Happy Utopia Day, Joe McCarthy

Chapter 16

I would like to make it clear that I think the oath which every person in this government takes to protect this country towers far above any presidential security directive. 

—Senator Joseph McCarthy 

Derek and i are off the bus and walking around the Arizona State University campus. 

“Should we just start asking people if they know a Wiz-kid?” 

“There’s gotta be a better way,” Derek says. 

“Mister Allen!” 

We turn. Rachel is walking toward us with another girl. 

“This is Jenny,” she says. 

Jenny gives a short wave. She looks vaguely familiar. 

Cannonball looks like he recognizes her, too. He is overly polite. “Hello, Jenny. Pleased to meet you.” 

“Jenny knows your Wizkid.” Rachel gives us a proud smile. 

Jenny rolls her eyes. “Randall Linquist. The geeks he hangs with call him the Wizkid.” 

“So you know how we can contact him?” Derek asks. 

“I can give you his number.” Jenny jumps behind Derek. She holds on to his shoulders and hides her head behind his back. “There’s Randall now!” 

“Why are you hiding?” Derek asks. 

“We went on one date last year,” Jenny whispers. “He’s sort of been in love with me ever since.” She looks around Derek and barely points with her finger. “There—he lives in Hassa dorm.” 

We look across the street to a brown brick seven-story dorm. People are walking in and out of the busy lobby. 

Coming through the parking lot on a beat-up ten-speed bike is a tall skinny white student wearing blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and a ratty backpack. He lifts a leg over his bike frame and coasts, standing off to the side on one pedal. 

“He’s strange. Always on the move.” 

Wizkid slams into a bike rack with a jangled clank. His curly black mop of hair grooves with the motion. 

“We better go,” Derek says. 

Rachel and Jenny start to walk away. “Okay, then. Come to the party if you guys are around,” Rachel says. 

“Sure,” I say, knowing full well I wouldn’t be going to a college party. 

“Thanks,” Derek says. 

Derek and I head across the street toward the dorm. “I think Jenny is the president’s daughter,” he says. 

I remember now: The president said his daughter was friends with Wizkid. I can’t remember the last time I saw an image of her in the media, but she has definitely matured some since then. I look back toward Jenny and Rachel walking away. Just as I suspected; two Secret Service men tail Jenny from two hundred yards behind. I hope these guys are just her regular protection and don’t recognize Derek and me. 

Wizkid kicks his bike and runs across the parking lot toward the dorm. 

Derek charges ahead of me to meet him. “Excuse me. Hey, buddy. Excuse me.” 

Wizkid has no choice but to stop when Derek blocks his way. He nervously looks at Derek and then at me. Wizkid’s pasty white skin looks unhealthy, like he has spent too much time in front of a computer. His rail-thin body shakes when he talks. This is the genius who has created the fake invasions.