The Fight for Kidsboro

by Marshal Younger

  “On average, boys make eight starbills a month more than girls in Kidsboro.” More murmuring, and this time I noticed that most of it was female murmurs. I didn’t want to turn around in case every girl in the place was staring at me. Valerie went on. “And, of course, I find it very convenient that there are three boys on the city council but only two girls. Mayor Cummings is obviously anti-girl.”

  Valerie glanced at me with a smirk on her face and reached behind her chair. She pulled out a tape player. “Let me show you just how anti-girl he is.”

  What did she have on that tape?

  “On this tape, I have the voice of Ryan Cummings, our mayor. I’m sure you’ll recognize it immediately. You will hear Ryan share his true feelings about girls. This is a taped interview that Ryan did with the Kidsboro Chronicle last winter when Jill did an article on the Kidsboro military. Listen carefully, if you will.” I shot a look at Jill, who had her head down. She refused to make eye contact.

  Valerie pressed Play, and out came Jill’s voice. “Ryan, there are many girls who have volunteered to be in our army. What do you think their role will be?”

  The next voice was mine. “Oh, the girls will play a vital role in our military. They’ll be right there when the fighting starts … serving the guys hot chocolate.”

  Valerie quickly pressed Stop and looked out at the audience. I was too shocked to look around, but I could feel the red-hot stares of all the girls, plus the utter disbelief of all the boys.

  I had only been making a joke, and Jill knew that.

  Valerie continued. “A person who thinks this way about girls can’t make decisions without his bias getting in the way. And indeed, I believe it does get in the way. Ryan runs a city where girls are in the minority, where girls make less money, and where boys get more and better jobs in the government. I cannot just sit back and watch this happen to my gender.”

  There Was some female applause from the back. I glanced over, and Scott was doing sort of a half-clap, which meant that he didn’t exactly agree with Valerie, but he also didn’t want to get attacked by a bunch of angry girls afterward either.

  I had to admit that Valerie was well prepared. I’d had no idea she was going to have statistics and a tape, and for a few moments, I wondered if I really was a girl hater. But I had to go ahead and state my case. I knew in my heart that I wasn’t a girl hater, and I had to prove it.

  “Is that all?” Amy asked Valerie.

  “Yes.”

  “All right. Your turn, Ryan.”

  I stood up and tucked my shirt into my pants. Nothing I could do would make me look as professional as Valerie, but I also didn’t want to be a slob. Sloppiness might somehow make me look like a girl-hating man.

  “I would like to answer all these claims, Your Honor. May I approach the bench?”

  “Yes.”

  I approached, but then I realized I had nothing to give to her and no reason to approach the bench. I just wanted to extend to her the same respect that Valerie had. I got up there and immediately took a couple of steps back. “First, I’d like to talk about this ‘63 percent of all Kidsborians are boys’ thing. Now, if you ask anyone on the city council, I am always suggesting girls as new citizens. But for some reason, girls are less likely to want to join our town than boys. Maybe they think that clubhouses are boy kinds of things.”

  I sensed some seething behind me, like I had just offended somebody, but I went on. “In fact, in the history of Kidsboro, only six boys have turned down our offers to become citizens, while 13 girls have declined to become citizens. I have the city council records …” I whirled around and realized I hadn’t planned as well as I thought I had. “I have them on my computer at home. I’ll get you a copy. Second, I want to talk about the government projects Valerie mentioned. Let me list those projects: rebuilding the bridge this spring, paving the roads in the middle of town last summer, moving those huge rocks on the edge of town so that we could create a sports field—all of these projects required hard, manual labor that girls are not built for.” I heard hissing from the back.

  “I’m sorry, but except for Alice, I don’t think there are any girls in here who could’ve moved those rocks.” Male clapping and female hissing.

  “Order,” Amy called out.

