It’s while I’m chopping cucumbers in the kitchen that Mom perches on the couch and flips on the local news. I hover at the edge of the counter to stay in sight of the television. The news anchor at the desk says, “In a freak lightning accident last night, residents of this tight-knit community were devastated when their beloved pecan statue was struck. The enormous nut toppled over and landed in a pasture. No cows were harmed. And now, we go to Dogwood Middle with Moira.”
Immediately, I recognize the reporter with the dark curly hair. She was at the PTSA meeting on Friday. Now she wears a crisp blazer and stands in a familiar hallway of Dogwood Middle.
She smiles into the camera. “Hi, I’m Moira Roberts, and this is the news at six. Tensions are running high today in the halls of Dogwood Middle after a controversial PTSA meeting last week.” We see books being dumped across the stage and silent footage of Mr. Beeler waving a book around. “Classic literature was confiscated on the basis that it was not morally sound for young people.” The camera cuts back to her. “But they couldn’t collect all of it. What school officials did not anticipate is that students would find a way to fight back.”
I put down the knife.
The camera cuts back in a wide shot. “I’m standing in the Dogwood Middle lobby, where, as you can see, not everyone is in agreement with the limits put on student freedom.” She points to specific messages on the wall. The camera zooms in, and my jaw drops. The Student Club for Appropriate Reading propaganda is gone. In its place, pages from banned books paper every square inch of wall space. “Here we have Matilda, Rules, and The Graveyard Book, just to name a few. You’ll also notice homemade signs with words like freedom, choice, and listen.” I spot a familiar cartoon of Mr. Beeler with his fist in the air and a book under his arm.
Is this really happening?
“Students have mixed feelings about the actions in their school,” the newscaster says.
Abby’s face appears on camera. Below her face, the text flashes, Abby Rodriguez, Eighth Grade. Abby says, “I think it’s important to consider all points of view, which no one has done until now. This is a wake-up call. If I were Mr. Beeler, I’d pay attention.”
“Ha!” Mom says from the couch.
“But not everyone thinks that,” Moira Roberts continues. “Here with me is Graham Whitmore.” His name and the subtitle President of the Student Club for Appropriate Reading appear at the lower left side of the screen. “How do you feel about this demonstration?”
“I think it’s disgraceful.” He looks right into the lens. “And cowardly. We’ve worked so hard to protect the students, and for someone to paper the walls with what we’ve removed—well, it just hurts.”
I don’t know how I ever liked him.
The camera is back on Moira Roberts. “School officials have no leads as to who’s responsible for these postings, thanks to a malfunction of central security cameras over the weekend. But the protestors didn’t stop with the lobby.” The camera follows her across the corridor. “The pages continue throughout the building. Cleanup crews have been at it since this morning, but they’ve scarcely made a dent due to the heavy-duty adhesive.” She stops in a familiar hallway. “This area seems to be the hub, with locker 319 as the focal point.” The camera zooms in on the locker.
In neat red letters, LONG LIVE THE REBEL LIBRARIAN is painted across the glued-on pages.
Mom gasps from the couch.
“Wow,” I whisper. The biggest smile of my life spreads across my face.
The camera zooms in on the reporter’s face. “The message can’t get any clearer than that, but will the school board listen? Find out tomorrow night when I report live at six. I’m Moira Roberts, and this is your Dogwood.”
I have to hand it to whoever did it—they just scored legendary status.
* * *
By the time Dad emerges from his office that evening, I’m taking the garlic rolls out of the oven and setting Parmesan cheese on the table. “Something smells good,” he says. Spaghetti is the only thing I can make without burning it.
The phone rings, but they both ignore it.
“It’s ready when you guys are.”
Mom flicks off the TV and wraps her arms around Dad. “Have you seen the news?”
“I wish I hadn’t,” he says.
At least they know I didn’t do it. There are some benefits to house arrest after all.
The phone rings constantly throughout dinner. Finally, Dad gets up and takes it off the hook. “June,” he says over dessert, “we need to go over what you’re going to say tomorrow.” The school board is holding an emergency session to deal with everything, and my parents have arranged for me to publicly apologize.
“What’s there to talk about?”
Mom grimaces. “You need to tell the board how sorry you are.”
I smush the brownie crumbs down in the bowl with my spoon. “I’m not sorry.” There’s no need to lie about it anymore.
Dad sighs. “But you should be. You will tell them it will never happen again, and that you’ll have to live with what you did for the rest of your life.” He takes a slow sip of coffee. “You do that, and maybe by this time next year, it will have blown over.”
“I didn’t commit a crime.” I look from Dad to Mom. “I opened a library.”
Mom touches Dad’s arm. “What you did was wrong, and when you’re wrong, you apologize.” She shakes her head. “End of discussion.”
No matter what I do, I can’t calm my jumpy stomach and my sweating palms. I haven’t had a single chance this whole time to speak up for myself. At least, not to anyone besides my parents, and they won’t listen. But in eight hours, I get the floor for five whole minutes. They can’t cut me off—I already checked. It’s in the bylaws.
