Hero-Type Part 10

I want to scream! Why won't anyone actually listen to the words I'm saying instead of hearing what they want to hear? "I never said I didn't want to say it. I just want to know why we have to say it. They're two different things. Can you tell me why we have to say it?"

"Well, you don't have to say it..." The Doc fidgets.

"But everyone does. Ever since we were kids. And no one questions it. No one asks why. We just keep doing it, and if we don't, we get crucified. Like not putting ribbons on our cars."

"Is that what this is about? Trying to stir up more trouble?"

"No. I'm not trying to stir up trouble. I just..." And I run out of steam because I'm still trying to get it all straight in my own head, and I really wish people would get off my freakin' back while I'm doing it.

He gives me a hall pa.s.s. "I have a conference call in a few minutes. Go to cla.s.s-we'll talk more about this later."

I get to go to my first two cla.s.ses, which-let me tell you-are just loads of fun. The story of my history lesson has already spread, and if I thought it was tough being the Kid Who Throws Away Ribbons, it's even tougher being the Kid Who Hates the Pledge.

There are a few Jehovah's Witnesses at South Brook, so you'd think they'd be on my side. But I'm starting to figure out that this argument has more than two sides. Jehovah's Witnesses don't say the Pledge because of something about not wors.h.i.+ping false idols.

Me? I'm just trying to make a point.

Well, OK-make a point and maybe try to impress a certain someone.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't say the Pledge." It's between second and third periods, and a group of kids has cornered me near my locker and asked me why I hate America. They didn't exactly put it that way. They actually said, "What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you?"

"You can say it all you want. I just think you should know why you're saying it."

"I think you're a piece of s.h.i.+t," one of the guys says. "Who do you think you are? You think you're some kind of hero. You think you're better than everyone else."

Oh, if only he knew. If only he knew the truth, he would see that I couldn't possibly think I'm better than anyone else.

Just then, the PA blares out: "Kevin Ross, please report to the princ.i.p.al's office. Kevin Ross to the princ.i.p.al's office."

A guy ten times bigger than me and a million times meaner grabs my shoulder and shoves me from the lockers into the hallway. I stumble and trip over my own feet and go down on the floor.

"Yeah, get going to the princ.i.p.al's office, you f.a.ggot."

It takes me three attempts to get up. That's not because I'm clumsy-it's just because people keep knocking me down.

When I get to the princ.i.p.al's office, I get a nasty shock-John Riordon is there, too. He smirks at me when I come in.

"Have a seat, Kevin," says the Doc, gesturing to a chair next to John's. "Let's finish our conversation from this morning."

I take the chair as far away from John as possible.

"I'm just trying to get people to think," I tell Dr. Goethe.

"You're doing it in a way that gives me a headache," he says. "You know, a few days ago, I looked at you and thought, 'Here's a new role model for our school.' What happened, Kevin?"

He's trying to guilt me. It won't work.

"Did you know there are no other developed countries in the world that make their citizens pledge allegiance to a flag?"

"Kevin, please. This is all very interesting, but-"

"Did you know that in some churches, they teach people to add 'born and unborn' to the end of the Pledge? They turn it into like a pro-life protest thing."

John sighs a really loud sigh. "See, Dr. Goethe? It's like he won't shut it off."

"Kevin..."

"What if someone decided to say 'with liberty and justice for all, except for people who don't put ribbons on their cars'? Would that be cool?" I spent a lot of time researching this stuff-I'm gonna tell someone. "Everyone acts like it's this sacred oath. And no one really thinks about the words when they're saying them, or where they come from. I just want people to think. Because otherwise it's just like slapping a ribbon on your car-it's just empty-headed. It's letting a symbol subst.i.tute for thinking." And wow, I don't know where that came from. I guess some of Dad's rants and raves over the years have sort of sunk in, whether I was listening or not. He'd be proud of me right now, and it's that idea, more than anything else, that stops me in my tracks.

Dr. Goethe, though, doesn't see the tracks and doesn't stop. "I want peace in my school for the next couple of months until summer break, OK, Kevin? Save the politics for your history cla.s.s, not homeroom. We don't need any more altercations."

"Altercations?"

"Like the one you had this morning in homeroom with John."

I look over at John, but he's ignoring me.

"There was no altercation."

"That's not how Mrs. Sawyer described it. Look. Here's what we're going to do," says Dr. Goethe, leaning back and steepling his fingers. "We're going to turn this into an exercise on free speech and the power of the spoken word. Monday morning, I'm giving you three minutes during the morning announcements to state your case."

I go cold and yet somehow I'm sweating, too. The morning announcements? My face and voice broadcast to the entire school?

"Um, well..." Maybe this free speech stuff isn't all it's cracked up to be.

"Come on, Kevin. You either believe what you're saying or you don't."

And it hits me that he's trying to snow me. Trying to use reverse psychology. Goad me and tempt me, but make it scary enough that I back down.

Screw that. Besides, I can't stop thinking of Leah, of the way she leaned in close, whispering just to me, just for me...

"I'll do it," I tell him. He just nods, and I can't tell if he's disappointed or amused.

"Fine. Report to the media center first thing Monday morning and Mrs. Grant will set it all up. Then, the next day, John will have his say."