  “As for the salaries, how can Valerie bring up salaries? This town has business owners and independent workers. Their salaries are based on how much they sell and how much work they do. The government has nothing to do with the salaries of anyone but Alice, Corey, and me. And Alice makes more than Corey. I don’t doubt that boys make more money—just look at Nelson, for example. Nelson’s inventions always sell like hotcakes. He’s very rich. He raises the average all by himself. Of course the boys’ average is gonna be more. Nelson makes as much as 10 boys!”

  The boys’ applause drowned out the girls’ hissing.

  “Valerie’s statistics are misleading. I believe that I have made very fair decisions in my time here, and I will continue to do so. As for that tape … I was clearly making a joke! If Valerie had let that tape play just a few seconds longer, I’m sure I said the words ‘just kidding’ and laughed or something. I don’t feel that way at all about girls. Just look at my record.” I sat down to some mild applause.

  “Okay. Thank you, Ryan.” Judge Amy’s face wrinkled up, and she tapped her gavel on the table several times. “All right,” she said, “I’d like to listen to the entire tape.”

  Valerie stood up in instant protest. “Why, Your Honor?”

  “I want to hear context. I want to hear what Ryan said right after he made the comment about girls.”

  “Your Honor, with all due respect, the context makes no difference. The fact is he said it, whether he was joking or not.”

  “I’ll make that call, not you,” she said. I liked Judge Amy.

  Valerie breathed a heavy breath of protest, and then retrieved her tape player.

  “Rewind back to the beginning of Jill’s question,” Amy said.

  Valerie obeyed. The tape came on in the middle of Jill’s question.

  “… girls who have volunteered to be in our army. What do you think their role will be?”

  “Oh, the girls will play a vital role in our military. They’ll be right there when the fighting starts … serving the guys hot chocolate.” I laughed. “Just kidding. You’re not gonna print that, are you?” Valerie stopped the tape.

  “Wait,” Amy said. “Let it go. I want to hear how he really answered the question.” Valerie let out another breath of protest and pressed Play. I loved Judge Amy.

  I continued. “I don’t really see any different roles for girls. They’re just as capable as boys are of doing the things that army training calls for.”

  “Okay, stop the tape,” Amy said. Valerie rolled her eyes. She stopped the tape but didn’t sit down.

  “Your Honor, This was a newspaper interview. He Was just saying what he thought the readers wanted him to say. His true feelings are the things that remain unpublished.”

  “That’s not for you to say, Valerie. Now, I’m going to leave for a few minutes and make my decision. Court is in recess.” She banged her gavel.

  I believed I was out of trouble. But one thing really bothered me. Why did Jill give her that tape?

  I turned around to look at her, but she was no longer there. I whirled around and saw her practically running toward her clubhouse. I went after her.

  “Jill!” I shouted before she made it inside her office. She stopped suddenly, but she didn’t turn around.

  I had to walk around her to get her attention, because she stubbornly refused to turn around. I looked straight at her. “Why did you give Valerie that tape?”

  “I remembered that joke.”

  “You knew I was joking.”

  “Maybe I didn’t think it was that funny.”

  “You know me, Jill. You know I don’t hate girls.”

  “Maybe not. But I’m starting to see what Valerie is talking about.”
r />   “What?”

  “Government jobs usually do go to boys. You definitely suggest boys for citizenship more often than girls.”

  “Are you actually joining Valerie’s GAD group?”

  “No, of course not. I know better than to follow Valerie. But I’m just trying to make sure our world doesn’t work like the real world.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Women are sometimes discriminated against. There are women who get paid less for doing the same jobs men do. I think Kidsboro should be different.”

  I fumed. “Did you think of that yourself, or did Valerie come up with that?”

  She fumed right back. “Believe it or not, Ryan, girls can think for themselves. Even me.” She stormed off back toward the meeting hall; obviously, she didn’t really need to go to her office. I followed 30 steps behind her.

  Judge Amy sat down in her seat. The crowd was as quiet as 40 adolescents and preadolescents could get. She folded her hands and peered out over the audience.

