by Sara Farizan
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Stephanie said to the board as she walked over to Elle and Ms. McCrea.
“Fine, fine, let us carry on, please. What do those who signed the petition find so offensive?” Mr. Thompson asked again, checking his watch.
“The students who signed the petition object to the soldier’s gun, sir,” Elle said. “As well as to being known as the Gunners. We also object to the fact that people who do not currently attend the school seem to dominate the conversation regarding the mascot.” She paused for a moment. “May we continue, Headmaster Clarkson?”
Mr. Clarkson nodded. Elle cleared her throat.
“What I love most about being a part of yearbook is that I have a chance to mold a part of Granger’s history. The staff of Our Time to Shine gets to create a time capsule of school memories. I was curious to know whether the school had always had the Gunners as a mascot, so Stephanie and I researched Granger history in the library archives.” Elle motioned for Noah in the booth to lower the lights and drop the projector screen. The board members turned to look at the screen.
“We are about to show you photographs from 1957, when Granger was still an all-boys school,” Stephanie said. “Could we see the first slide, please?”
A black-and-white photograph was projected onto the screen. It showed Granger students, all of them white and male, standing on the bleachers at a football game. Four of the young men were shirtless, wearing war paint and headdresses straight out of Coachella.
“The Red Chief was the Granger mascot from the school’s founding in 1897 until 1970.” Elle gestured to the screen. “It is disappointing that the school I love waited until 1970 to change a mascot that is racist and dehumanizing to Native Americans and indigenous people. It is also a disappointing fact that many high school, college, and professional sports teams have such mascots to this day.”
The next slide showed a blowup of the caption underneath the photograph. One name was highlighted in yellow: Will Thompson, class of ’57. Mr. Thompson had his head turned to look up at the screen, so I couldn’t see his face, but he didn’t object to his photo being on display. There were, however, whispers among the audience.
“The mascot was changed in 1970 because of the efforts of the classes of ’67, ’68 and ’69, who began a petition campaign in 1967, much like the one Stephanie Bergner began last year.” Elle tilted her head in Stephanie’s direction. “It is worth noting that Granger became co-ed in 1964 and was dealing with changes already. In reviewing the campaign from the sixties in the archived issues of the Gazette, we learned that some saw the mascot debate as frivolous or unimportant. But it was important enough to the student body, who spoke out to fight for it. If the school was able to change the mascot back then, why can’t we do the same now? And this time, perhaps we can pick a symbol that speaks to who we are as a school and what we aspire to be: a safe, welcoming place where ideas and people are valued.”
Elle motioned for Noah to turn off the projector. The lights came back on, and I blinked against the brightness. The board turned their chairs back around. I could see Mr. Thompson’s smug face staring out at an unimpressed audience.
“Now, I realize that time marches on and people evolve,” Elle said. “With that in mind, I do hope that the board will consider changing the mascot once again. Stephanie and I look forward to working with you and the student body to find a more appropriate symbol for our school. Thank you.”
Sean and I stood up, along with many others in the audience, and applauded Elle as she went back to her seat. Ms. McCrea sat down too, but Stephanie stayed at the microphone.
“Ms. Bergner, did you have something to add?” Mr. Clarkson asked as the applause died down. This didn’t seem like part of the official agenda, but there was no way Clarkson was going to deny Stephanie a chance to speak after the ordeal she’d been through.
“Yes, thank you,” Stephanie said as she held up a manila folder. “I believe I know who composed the inappropriate images that were sent to the student body and would like to speak with you about it. Unless that person would like to reveal himself to you now?”
“Now, THIS is worth commentating for! What a show, Kevin! What. A. Show!”
The crowd gasped.
“I believe that is a conversation better held in private,” Mr. Clarkson said. “Perhaps we should take a short break and reconvene in ten minutes. Ms. Bergner, if you could please meet me in my office.”
“Of course,” Stephanie said to Headmaster Clarkson. Then she turned to look straight at Noah. Some in the audience hadn’t even sat back down yet. Now more people stood up to speak to each other, confusion and gossip swirling in the air as Stephanie left the auditorium.
“Way better than TV,” Sean said. I twisted around in my seat to see Noah sneaking out of the tech booth and leaving the auditorium through the back. I stood up and shuffled by Sean.
“Where are you going?” he asked me.
“Bathroom,” I lied. I wanted to see where Noah was slinking off to.
***
I walked down the dimly lit hallway toward Mr. Clarkson’s office. Photographs of past Granger classes hung on the walls. It felt like the entirety of Granger history was watching me as I heard Noah confronting Stephanie around the corner.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” Noah asked her as I stopped behind a column to listen. “Who do you think did it?”
“I’m going to wait until I speak to Headmaster Clarkson,” Stephanie replied.
“You think it’s me. You think I did it.”
I didn’t hear Stephanie say anything.
“I can’t believe this. After everything I’ve done for you.”
“Done for me?” Stephanie asked, incredulous.