Say what?

John grins.

"Oh, yes," the Doc goes on, as if he's enjoying my look of shock ... and I think he is. "I said this was going to be an exercise, didn't I? Free speech cuts both ways, Kevin. You get to tell the school what you think, and then John will offer his side of the issue."

It's a long, dangerous moment. The thought of being broadcast to the student body is one thing, but then to have John come at me with the verbal equivalent of a baseball bat ... The idea goes in like an injection of ice water and settles right in my b.a.l.l.s. No way. Forget it.

But I can't back out in front of John. I'd be the world's biggest coward.

"I'm not sure about this, Dr. Goethe."

"John?"

Riordon shrugs. His shoulders are ma.s.sive. "I'm prepared to debate my side any time, any place."

"Ball's in your court, Kevin." The Doc glances at his watch. "Let me know by the end of the day. You're both late for third period, so move it."

Chapter 18.

I'm an Idiot

John Riordon. Man. Of all people! The only kid to get on the varsity football team as a freshman. As tall and broad as G.o.d, and twice as good-looking. Smart and well spoken. He's like living proof that G.o.d has a sense of humor-he makes a guy like Riordon and he makes a guy like me and then he figures we'll both survive.

So Day One would be Kross the Acned, followed on Day Two by ... by...

"By the Apollonian Ideal," Flip says helpfully, like I know what he's talking about.

We're all in the janitors' office, munching on some Mickey D's that Flip scored. We're not supposed to leave the school for lunch runs, but Flip doesn't really worry about such things, as you might have guessed.

"He's really smart," Fam says. She offers me some of her fries and I stuff them in my face like it's my last meal. "And everyone likes him. Well," she considers, "all the popular people like him."

"You can wipe up the floor with him," Flip goes on, like Fam never interrupted.

"He's smart," Fam insists.

"Yeah, I, uh, I had social studies with him last year," says t.i.t. "He's no dummy."

Flip waves them off like they're bad smells. "I don't care how smart and popular he is. John Riordon never had an original thought in his life. You'll be erudite and inflammatory, while he'll be as predictable as ... as..."

"Morning wood," Speedo chimes in.

"Good one! Vvvvvvvhhhnn."

"I don't think anyone cares who has the most interesting comments. They just want another excuse to hate me."

"This is true," Flip agrees.

Of course, I can't tell them what's really bothering me about Riordon, which is that he's always nosing around Leah and her friends and they're always letting him nose around them and giggling and everything, even Leah, which, yeah, is the part that really bugs me, OK?

But t.i.t probably gets it. He raises his eyebrows at me. G.o.d, why did I tell him? Why couldn't I just keep it a secret tucked away with all of my other secrets?

"The difference between the two of you," Flip says, "is that John Riordon only has room for football and his own repressed h.o.m.os.e.xuality in his head. You have room for big thoughts. You can't wuss out."

"Yeah, man, don't wuss out," Jedi says, and then vvvvvvvh-hhnns a little bit.

"Yeah, well, I don't like being ambushed."

Flip laughs and slaps my back. "Way of the world, Fool Kross. Get used to it."

"You guys all think I should do it?"

Enthusiastic nods from everyone except Fam. It's not that she's not nodding. It's just that she's not doing it enthusiastically.

OK, this is marginally cooler than I'd thought before. I've got my friends convinced, at least.

"That means a lot to me, guys. That you believe in me. That you understand what I'm trying to say."

t.i.t's the first one to look away. Speedo raises an eyebrow like he's confused, and Jedi just hums away under his breath.

The whole room's gone completely silent. Except for Jedi, of course.

"Um, Kross..." t.i.t says.

"Oh, come on! Not you guys, too!"

"Hey, look, I'm not gonna speak for anyone else," Flip says, "but I don't really care what your point is. I'm not interested in the cause, man. I'm just here for the fight."

t.i.t shrugs. "Yeah. Me, too."

No way. "Speedo? Jedi? What about you guys?"

"We're buds, Kross," says Speedo. "If you want to do this, that's cool. I'll stand by you because you've always stood by me. But yeah-I don't get it. Not really."

"Who cares about ribbons and pledges and all that c.r.a.p anyway? Vvvvvvvvhhhnn. It's like the news and stuff. Boring." His eyes light up. "But messing with people over it? Yeah, that's cool."

Fam looks like she wants to say something, but Flip jumps up from the desk and slaps his hands together. "The Council has spoken! We support Fool Kross on his quest. You make up your mind, Kross. We'll be there for you."

Which is great, I guess. But, tell the truth, I'd rather have people supporting me who believe in what I'm doing.

For the rest of the day, though, I can't help thinking about it. I think of the look on Leah's face when she told me she admired me. It makes me dizzy. I think of Dr. Goethe calling me a "role model."

Is that what I am? What I was? What I could be?

Is it possible that I could be a role model, just a different kind than Dr. Goethe thought? A role model for my way of thinking?

Or maybe just get a chance to rub John Riordon's face in the dirt while Leah watches.

On my way to the parking lot at the end of the day, I reach into my pocket for my car keys. Much to my surprise, I find the key to Brookdale there, too. I forgot-I attached it to my key chain.

I stop dead, looking at it.