by Barry Lyga
John protests, but the Doc cuts him off. Me? I look down to see that my hands have sweated so much that my notes are covered in it. But I'm still standing upright. I got under Riordon's skin. That's the biggie for me. I made him realize he can't just punt me around like a football.
And I know I'm right, too. That's the big victory. Even if no one else out there knows...
I know.
"Both gentlemen have prepared some closing remarks." He gives each of us very significant looks. I wonder why for a second, but then I look out at the crowd again.
Man. There's a vibe. People are worked up. You can feel it, even from the stage.
Wow. I helped make that happen.
"John, you'll close first."
And the Doc steps back to let John talk.
John shakes his head like he's waking up. I'm close enough to him that I can see he's gripping the edge of the podium like he's strangling it. Probably thinking of my throat.
He clicks a few times and then there's a shot of a guy in an army uniform. I guess it's his dad. He takes a second and then—somehow—manages to start talking very calmly.
"I'm glad that I had this opportunity. Like I said in my opening, I'm sort of surprised that it had to come to this. I think these arguments are fine, but I also think they're old. Old and done with. We have freedom of speech in this country, but like I said the other day—we also have the freedom to recognize when we're not accomplishing anything and just shut up.
"I want to talk about my dad a little bit. Because he's where I learned all of this. He joined the army right out of high school. He served at a listening post in Alaska for six months at a time, during the winter, when it was dark twenty-three hours a day. It wasn't fun, but it was necessary. He didn't like being away from my mom or his parents or my uncle and aunt, but his country needed him and he answered the call.
"See, that's what this all comes down to, in the end. His country. Your country. My country. Our country. It's about loving our country. That's the very definition of patriotism. Love of country. And if we love our country, then why would we ever want to cause it harm? Why would we ever want to hurt it or insult it or not support it? In a time of war, why would we want to disrespect and not support our troops?
"That's what my dad taught me. He taught me by example. After he got out of the army, he went to college and got married and had me. But he still had that thirst, that love for America. So he joined the reserve. And like I said last week—he's lost some friends along the way. I guess it would be easy for him to be cynical. To be angry. To be so angry that he would do something stupid, like burn a flag.
"But he's not. Because he's a patriot. He's a true American. He loves his country.
"Shouldn't we all do the same?"
He pauses here for a moment. Just a moment. And then: "The last thing I want to say to you today is this: These debates are great. They're part of a tradition of American free speech. But we're done, and that's fine. We're finished. Both sides have—Well, in a minute or two, after Kevin speaks, both sides will have had their say. So let it rest there, South Brook. Thank you."
There's wild applause for John Riordon, All-State Stud and Suppressor of Free Speech.
The Doc thanks John. Says it's my turn.
The world swims in my vision. I feel faint. I can't remember what I was going to say.
I look down at my notes.
"Uh, Kevin?" The Doc clears his throat. "It'syour turn."
Riordon. He just had to talk about his father again, didn't he?
SELF-ACCEPTANCE #1
"JOHN'S TALKING ABOUT THE PLEDGE and ribbons and flag burning. I'm not. I'm talking about the big picture. About liberty and free speech. And you know what? Compared to those things, who cares about a pledge or a ribbon or a flag? They're nice symbols, but they're just things.
"I'll take a second to answer that last question of yours, John. I do support the troops.
"But not with ribbons. A ribbon is meaningless. The ribbons are for us, not for them. Support is action. It's too easy to put a ribbon on a car and then forget about it. You know, I said the other day that during World War II, people made sacrifices to support the war effort. These days, we're not asked to sacrifice anything. They just tell us to shut up instead.
"Supporting the troops isn't just a slogan. Jeez. It's doing things. Sending care packages. Donating money and blood. Maybe instead of all those American flag pins people wear, they should wear pins with two numbers instead: the amount of money they've donated and the number of pints of blood they've given.
"So here's what I'll do, what I've done: I'm giving what's left of my reward money to a veterans' group, so maybe the guys coming home can have some decent health care for a change.
"Which brings me to ... I'm glad John talked about his dad. Because I'd like to talk about mine.
"If you read the Loco last week, you might have seen my dad mentioned in the paper. The story said he was a traitor to his country. That wasn't true.
"Like John's dad, mine joined the army right out of high school. But that's where the similarity ends. Because John's dad went to Alaska and mine was shipped out overseas, serving in a front-line infantry combat unit.
"While he was over there, my dad got some medals. I bet John's dad got some, too. The army gives out a lot of medals. But two of my dad's were special. One was the Purple Heart. You only get that if you're wounded or killed in action. A lot of guys get them because a lot of people get hurt. My dad was hit by shrapnel from a roadside bomb. He was pretty messed up. To this day, he's not ... he's not totally better. No one at any of the VA hospitals can figure out what's...
"Funny thing, though. While my dad was recuperating in the hospital, some cook dropped the wrong spatula or something. Started a fire. The whole kitchen went up in flames. My dad was in the mess hall at the time, and even though he was still recovering, he ran into the fire twice to pull soldiers out.
