The Lions of Little Rock (25 page)

52

AFTERWARDS

I'd been right. Something had happened after all. Something bad. I'd never known I could be so upset about being right. Mother reached for my hand. Her fingers were trembling. Everyone was silent.

After a minute or two, the smell of smoke wafted out the open back door. Betty Jean glanced over at Pastor George. “Stay here,” he ordered, and he went back into the house again.

Curtis moved to follow him, but Betty Jean grabbed his arm. “You heard your father.”

The next-door neighbor poked her head out a window. “You all right?”

“I think so. I—” Betty Jean choked up and couldn't finish.

Liz shook her head. “Marlee, if you hadn't said something . . .”

I glanced over at Liz. She was biting her lip, but I could still see it quivering. Curtis put his arm around her.

Pastor George came back then. “Someone threw a brick through our front window. It landed on the couch. From the damage to the living room, there must have been a couple of sticks of dynamite too.”

And like a picture in slow motion, I could imagine it. Red leaning out of the window of his car. Pitching a rock at us, like he'd done with the eggs. The window shattering like the ice on a pond in spring and covering us all with little bits of glass. All of us standing frozen, shocked, glittering as the sun shone in the ruined window, not noticing the dynamite until it was too late.

“We should call the police,” said Mother.

Betty Jean nodded, but she didn't move. I realized she was crying, great big tears that flowed down her cheeks without making a sound.

Pastor George sat down on a stump in the backyard and covered his face with his hands. I imagined, as a pastor, he'd had experience giving bad news to people, but it must have been different when it was your own wife and son. I knew I should be scared too. We could have been killed. But all I could think was,
The dynamite is gone. Red doesn't have any more.
And no one was hurt.

The next-door neighbor came out then. She was old and tiny, shorter than me, with white hair and a lined face. “I already notified the authorities,” she said. “You just tell me who else you need me to call.”

Liz's family arrived first. Her mother wore a yellow dress, which looked beautiful against her dark skin, though half of the dress was wrinkled and the other half was not, as if she'd been ironing when she got the call. Her father was light-skinned and movie-star handsome, like Montgomery Clift and Harry Belafonte rolled into one. I thought Liz might introduce me, but her father put his arm around her shoulders, and her mother led her away, and only Tommy looked back at me and glared.

Daddy ran up then and threw his arms around Mother and me.

“It was Red,” I said.

He nodded, and Mother started to cry.

The old neighbor offered me a cup of coffee, and I took it. My hands were cold, even though it was a warm evening, and it felt good to hold the cup. I tried to take a sip but only managed to spill half the coffee on the ground.

A few minutes later, the police arrived. There were two of them, an older man who went off with Pastor George to look at the damage in the house, and a young man with a mustache, who seemed most interested in talking to Mother and me.

I told the policeman everything, about Liz and me running into each other at zoo, and taking Red's keys, looking in his trunk and—

“Oh, Marlee!” Mother exclaimed.

“It gets worse,” I admitted.

I told them about getting stuck in the trunk. My daddy sucked in his breath as I told them about the letter opener and forgetting the last two sticks and David coming to pick me up. And even though I knew I was going to get in trouble—I deserved to get in trouble—it still felt good to tell.

Finally, I took a deep breath. “Since I spent so much time in that car, I knew it when I saw it. And you know the rest.”

Silence again. The policeman gave me an odd look.

“Say something,” I pleaded. “I know I'm in trouble, but—”

Mother began to laugh then, a nervous, hysterical laugh.

The police officer glared at my mother. “You don't actually believe this nonsense, do you?”

“What?” said Daddy.

“It's ridiculous. Stealing keys, climbing into a trunk. Who can believe a story like that?”

“It's true,” I said. “You can ask Liz.”

“If you're lying, I'm sure the colored girl will too.”

“My daughter does not lie,” said Daddy.

“You're saying it was Red Dalton, the football star, right?” the police officer asked.

I nodded.

The policeman shook his head. “No way he'd pull a stupid stunt like this.”

“But—”

“What I'd like to know,” he said, “is why you are at this colored family's house.”

“What does that have to do with—” Daddy started.

Mother put a hand on his arm. “We were just dropping off some flyers. There's an election tomorrow.”

“Was it some sort of integrationist meeting?”

Mother shook her head.

“And what if it was?” snapped Daddy. “Aren't you supposed to protect all of us?”

“All citizens of Little Rock,” he agreed. “But if it was some commie meeting—”

“My wife and thirteen-year-old daughter are not communists,” said Daddy. “Where is Sergeant Pike?”

“Out of town,” said the older officer, coming out of the house. “You were lucky. If anyone had been sitting by the window . . .”

