Tracy Flick Can't Win

by Tom Perrotta

Mr. Dexter simply perceived this truth before anyone else, and had treated me accordingly, which was exactly the way I’d wanted to be treated. How could I blame him for that?

all these high-achieving young women exploited by teachers and mentors and bosses, and keep clinging to the idea that your own case was unique. In fact, it had become pretty clear to me that that was how it worked—you got tricked into feeling more exceptional than you actually were, like the normal rules no longer applied.

she was greeted with a fanfare of happy shrieks and joyful shimmies from the other girls, as if they hadn’t seen her for years. I felt a familiar pang of separation, the melancholy awareness that my daughter’s real life—at least her favorite parts—took place in my absence.

It was easy to forget, when you were a grown-up and high school was safely in the past, how it felt to be a captive audience, the way time could stand still in a classroom, and one bad teacher could poison your entire life.

Of course, that was how you got into trouble in the first place—he understood that now—thinking you were more important than other people, or better than they were, and didn’t have to follow the usual rules.

The other problem with believing you’re special is the shock that comes when you finally realize you’re not, that you’re just as fucked up as everyone else, if not worse.

Vito didn’t tell anyone about his lapses—not his doctor, not even his wife—because putting his fears into words would have made them real, and he didn’t want them to be real.

I try not to think too much about those days now—let the past be past. The truth is, we’re all prisoners of our historical context. Anybody who says morality is absolute, that right and wrong don’t change over time, you know what? They just haven’t lived long enough.

Feeling sexually attractive is a powerful drug, especially if you’re not used to it.