before
Cary’s mom had needed her car, so Shiloh and Cary were walking home from school. It was a forty-minute walk, and they had to go through rough neighborhoods where nobody knew them. (North Omaha was a collection of rough neighborhoods, but it was different when it was your own.)
Cary was wearing his ROTC uniform, which made everything worse.
Shiloh hated his ROTC uniform. She hated what it stood for—like, wars and killing babies, and the obvious Hitler Youth resonance—and she also hated it because it was sougly. The boxy green poly-blend suit, the pale green shirt, the black polyester tie.
The pants didn’t fit anyone correctly, especially not the girls. They were too wide at the bottom, and Cary’s were too short—because he’d gotten his uniform while he was still growing. He wasstillgrowing.
People in ROTC had to wear their uniforms every Monday, even when it was hot, and they always sort of smelled. Like, in the car with Cary on a Monday morning, Shiloh could smell his uniform. The staleness. The old sweat. It’s not like anyone ever had their ROTC jacket professionally cleaned. Cary had a bunch of ribbons and medals on his chest, and Shiloh was so grossed out by ROTC that she never even messed with them.
Shiloh hated that Cary was in ROTC. Shehatedit. She generally tried not to think about it—but she couldn’tnotthink about it right now, because they were out of their neighborhood, and he was in his stupid uniform. The high-water pants. The short-sleeved shirt that drew attention to his bruised-looking elbows. He was carrying hisjacket over his arm. Somebody had already leaned out of a car and shouted,“What’s up, Beetle Bailey?”And that was probably thenicestbad thing that could possibly happen at the moment, but it was still so humiliating. It reminded Shiloh of the time she’d been walking home with Cary in junior high, and someone had driven by and yelled,“Your girl has a fat ass!”And both of them had been too embarrassed to even talk to each other for the rest of the way home—Shiloh could hardlylookat Cary, and when she had, she could tell that he was just as mortified as she was.
“I don’t know why you have to wear that all day,” Shiloh said now. Ten minutes after“Beetle Bailey!”and with at least fifteen minutes left on their walk. They were finally on familiar territory, walking past the pawnshop and the liquor store and the barbershop where all the old white guys in the neighborhood got their hair cut too short. (Almost no one in the world did anything right. Everyone’s hair was too long or too short. Everyone was too loud or too quiet. Nothing was the right color. Music was embarrassing. Movies were confusing. Shiloh hated it. She hated it all.)
“It’s required.”
“You could change your clothes after ROTC class.”
“It’s required that we stay in uniform all day.”
“Iwould change,” she said, “if it wereme.”
“You’d get a demerit.”
“Perish the thought.”
Cary didn’t reply to that. He probably didn’t think there was anything more to say. Shiloh felt like hitting him. She felt like tripping him. She felt like pushing him off the sidewalk.
“I don’t understand why you want this all the time,” she said. “Like, for yourwhole life.”
Cary was joining the Navy after graduation. He’d already been accepted. He was going to get free college, Shiloh didn’t know the details—because she didn’t ask about it. Because shehatedthat it was happening.
“It’s only six years,” Cary said.
“Six years of following orders and...” Shiloh tried to find a way to say the worst of it. “And being atool.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a tool. Tools are necessary.”
“A tool of... of acorruptgovernment.”
He didn’t say anything, so Shiloh kept going. “Like, you know that the military has committed atrocities.Atrocities.And you still want to be part of it.”
“I’m not going to commit atrocities,” Cary said flatly.
Shiloh had never said anything flatly. “You don’t get achoice. They don’tconsultwith you. It’s not like there’s an atrocity track and a non-atrocity track. Do you think the soldiers at My Laiopted in?”
“You don’t know anything about My Lai,” he said.
Cary knew all about it. He read military books and watched war movies. The teacher who headed up ROTC had served in Vietnam, and he told the ROTC kids real battle stories.
It was pretty fucked up that their school had two ROTC teachers, and they were in uniform all the time, and it was like they had their ownunit,right at the high school! Why did public schools need military units? Starting in seventh grade? Twelve-year-olds in uniform! Doing rifle training! It was pretty shocking when you thought about it. It turned your stomach. Shiloh should write a column about it for the school newspaper.
Cary had been in ROTC since seventh grade. He was one of the highest-ranked high school kids in the entire city. He’d been awarded a ceremonial saber.
“I just don’t understand why you’d give someone else agency over your life,” Shiloh said. “Why you’d let themuseyou.”
“Someone has to do it.”