No one wanted to finish that sentence. Numbers flowed through my head, prime numbers, times tables, pi to as many digits as I knew. But it didn't help. The police didn't believe me. They weren't going to do anything. They were acting like Betty Jean should be grateful to only have a broken window and a burnt-up couch.

53

THE ELECTION

It was late when we finally got home—way past dinnertime—but none of us were hungry. Mother and Daddy said good night and headed off to their bedroom.

“Aren't you going to punish me?” I asked.

Daddy crossed his arms. “Doesn't seem to do much good.”

“I'm sorry I . . .”

Mother held up her hand. “No, Marlee. I'm too tired for this. We'll talk about it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow's the election.”

“Then Tuesday,” said Mother. And they closed their door.

I slept badly that night, dreaming of bricks crashing through our front window, dynamite exploding, and Mother and Betty Jean and Liz walking through our house with makeup on their faces and diamond tiaras. I wondered when my dream had turned into Cinderella's ball, but then I realized it was broken glass in their hair, and it wasn't rouge on their cheeks, it was blood.

I called Liz first thing the next morning. “Who is this?” Liz's mother asked.

“Marlee Nisbett,” I admitted.

“Marlee,” she said softly. “All I ever wanted was for Elizabeth to have the best education possible. But associating with you nearly got my daughter killed. She won't be talking to you again.”

“But I—”

Mrs. Fullerton hung up the phone.

It was hard to concentrate in school. JT wasn't there, and despite myself, I was kind of worried about him. Mr. Harding seemed distracted too. He was teaching the class percentages, but he kept getting the problems wrong. Three-fourths was 75 percent, not 34 percent. I corrected him the first time, but he looked so embarrassed, I didn't dare correct him again. Besides, no one else in the class was paying attention.

I kept waiting for someone to mention what had happened at Betty Jean's, but no one did. Sally had a new haircut and dress and talked nonstop about how she was going to get her picture in the paper at the CROSS victory party. Because, of course, she was sure her side would win.

When I arrived home, there was a postcard from Judy in the mail.

 

Good luck! Win the election and bring me home.

Love, Judy

PS. I need new laces for my saddle shoes. Black please, extra long.

Shoelaces. Such a normal concern.

“You voted?” Betty Jean asked as I walked into the kitchen.

“Betty Jean,” I said, “I'm only thirteen.”

“I'm asking everyone,” she said without looking at me. She sniffed the air, then turned to the oven. As soon as she opened it, a puff of smoke drifted out. “Oh, Lord,” she sighed, “this is the second batch I've burned this afternoon.”

“Betty Jean?” I asked.

“What?”

I wasn't sure what to say first. Betty Jean had kept my secret about going to the Gem, and I'd repaid her by almost getting her killed. “Are we going to talk about what happened yesterday?”

“No.” Betty Jean was scraping what appeared to be burnt cookies into the garbage.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I know you told me to stay away from Liz, but—”

“Marlee,” interrupted Betty Jean.

“What?”

“I need this job. We're still paying back the money from when Curtis was arrested, and now we need a new living room too. You know the best way to lose your job?”

I didn't answer.

“Yelling at the daughter of your employer. I don't want to do that, so I'd appreciate it if you'd kindly be quiet and leave me alone.”

But that wouldn't help anyone—not me, not Liz and certainly not Betty Jean. I tried to imagine what Liz would do.

“You know,” I said finally, “I think my parents would appreciate it if you'd yell at me. They haven't gotten around to it themselves, and I know I deserve it, so it'd save them the trouble.”

Betty Jean snorted and kept her eyes on her cookies, but I could tell she was trying hard not to smile. “You're a strange girl, Marlee.”

“I'm so sorry, Betty Jean.”

“I know,” she said. “I know.”

Mother, Daddy and I listened to the results come in on KLRA radio station throughout dinner, and afterwards. I did my homework, Daddy graded papers, Mother did the dishes and none of us said a word. The STOP candidates were ahead all evening, but when KLRA went off the air at twelve thirty
A.M.
, it was still too close to call.

I was sure I wouldn't be able to sleep, but I put my head on my pillow, just to rest, and the next thing I knew, I heard the front door open as Daddy went out to get the paper. I washed my face and got dressed, anxious to know what had happened, at the same time dreading it.

As soon as I walked into the kitchen, Daddy held up the paper:

STOP Wins Recall Victory: Purgers Thrown Off Board

Mother grinned at me.

Daddy said, “We did it!”

I burst into tears.

“Marlee, we won,” said Mother.

But I couldn't stop crying.