It’s only ten o’clock, and so far Mom has put me to work dusting the blinds, spot-cleaning the couch, and changing the water filter in the fridge. At least it gives me something to do while I work through what I’m going to say.
The phone rings. “I’ll get it!” I toss my sponge in the sink and run to grab it. “Hello?”
“June! You’re home.”
“Kate?” I’m so surprised and happy to hear her voice, I could cry.
“Turn on CNN. Right now!”
I rush for the remote and flip to the channel as quickly as I can. I sink into the love seat. “Oh no.”
Kate and I are both silent while Moira Roberts’s story replays. This time I see more footage from the meeting. The parents and students filing through the double doors. The guys dumping books onto the stage. Mr. Beeler at the podium.
The video stops on locker 319. This time the whole world can see how neatly someone painted LONG LIVE THE REBEL LIBRARIAN.
The camera zooms out, revealing the image on-screen behind the news anchor at her desk. “There’s a developing controversy in the small town of Dogwood tonight. Just who is the Rebel Librarian? What provoked an entire community into censoring literature? Find out tonight, when we report live from Dogwood Middle.”
Her co-anchor laughs and says, “Our crew had better be careful down there. Their script copy might get confiscated.”
The anchor winks and says, “The school officials will have to pry it out of their hands first.”
They cut to the weather.
“June, what is going on down there? I talked to some people I graduated with, and it’s all anyone’s talking about. They say”—she takes a deep breath—“they’re saying you got this whole thing started.”
“That would be something, wouldn’t it?” It’s like she’s shocked I’m at the center of everything.
“Tell me it’s true!”
I’d rather hear her grovel. “How could you just leave me alone here? With them? You haven’t even called me back. You knew they took my books, and you dropped off the face of the planet. Do y
ou have any idea what it’s been like for me? I needed you.” She should know. They used to watch her every move. Super-early curfew, no cell phone. And now they’ve only gotten worse.
There’s a pause on the other end. “Look. I know, okay? I know they’re strict—”
“They’re ridiculous!” And so much more, but I don’t have the words.
“I’m so sorry. Mom said you were grounded and couldn’t talk!”
“Since when has that stopped you?”
“I know, I know. I just—I didn’t want to call until I figured things out.”
“Well, I’m so glad you took some time for yourself.” Tears well in my eyes, and I blink them back.
“June, I—”
“Save it. You said you’d be just a phone call away, or did you forget that part?”
“I didn’t forget.”
I say nothing.
Kate takes a deep breath. “Things haven’t been easy for me, either. I’ve been so alone. I had to make a decision that would decide my whole life, and I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. It’s been awful trying to figure out what to do.”
“I know the feeling.”
She groans. “I just—June, I think about you all the time.”
I almost smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“And what a jerk you are for ditching me?” She’s not getting off the hook so easily.
There’s a pause. “Especially that.”
I think she means it. “Good.”
“I’m sorry, June. Really. And whatever it is, I’m here now.”
My shoulders relax against the couch cushions. “You can’t ever leave me like that again. All I had to entertain myself was your old diary, and it was so boring.”
“You didn’t!”
“I had nothing else to read,” I say, totally serious.
“No! You wouldn’t do that!”
I wait until I can picture her face turning red. “But Mom and Dad confiscated it, so I didn’t get to finish. They read all of it, though.”
“I’m going to be sick.”
“Just kidding!” I laugh.
Kate sighs. “I guess I deserved that. So, what happened? Are you the news story?”
“Yeah.” I feel so much lighter the minute the word leaves my lips.
“I knew it!” She laughs like I haven’t heard her laugh in years, and the sound is infectious. I’ve missed her so much. “Look at my baby sister, all famous!”
“Not yet, anyway. Guess that’s later tonight. You should thank me, you know. I’m making your career change seem like a new haircut.”
She cackles. “How can I ever repay you?”
“I’m sure I’ll think of something.” Like letting me crash in your dorm room when I need space to breathe.
“So what happens now? Public outrage?”
I snicker. “That was Friday. But tonight’s meeting should be a close second.” I sprawl out across the cushions and drape my arm across my eyes. “I’ll apologize and life will go back to normal.” It sounds so simple like that. Maybe it is.
“Amazing. I’m hundreds of miles away and I still feel like I’m suffocating.” She snorts. “I can hear Mom now.” She switches to a superior tone. “June, what were you thinking?”
That’s easy. “That I was the only one thinking.”
“Well, someone needs to.” She pauses. “And did you make other people think?”
“At least half the school.” That counts for something.
She giggles. “Then that makes you the most dangerous person in Dogwood.” With Kate on my side, I feel a lot more confident than I did a few minutes ago. It’s enough to make me believe anything is possible tonight.
“I’m starting to figure that out. They don’t like books, kids thinking for themselves, anything like that.”
“Neither does that Whitmore kid. I’ll bet he’s super-proud of that judgy interview. Someone said he was your boyfriend. It’s not true, is it?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Ugh, it’s like I live in a time vacuum. I don’t know anything that’s going on.”
