The Temptation: Chapter 2

Kate rose earlier than usual the next morning. Her dreams had been full of dark nights and strange creatures. Something about the book had lingered in her mind, but she shook it off as the workings of an overactive imagination. As she prepared for school, her eyes fell on the book. She picked it up and placed it in her backpack, thinking she would read a little more of it during lunch hour.

Breakfast was even quieter than dinner had. Jill had been talking to her boyfriend on the phone until 3AM, so she yawned through every other mouthful of cereal. Alex and Jenny were still sleeping, and Kate didn’t feel like talking.

Kate drove to school silently. Jill, in the passenger’s seat, was silent until she looked over at Kate and asked, "Why don’t you date?"

Kate didn’t reply immediately. She shifted her focus quickly onto her little sister’s face before returning her gaze to the road, "I guess I am not interested in the boys here. Why?"

"Because you are the only girl at Jefferson who doesn’t seem to be interested in dating. All you do is read in class if you aren’t working. You don’t go to the parties, dances, or school socials. You don’t read the magazines, just those stuffy novels."

"Hey! They aren’t stuffy! Some of the texts I read are so fascinating."

"But why aren’t you interested in guys?"

Kate curved her lips in a humorless smile, "There aren’t guys at Jefferson worth being interested in." and refused to say anything else to her sister until they reached the school.

Kate approached her History class with a little nervousness. Her teacher, Mr. Connell, was notorious for holding a grudge. He seemed to hold a deep-rooted hate for Kate. Smoothing down the lapels of her tailored blouse, she straightened her shoulders and walked into the classroom. The first thing she noticed was that a substitute teacher was in the room. In fact, he was the only person in the room. He was fairly attractive, with short brown hair and a strong jaw. He appeared to be taller than Kate’s 5’9". She also noted that he held himself very straight. He was sitting at Mr. Connell’s chair, looking around tensely. He spotted Kate and smiled, flashing white teeth from behind full lips, "Hi! Are you the teacher?"

Kate stared at him, "No. I am one of the students. You aren’t the substitute teacher?"

"Oh. No, I am not. I just transferred here from Buffalo, New York."

"Really? I am Kate Porter."

"I am Gerald Wilson. That is a really pretty name. Short for Katherine?"

"Yes. Katherine is my middle name. Alice is my first name, but I can’t stand it, so I get everyone to call me Kate."

He smiled again, "Well, then, Kate. I am pleased to meet you."

She smiled shyly. He was very attractive, and Kate was unused to the attention he was giving her. His eyes seemed to bore into hers. They held her in a peculiar way, keeping her from looking away. Just when she felt that she couldn’t look at him anymore, the first group of students arrived, chatting merrily, and causing an excuse for Kate to break the connection. Feeling her face starting to go red, she plopped down into her chair, and put her head in her arms, pretending to sleep. She didn’t see the smile that flashed on Gerald’s face as he watched her, amused.

---

After class, Kate found herself agreeing to spend lunch with Gerald. A separate part of her brain noted the many girls who were gazing at Gerald with infatuation written all over their faces. The next class was English, which gave Kate time to think about this new boy who was paying attention to her. She grinned at the question Jill had asked in the car that morning. Wouldn’t she laugh if she could see me?

The class passed very slowly, and Kate felt herself looking at the clock more often than usual. Five minutes before the bell was about to sound, she caught herself daydreaming. What the hell am I thinking? She scolded herself, I just met the man! My god, I am such a little twit some days. And she walked very slowly and deliberately to her locker.

Lunch was a disappointment. Gerald had nothing interesting to say, except on the topic of cars, which Kate had no interest in, whatsoever. When the warning bell for third period rang, she gave a silent thanks to God and forced a farewell smile. What a complete idiot. I can’t believe that I actually looked at him like he was special. And she resolved not to think about him anymore.

But that night, when she returned to her book, the pages had lost their warmth. The words no longer spirited her to her own world. She found nothing on the white sheets to let her forget her school, her family, her life. So, with a world-weary sigh, she marked the page and set to work immediately on her English essay. Soon, she was so bent on writing her paper on "Lord of the Flies" that she forgot her momentary aloneness, and the rest of the night passed quickly.

---

Over the next few weeks, however, Kate discovered that ignoring Gerald was an easy enough goal---if you weren’t in the same classes as he was. As well as History, he was in her Economics class. All through class, he would give her sideways glances and smiles that drove her crazy with distraction. After one particularly sleepless night, she returned his grin with a frosty glare before pointedly looking in the other direction.

After that class, he sidled up to her at her locker, "What’s up?"

"Mmm."

"Want to have lunch?"

"No."

"It’s on me. We could go to Rachel’s," Rachel’s was a nice teen-oriented restaurant with sassy waitresses and greasy fast food. "Please? I really enjoyed our first lunch."

Kate straightened her shoulders and looked Gerald straight in the eye, "No. I have my own lunch, I never eat at Rachel’s, and I have an essay I want to edit quickly before English."

Gerald looked disappointed, but quickly brightened, "Tomorrow?" He gave her a puppy look.

"Gerald…" Kate started, then stopped. What was the point? "Go away."

A brief flash of something flashed over his face. Anger? Surprise? But it was quickly replaced by a winning smile, "Alright. I will talk to you later!"

Bollocks. Kate made a face at his retreating back and smiled. She didn’t have an essay, but she didn’t want to listen to the attributes of a Shelby GT 500 for the next hour. Shaking her head, she went to the library to browse for a good book to read along with her sandwich.

