by Barry Lyga
"We're supposed to say it," John Riordon calls out from his seat in back. "You don't just sit there and do nothing. You say the Pledge." There's an agreeable undercurrent.
"OK, that's fine. But why?"
"Because you do," John says, again to murmured agreement. He's not just a football stud. He's also in a bunch of the college prep classes. So people are taking him seriously. More seriously than the guy who takes the easy classes and pulls straight Cs. (That would be me.)
"It's how you show you love your country," he goes on. "If you do." He looks like he's about to get out of his chair and rearrange my face, but I keep going.
"So George Washington and Abe Lincoln didn't love this country?"
I get the moment of surprised silence I was hoping for. John grits his teeth and gets up.
"Sit down, John!" Mrs. Sawyer says. "You, too, Kevin."
"The Pledge didn't even exist until 1892," I go on. "The guy who wrote it was a socialist."
Some blank stares. Riordon starts walking down the aisle to me.
"Socialists are supposed to be, like, the bad guys," I say, speeding up. "He only wrote the thing because there was this big world's fair in Chicago and he thought it would be cool to have kids all across the country say something nice. I mean, that's it. Really. That's the only reason it exists.
"Anyway, it wasn't the same Pledge as the one we say now. So how did anyone before 1892 prove they loved their country if they didn't have a Pledge? Or, y'know, magnets to put on their, well, their horse and buggies, I guess."
My smart-assery is unappreciated, but I can tell that I've caused at least a bit of confusion in some skulls out there.
"Sit down now," says Mrs. Sawyer, and her voice has this note of panic in it, like she's about to pull a gun. John pauses, trying to figure out how serious she is.
"I'm not going to listen to this crap," he says.
"You both have five seconds and then I'm writing hall passes to the principal's office."
John goes back to his seat.
"You should know what you're saying and what you're doing and why," I say. I'm on a roll. I'm not stopping now. "Like, the word equality was originally going to be in the Pledge, but do you know why it isn't? Because the guy who wrote it knew that the people in charge of the schools back then didn't like women and African Americans. So he didn't put it in there."
Not much of a reaction there, but then again, there are only like ten black kids at South Brook, so I don't really know what I expected.
"And it originally said 'my flag,' not 'the flag of the United States of America.' A bunch of people changed that like twenty years later even though the guy who wrote it didn't want them to. And then in the 1950s, they added 'under God.'"
That gets a couple of people stirring—no one realized that God wasn't an original part of the Pledge.
"The guy who wrote it was a minister, but he never put God into it. It was a bunch of people sixty years later who did that. Your great-grandparents grew up reciting a Pledge that didn't mention God." I look pointedly at John Riordon. "They weren't saying the real Pledge, I guess. So, like, I guess they never loved their country, huh?"
Mrs. Sawyer says, "OK, Kevin, you've made your point. Thank you for the history lesson." She's a history teacher, but I guess she doesn't appreciate the irony.
"I have more to say."
"No, you don't." She's got her pad of passes in her hand already.
"Yes, I do."
She sighs as the announcements start. Everybody jumps up and puts their hands over their heart and recites the Pledge, just like we have a million times before. I stand there at the front of the class, doing nothing, not saying the Pledge even though every tissue and fiber in my body wants to do it. Because that's what I've been trained to do ever since I started school, and not doing it is killing me, especially with everyone watching.
But I resist. I don't say it.
As soon as the Pledge is over, I get right back into it: "Did you know people used to salute the flag while saying the Pledge? Like this." I demonstrate. "But during World War II, people realized it looked just like a Nazi salute, so they stopped—"
"Kevin!" It's Mrs. Sawyer. "No one can hear the announcements."
"But, Mrs. Sawyer, this is important."
"So are the announcements. You're done."
"But—"
She rips a hall pass off her pad and hands it to me. "Principal's office."
"Why?"
"You know why."