“I have done everything I can to show you how much I care for you,” Noah said, his voice cracking, making him sound like a little kid. “I joined you for every ridiculous cause you thought was worthy of your attention. I made sure the newspaper ran your opinion pieces even when the whole staff thought they were stupid and attention-seeking. I was the shoulder you cried on when you heard people calling you names.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to pursue a romantic relationship with you,” Stephanie fumed. “I thought you were my friend. A friend wouldn’t have done this, Noah!”
“A friend wouldn’t have led me on,” Noah said. He was almost shouting now. “That night when you asked me to take you to that stupid party, I was thrilled. I thought we were on a date. Finally, you were going to see me as more than your stupid canvassing buddy. What did you end up doing at the party? You left me. For that jock! I thought he was the guy you were always texting. Your stupid secret texts were for your stupid girlfriend, weren’t they? What an idiot I was. I saw you and Erin in the library. When she pushed your hair back behind your ear and you blushed. You looked like a lovesick puppy.”
“We thought we were alone,” Stephanie said. “You took a simple gesture as an excuse to humiliate me. Do you have some delusional notion that you have a right to me?”
It was silent for a moment.
“What’s in that folder?” he asked.
Stephanie didn’t answer him.
“What’s in it?” he asked.
“Get away from me!” Stephanie yelled.
“Hey!” I rushed around the corner. Noah was tugging on Stephanie’s folder, but I pushed him away from her. He was breathing heavily, his face red.
“This doesn’t concern you,” Noah spat as I took my hands off his shoulders.
“It does. You sent that email about me,” I said as he leaned against the wall. “Is this why? You were jealous that Stephanie hung out with me at a party?”
His usual forgettable, amiable smile was nowhere to be found. He looked at me with an empty stare that gave me a chill. “I didn’t send that email about you.”
“You’re lying,” I snarl
ed.
“The photograph of me that you sent out was from the Granger Gazette,” Stephanie said to Noah, holding up her folder, her voice quaking. “I was photographed recently for an article about the mascot, but the new issue of the newspaper isn’t out yet. The photo of Erin that was sent out was taken for this year’s yearbook. The yearbook staff does not have access to the Gazette’s materials and vice versa. There’s only one student who has access to both. The layout editor of both of those publications.”
Noah’s eyes darted between Stephanie and me. He knew Stephanie always saw a project through to the end. There was no way she was going to half-ass an investigation.
“Ms. Bergner.” I heard Mr. Clarkson’s voice and turned my head to see him and Ms. McCrea walking toward us. “There was something you wanted to share. In private,” he said, nodding at Noah and me.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
Mr. Clarkson brushed past Noah to unlock his office door. Ms. McCrea gently put her arm around Stephanie’s shoulders, and they both disappeared into the office. Headmaster Clarkson shut the door behind them.
Noah paced back and forth, gritting his teeth.
“You piece of—” I stopped myself from cursing him out in front of the headmaster’s office. “You didn’t think anyone would find out?”
“Shut up,” he whispered to me.
“Me shut up? Oh, dude, I am going to make you wish you never sent that garbage about me and—”
Noah stopped in his tracks. “I didn’t send that email about you. Trust me, I liked it, and kudos to the guy who made it . . . but I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The news of Noah’s expulsion was the latest in a string of juicy gossip items that had gripped the Granger campus, but no one was particularly upset. He didn’t have many friends, other than Stephanie. I could tell she was sad when I’d ask her how she was doing, but she put on this brave face at school and pretended Noah had never existed. She was keeping herself busy, flitting from class to club. She always seemed to be around people. I didn’t know why. I’d spent the last weeks wanting to retreat and be alone.
“Bijan, can you stay behind for a moment?” Ms. McCrea asked as Friday’s history class came to a close.
“I have to pack up and catch the bus with the team,” I said, jerking my thumb to the door as my classmates rushed out. We were driving to New Hampshire for the New England tournament that afternoon to stay overnight at a Holiday Inn near the tourney.
“This will only take a moment,” she said, standing up behind her desk.
“So like an hour,” Sean whispered to me before he left. “I’ll see you at the game.”
Ms. McCrea met me in the middle of the room.
“I’m sorry about my paper being late,” I said. It was a week overdue, and I wasn’t going to get to it over the weekend.
“While I have been waiting on your assignment, that’s not what I want to talk to you about,” Ms. McCrea said. “I want to ask you how you’re doing.”
“Fine,” I said, looking briefly away from her and taking interest in a United Nations poster. If she needed to worry about anyone, it was Erin Wheeler, who hadn’t been at school for a week. Her absence was fueling rumors. Sean said he heard some knucklehead in the ceramics studio claim that Erin was being sent to a Catholic boarding school somewhere in California.
“You’ve been quiet in class,” Ms. McCrea continued. I didn’t realize I was ordinarily a chatterbox. “Your work hasn’t been up to your usual standards. I wondered if maybe you want to talk about anything.”
“Well, they caught Noah, so there’s nothing to talk about,” I said.
There was something that still bothered me about what Noah had said before Headmaster Clarkson asked him into his office: Why would he deny sending the email about me and admit to sending the other one? What if he really didn’t do it?