I'd thought winning the election would solve everything. But now that the big day was here, I realized it wasn't the end after all. It wasn't even close! New board members needed to be appointed by the Pulaski County Board of Education. There were legal challenges to integration in the courts. Even if the high schools did open, Liz and I still wouldn't be at the same school.

“What is it?” asked Daddy.

“Tears of joy,” I lied, and my parents seemed to believe me.

I called Liz again before I went to school, but this time no one answered.

All morning, I couldn't wait for lunch to come so Mr. Harding and I could do some math and forget about everything except algebra. But when I pulled out my book and tried to do the first problem, I couldn't copy it down correctly because my eyes kept filling with tears.

“What's wrong, Marlee?” Mr. Harding asked gently.

“Have you ever looked forward to something for a long time, and then when you finally got what you wanted, it wasn't what you expected?”

Mr. Harding nodded.

“I'm happy we won,” I said. “So how come I don't feel better?”

He looked thoughtful and said nothing for a long moment, then pulled out a pencil and started to write on the blank piece of paper I had before me. “I think what's happened, Marlee, is that you've realized the world isn't an addition problem.”

He wrote
3 + 4 = 7
down on the paper. “We tell kids that sometimes. We pretend the world is straightforward, simple, easy. You do this, you get that. You're a good person and try your best, and nothing bad will happen.

“But the truth is, the world is much more like an algebraic equation. With variables and changes, complicated and messy. Sometimes there's more than one answer, and sometimes there is none. Sometimes we don't even know how to solve the problem.”

He wrote
x
²
+ 4x - 21 =
0.

“But usually, if we take things step by step, we can figure things out. You just have to remember to factor the equation, break it down into smaller parts.”

I stared at
x
²
+ 4x - 21 = 0.
Pictured it factored into
(x - 3) (x + 7) = 0.
Imagined the solutions,
x = 3
and
x = -7,
and felt a little better.

“You're right, Marlee. Winning this election isn't the solution. But it's a start.”

“Mr. Harding,” I said.

“Yes?”

“At the beginning of the year, I was helping JT cheat on his homework.”

“I know.”

I looked at him, surprised.

“I grade your homework every day. I recognize your handwriting.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” I asked.

Mr. Harding shrugged. “I thought it would be better if you told me yourself.”

I nodded. “Are you going to punish me?”

“Yes,” he said. “I'm going to make you do extra math during your lunchtime.”

I smiled.

“Now, come on.” He pushed the algebra book toward me. “Let's start solving the world's problems. One step at a time.”

I was in the kitchen doing my homework when Liz called me that afternoon. “I can only talk for a second,” she said.

She sounded awful. “Why? What's wrong?”

“I'm not going to be allowed to see you anymore. Ever. Not even by accident. If we happen to end up in the same place, I have to turn around and leave. And if I don't . . .” Liz couldn't finish.

“Are you crying?” I asked.

“No,” said Liz.

But she was.

“Marlee, we were almost killed!” said Liz. “And not just us, but Curtis and Betty Jean and the Pastor and your mother too. There's nowhere left for us.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We need to find other friends. People we can actually do things with.”

“What?”

“Marlee, I don't want you to be lonely. I want you to have friends you can talk and laugh with and—”

“There's no one I like at school!” I wailed.

“Then you're not looking hard enough,” said Liz. “I'm not always a cup of warm milk with a dash of cinnamon. And Little Jimmy is more than just apple juice!”

“But—”

“I'm sorry, Marlee. This is just how it has to be. As long as there are people like Red in town, we just can't . . . I'm sorry.”

“Are you telling me good-bye?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Liz. “I am. Good-bye, Marlee.” And she hung up.

I sat there for a full minute, staring at the receiver. This was exactly what I'd been afraid of. I went to my room and sat on my bed and thought. Looked at the problem from all angles, added things up from all sides. I could come to only one conclusion. Liz was right. Summing people up as a cola or a coffee wasn't really fair. Most people were a whole refrigerator full of different drinks. Trying to force them into one cup or one glass meant I never really got to know them.

But Liz was wrong too. As long as there were people like Red in town, it was more important than ever for us to be friends, to show all the others who were too afraid that it was possible. I needed her to point out when I was wrong and teach me new things, and I was pretty sure that she needed me too. There had to be a way.

Mr. Harding said when you were stuck, you should factor the equation. Liz was too afraid to be friends with me anymore. There had to be a part of that problem I could solve. Some way to give her back the courage she'd given me. Some way to . . . Red. He was only one part of the equation, but he was a large part. If I could deal with him, maybe it would help, at least a little.

I thought and thought and thought, and by the time my parents came home that evening, I had a plan.