  “Mayor Cummings,” she began, fixing her gaze on me, “your joke wasn’t funny. Boys are not smarter than girls, and girls are not less capable than boys. Whether you were joking or not, the attitude that girls are not as valuable as boys are should be avoided at all times. You should know better, being in the public eye. If I were you, I would watch what I say, on and off the record.”

  She stopped looking at me and directed her attention to the audience again. “But I do believe it was a joke. I don’t believe that this joke is evidence that Ryan truly feels that way. I also don’t believe that any of the other evidence Valerie presented shows he feels that way either.”

  She turned toward Valerie, who had her arms crossed and her teeth clinched. “Valerie, you presented a strong case, but I must rule in favor of the mayor. Court’s adjourned.”

  She banged the gavel, and the whole place erupted with opinions. A number of the girls were livid, and some of the boys were relieved. I heard the word “appeal” come from Valerie’s lips, but Kidsboro had no court for her to appeal to. We only had one court, and it had just ruled in my favor. Whether or not she had a court to appeal to, though, I knew very well that Valerie was not through with me.

  Jill was gone the second Amy’s gavel hit the table.

  There aren’t very many people who get the best of Valerie Swanson. So as I strolled into Kidsboro the next morning, I held my head a little higher than normal. I probably walked a little more quickly, my feet a little lighter. I greeted everyone I saw. “Hi, Marcy. Hey, Mark. Hi, Pete. How’s it go in’, Sid?”

  But there was something strange going on. No one was saying hi back. They all just stared at me, like I had an extra nose this morning. My inner joy turned to inner confusion as I was a one-man parade through a crowd of people turning to each other and whispering. No one spoke to me, but everyone seemed to be speaking about me.

  What was going on?

  I asked this question of a few of the gawkers, but no one would answer. I guess no one wanted to be the one to tell me what was so terribly wrong.

  I ducked into my office, eager to be out of the spotlight. Scott was at my desk, reading a newspaper.

  “Why is everybody acting so weird?” I asked.

  Scott looked at me in shock. “Is any of this true?” he said.

  “Is any of what true?”

  He slid the paper across the table. It was the Barnacle, the weekly newspaper printed in Bettertown, the rival town across the creek. The Barnacle always made fun of the Kidsboro Chronicle and everything about Kidsboro.

  On the front page, in big bold letters, were the words: “Kidsboro Mayor Has Secret Past.”

  I started sweating.

  3

  THE SECRET REVEALED

  THERE IT WAS FOR everyone to see—my secret past. And whoever had written the article hadn’t missed many details.

  KIDSBORO MAYOR HAS SECRET PAST

  Kidsboro—Ryan Cummings, mayor of Kidsboro, is not who he appears to be. According to a source who wishes to remain anonymous, Ryan Cummings is actually Jim Bowers, a former resident of the San Francisco area. He and his mother ran from California and changed their names for “personal reasons.” Also, in direct contrast to the mayor’s claims over the last five years is the resurrection of his father, who Ryan (or is that Jim?) said was dead. The source explained that Ryan’s father is very much alive.

  The article went on about some other lies I’d told. There was a picture of me from my third-grade yearbook. The caption read “Jim Bowers.” I hadn’t changed much since the third grade. That was me, all right. The truth was that my mom and I had left California to escape my abusive, alcoholic father.

  My second biggest fear—after my dad finding my mom and me—had always been that my friends would find out who I really was. And here it was, in black and white. Scott saw that I was done reading the article. “What’s this all about?” he asked.

  I looked at him, but couldn’t answer. I crumpled up the paper, threw it down, and ran out of my office.

  Jill was right outside the door. I switched directions to get past her, but she stuck her arm out. “Ryan, what’s going on?” I didn’t want to talk to her, even though I knew she probably wouldn’t put anything I said in the paper. I kept going.

  I heard footsteps running up behind me, and I glanced back. It was Valerie. She had the biggest smile on her face. I sped up, but not before she got some verbal shots in. “Hey, Ryan,” she said, “you remember in our election last year, how you told everyone that you had never lied to them? I was just wondering: Does that include the time when you lied about everything?”