She passed through the double doors that lead into the library. The subtle scent of vanilla and rosemary flooded her being and brought a calm to her. The library was her haven, as much as her bedroom was. The librarian, Mr. MacMurrough, was a wizened old man with a love for books and oak. He had brought with him, from his home in Scotland, a set of paperweights that doubled as incense holders. They were carved from oak, and were almost 300 years old. Mr. MacMurrough had once told her that they were the last family heirlooms from his family. His great-great-grandfather had acquired them as a wedding present for his wife, who loved books almost as much as she had loved her husband.

"Top o’ the mornin’ to ye, lass."

"Good morning, Mr. MacMurrough. Any news today?" Mr. MacMurrough was researching his genealogy. He had discovered family in Wales and England.

"Nae. Tis a pity, though. I was hoping to find someone new today. Hopefully someone who moved here to Jefferson and changed their name to Porter." He said the last sentence with a twinkle in his eye, for he held a special affection for Kate.

She only laughed and shook her finger at him, "Now now."

Mr. MacMurrough laughed for a moment before a high pitched whistle emitted from his office, "Tea?" he inquired before dashing into the back room.

"Raspberry if you have it." Kate replied.

A moment later he reappeared from the back holding a tray with two cups, a pot of boiling water, some teabags and a honey pot, "While you are preparing the tea, I have something for you."

Kate glanced at him as he rummaged through a pile of books, flashing a glance at the titles before placing it aside, "Ah! Here we go! A book I think you might like."

"What is it?" She took it, curious. It was a slim book, with a picture of a fist upraised in a defiant gesture. It was entitled, "The Anthem" by Ayn Rand, "Who is she?"

"Ayn Rand is a woman whom I greatly admire. She is a philosopher."

"What does she teach?"

"Objectivism."

"What is that?"

"Hmm…to quote her, ‘a philosophy for living on earth.’ Objectivism is comprised of four basic parts. Metaphysics, epistemology, ethics, and politics. Metaphysics, according to Rand is an objective reality. Her epistemology is reason, Her ethics is self-interest, and her politics are capitalism." When Kate continued to look lost, he sighed and opened a book about objectivism, skimming through the pages until he found what he was looking for, "Basically, metaphysics is summed up so: ‘Wishing won’t make it so.’ Epistemology: ‘You can’t eat your cake and have it too.’ Ethics: ‘Man is an end in himself.’ And Politics is ‘Give me liberty or give me death.’

"What this is, lass, is the life I have lived since I was a young man. She was a young girl in St. Petersburg during the Bolshevik Revolution, and saw the effects of communism. She came to America, got a job, wrote, acted, and gradually became one of the most influential philosophers in the world."

"Influential?"

"Yes. Her book, "Atlas Shrugged", is said to be the most influential book in history after the Holy Bible."

"Really? Says who?"

Mr. MacMurrough scratched his chin and looked thoughtfully at the book Kate was holding, "Well---I don’t rightly know, lass. But I’ll tell ye what. You read that there book, and I will try to find out who says what about Ayn Rand. That’s a promise."

Kate grinned, and tucked the book into her backpack, then set to work on pouring the tea.

---

That night, after dinner, Kate withdrew into the safety of her room, thinking only of homework and sleep. However, as she pulled her Economics binder from the backpack, "The Anthem" slipped out and fell to the floor. She bent to put it back in her pack, but something about the picture stopped her hand midway. The direct challenge in the gesture, the raw outline of the fist caught her interest. Opening it to the first page, she settled in front of her desk to read.

"It is a sin to write this. It is a sin to think words no others think and to put them down upon a paper no others are to see. It is base and evil. It is as if we were speaking alone to no ears but our own. And we know well that there is no transgression blacker than to do or think alone. We have broken the laws. The laws say that men may not write unless the Council of Vocations bid them so. May we be forgiven…"

---

The next morning, Kate hurried to the library as soon as she arrived at school and waited impatiently for Mr. MacMurrough to arrive. The moment she saw his figure, she sprang to his side, "Goodmorningmrmacmurroughiwaswonderingif---" She caught herself and blushed, "Sorry. Good morning, Mr. MacMurrough."

"Good morning, lass. What can I do for ye?"

"Well, it is like this. I started reading the book you gave me, and I was wondering-"

"If ye could keep it?"

Kate stared at the librarian, "How did you-"

"I knew that once ye started reading it, ye wouldn’t want to stop reading it. I bought ye that copy. You can write in it as much as ye likes."

Kate blushed, because that was exactly what she was planning on doing, "So--- so it is alright, then? I can keep it?"

"Aye. Ye can if you want."

With a squeal, Kate wrapped her arms around the old man and gave him a quick, affectionate kiss on the cheek, "Thank you so much!" She gushed, "Now I can go through it with a pencil and make notes. I am so glad!"

Her good mood didn’t last through History, however. Gerald managed to irritate her even more by trying to talk to her, taking all the fun out of 19th century France. Lunch, she ate while reading "Anthem". She found she didn’t need a dictionary; the language was simple enough that she could understand it perfectly. Instead, she wrote in all the reasons why a particular phrase had been worded so. One thing that stuck out in her mind was Rand’s use of narrating from the first person point of view in plural. It made the man, Equality 7-2521, seem so alien to her. She wrote beside the text in her scrawl, I wonder what it would be like to refer to myself as ‘we’ or ‘ourselves’ instead of ‘me’ or ‘myself’?

To not be one person, but many. To no longer exist.