Linked: Chapters 29–33

What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking. It’s the most thoughtless, heedless, brainless thing I’ve ever done.

So here I am, the most despised person in Chokecherry. I can’t say I blame anybody. I’m not even surprised by what’s happened to me.

And thanks to ReelTok’s giant community of followers, I’m reviled all around the world. I might be able to get a gig in Antarctica, keeping the eggs warm for the penguin dads, but that’s about it.

And thanks to ReelTok’s giant community of followers, I’m reviled all around the world. I might be able to get a gig in Antarctica, keeping the eggs warm for the penguin dads, but that’s about it.

One night I have to run to ransack the couch cushions for my ringing phone and pick up without checking first to see who it is. “Dana?” I ask breathlessly.

I always understood that my swastika inspired the others, but to hear it straight from Pamela’s mouth is devastating. The way she explains it, I’m practically the pied piper of racist symbols.

“How can you say all this, Pamela?” I demand, an uncomfortable quaver in my voice. “You know about my family. My grandmother..."

They don’t even forgive themselves for what a jerk I’ve turned out to be. But the shouting stage is finally over and we’ve moved on to figuring out how we’re going to survive this. That’s right in Dad’s wheelhouse: my future, which doesn’t look so bright anymore.

Rabbi Gold has a deep, resonant voice so that even when he says hello, it sounds like he’s making a major pronouncement from the pulpit.

As for Caroline, I think she’s on the verge of a breakdown. After so many weeks of cutting and looping, gluing and volunteering, you couldn’t get the kids here to show up for a school activity if you were handing out gold bars.

It’s not that I don’t like the digs. What could be cooler than unearthing an ancient bone that’s been hidden for tens of millions of years?

There are half a dozen spots where scientists, in hard hats, gloves, and safety glasses are down in the rock and dirt, working. It’s as quiet as a chess tournament except for the clinking of hammers, the shaking of sieves, and the low buzz of conversation between colleagues.

“Believe it or not, droppings don’t come stamped with a species label,” Dad deadpans. “But the samples we’ve had dated are consistent with the bones we’ve found.”

I’m pretty far from everybody else, though, so it’s obvious that’s he’s put me where I can’t do any harm. I’m on solid bedrock, and the bristles of my brush are like hamster fur.

The only way these scientists can keep their sanity is by convincing themselves that they’re on the verge of an earth-shattering discovery.

As cold as the day is, the sun is warm, and I lie on my back to soak up its rays. I’m half-asleep when the commotion reaches me. Scientists are rushing toward the edge of the clearing, where a couple of them are struggling to pull something out of the ground. Something big.

My father sizes up the murder in my eyes in a split second and hits the power locks before I can leap out the passenger door.
“Dana—be nice.”
“Nice?” I spit. “To him? Why?”

My father sweeps ahead of me on the porch steps, grabs Ryan by the hand, and pulls him into the house with a curt “Link,” in our visitor’s direction. It isn’t warm and welcoming, but it’s a lot nicer than what I have planned.

“You know zilch,” I seethe. “If you think you can just say sorry and everything resets to zero, you’re even more clueless than you must have been when you painted that swastika!”

“You know zilch,” I seethe. “If you think you can just say sorry and everything resets to zero, you’re even more clueless than you must have been when you painted that swastika!”

He studies his sneakers. “I was scared. I know what people say about me. Stuck-up jock, thinks he can get away with anything. I was already in trouble for the fertilizer thing and half a dozen other stupid stunts. Nobody was ever going to believe that I did the first swastika, but not all the others. My dad pulled me out of sports over a little bit of lard on the road. I figured he’d disown me for this.”

After the revelation about the first swastika, I didn’t think I could ever be surprised again about Link.

I could mangle every single word of my Torah portion and I wouldn’t let down anybody’s expectations. Who would dare to expect anything but absolute zero from a painter of swastikas?

The Night of a Thousand Flames. No one can claim that it never happened now—not with the scientists digging up the final evidence. So half the town is embarrassed and sulking, not to mention ticked off at the other half, who are wagging their fingers to say I told you so.

I wake up after a fitful night to the sound of urgent whispering on the other side of the door.

I help Mom and Dad move some of the furniture around—it won’t look great if the entire congregation of Temple Judea sees me tripping over an ottoman and knocking myself unconscious.

He probably thinks the bar mitzvah is off, and he’s here to offer consolation. Still, it’ll be great to have one friend on hand—assuming Pouncey can get through it without trying to make me laugh.

I try a different tack. “But how did everybody know about it? I didn’t even know about it!”
“I have my methods,” she says evasively.

We avoid the traffic jam in the parking lot and pull around the circular drive right up to the front entrance. We get out and join the river of people heading into the building. A lot of eyes are on me, but my eyes are riveted to a section of brick wall above the double doors.

“But I’m invited,” ReelTok is trying to explain. “The Rowleys have agreed to let me livestream the ceremony to TokNation!”
“Sorry,” the sheriff says gruffly. “My orders are to keep you out.”

Now that he’s at full outrage, Adam Tok looks very much like he does during his famous rants on YouTube. “Hasn’t the news about freedom of the press made it to Chokecherry, Colorado?” He scans the crowd indignantly until his eyes light on Dana. “She’s the one who invited me! Tell him, Dana!”

We’re inching along the corridor, rubbernecking, unwilling to miss a single link. It seems to go on forever, down every hall and up every stairwell.
Awestruck, I turn to Dana. “You did all this?”
“I called Caroline,” she replies. “She rallied the troops...."

Rabbi Gold ushers someone else into view. It’s a man a little younger than Grandma and Grandpa, with a mustache and a shock of gray hair. In his arms, he carries a very old Torah scroll, the simple fabric of its cover threadbare and torn.

When I get to the final phrase—M’kadesh hashabbat—I really drag it out, my own personal opera. The Chokecherry crowd, who don’t know any better, leap to their feet in a thunderous standing ovation.

I don’t dive, exactly, but I step off the edge and allow the forest of reaching arms to catch me. It isn’t very bar mitzvah, but it wouldn’t be me unless I did at least one stupid, impulsive thing.

I manage a feeble “Hey, you guys, put me down,” but I don’t think anybody hears me. My crowd of bearers keeps growing.

Caroline is already bugging me to be her running mate when she goes for eighth-grade president next year. She says it’s because I’m “the right person for the job,” but I know she’s just trying to glom off my reputation as the main guy behind the paper chain project.

The Monday after Link’s bar mitzvah, the town council votes unanimously to build a museum and tolerance center in Chokecherry.

“Admit it,” Link chides him. “You liked paper-chaining just as much as anybody.”

REELTOK: Are you a different person now?
LINK: I hate what I did. I'm humiliated by it and I'm sorry it happened. But I'm still the same guy who painted that swastika.