I clear my throat.
“Yeah, okay. That’s my fault. But I knew you still weren’t allowed to date!”
I laugh. And then I tell her everything. About Ms. Bradshaw, the canceled author event. How I got my hands on forbidden books. How I lost Graham and Emma but found Matt and Abby. How all of a sudden, people knew my name, and we were in something together much bigger than we dreamed it could be. I only skip the part about Matt at the diner. That’s just for me.
“Anyway, Mom and Dad say I have to apologize to the school board. They told me it would build character.”
“That sounds about right.” She pauses. “You’re not going to do it, are you?”
Even when she can’t see my face, she can still read me. “I just—I want what I did to mean something.”
“Oh, I think you’ve managed that, Ms. CNN.”
“No, really. What good was any of it if nothing sticks? We still have no books. What about that? And what if I apologize and nothing ever changes?”
She sighs. “Listen to me. You have one shot at this. Make them hear you. Don’t waste it. And if Mom and Dad aren’t happy when it’s over, this conversation never happened.”
I laugh. Maybe it’s the pressure I’m feeling. Maybe I’m just on a roll and speaking my mind. Or maybe it’s easier to say this without having to look her in the eye. I just know it needs to be said. “Hey, Kate?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t care what Dad says. You’re going to be an incredible teacher.”
There’s silence on the other end. I wait a moment for her to speak. She doesn’t. “Kate? You there?”
“Thanks,” she says. Her voice cracks on the word.
“I wish you could be here tonight.”
“Me too. I’ll be watching. Make me proud.”
I hang up the phone with a shiver. So many people will be watching.
* * *
I don’t say anything on the way to the meeting. Instead, I lean my head against the window and brace for the storm in the auditorium.
Dad turns onto the school drive, and it looks like a celebrity has come to visit. News vehicles line the streets, the parking lot is full, and there are adults I don’t even recognize streaming through the doors.
This is a big deal.
“Now, June, remember what we talked about.”
“Got it, Mom.” She only drilled me on my speech ten times before we left the house, but who’s counting?
Dad parks on the grass because all the other parking spots are full. It’s only five-thirty.
“I want you to ignore the media, no matter how distracting they are. Focus on what you want to say. Okay?” he says as he turns off the car.
“I can’t believe they can come in and film whenever they want. I mean, I’m a minor.” I unbuckle my seat belt. “It just doesn’t seem right.”
“All school board meetings are open forums, and anyone can attend. Public school business is handled in public. Always.”
“I don’t want to talk in front of the news.” It’s going to be hard enough talking to the school board.
They just look at each other and open their car doors. I know what they’re thinking. I should’ve thought about that before I made certain choices that they’d force me to apologize for.
We stop to inspect the newly papered lobby, along with the rest of Dogwood. Everyone young and old stops to peer at the walls. I blink up at the pages, not quite believing my eyes. Coraline. The Outsiders. And so many more. It’s awesome. Mom frowns at a random page and ushers us to the auditorium, muttering under her breath.
We’re forced to walk through the background behin
d a reporter broadcasting live from the auditorium doors. I pass by the lens quickly. If Kate saw me, she’s probably yelling at the TV.
This time we don’t sit in the front row because the media have their equipment stationed there. We sit center left. We’re only ten feet from the podium; there’s already a large camera sitting on a tripod in front of it.
The room has the same energy as at a sold-out show. People arrive early for good seats, and electricity crackles in the air. The school board is a bunch of men and one woman. It’s weird not seeing Dad onstage with them, but he’s with the PTSA, which is totally different from the school board. The PTSA is like a club that sells cookies and brings everyone together to try to make school a better place. The school board, though, can actually do things. They’re the boss of everyone—the teachers, the principal, even the superintendent! Mom said most of the people on the board were really involved in their kids’ schools years ago, and that’s why they’re there. I asked if they actually knew anything about education. Mom just looked at me funny.
The temperature rises as the seats fill up. Or maybe it’s just me. I don’t know. My throat is dry, and even though my hands feel like ice, my palms are dripping wet. I roll my dead-fish hands across my skinny jeans, but they’re still just as clammy as ever.
I’m wearing tall brown boots with low heels and a long red sweater topped off with the pendant necklace Kate gave me.
The red matches the writing on my locker.
I push the cuticles back on my nails. I don’t need to see who’s here and who’s not. Mom and Dad are going to make me speak no matter who shows up.
The lights flicker, but to my surprise, they stay on.
First, everyone stands for the Pledge of Allegiance. Once the audience settles back into their seats, the chairperson clears his throat. “Welcome, welcome. As a result of the alarming events of the last couple of days, we have called this emergency meeting. There are a few items on the agenda to discuss tonight. First, we need to resolve a teacher suspension. Second, we have a special request from a student who wishes to speak. Third, we will open the floor to community members. Remember, there is a five-minute time limit for each speaker.”
Property of the Rebel Librarian Page 14
