This Side of Home (17 page)

Star looks up. “No, that's the problem. Principal Green is on a completely different planet.”

Staple, staple, staple. “Well, Charles just said that you all came up with an idea that will help people see the great things about Richmond. The legacy alumni have left behind, right?”

“Yes,” I say. My orange has scented the entire room.

Mrs. Armstrong stacks her handouts on top of each other and walks to the whiteboard. “And you want to address the stereotypes people have about our school and prove them wrong, right?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds like you and Principal Green want the same thing,” she says. Her handwriting is in perfect print. “I'm sure if you propose that idea to him, he'd support it.”

“We already did,” I tell her.

Tony adds, “We wanted it to be in honor of Black History Month.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Armstrong says. “But think of it this way: When we're putting our newspaper together, what happens to really good articles that don't make the current issue being printed?”

“Depending on the timing, sometimes we publish them in the next one,” Charles answers.

“Well?” Mrs. Armstrong asks.

“Well, what?”

“When is the next time Richmond will be having an event appropriate for what you want to do?”

“I don't know. The end-of-the-year block party, maybe?” I say.

“Find out,” Mrs. Armstrong says.

Mrs. Armstrong walks through the aisles of the class and puts a handout on each table. I take half the stack out of her hands and help. The copies are on colored paper, so I know she spent her own money.

Mrs. Armstrong is on her second row when she asks, “Do you remember what we say makes a good title?”

“One that makes a reader want to read the article,” I answer.

Mrs. Armstrong turns around and looks at me with a smile on her face. “Right. And does the writer get the last say on the title of their article?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because sometimes an editor will change the title to reach a broader audience.”

“Right again,” Mrs. Armstrong says.

I hand her back the extra copies. She takes them out of my hand and then says to all of us, “These principles don't only apply to journalism.”

We found the student body presidents from the last decade. All it took was asking Dad, who asked a friend, who called another friend, and in two weeks we had everything we needed:

1. Mark Lewis has a master's in public health from Brown University. He runs a clinic in Philadelphia.

2. Martha Tucker went to Portland State University. She is a teacher at one of the middle schools that feed into Richmond.

3. Whitney Cunningham is a single mom of two boys. She took classes at Portland

Community College. She's very involved in her church.

4. Robert Graham owns a car repair shop down the street from Richmond.

5. Richard Martin is in the army.

6. Barbara Paterson attended seminary and is a chaplain at Good Samaritan Hospital in Northwest Portland.

7. Candy Stevenson went to Juilliard and dances in Broadway musicals.

8. Rose Franklin is a real estate agent.

9. Harold Milner graduated from Western Seminary and is the pastor of a church in downtown Portland.

10. Destiny Villa, who graduated last year, got a full-tuition scholarship to University of Oregon.

We have a lot to be proud of. And that's just ten people.

It is the last day of February. The sun is shining but giving no heat. Sunshine can be deceiving. Today is Richmond's diversity celebration. The program starts off with dances from Japan, India, and Hawaii. Then Principal Green introduces our guest diversity speaker, Vicki Franklin. We welcome her to the stage with half-sincere applause.

She starts off by saying, “We have more similarities than we do differences.” And then she does this dramatic pause like she's just said something profound. From there, it just goes downhill. Most of the students are texting or playing games on their cell phones. A few are asleep.

After the assembly, the dismissal bell rings, but I can't go home. Principal Green has called a special
student council meeting after school. Vicki wants to meet the student leaders. When I walk into the room, she is sitting at the head of the table, all smiles.

Principal Green waits until all of us are seated and then starts the meeting. He turns to our guest. “Vicki, the floor is yours.”

“First off, let me say that I've had such a great time today. Before I leave, I wanted to talk with a core group of you because I've been made aware of what's been happening here.” Vicki taps Principal Green on his shoulder. And he jumps up, realizing he missed his cue.

Principal Green stands and walks over to his closet. He takes out a thin cardboard box. His plump hands grab a pair of scissors and he cuts the clear tape. The box cracks open. He pulls out an assortment of posters.

Vicki takes one and holds it up. “We'd like each of you to take a few posters and hang them up around the school. As student leaders, it's important that you are seen taking a stand for unity in the school.”

Principal Green chimes in. “We also think the school could use a little inspiration. Just a little inspiration. So we want to have positive messages all around the building to motivate you all and to keep you focused on graduating.”

Like a poster is going to get us to graduate.

Principal Green and Vicki pass out the posters. The one on top has the symbol for peace in the middle of the page, with the word PEACE written in several languages within the sign.

Tasha has a flyer that shows a welcome mat. The words on the mat read DIVERSITY WELCOMED HERE.

I see Charles looking through the posters and scrunching his face into a frown when he sees one that says THE ONLY THING IN YOUR WAY IS YOU.

Tell that to Essence.

Tony gets a poster that has a black male offering a Latina student a joint. The girl in the poster is walking away from him toward a group of students waiting for her. The caption reads IT'S OKAY TO WALK AWAY.

Principal Green gives me a poster that has two white students, one male, the other female. They are in their graduation gowns and tossing their caps in the air. They have big smiles on their faces and the caption reads SUCCESS AWAITS YOU.

I grab the drug poster out of Tony's hand and point to the black and Latina faces and ask, “How come
their
faces are on the poster about drugs and not on
this
one?” I hold the two posters next to each other.

Inspirational messages?

“Well, we didn't make the posters, Maya,” Principal Green says.

“You bought them, though,” I say.

Vicki clears her throat and says in a calm therapist voice, “It sounds like you're having some negative feelings about this. Would you like to share what emotion you're feeling right now?”

