Kristy Power! (5 page)

    "It's customary to open the door," Cary said, grinning at me as he reached for the doorknob.
    He lost his grin as soon as he looked inside. I followed his glance.
    Mr. Taylor, our principal, was standing at Ted's desk.
    And Ted was nowhere to be seen.
    Immediately I forgot about my problems with Cary.
    "This isn't good," Cary muttered. "It's not good at all." We took our seats.
    The second bell rang, and the last kids trickled in and sat down. Then Mr. Taylor began to speak.
    "Good morning," he said. He was twisting his hands together and sort of squinting.
    "Good morning," we chorused.
    He took a breath. "You may notice that your regular teacher, Mr. Morley, is not here today," he said.
    "Oh, really?" said Alan Gray.
    Mr. Taylor gave him a Look and continued. "Mr. Morley is going to be taking some time off while the administration of this school investigates the charges being leveled against him." Now Mr. Taylor sounded as if he were reciting a speech he'd memorized. I wondered if he'd said the same thing to all of Ted's classes. And I wondered if the kids in every class had stared at him in shock the way the ones in ray class had.
    Mr. Taylor was looking toward a back corner of the room. Merrie Dow was in the front. I could tell he was trying hard not to look at her while he talked. But every kid in the class was looking at her.
    "This is most likely a temporary measure," Mr. Taylor added hurriedly. "We hope to avoid too much disruption to your learning cycle here in English class." He stopped twisting his hands and shoved them into his pockets. Then he cleared his throat. "Any questions?" he asked.
    My hand shot up. He gave me a slight nod. "Are you telling us that Ted was suspended just for handing out a list of books?" I asked.
    Mr. Taylor looked taken aback. "Well, yes," he admitted. "I suppose you could put it that way. Mr. Morley has indeed been suspended, pending investigation. And the book list he gave you is part of the reason." "Part?" asked Cary. He hadn't bothered to raise his hand. "What do you mean, 'part'?" Mr. Taylor sighed. "Let me explain," he said. "The content of the list - the books that are on it - is only part of the problem. The other part is that Mr. Morley apparently neglected to have his list ap- proved by the head of the English department. That's standard procedure in this school." Alan Gray was waving his hand. "But that's not fair," he cried. "Ted came here all of a sudden, to fill in for Mrs. Simon. He might not have known about that rule." "Be that as it may," said Mr. Taylor, "the rule does exist." Cary's hand shot up. Mr. Taylor glanced at him. I could tell he would rather not call on Cary, but he didn't have much choice. He'd asked for questions, after all. He nodded at Cary.
    "What do you think about the situation?" Cary asked.
    Mr. Taylor took a step backward. "What I think is only part of the picture," he declared after a pause. He frowned and looked into the back corner of the classroom again. "I will say that I believe Mr. Morley meant no harm. He is a respected teacher, and this matter will receive a fair hearing. I fully intend to make sure of that." Cary turned around in his seat and glanced at me. I could tell by his look that he was thinking the same thing I was: Mr. Taylor was not very happy about what had happened. There must have been tremendous pressure to suspend Ted.
    Mr. Taylor wasn't the only adult at SMS who was unhappy about Ted's suspension. After class, as I walked to my locker, I could see little groups of teachers in the halls. They were talking quietly among themselves, but not quietly enough. I heard whispers of "ridiculous," "scary - it could be me next," and "what about the First Amendment?" That last remark caught my interest. I'd learned about the Constitution in seventh grade, but I couldn't remember exactly what the First Amendment said. During study hall, I went to the library to check it out.
    Mr. Counts, the librarian, was only too happy to help me. First he showed me where to find a copy of the Constitution so I could read the First Amendment. "Congress shall make no law," it says, "respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances." "It's the part about freedom of speech and of the press you'll find most interesting," Mr. Counts said. "That is, if you're wondering about Mr. Morley's rights." "I am," I told him.