John Riordon starts clapping as I walk out the door, and a few other people join in. Mrs. Sawyer tells them to stop, but they don't, at least not right away.
And so I get to visit the Doc, not to be confused with the Surgeon. Dr. Goethe is actually a fairly cool guy. Unlike the assistant principal, the Spermling, he's pretty calm and collected most of the time.
"Why are you doing this to me, Kevin?" he asks. He's pretty straightforward, too.
"I haven't done anything."
"For a few shining, perfect moments the whole country was looking at you with pride. Now I'm hearing that the wire services might pick up the paper's cover story from yesterday. Then your stunt last night with the bridge. And now this. What have I ever done to you to deserve this?"
"I didn't have anything to do with the bridge, Dr. Goethe. I swear."
He groans and leans back in his chair. "Are you going to sue over the Pledge? Is that it? A church and state thing because of 'under God'?"
"No. I just don't understand why we have to say it."
"Kevin, let's cut to the chase—why don't you want to say the Pledge?"
I want to scream! Why won't anyone actually listen to the words I'm saying instead of hearing what they want to hear? "I never said I didn't want to say it. I just want to know why we have to say it. They're two different things. Can you tell me why we have to say it?"
"Well, you don't have to say it..." The Doc fidgets.
"But everyone does. Ever since we were kids. And no one questions it. No one asks why. We just keep doing it, and if we don't, we get crucified. Like not putting ribbons on our cars."
"Is that what this is about? Trying to stir up more trouble?"
"No. I'm not trying to stir up trouble. I just..." And I run out of steam because I'm still trying to get it all straight in my own head, and I really wish people would get off my freakin' back while I'm doing it.
He gives me a hall pass. "I have a conference call in a few minutes. Go to class—we'll talk more about this later."
I get to go to my first two classes, which—let me tell you—are just loads of fun. The story of my history lesson has already spread, and if I thought it was tough being the Kid Who Throws Away Ribbons, it's even tougher being the Kid Who Hates the Pledge.
There are a few Jehovah's Witnesses at South Brook, so you'd think they'd be on my side. But I'm starting to figure out that this argument has more than two sides. Jehovah's Witnesses don't say the Pledge because of something about not worshiping false idols.
Me? I'm just trying to make a point.
Well, OK—make a point and maybe try to impress a certain someone.
"I'm not saying you shouldn't say the Pledge." It's between second and third periods, and a group of kids has cornered me near my locker and asked me why I hate America. They didn't exactly put it that way. They actually said, "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"You can say it all you want. I just think you should know why you're saying it."
"I think you're a piece of shit," one of the guys says. "Who do you think you are? You think you're some kind of hero. You think you're better than everyone else."
Oh, if only he knew. If only he knew the truth, he would see that I couldn't possibly think I'm better than anyone else.
Just then, the PA blares out: "Kevin Ross, please report to the principal's office. Kevin Ross to the principal's office."
A guy ten times bigger than me and a million times meaner grabs my shoulder and shoves me from the l
ockers into the hallway. I stumble and trip over my own feet and go down on the floor.
"Yeah, get going to the principal's office, you faggot."
It takes me three attempts to get up. That's not because I'm clumsy—it's just because people keep knocking me down.
When I get to the principal's office, I get a nasty shock—John Riordon is there, too. He smirks at me when I come in.
"Have a seat, Kevin," says the Doc, gesturing to a chair next to John's. "Let's finish our conversation from this morning."
I take the chair as far away from John as possible.
"I'm just trying to get people to think," I tell Dr. Goethe.
"You're doing it in a way that gives me a headache," he says. "You know, a few days ago, I looked at you and thought, 'Here's a new role model for our school.' What happened, Kevin?"
He's trying to guilt me. It won't work.
"Did you know there are no other developed countries in the world that make their citizens pledge allegiance to a flag?"
"Kevin, please. This is all very interesting, but—"
"Did you know that in some churches, they teach people to add 'born and unborn' to the end of the Pledge? They turn it into like a pro-life protest thing."
