Fiction | March 02, 2021

The bleachers at this little alternative college are full of kids who are not Mookie’s typical demographic: hair dye, no shoes, many piercings, diverse, androgynous, every type of kid you can imagine, kids fluent in lifestyles that big parts of the country haven’t even learned to fear yet.

Mookie was built for the ignorant and boorish, but this school paid for the presentation, so here we go. I place his marker card on the stage. I retreat behind the curtain, chew my nails, sweat. I press the INITIATE button on the remote.

If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.