Ghost of Spirit Bear (13 page)

“Maybe this request being turned down isn’t our reality,” Cole told Peter after school.

“I don’t get this reality stuff,” Peter admitted.

“Maybe having our idea turned down is just the first step,” Cole said. “Maybe the most important step is how we react to that rejection. Do we lie down and give up or do we fight? Maybe that decides our true reality.”

Peter looked puzzled.

“I’ll show you,” Cole said. “After school, we’ll go back and talk to Ms. Kennedy.”

“I’m sorry about the district’s decision,” Ms. Kennedy said plainly as they entered her office.

“How could they turn down our proposal?” Cole asked with frustration. “Over ninety percent of the students signed our petition. Haven’t they heard of democracy?”

She looked at them over her glasses. “Haven’t you heard of bureaucracy? They said the cost of changing sports and band uniforms would be prohibitive. They think the Minneapolis Central Bulldogs have a rich tradition that needs to be respected and preserved.”

“Uh, yeah, like a tradition of failures, suicide, gangs, shootings, and drugs,” Cole replied.

“The main reason,” Ms. Kennedy said, “is probably all the parents out there who once attended Minneapolis Central. They still have fond memories of being Bulldogs.”

“That was their lives. What’s important right now is
our
lives.”

Ms. Kennedy threw her hands up. “They’ve made up their minds.”

“And so have we,” Cole said stubbornly.

Ms. Kennedy shrugged. “I suppose you could take it before the school board, but they usually follow the recommendation of the district office.” She stood and looked at her calendar. “They meet twice a month—next meeting is this Wednesday evening, upstairs at the district office. Every meeting allows time for public comments.”

“I’ll do that,” Cole said, “but only if you’re serious about helping us fight this. Otherwise we’re wasting our time.”

Ms. Kennedy leaned back. “This school has made some real progress since the Circle, but appealing the district’s decision could open up a real can of worms for me.”

“They’re the ones who opened the can of worms by turning down our request,” Cole said. He smiled. “Besides, what’s more important, us or your job?”

That night Cole called Garvey. “Can you believe they turned us down when ninety percent of the students wanted the change?”

“That’s why I don’t like dealing with bureaucrats,” Garvey said. “Just remember, real change seldom happens overnight.”

“I just want it to happen in my lifetime.”

“Then make it happen.”

“But how?” Cole asked. Before Garvey could answer, Cole added, “I know—I’ll think of something.”

“You will,” Garvey answered.

Nervous, Cole attended Wednesday night’s school board meeting along with Peter. Several other students joined them, including Keith. Keith still acted funny around Peter.

Cole rehearsed what he planned to say in his mind, fearing he would open his mouth and nothing would come out but gibberish. He grew even more afraid when the board members started in with all their proper legal mumbo jumbo. Everything was proclamations, nominations, proposals, addendums, agendas, amendments, and motions. It was like a meeting of Congress.

Cole had the greatest urge to just leave and forget the whole stupid thing. Why should he care? Ms. Kennedy didn’t. But too many students had joined him. He couldn’t back out. Cole forced in deep breaths to keep from freaking. Finally the board chairman, a short balding man, announced that the meeting was open for public comments.

Cole raised his hand.

The chairman motioned toward the microphone at the front of the room and said, “Please step forward and state your name and address for the record and what it is you wish to comment about.”

Cole wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans as he walked to the front of the room. There were nine board members and nearly fifty people attending the meeting. Cole swallowed, then stated his name and address. Why did they need his address? Were they going to publish this in the paper or turn it over to the police?

Briefly Cole told them who he was and what he had experienced on the island—something he suspected they already knew. “The Circle is what helped me,” he said. “And that is why we had a Circle at school.”

“Yes, I’ve heard about you and Alaska, and I also heard about your school’s Circle,” the chairman said. “But what is your request or comment tonight?”

“Well, the Circle is why I’m here,” Cole said. “We need your help. Why is our mascot a growling bulldog if real strength comes from inside ourselves?” He paused. “The Spirit Bear showed me my inner strength. To show that we want real change, we want to change our mascot and team name to the Minneapolis Central Spirit Bears.” Cole walked up and handed over the petition and cost estimates. “We’ve collected these—over ninety percent of the students agree this is what they want.”

“It sounds good, but this type of request needs to be submitted to the district office,” the Chairman said, glancing over the papers.

“We did that,” Cole said. “And they turned it down—they said it would be too expensive.”

“Have you considered that aspect?” another board member asked.

Cole nodded. “You have the rough estimates of cost with the petition, but the real costs are when students fail or turn out to be losers.”

Board members exchanged glances as the chairman handed the paperwork down the table. “We’ll take this under consideration. If we think there is merit, we’ll schedule it as an agenda item for discussion at our next meeting in two weeks.” The man took his glasses off and set them on the table to end the conversation.

Cole looked around. “So that’s it?”

The chairman nodded and smiled politely. “That’s it.” He looked past Cole into the audience. “Are there any other public comments?”

Feeling defeated by the board’s curt reaction, Cole left the meeting with Peter and the other students. Outside, one of the kids mimicked the board members. “We’ll discuss this later,” he said in a Donald Duck voice.

Everybody laughed. “Yeah, I’ll bet they’ll discuss it,” one student grumped. “I’ll bet the petition is already in the garbage can.”

Cole turned to Keith. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Whatever,” Keith said, not meeting Cole’s eyes.

“Is something wrong?” Cole asked.

Keith turned to Peter. “Can we talk?” he asked.

Peter eyed him suspiciously. “You were one of the guys who beat me up, weren’t you?”

Keith shook his head. “No, but I know who it was.”

“Who?” Peter said.