  Done digging in her heels, she slowed down and let me go. Dozens of people were watching. I didn’t know where I was running. I was just furious with everyone and everything right now.

  But then something dawned on me. I stopped and addressed the onlookers. “Has anyone seen Jake?”

  Jake Randall was the one who had told my story. I just knew it. He’d been a neighbor of mine in California before we had moved. He’d visited his grandmother in Odyssey last summer and had a stranglehold on me because of what he knew about my past. I believed he had just returned to Odyssey for summer vacation. I was going after him.

  Someone in the crowd answered my question. “I just saw Jake at Whit’s End about 20 minutes ago,” he said. I was gone before he could finish his sentence.

  Whit’s End was crowded when I burst through the door, but I barely even noticed. Jake was standing in a corner of the shop, next to a tall indoor plant. I went straight for him. He saw me coming and must have known why I was there, because he stopped talking to Max.

  “You just couldn’t keep your fat mouth shut, could you?” I said.

  “I didn’t tell him nothing, man.”

  “Liar!”

  “You’ve got the wrong guy, dude,” he said with a smirk. I hated that look, and some how it sparked an uncontrollable anger in me. I wasn’t going to look at that face any more. Suddenly, my fist clenched up and I let it fly. I hit him square in the jaw. He Was caught off-balance and fell backward into the plant. The sides of the pot broke apart underneath him, sending dirt in all directions. The crowd fell silent as I looked at him. That wasn’t me that had just punched someone. I didn’t hit people. Jake looked up at me with blood streaming from his chin, more shocked than hurt.

  Mr. Whittaker ran up just as Jake got to his feet and charged at me. Mr. Whittaker grabbed Jake by the chest, and his punch missed me by a foot. Mr. Whittaker forced him to the wall.

  “What’s going on?” Mr. Whittaker asked.

  Max spoke up with shocked glee. “Ryan clocked him.”

  “What?”

  “Right in the jaw.”

  Mr. Whittaker looked at me in disbelief, and then he looked at Jake. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Just caught me off guard,” he said, loosening up to show that he wasn’t going to charge me again. He pointed at me. “If that punch would a hurt, you’d be lyin’ in
a ditch sometime tomorrow.”

  “That’s enough, Jake,” said Mr. Whittaker.

  “I never said a word to that reporter,” Jake continued.

  “Let me see your face,” Mr. Whittaker insisted. Jake moved his hand and Mr. Whittaker looked it over. “I don’t think it needs stitches. You want a ride home?”

  Jake shook his head. “I’m okay.”

  Mr. Whittaker turned his attention to me. His face was rock-hard. “I am taking you home, Ryan.”

  “You want to tell me what that was all about?” Mr. Whittaker asked in his car on the way to my house. I had seen him angry before, but never at me.

  “I don’t feel like talking about it,” I said, not looking at him. I didn’t want to hear any advice. I wanted to be mad for a while. I didn’t want him to make me regret hitting Jake. I knew I would probably feel bad about it later, but right now I was enjoying the memory of his bloody chin. He was trying to ruin my life. I was glad I had at least ruined his chin for a moment.

  Mr. Whittaker must have known what I was thinking, because he allowed me to keep my feelings to myself. He probably knew that I would tell him everything in time.

  My mother wasn’t quite as understanding. The second Mr. Whittaker and I walked through the door, she wanted to know exactly what had happened.

  “You hit him?” she exclaimed.

  “I’m sorry.” It was all I could say.

  “Why did you do it?”

  I glanced at Mr. Whittaker, who I knew was anxious to hear my explanation. “You don’t have to say why in front of me, Ryan,” he said.

  “No, you can stay,” I replied. I looked at my mother, whose face had an odd expression—somewhere between fury and sympathy—knowing something heavy was going to come out of my mouth. “Jake told a reporter all about us. It’s in the Bettertown newspaper. Everyone knows everything.”