In the Unlikely Event (36 page)

—

“
I WROTE
a story about the crashes for the school paper,” Miri told Henry at dinner. It was one of the rare nights Henry was home in time to eat with them. “Mrs. Wallace, the adviser to the paper, called it ‘provocative.’ ”

“Provocative!” Ben Sapphire said. “We need more provocative thinkers. Don’t you agree, Henry?”

Henry glanced at Ben but didn’t respond.

“She showed it to the principal,” Miri continued. “He vetoed it, said it was inflammatory.”

“Inflammatory!” Ben Sapphire said. “This is sounding better and better.” Irene put her hand over Ben’s, letting him know he should keep quiet. Miri didn’t miss the gesture.

“I’d like to read it,” Henry told her.

“Make that two of us,” Rusty said.

After dinner Miri gave Henry her story. Tiny had returned it to her in case she wanted to revise it. “Maybe write about how the community is helping those in need,” Tiny had suggested. “Something uplifting. Mr. Royer likes uplifting stories.”

“I’m not writing for Mr. Royer,” Miri had said. “I’m writing for the
student
newspaper.”

Tiny gave her a sad look. “I know that, Miri. And I’m sorry.”

“You already said that!” Miri felt bad lashing out at Tiny. She knew Tiny was on her side, but she wanted more. She wanted Tiny to remind him this is America. We have free speech. We have freedom of the press.

Henry went to his room to read the story. When he came out ten minutes later, he said, “If I were in charge I’d publish it.”

“Really?” Miri asked. “You’re not just saying that?”

“You know I’d never do that.”

Miri nodded. She knew.

“That’s not to say I agree with everything in your story.”

Rusty grabbed the story from Henry and went upstairs to read it on her own.

While she was gone Miri saw clearly what she had to do. “Can I use your typewriter?” she asked Henry.

“Sure.”

She’d had a full semester of typing. She could type thirty-five words a minute. At Battin next year, she’d take Typing for College, something they all laughed about. “Sounds like Typing for Chimpanzees,” Robo had said. Miri wondered if they had Typing for Chimpanzees at Millburn High School.

“This is good,” Rusty said, coming back downstairs, waving
Miri’s story. “I’m so proud of you, honey. You know how to speak your mind. But is this what you really believe?”

“I’m still not sure…” Miri began.

Ben Sapphire interrupted. “When do I get to read it?”

“When it’s published,” Miri told him.

Henry, seeing where this was going, said, “I don’t have a stencil at the house but we do at the office. You want to take a ride with me?”

She got her coat.

“I type eighty words a minute,” Rusty called. “You want me to come?”

“Thanks, Mom, but I can do this myself.” She grabbed the story from Rusty.

Rusty looked disappointed, but Miri didn’t care. It was
her
story.

The
Daily Post
office was busy but probably not as busy as it would have been during the day. Henry set her up at a typewriter, removed the ribbon and rolled in the stencil. She’d never cut a stencil for a mimeograph.

“You have to press down hard on each key,” Henry told her. “It’s different from regular typing.”

Maybe she should have let Rusty help. It took a long time for her to cut the stencil. Henry didn’t seem to mind. He was at work on another story at his desk. She went through a lot of correction fluid changing her typing mistakes. Finally, when she was as satisfied as she was going to be, Henry helped her run off a hundred copies on the mimeograph.

On Thursday morning she showed Eleanor her story. “I’m going to distribute it on my own.”

Eleanor took a copy from the stack Miri was holding. She read the headline out loud. “ ‘Zombies, Martians, Commies or Sabotage?’ ” Then she smiled, showing her braces, which she almost never did. “I like this. It’s so
cheeky
.”

Cheeky wasn’t what Miri had in mind. Eleanor used expressions the rest of them had heard only in movies.

—

ZOMBIES, MARTIANS, COMMIES OR SABOTAGE?

By Miri Ammerman

The first one fell a block from Hamilton, and 4 blocks from the Elks Club, where 100 children were enjoying a holiday party.

They said it could never happen again.

But it did, skimming the roof of Battin High School, 45 minutes after 1,000 girls were dismissed for the day, and just missing St. Mary’s.