    "You may find this interesting too." Mr. Counts pulled a book out of a stack on his desk. "This is the most recent Resource Guide for banned books. It's put out every year by the American Library Association." . He handed me the oversized book, and I flipped through it. There was a list of every book banned or challenged in the past year, as well as a long list of books titled "Some People Consider These Books Dangerous." That list included all the books that have been banned or challenged over the years, from 387 B.C. to the present! "Some of those books have been burned," Mr. Counts said. "Others have been taken off library shelves or attacked publicly by people who wanted to keep, them from going on the shelves in the first place." "Wow," was all I could say. "There are a lot of familiar titles on this list." Some of them were on the list Ted had given us, including both books I was thinking about reading. And I remembered some of them from the last time I was exposed to book-banners: To Kill a Mockingbird, A Light in the Attic, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. But the list went on and on, naming books I never would have thought of as "dangerous" in any way. "In the Night Kitchen" I cried. "How could anybody have a problem with that?" It's a great picture book, right up there with Goodnight Moon.
    "You probably don't even remember," Mr. Counts told me, smiling a little. "But in some of the pictures, the little boy is naked." "Oh, please," I said. I continued to leaf through the book.
    "I can't lend you this copy," said Mr. Counts. "But if you'd like to borrow last year's edition I'd be glad to check it out for you." I didn't have to ask where Mr. Counts stood on the Ted Morley question. It was clear that he thought the suspension was wrong.
    I didn't know anybody who thought it was right. When we talked about it at the BSC meeting that afternoon we all agreed (even Stacey and Claudia agreed, for once) that the suspension was way out of line. And at dinner that night my mom and Watson made it clear that they supported Mr. Morley all the way.
    "I'm going to write a letter to the newspaper," my mom declared. "Somebody has to take a stand against this garbage." She showed me a letter in that day's paper - a letter from Bertha Dow. In it, Mrs. Dow claimed that Mr. Morley was a "corrupting influence on the youth of Stoneybrook," and that the "trash" he was promoting as appropriate reading was going to drive us to "immorality." Watson was angry too. "I'm going to call the school tomorrow," he said.
    Ordinarily, I might have been embarrassed if my parents had made a public fuss. But in this case, I was all for it. As my mom said, "Sometimes you have to be loud to defend what you believe in." I only hoped I could do something to help.
    Chapter 8.
    "What a day!" Cary leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.
    We were on our way to my house after school on Thursday. Cary was sitting next to me on the school bus, in the spot usually taken by my friend Abby. She calls our bus the Wheeze Wagon, because it sounds as if it's taking its last breath. I was waiting for Cary to make some snide remark about that, but he didn't.
    Maybe he was just too tired to be clever or sarcastic. I couldn't blame him. I felt wrung out myself. It had been a long, long day at school. The news about Ted's suspension was all anyone could talk about, and the rumor mill was working overtime.
    "Did you hear about that group of parents who went to see Mr. Taylor?" I asked. Apparently Mrs.
    Dow and a few other "concerned parents" had paid Mr. Taylor a visit.
    "Hear about them?" Cary raised an eyebrow. "I heard them. It was hard not to. They were yelling at the tops of their lungs when I walked by the office." I wondered if Watson had called the school yet. I made a mental note to ask him to inform Mr. Taylor that Mrs. Dow did not represent the majority of SMS parents.
    I shook my head. "I wonder how this is all going to end," I said. "What a mess." Cary agreed. "It's a big waste of time. And it could foul up Ted's record forever. It might even cost him a job sometime." I glanced at Cary. I wondered if he related to Ted somehow. For example, did Cary have a "fouled-up" record because of what happened at his old school? Had it followed him here to SMS? That seemed doubtful. I'd never seen the teachers or Mr. Taylor treating him differently than they did any other kid. Maybe Cary's parents - or possibly a lawyer? - had been able to keep it off his permanent record.
    It was on my Cary Retlin record, though. I couldn't forget about it. I'd blocked my computer with a stack of books that morning, knowing he'd be coming to my house after school.
    I was also a little nervous about Cary's interviews with my family. Not that I had anything to hide. I was just hoping against hope that nobody he talked to would volunteer any especially embarrassing stories about me. I didn't need Cary - let alone everyone in school - knowing about some dumb thing I'd done when I was seven.
    I had mentioned the interviews to Watson and my siblings, who would be home that afternoon. (Watson works at home a lot.) In the spirit of fairness, I had tried not to coach them too much. But I had made sure to remind them about some of my better moments, in hopes they'd mention those events to Cary.