“Yes, while I’m relieved Mr. Olson was asked to leave, I want you to know that there are resources and people here for you. Ms. Jacobs, for instance—”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, holding my hands up. I didn’t need to talk to the guidance counselor, even though she was really nice and pronounced my name correctly. There was nothing to talk about. If anything, Noah should have talked to her before he decided to go on a psycho GIF-creating spree.
“Okay,” Ms. McCrea said, letting the issue drop. “I take it the tournament will be keeping you pretty busy this weekend and you may not have your paper ready by Monday?”
“Would Wednesday work?” I was doing my best to catch up in my other classes, but some days the workload felt insurmountable.
“Wednesday will be fine. But later than that and we’ll have to have a discussion about what we can do to get you up to speed.”
“Thank you, and yes, I totally understand,” I said, relieved.
“Good luck! We’re all rooting for you. On and off the court.” She held a hand in the air for me to high-five. I slapped it, even though it felt kind of corny. I believed her when she said she was rooting for me.
***
“Hey, all-star,” Elle called from down the nearly deserted hallway. There were only a few straggler freshmen waiting around to be picked up.
“You’re the all-star,” I said, shoving The Scarlet Letter into my backpack before shutting my locker. “Speaking truth to power like a boss. I’m glad I bumped into you.” I pulled two trades from my backpack and handed them to her. We’d been exchanging comics in English class since Erin’s party.
“I loved This One Summer, so thank you for that,” I said. “This one is my pick for you.”
“Paper Girls! Nice one,” she said.
“You’ve read it already, haven’t you?” I asked.
“How did you know?”
“Your eyes didn’t light up like when I gave you Embroideries and Astro City: The Tarnished Angel,” I said.
“Okay, yes, I am all caught up with Paper Girls. I am, however, happy to revisit it,” she said, taking the book from me. “Are you excited for the tournament?”
“I’m nervous.”
“You? Nervous? Never,” she said with a grin.
“BANG! Powell with the smooth line. Majidi may be coming undone right before our eyes!”
“He is going to have to bring his A game here, Kevin. He is going to have to—”
Shut up, guys. Much respect, but shut up. I’ve got this.
Elle handed me an envelope with my name on it.
“What’s this?”
“I took it upon myself to be your not-so-secret psych.”
I opened the envelope and laughed. A smiling Chuck E. Cheese mouse stared at me from a printed coupon, offering me a two-dollar discount on any large pizza and a hundred tokens for twenty-five dollars.
“I kind of want to frame this,” I said.
“I figured you might need them when you get back,” she said softly. “We might need them.”
“Thank you. I hope your Skee-Ball game is up to snuff.” I opened my arms and she leaned into me for an embrace. We held each other. Not too long, but long enough to feel that this was the start of something. Something big, I hoped.
“To be clear, the coupons are symbolic—you don’t actually want me to take you to Chuck E. Cheese’s on our first date?” I asked as we let go of each other.
“No. That place is for babies.”
“Phew! Okay, just needed to be sure.”
***
“Best Celtic of all time?” Todd asked from the seat behind Marcus and me on the bus. “For me, and I know this is going to be a controversial pick . . . Brian Scalabrine.”
“Get out of here,” Marcus said with a laugh. We had been on the road for a little over an hour, and so far so good. Drew sat up front by Coach to avoid being tormented by Will about Erin dumping him for
Stephanie.
“You know that’s not a real answer. But Scal is a great commentator,” Todd said. “I guess I have to go with Larry Bird.” That, at least, made sense.
“Bird is a legend,” I conceded. “He and Magic saved the NBA. He could shoot from everywhere. A great trash talker too. But the best Celtic of all time has to be Bill Russell.”
“Over Bird?” Todd asked.
“Yeah!” I said. “Bill Russell invented blocking! He helped the Cs win eleven championships and was MVP five times!”
“Yeah, but Russell was playing in the sixties,” Todd said. “I mean, there wasn’t that much competition.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Marcus asked. “Because there were fewer black players back then?”
“Well, yeah. That and shorter shorts,” Todd said, doing his best to backpedal.
“Their shorts were just as tiny in the eighties,” I argued. “But even if Russell had played in the eighties, he would have dominated.”
“I have to go with the Truth,” Marcus said. “He gave his all every night when he played.”
“Only one championship ring for Pierce, though,” Todd said.
“Hey, in the age of LeBron, one ring means something,” Marcus countered. “How do you know how short those shorts were, Beej?”
“The change in regulation length of basketball shorts can be attributed to the Fab Five. Juwan Howard, Jalen Rose, Jimmy King, Ray Jackson, and Chris Webber all wore long shorts at Michigan, and it caught on.”
“Why do you know that?” Todd asked.
“He’s a real student of the sport,” Marcus said.
“I try.”
“Okay, then,” Marcus said, trying to stump me. “Name two WNBA teams.” A lesser fan would have faltered.
“The Minnesota Lynx have been dominating the past few seasons, mostly because of Maya Moore’s leadership. Since the departure of the Seattle SuperSonics, the Seattle Storm have been the professional basketball team in the city. And I’ve missed seeing Tamika Catchings on the court since she retired.”