They said it was a coincidence but it could never happen again.

This time it just missed the Janet Memorial Home and at the end of that block, Vail-Deane School for girls and Pingry School for boys.

Coincidence?

Some people think so, especially the adults in our lives. But not everyone.

The students at Hamilton talk about it before school begins, gathering in small groups outside their homerooms. Everyone has a theory. Some believe it is creatures from outer space, Martians in flying saucers intercepting and causing planes to crash. Others say it’s zombies. Still others, sabotage.

Could it be caused by Communists? Some say so. But how could Communists cause three planes to crash in a row?

Why is this happening?

Evidence points to a plot against the children of Elizabeth, whether they attend public, private or Catholic school—whether they live in an orphanage, or in the best section of town. Children are the one thing these crashes have in common. Hit where there are children and teenagers. Hit where it will hurt the most.

The adults don’t believe it. They say close Newark Airport and that will be the end of it. Change the flight paths that bring planes in and out over our city on their way to and from Newark Airport and everything will be fine.

They want to protect us from the truth. They can’t admit this might be a force they don’t understand. Admitting that would be like admitting they don’t know the answers to our questions, and how many adults in our lives would ever do that?

Finally, the airport has closed. Will this be the end of it? We can’t say yet, can we?

We listen, but we must draw our own conclusions. Prove to us that we’re wrong. We’re waiting.

—

ELEANOR SAID
, “Give me a pile of stories. I’ll help hand them out. I’ll bet the other staff members of the paper will help, too.”

Everyone was in, including Suzanne and two boys who covered school sports. Until then, Miri had never given them a second thought. Now she was grateful.

By lunch, the hundred copies were gone. Instead of throwing the story in the trash, their classmates were sharing it with friends. A group of eighth graders stopped her in the hall. “You’re the one who wrote that story, right?” When she nodded, acknowledging she was the one, a boy circled his thumb and index finger and winked. “About time,” he said.

That afternoon Mr. Royer called Miri and Tiny to his office, an office Miri had never set foot in, in almost three years at Hamilton Junior High. The windows overlooked Cherry Street. A collection of Audubon prints hung on one wall. Miri recognized them because Irene had the same drawings hanging in her hallway. When she was little she’d memorized the names of all the birds.

Mr. Royer, in a rumpled suit, sat behind his desk. He was balding, plump and pink-cheeked. He didn’t invite Tiny or Miri to sit, though there were two chairs in front of his desk.

“I’m requesting a meeting with your mother, Miss Ammerman.”

“My mother works in New York,” Miri told him. “The only time she can meet is at night.”

“Why am I not surprised to hear that?” He muttered something about how women belonged at home until their children were grown.

Tiny, who had two children in elementary school, began to cough. She dug a Smith Brothers cough drop from a box in her purse.

—

HENRY OFFERED
to meet with Mr. Royer in Rusty’s place. The meeting was set for just after three on Monday afternoon, with Miri, Tiny and Uncle Henry. Miri told Mason on the phone that night she’d be late picking up Fred tomorrow. When Mason heard the reason he said, “I really like that about you.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Just everything.”

Miri laughed. “I hope I won’t be expelled.”

“Expelled? I don’t think so.”

“He expelled Suzanne’s sister, Dorrie, when she was in ninth grade.”

“What’d she do to get expelled?”

“I don’t know. Neither does Suzanne. It was a long time ago. Her parents won’t talk about it. She had to transfer to another junior high.”

“Don’t let Royer push you around. He does that if he thinks he can get away with it.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do.”

“Okay.”

“Good luck,” Mason said.

“Thanks. I’ll need it.”

“And you can tell him if he messes with my girl he’ll have to answer to me.”

“I really like that about you.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Just everything.”

—

THE FIRST THING
Mr. Royer said to Uncle Henry was “I could expel her for this.”
Expel?
He’d actually said the word out loud. “She defied my orders. Mrs. Wallace told her the story was not appropriate and what did she do—made copies and handed them out at school. Have you read the story?” Mr. Royer asked Henry.

“Yes, I have. I was impressed.”