John sighs a really loud sigh. "See, Dr. Goethe? It's like he won't shut it off."
"Kevin..."
"What if someone decided to say 'with liberty and justice for all, except for people who don't put ribbons on their cars'? Would that be cool?" I spent a lot of time researching this stuff—I'm gonna tell someone. "Everyone acts like it's this sacred oath. And no one really thinks about the words when they're saying them, or where they come from. I just want people to think. Because otherwise it's just like slapping a ribbon on your car—it's just empty-headed. It's letting a symbol substitute for thinking." And wow, I don't know where that came from. I guess some of Dad's rants and raves over the years have sort of sunk in, whether I was listening or not. He'd be proud of me right now, and it's that idea, more than anything else, that stops me in my tracks.
Dr. Goethe, though, doesn't see the tracks and doesn't stop. "I want peace in my school for the next couple of months until summer break, OK, Kevin? Save the politics for your history class, not homeroom. We don't need any more altercations."
"Altercations?"
"Like the one you had this morning in homeroom with John."
I look over at John, but he's ignoring me.
"There was no altercation."
"That's not how Mrs. Sawyer described it. Look. Here's what we're going to do," says Dr. Goethe, leaning back and steepling his fingers. "We're going to turn this into an exercise on free speech and the power of the spoken word. Monday morning, I'm giving you three minutes during the morning announcements to state your case."
I go cold and yet somehow I'm sweating, too. The morning announcements? My face and voice broadcast to the entire school?
"Um, well..." Maybe this free speech stuff isn't all it's cracked up to be.
"Come on, Kevin. You either believe what you're saying or you don't."
And it hits me that he's trying to snow me. Trying to use reverse psychology. Goad me and tempt me, but make it scary enough that I back down.
Screw that. Besides, I can't stop thinking of Leah, of the way she leaned in close, whispering just to me, just for me...
"I'll do it," I tell him. He just nods, and I can't tell if he's disappointed or amused.
"Fine. Report to the media center first thing Monday morning and Mrs. Grant will set it all up. Then, the next day, John will have his say."
Say what?
John grins.
"Oh, yes," the Doc goes on, as if he's enjoying my look of shock ... and I think he is. "I said this was going to be an exercise, didn't I? Free speech cuts both ways, Kevin. You get to tell the school what you think, and then John will offer his side of the issue."
It's a long, dangerous moment. The thought of being broadcast to the student body is one thing, but then to have John come at me with the verbal equivalent of a baseball bat ... The idea goes in like an injection of ice water and settles right in my balls. No way. Forget it.
But I can't back out in front of John. I'd be the world's biggest coward.
"I'm not sure about this, Dr. Goethe."
"John?"
Riordon shrugs. His shoulders are massive. "I'm prepared to debate my side any time, any place."
"Ball's in your court, Kevin." The Doc glances at his watch. "Let me know by the end of the day. You're both late for third period, so move it."
Chapter 18
I'm an Idiot
JOHN RIORDON. MAN. OF ALL PEOPLE! The only kid to get on the varsity football team as a freshman. As tall and broad as God, and twice as good-looking. Smart and well spoken. He's like living proof that God has a sense of humor—he makes a guy like Riordon and he makes a guy like me and then he figures we'll both survive.
So Day One would be Kross the Acned, followed on Day Two by ... by...
"By the Apollonian Ideal," Flip says helpfully, like I know what he's talking about.
We're all in the janitors' office, munching on some Mickey D's that Flip scored. We're not supposed to leave the school for lunch runs, but Flip doesn't really worry about such things, as you might have guessed.
"He's really smart," Fam says. She offers me some of her fries and I stuff them in my face like it's my last meal. "And everyone likes him. Well," she considers, "all the popular people like him."
"You can wipe up the floor with him," Flip goes on, like Fam never interrupted.
"He's smart," Fam insists.
