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Somehow, with minds honed at meetings of the high school student union, Andy and I plenary-sessioned until we had succeeded in hoodwinking both sets of parents into believing that I was going to Philadelphia for four days.
At my table was a frowning, buzz-cut retired air force corpsman who had recently been elected to the city council and who wanted to make sure the library computers weren't being used to access porn; a junior high school student with razor-wire braces who won a computer science contest by using his laptop to graph local marijuana prices; the furtive founder of a local keyboard manufacturing company that was in the process of moving to Belize; and the manager of one especially cutting-edge firm called Jocko's Soft Tacos: "We just got a new computer for our drive-thru window that has cut in half the number of Mexi-Bobs that we throw away."
When he was a high school student in Ohio, Dahmer’s life was profoundly sad and predictably disturbing.
I had declared political science as my major the spring before and this was one of my first upper-level classes — filled with thirty students, many of them, like me, former high school student body presidents and DECA club parliamentarians, Eagle Scouts and Daughters of the American Revolution, students who had always run for things and run things, future wonks and activists and candidates.
Next to the laptops was an empty cell phone cradle and next to that was an open spiral-bound notebook, new, letter-size, the kind of thing a high school student might buy in September.