“It’s hogwash!”

“Pardon me?” Henry said.

“Would you want me to allow the young Adolf Hitler to express his opinions in our school paper?”

Adolf Hitler! He was comparing her to Adolf Hitler?

“You can’t be serious,” Henry said calmly. “I hardly think that’s a fair comparison.”

Mr. Royer came out from behind his desk and began to adjust the bird prints on the wall, tapping the side of one drawing, then another.

Miri was stuck on
Adolf Hitler
so missed whatever Henry said next except it ended in
freedom of expression
.

Mr. Royer whipped around. “Don’t lecture me on free speech, young man.”

Tiny began to cough, just as she had the last time they were in his office.

“Do you need water, Mrs. Wallace?” Mr. Royer asked, annoyed.

Tiny shook her head. Again, she dug out a cough drop and put it in her mouth.

“I think the best thing for all involved would be for Miri to leave the school paper of her own free will,” Mr. Royer said.

He was kicking her off the paper?

Tiny held a tissue to her mouth, got rid of the cough drop and
cleared her throat a few times. “She’s a good student,” Tiny managed to say. “And a fine young reporter. She’s never been in trouble. This would be very harsh punishment.” She eyed the pitcher of water on Mr. Royer’s desk.

Uncle Henry poured a cup and handed it to Tiny. She drank it down.

“You think this is harsh punishment, Mrs. Wallace?”

“Yes, I do,” Tiny said with conviction, “and I’m concerned it will affect the morale of our other editors and reporters.”

Henry said, “Why not give Miri another chance, Mr. Royer? I’m sure she understands now that your strong feelings come with serious consequences.”

“I don’t want another chance!” Miri said. “What good is a newspaper when its reporters can’t write about what’s on the minds of its readers?”

“That’s it!” Mr. Royer said. “You’re off the paper and you’re on probation for the rest of the school year. One more incident and I promise you, Miss Ammerman, you will be expelled.” He said the last few words very slowly, making sure they sank in.

Tears stung her eyes but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

Henry reached for Miri’s hand. “Mr. Royer, with all due respect—”

“I suppose you’re a bleeding heart, Mr. Ammerman…I suppose you think it’s fine for students to break the rules.”

“Sir, I don’t think that at all.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it because this meeting has gone on long enough.” He nodded at Tiny, then at Uncle Henry.

Miri half expected him to add,
Dismissed
.

She was so angry she was shaking, and so shaken by Mr. Royer’s power over her, she wanted to scream. Was she supposed to be relieved she hadn’t been expelled?

Out in the hall, she hugged Henry for coming and for standing up for her. She thanked Tiny, too. “This, too, shall pass,” Tiny said.

Miri didn’t know how to respond. Was that like
Time heals all
wounds
? She’d heard both expressions at Mrs. Barnes’s house on the night of her son’s funeral. They both sounded like bull to her.

“I promised to call Rusty and let her know what happened,” Henry said.

“She’s going to be mad.”

“At Mr. Royer, not at you.”

—

RUSTY WASN
’
T
just mad, she was furious.

Who did he think he was, threatening to expel her daughter? She knew men like him, drunk with power, certain they could get away with anything and everything. Oh, she knew them, all right! She’d like to give him a piece of her mind. And maybe she would. She’d gone to Hamilton, too. So had Henry. But they’d had a different principal, one who’d joked with them.
How do you spell
principal? he would ask.
Remember the P-A-L on the end because the principal is your pal
. Ha! Mr. Royer was no
pal
. She bet he wouldn’t dare behave that way toward her daughter if she had a husband. It was because she wasn’t married, because she went to business, that he showed her no respect. A young uncle didn’t count, even if he was a prominent reporter. Royer was a bully.

Henry urged her to let it go. Miri had just this semester left at Hamilton.

“And it should be a happy time for her,” Rusty argued.

“She can join
High Spots
when she gets to Battin,” Henry said. “That’s a first-rate high school paper. I know Mr. Komishane, the adviser.”

“Royer shouldn’t get away with this.”

“Maybe not. But Miri can handle it. If you go to see him it could be worse for her.”