I imagine her working with a client and asking him to point to some stupid chart that has all kinds of facial expressions that range from the best kind of happiness to the worst type of sad. “I'm fine,” I say.

“Does anyone else have something they need to share?” Vicki asks.

Cynthia looks at Tasha, then says, “Well, I mean—it's obvious why Maya doesn't want to use these posters. She's the one keeping the poster war going.”

Star yells, “Well, who's the one defacing them and writing inappropriate messages? You?”

For the first time, I think maybe it is Cynthia. And then I look at Vince and Bags, and I know they must have something to do with it, too. They are too quiet. They are never quiet.

Cynthia says, “It's got to be her. All the posters that keep being hung on the walls are about people we've studied in Mrs. Armstrong's class,” She looks at me like she's just won some kind of battle.

Principal Green looks at me, leans forward in his chair.

“It's me,” Charles says. “I'm the one who's been hanging the posters.”

Tony rubs the back of his neck. “I've hung some, too,” he says.

And Star says, “I think they are trying to take the blame for me, Principal Green.”

I am surprised when Joey and Rachel confess that they are the ones who have been putting up the posters.

Tasha blurts out, “Oh, God, what is this, some kind of Disney special? Maya did it. The rest of them are just—”

“Principal Green,” I say. “You can suspend me. That's fine. Cynthia is right. I'm the person who's been putting up the posters. I haven't written anything derogatory, but I have been the one putting up some of the black history posters.”

Principal Green looks at me. “I must say, I am very disappointed in you.” He leans back in his chair, and I wait to hear what my consequence will be.

Principal Green wants to speak to all of us individually. He talks to Joey first, then Rachel. Tony is next, and then he calls on Charles, then Star. I go in last.

“I can't have the student body president breaking the rules,” he says.

“I know. But I can't be the student body president and not fight for the students.”

Principal Green sighs. “Fight for the students? Just what exactly are you fighting for?”

“For our right to learn our history—and by
our
I don't mean black. I mean everyone's history. You want us to chant about being each other's keeper, but when we tried to hold each other accountable, you didn't let us. That assembly is something that gave us pride, and you took it away from us. You came here
and started making all these changes without letting us be a part of it. And maybe I didn't go about this the right way, but at least you know why I did it.” I am either going to get in a lot of trouble with Mom and Dad for talking to an adult this way or they will be proud.

Principal Green sits quietly. He turns in his office chair a few times, slow, like moving back and forth is helping him think.

I say, “And Mrs. Armstrong had nothing to do with this. She didn't tell us to do it or anything. All she did was teach us.”

He is still quiet, still turning. Then he says, “I can't prove who's been responding to your posters, but since you have confessed to being the one who started this, I have to suspend you. Two days.”

I must admit, I am relieved. I thought he might say that I can't be student body president anymore or that I can't participate in senior activities. I've made it through elementary, middle, and three and half years of high school without being suspended until now. Nikki is never going to let this go.

“I need to call your parents,” he says.

“Okay.”

Principal Green stands, and I take this as my cue that our talk is over. I get up, too, but just before I walk out, I turn to him and say, “I don't know if you
want my idea or not, but I think I know what we can do for the senior block party.” I don't even give him a chance to say this isn't the time. I just keep talking. “Remember when we talked about bringing alumni to the school to give motivational speeches?”

“Of course, of course.”

“Remember how you wanted us to find alumni who weren't athletes?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Well, we found some,” I tell him. I go into my backpack and take out my folder.

I have nothing to lose. It's time for the pitch.

March.

Rain lingers, promising flowers on the other side of the storm. Clocks move forward and daylight visits us longer, stays through evening, keeping us company. The morning light whispers to me, calling me out of bed.

I am awake, alive.

I'm on my second day of suspension, but it feels like I've missed a whole week of school already. I get the recap from Nikki and Essence, and then at night Tony calls and he fills me in on anything they left out.

Tonight we are standing at our windows talking to each other. Tony is walking around his room putting away clothes from a laundry basket. He has me on speaker phone, so sometimes when he talks, his voice sounds far away or he disappears and I can't see him.

“Will you be still?”

“I'm almost done,” he says. “So anyway, this is what Principal Green agreed to. He liked our idea and said that we can invite alumni to the block party
if we also invite local businesses,” Tony tells me. “Charles and Star think it's a good idea.”

I turn my light off, turn on a lamp, and lean against my window.

“We'll ask some of the restaurants to donate food, and we'll set up booths so that businesses can hand out flyers, freebies, you know. Promote their store.”

“And what did Team Two think?”

“They like the idea, too.”

We actually agree on something. “Good, that's good.”

Tony hangs up a shirt in his closet. “So what were you doing before I called?”

“Getting your birthday gift together,” I say. His birthday is in two days.

“What did you get me?”

“Like I'm really going to tell you.”

“Well, you can give me a hint.”

“I can't give you a hint. It will make it too obvious.”

“P
leeease
.” Tony has walked out of my sight.

“Come back to the window. I want to see you.”

Tony reappears. “P
leeease
.”

“Okay, here's a hint,” I tell him, and then I start singing a slow, soft melody from one of the songs I just burned on a CD for him. At first my voice comes out like a whisper and my insides are shivering
because I don't know what he will think of my voice. But then I close my eyes and sing as if Tony isn't listening, like I do in the shower or when I'm in my room all by myself and no one's home.

As I sing the last lyric, I open my eyes. Tony has the phone off speaker and is holding it up to his ear. He's at the window.