    I'd spent some time reminiscing with David Michael about all the great times we'd had together while I was coaching him in softball.
    I'd reminded Watson about some of my community-building projects, like the BSC's work with the residents at Stoneybrook Manor, the local retirement home.
    Sam and Charlie would talk (I hoped) about my accomplishments as BSC president, including some of my best fund-raising ideas.
    And I was fust trusting that Karen and Andrew would be their usual talkative selves, and that they'd want to boast about me generally, since they're proud of their older stepsister.
    I had done what I could do. The rest was up to my family. When Cary wrote my biography, would I come out looking like a champ - or a chump? I'd have to wait and see.
    This was the first time Cary had visited my house, and as we walked to the front door I could see that he was impressed. "Nice place, Your Highness," he said. "Are the palace guards on a break?" I rolled my eyes. "It's not that big," I said.
    "No, it's just a little hut. I can see you live the simple life." I ignored him. "Come on in," I said, opening the door. "But don't expect much. I've given the servants the day off." Cary grinned at me. "In honor of my visit? You shouldn't have." I brought Cary into the kitchen and offered him a snack. As we were eating our nuked burritos, various members of my family began wandering into the room. First was Sam. Then Karen showed up. Charlie popped his head in, and soon after that Watson stopped by, along with David Michael.
    I introduced Cary to everyone and told them - in front of him - to answer any questions he asked.
    "Even if they're about your disgusting personal habits?" asked Sam.
    "Especially if they're about my disgusting personal habits," I said.
    "This sounds interesting," Cary remarked. "Maybe I'll start with you, Sam." "Excellent," Sam answered. "What can I tell you about my beloved little sister?" "Let's see," said Cary, pulling a notebook out of his backpack. "I have a few questions about her early life." He turned to me. "Would you excuse us?" he asked.
    "I haven't finished my snack yet," I pointed out. "I'll just sit here quietly, okay? Not a word. Pretend I'm not here." Cary shrugged. "Whatever." He turned to Sam. "Now, tell me a little about Kristy as a baby. Was she cute? Did she have any hair when she was born? How much did she drool?" "Hey!" I said. "What does drool have to do with anything?" Cary glared at me. "I thought you were going to sit quietly." "Oh, right," I said. I pretended to zip my lip. "Go on." Cary looked back at Sam.
    "Well," said Sam, "as I remember, she was a little bruiser. She'd grab my finger and hold on so tight I could have swung her around. But the other thing about her was that she was constantly - and I mean constantly - wetting herself." "I was a babyl" I cried. "That's what babies do!" Cary swung around. "That's it," he said. "I don't care if you've finished your burrito or not. You're out of here. This is supposed to be a biography, not an au tobiography." What could I say? Cary'd left me alone when I'd interviewed his brothers. I had no choice but to return the favor. As I left, I shot Sam a Look that was supposed to mean, "If you say one more embarrassing thing I'll kill you." Sam just grinned back at me. I had the feeling he knew exactly what I meant, and that he planned to ignore me completely.
    Oh, well. It was out of my hands. I headed upstairs to my room, figuring I might as well start on my homework.
    An hour or so later, just as I was making headway on a paper for social studies class, there was a knock on my door. "Anybody home?" It was Cary's voice. Did I want to let him into my room? I glanced around. Fair was fair. I'd seen his room. More of it than he knew. "Come in," I called, after checking to make sure nothing embarrassing was in sight.
    "Well, well, well," said Cary, glancing around as he entered my room. "I guess I now know just about all there is to know about the real Kristy Thomas." "You wish," I said.
    "I know all the good stuff." He raised that eyebrow and added the smirk. "Like how you used to call your baby dolls Eenie and Beenie." "Big deal," I shot back.
    "And how you once cried because you thought the moon was going to crash into your backyard." I shrugged. If that was the worst he'd heard, I wasn't worried.
    The smirk was still there. "Then there's the time you had an 'accident' on Santa's lap," he continued. His eyes were sparkling.
    I drew in a breath. Did I want my classmates to know I'd peed on Santa? I shook myself. I could handle it. After all, they were kids once too. I made my face blank to show Cary I didn't care.
    "And, of course, there's the Spaghetti Episode," Cary said. I noticed that he was watching my face carefully. He was hoping for a reaction.