"For that, they gave him something called the Soldier's Medal of Valor. Not a lot of people get that one. It was a big deal. They called him a hero. They wrote him up in Stars & Stripes.
"I didn't know any of this. Unlike John's dad, mine doesn't talk about the army all that much. I had to find out why from my mom.
"See, it turns out that some guys in my dad's unit were killed in what's called 'friendly fire.' Which means that other Americans did it by accident. Only the army was pretending it didn't happen that way. They were telling everyone that it was enemy fire. And my dad knew that that wasn't right, that the families of those dead soldiers deserved to know the truth. So he went through channels and he tried to get the army to tell the truth, but they just kept telling him to butt out and do his job like a good soldier.
"So my dad got fed up and he went to a reporter who was embedded with a nearby unit and he told him the truth. And the army said my dad had given away military secrets, like where the deaths happened and things like that. Things that they claimed could help the enemy. So they kicked him out of the army."
I stop for a second. My throat is raw. I thought I would feel bad saying all of this, like I betrayed Dad or something, but instead ... instead I feel good.
"So my dad didn't teach me the same lessons that John's dad did. My dad never talked about any of this, so I had to learn from him by watching and just trying to figure it out on my own. Just like he had to figure it out on his own, out there in the desert.
"And this is what I've figured out: Yes, John, we've always had the freedom to shut up, but here's the thing—America was founded by a bunch of loudmouths. They started complaining and they didn't shut up until they won.
"You can love your country and still want it to improve. It's like loving someone who smokes. You tell them to quit—you want them to quit—because you don't want them to die of lung cancer. So you badger them and you criticize their choices, but you still love them more than anything in the world.
"I look at the Constitution ... I look at it and I see ... Look at it
this way: There are people who want amendments to ban flag burning or gay marriage or whatever, but look at the Bill of Rights—it's about the rights we have, not the rights we lose. The Constitution doesn't exist to restrict freedom—it exists to expand it."
I can't stop myself now. I'm going to do it.
"So you can be as slick as you want. You can have fancy computer stuff and be better-spoken than me and better-looking and all of that, but none of that changes one simple thing. None of that changes the words 'Congress shall make no law.' No matter how much you try, you just can't change those words.
"Just because John is slicker doesn't mean he's right. I know I'm not polished, but that shouldn't matter. You can't change those words. They're still the same, whether it's John speaking them or me.
"So, you know what, John? I'm tempted ... If you really don't have anything new or original to say, I'm tempted to give you your own advice from the other day and tell you to just shut the hell up."
I look out at the audience. It's totally silent. I run the last foot of the marathon.
"Instead, I'll just say: Keep talking. I support your right to do it, and besides, you're just digging your own grave."
What happens next isn't quite a Hollywood ending, but I guess I'll take it.
It starts with a raucous catcall that I recognize as Tit. Followed by a piercing whistle the likes of which only Flip can produce. And then applause from different spots all over the auditorium.
Flip spread out the Council. To make it sound like there's more people applauding than just a concentrated section.
And it works. Because some other people join in. Not a lot. Not even anything approaching a majority.
It's a minority. But a loud minority.
Not bad. We can start with that.
Chapter 33
Clarence Darrow?
BACKSTAGE, I CAN STILL HEAR THE CROWD GOING NUTS. Both sides are going at it now, trying to outdo each other. It takes the teachers a good ten minutes to calm everyone down enough to collect the ballots.
The Doc is furious. John's pissed, too.
"Kevin," the Doc says, barely controlling himself, "your job at the end was to calm them down, not get them all excited again."
"Yeah!" John says, sounding like a pathetic child.
I don't rise to the bait. "Look, Dr. Goethe. You can't do this once and expect it to let off all the steam. You need to do it all the time. You should make these things a regular occurrence or something. That's how safety valves work. You don't just use them once and then forget about them."
"I'm disappointed, Kevin."
"I'll be happy to talk about this issue any time, any place," I say.
"We're not doing this again, Kevin. Your Clarence Darrow days are over."
"Yeah," John chimes in. "This was supposed to be it."
"Do you only stand up for what you believe in when you have permission?" I ask him. I don't know who Clarence Darrow is, but you can bet your ass I'm going to find out.
If the Doc wasn't standing right here, I think Riordon would drag me down to the ground and stomp me into paste right there.
Mrs. Sawyer comes back. "Voting's done," she says.
The Doc has us join him back on stage to read the results. I don't know why he's even bothering. There's no way in hell this crowd gave me the victory.
"The votes are: six hundred and thirty-eight to John Riordon, four hundred and twenty-seven to Kevin Ross."
John's side goes nuts. I can hear boos from my side, and there are more of them than I'd ever dared hope for.
Wow—638 to 427. I thought he would blow me out of the water. I thought it would be a total landslide.
As the teachers start to wrangle kids and get them out of the auditorium and off to second period, I turn to John and grin. "Remember: any time, any place."
Chapter 34
The Last Day in the Life of Officer Sexpot
I SHOULD BE FLYING HIGH. I should be insane with triumph. But I'm not. I don't get it. I still feel like the same old loser I've always been.