"Yeah, I, uh, I had social studies with him last year," says Tit. "He's no dummy."
Flip waves them off like they're bad smells. "I don't care how smart and popular he is. John Riordon never had an original thought in his life. You'll be erudite and inflammatory, while he'll be as predictable as ... as..."
"Morning wood," Speedo chimes in.
"Good one! Vvvvvvvhhhnn."
"I don't think anyone cares who has the most interesting comments. They just want another excuse to hate me."
"This is true," Flip agrees.
Of course, I can't tell them what's really bothering me about Riordon, which is that he's always nosing around Leah and her friends and they're always letting him nose around them and giggling and everything, even Leah, which, yeah, is the part that really bugs me, OK?
But Tit probably gets it. He raises his eyebrows at me. God, why did I tell him? Why couldn't I just keep it a secret tucked away with all of my other secrets?
"The difference between the two of you," Flip says, "is that John Riordon only has room for football and his own repressed homosexuality in his head. You have room for big thoughts. You can't wuss out."
"Yeah, man, don't wuss out," Jedi says, and then vvvvvvvh-hhnns a little bit.
"Yeah, well, I don't like being ambushed."
Flip laughs and slaps my back. "Way of the world, Fool Kross. Get used to it."
"You guys all think I should do it?"
Enthusiastic nods from everyone except Fam. It's not that she's not nodding. It's just that she's not doing it enthusiastically.
OK, this is marginally cooler than I'd thought before. I've got my friends convinced, at least.
"That means a lot to me, guys. That you believe in me. That you understand what I'm trying to say."
Tit's the first one to look away. Speedo raises an eyebrow like he's confused, and Jedi just hums away under his breath.
The whole room's gone completely silent. Except for Jedi, of course.
"Um, Kross..." Tit says.
"Oh, come on! Not you guys, too!"
"Hey, look, I'm not gonna speak for anyone else," Flip says, "but I don't really care what your point is. I'm not interested in the cause, man. I'm just here for the fight."
Tit shrugs. "Yeah. Me, too."
No way. "Speedo? Jedi? What about you guys?"
"We're buds, Kross," says S
peedo. "If you want to do this, that's cool. I'll stand by you because you've always stood by me. But yeah—I don't get it. Not really."
"Who cares about ribbons and pledges and all that crap anyway? Vvvvvvvvhhhnn. It's like the news and stuff. Boring." His eyes light up. "But messing with people over it? Yeah, that's cool."
Fam looks like she wants to say something, but Flip jumps up from the desk and slaps his hands together. "The Council has spoken! We support Fool Kross on his quest. You make up your mind, Kross. We'll be there for you."
Which is great, I guess. But, tell the truth, I'd rather have people supporting me who believe in what I'm doing.
For the rest of the day, though, I can't help thinking about it. I think of the look on Leah's face when she told me she admired me. It makes me dizzy. I think of Dr. Goethe calling me a "role model."
Is that what I am? What I was? What I could be?
Is it possible that I could be a role model, just a different kind than Dr. Goethe thought? A role model for my way of thinking?
Or maybe just get a chance to rub John Riordon's face in the dirt while Leah watches.
On my way to the parking lot at the end of the day, I reach into my pocket for my car keys. Much to my surprise, I find the key to Brookdale there, too. I forgot—I attached it to my key chain.
I stop dead, looking at it.
And then I go straight to the principal's office.
"OK," I tell the Doc. "I'll do it."
That afternoon, the cops come to the apartment. They're wondering about the Ribboning of the Bridge and they read the paper, too, so they figure I'm the obvious suspect.
Dad doesn't like having cops on his turf. He's tough with them. He also tells them that I was asleep in bed when he left for work at, like, two in the morning. Which would have made it impossible for me to vandalize the bridge. Which isn't a bridge anyway—it's just a bridge support. For a nonexistent bridge. And is putting magnets on something really vandalizing it? I mean, they come off.