“I can’t rat on my friends.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” Peter said, staring. He blinked as he fought back tears. “If you protect them, you’re scum, too!” he shouted. Then he turned and ran.

Cole looked Keith hard in the eyes. “Peter’s right. If that’s the kind of friends you want, you’re scum, too. I thought you were better than them.”

Keith hung his head. “I could have stopped it, but I wasn’t big enough. I told the guys later that what they did was chicken and I’ve quit hanging out with them. Can you talk to Peter for me and explain?”

“Explain what? That you were a jerk and not able to stand up to a bunch of losers?”

Keith allowed a smile. “That would be a good start.”

“A good start would be for you to do what’s right,” Cole answered.

“You mean rat on them?”

“I mean, do what’s right.”

The rest of that week, other proposals made progress at school. One group started up the program that had honors students helping struggling ones. The new school newspaper,
Our Voice,
ran its first issue. The front-page article was about grading teachers. One kid wrote, “Colleges allow professors to be graded. Companies allow employees to grade supervisors. If teachers don’t want to be graded by students, maybe we need to start a black market grading system where kids vote and the results are posted on an outside Web site.” The article concluded, “If teachers don’t need permission to teach poorly, then why do we need permission to grade them?”

Several teachers threatened to have the newspaper closed down because of the article, but Ms. Kennedy sided reluctantly with the students, saying, “I support the paper and a student’s right of expression as long as they respect other viewpoints.”

“Ms. Kennedy is destroying this school,” Cole heard one teacher comment to another in the hallway. Ironically, the teacher was Cole’s history teacher. She was boring.

Chapter 14

W
HILE HE WAITED
to hear from the school board, Cole decided to visit his father one last time. Indian summer made the days warm and lazy as Cole caught the bus downtown after school. Maybe his father had changed some.

He hadn’t. “From now on you call me before dropping in,” his father snapped. “I might be with a client.”

“Or you might not want to see me,” Cole said. “You never call or stop by.”

His father rocked back in his chair. “I told you, your mother and I don’t see eye to eye these days.”

“Why, because she quit drinking and you didn’t?”

“You watch your smart mouth! I already told you, your mother and I don’t get along because she filed abuse charges, turned me in to Social Services, won custody of you, and took me to the cleaners in the divorce settlement. How many more reasons do you need?”

“Dad, you were hitting and hurting me, and you were drinking a lot. You shouldn’t have custody of me because you refuse to get help.”

“Oh, so now I’m the one who needs help?”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

“What’s the real reason you’re here?” his father asked. “Does your mother want more child support?”

Cole hesitated. “I’m here ’cause I still love you.”

His father turned and opened a file cabinet to hide his face. His voice wavered. “In your book, I’m just one big screwup, aren’t I?”

“Dad, I didn’t say that.”

His father’s voice hardened. “Listen, why don’t you just worry about yourself.”

“At least I’m trying,” Cole answered. When his father did not look up, Cole turned and walked quietly from the office. “I won’t bother you again,” he said, closing the door. Cole blinked back tears as he ran from the building out into the bright sunlight. Tears flooded his cheeks.

Later that week, Ms. Kennedy called Cole to her office. “It looks like the school board has put our mascot proposal on their agenda for next Wednesday evening,” she announced, as if she were the one responsible.

Cole had been so sure the request would be denied, his thoughts scrambled. “So how do we get ready?” he asked.

“The same as before,” Ms. Kennedy said. “State your case clearly. Anticipate the arguments or questions the board might have and be ready with answers. They already have your petition and cost estimates. Maybe get more students to show up.”

“Why am I the one that has to do the speaking?”

Ms. Kennedy took off her glasses and set them on her desk. “I’ve read through your juvenile file and you’ve been quite the troublemaker,” she said. “Tell me, when you broke into a store to steal, did that scare you?”

Embarrassed, Cole nodded. “Sure. I was afraid of getting caught.”

“So why did you still do it?” Ms. Kennedy asked.

“I don’t know … maybe it was a challenge. Maybe I was just angry.”

Ms. Kennedy nodded. “Right now you’re scared of speaking because you’re afraid of failing—it would be like getting caught.”

“That’s different,” Cole said.

She smiled. “You did a lot of gutsy things as a troublemaker, but you’ve done even more daring things to turn your life around. Peter told me about your visit to Keith in the hospital—that took a whole lot of courage.”

“But I don’t want to be the group’s leader,” Cole said.

“Leaders are born, and I suspect you’re one of them. The students in your group need a leader.” Ms. Kennedy looked Cole directly in the eyes. “You were afraid as a juvenile delinquent, but it didn’t stop you. So don’t let it stop you now from doing something good. Fear is just life telling you to be careful. Tell me, do you want to see the school mascot changed to a Spirit Bear?”

“Sure,” Cole said. “That would be good.”

“Okay, then quit questioning yourself—it’s wasting your energy. Roll up your sleeves and go make it happen.”

Cole stood to leave the office. At the door, he turned back and studied Ms. Kennedy. Maybe she did care. “Can I ask you a personal question?” he said.

“What’s that?”

“Why aren’t you afraid of the gangs hurting you?”

Ms. Kennedy hesitated, pursing her lips before answering. “My husband died a few years ago, of bone cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” said Cole.

“So am I,” she replied. “We both fought his cancer for five years. Compared to cancer, somehow a bully doesn’t seem so tough.”

Cole spent the next few days preparing for the hearing. Each day, his team gathered after school. Because cost alone could spell failure, team members made a more complete list with everything from bids on new uniforms to the cost of changing the school stationery. Working with the art teacher, several team members prepared a sample Spirit Bear logo to show the board. “Who came up with the bulldog mascot anyway?” one kid complained. “The mutt looks like it wants to eat someone.”