It's one in the morning and I'm at SAMMPark, waiting for the rest of the Council to show up. Flip said to meet near the statue right inside the park entrance, so that's where I'm standing.
The Council shows up after a couple of minutes. Flip gets to me first and surprises me with a hug.
"Tough loss, man," says Tit.
I break away from Flip. "Was he that much better than me?"
"Nah," Tit says, throwing an arm around my shoulder. "People are just idiots. They vote for the guy they'd want to have a beer with instead of the guy who knows what he's talking about."
Flip adds, "The good news is, people don't outgrow it. Adults are just as stupid."
"How is that good news?"
Flip shrugs. "It's all Foolish, baby. It's all Foolish."
"Yeah, well ... I don't know, guys. I think I prefer things quiet. It's been ... It's been kinda chaotic, you know?"
Flip laughs. "The world is dominated by chaos. Except for the human race, which tries to impose order everywhere it goes. Despite the evidence around us—soil erosion, climate change, statistical variances in the gene pool—we still try to make nature walk in a straight line when it would rather zigzag." He sighs. He's on a roll.
He turns to the Council. "Sounds like Foolish behavior to me, boys. I hereby nominate the human race for membership in the Council of Fools!" He raises both arms and shouts to the sky. "Humanity! Join us! Join your masters! All opposed, say 'Nay'!"
And then nothing but silence and Flip's panting as he strains, listening.
"There are no dissenting votes!" he cries. "I hereby admit humanity to the Council of Fools!" He punches the air in triumph. "Dude," he says, grinning, "I just upped our membership by six billion. Not bad, huh?"
I look around. "Where's Fam?"
If he's disappointed that I didn't join him in his revelry, he doesn't show it. He just holds up his cell. "Standing lookout, in case the cops come by and try to interrupt."
"Interrupt what?"
He just snaps his fingers. The guys rush out of the park, then come back. Speedo and Jedi have Officer Sexpot, who's tastefully decked out in some barely there bondage gear. Tit is carrying another set of similar clothing.
"The plan, dear Kross, is sublime in its perfection. Designed to drive a stake through the heart of that which is held most sacred in this shitty little town. If you thought people were in an uproar over the ribbons and the Pledge of Allegiance and that shit, just wait until they see what we do..." He pauses and grins a wicked grin, as if he wished that a drum-roll would start up right now. "To Susan Ann Marchetti!" He points to the statue and steps back.
"Boys, you know what to do!" Flip grabs my arm and pulls me back to watch with him as the Council guys close in on the statue and start to climb up the pedestal.
"What ... What are they doing?" I ask, but even as I ask it, I realize—the statue is lifesize. The same size as Officer Sexpot.
"Oh, the torment!" Flip mock-moans. "Oh, the weeping, the wailing, the gnashing of teeth that will ensue in fair Brookdale when it's revealed that the town's patron saint and perfect little girl is actually a lesbian bondage fetishist locked in a classic sixty-nine with an officer of the law!"
"You can't be serious." But already I can see the guys putting some of the bondage gear on the statue.
"This is going to be classic," Flip says. "This won't just piss off one group or another; this will piss off everyone"
I watch it happen for another few seconds. "Flip, dude, don't do this. It isn't cool."
He blinks and pulls back from me. "What?"
"She never did anything to us. She's just some poor kid who got killed. Why are we doing this to her?"
"Poor, deluded Kross—we're not doing anything to her. We're doing it to her statue."
"No. Look. It's her memory. It's ... Think about her family. This isn't right."
"I can't be nailed down to such mundane concepts. We've trans
cended right and wrong and ascended to the realm of intellectual mischief. You understand that. Besides, this has a nice little side benefit: Once word about this gets out, people will stop talking about all of the crap with you and the ribbons and everything."
"This isn't Foolish, Flip. It's just mean. It's wrong."
"Wrong? Who are you to decide right and wrong?" For the first time since I've known him, I see a glimmer of anger in Flip's eyes. And I don't like it. "Daddy's boy. Big goddamn hero" he says, quirking his lips into a grin at the very last moment to take most of the sting out of it.
Daddy's boy. Reminding me that he knows. Is he jealous of all the attention I've gotten?
No. Fam's right; Flip doesn't get jealous. It's impossible to be jealous when you assume you're better than everyone else around you.
"I'm tired of the patriotic stuff. It's old hat. It's been done before."
So he's bored with the flag game. He wants to move on. But here's the thing—I don't.
"This is tradition," he goes on. "The role of jester is an ancient and honorable one. Speaking truth to power has always been the province of the Fool."
"Yeah, I remember that from English class, too." And I've realized something—Flip isn't a genius after all. He just pukes up stuff from school with a swagger and a cigarette and everyone falls all over themselves. "But it has to mean something. You can't just be a jester for the sake of being a jester."
He looks at me with a blank expression and a little tilt to his head. "Says who?"
"Jesus, Flip! Come off it! Jesters didn't act in secret. They acted in public. Like I'm doing. Not from the shadows. You just keep spouting all this intellectual crap, but we're talking about real people and real—"