and pushed to the side. It’s hard to see it when you’re in it, but since I still feel like an outsider, I’ll explain to you what I see, from the outside looking in.
“Why do people move to a small town or to an island?” I start ticking off my fingers. “They want peace. They want privacy. They want a sense of community, a place where they can both be themselves and belong. But that’s not what they get anymore. There is no peace when there is no privacy, when people think they have the right to know everything about a person, purely so they can judge them. There is no sense of community when people are made to feel like outsiders. We should be protecting each other, looking out for each other, respecting each other. But that doesn’t happen.”
I point at the secretary treasurer, whatever his name is. “You. See, I don’t even know who you are. We’re told about community, but we don’t even really know each other. Why do you think the duke and duchess moved here to this island? Was it for the weather?”
The man looks around for help, his eyes wide beneath his glasses. “Uh, no?”
“Do you think they moved here because they wanted a place to relax, to be themselves, to live their lives out from under that ever-present microscope?”
“Uh, yes?”
“Well, you’re right. That’s what they wanted. But that’s not what they got. We should have been protecting them from day one. Instead, all you did was complain about the media circus. You complained about the people coming in, people, as if they don’t contribute to the economy. You looked at them like they were outsiders, and you do that to a lot of people, not just them. And it’s not unique to this place; this happens everywhere. We’re so obsessed with our little bubbles that we become afraid to let other people in. We put blinders on, and we shut people out, and when we do finally look at them, we think we have the right to know everything. This isn’t about getting to know your fellow neighbor; this is about finding ways to continually shun them. If we want to truly be a great community, we have to be inclusive, regardless of what someone does, or reads, or where they come from.”
I’m tired now. My mouth won’t stop flapping, and I’m babbling and off-topic, and I knew this would happen once I got going.
“All right, Piper,” Maureen says after a moment. “Are you done?”
“Are you?”
She nods. “We’ll deliberate and let you know.”
I have to fight to not roll my eyes. After all that, pouring my soul out, defending my character, they still have to talk it over? Fucking bureaucracy.
I get up, giving Georgia a grateful smile, and then leave.
The moment I’m out the door, I practically collapse in Harrison’s arms.
“Good job,” Harrison says to me, holding me close, his chin resting on my head. “You were phenomenal, Piper. You really were.”
“I feel like an ass,” I mumble into his chest.
He chuckles warmly. “Well, you did not sound it.” He pulls away and peers at me, holding me by the shoulders. “And nope, you certainly don’t look it either.”
“Is it too early for a drink?” I whine as he puts his arm around me and leads me out of the school.
