Something to Say

by Lisa Moore Ramée

  The doors open, and everyone ignores him and starts pushing to get in, and I’m glad I’m with my family because they sure don’t let anyone push us. We move through the crowd as a blob, taking no prisoners. Malcolm uses his crutches to push people back. No way is anyone stopping us from getting inside. Not if Gee’s in there.

  And there he is. As soon as we make it in, I recognize the back of his head. Sitting almost in the front row. Straight and stiff as a board. And the head next to him is familiar too. Tía Rosalie.

  “This fool man,” Mama mutters, and then rushes down the aisle to him. “Daddy! Daddy! What were you thinking?” Her voice carries throughout the room. Mr. Humphries wouldn’t need to teach Mama a thing about projection. We all follow her and crowd around Gee, even while Skinny-Tie Man tries to herd us back from the front.

  The school board members have been discussing something, but with the commotion right in front of them, they all shut up and stare. I bet they’re worried that the fight over the school name has flowed into the room.

  Gee stares at us like he’s never seen us before. His eyes fall on me, and I cringe. He looks angry. Maybe he’s mad that we found him.

  Tía Rosalie looks back and forth between our family and Gee. “You didn’t know he was coming here?” she asks, glaring at Gee. “Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry!” She says something about helping, and giving Gee a ride, but most of it gets lost under Mama arguing with Gee.

  “Come on,” Mama says, trying to pull his arm. “Let’s go home.” She sounds angry, but I know it’s all the worry she had boiling up inside her.

  Gee doesn’t budge. So she pulls harder on his arm.

  I have to make her understand. “Mama, he wants to be here. For Sylvia.”

  Her eyes flit to the school board members and then back to Gee. I bet she’s thinking about how Gee hasn’t said a word since his stroke. And how there’s no good reason for him to be here. Especially not after scaring us half to death.

  “Please,” Skinny-Tie Man says. “I need you to move to the back. You’re blocking the aisle.”

  “Mama,” I say. “Come on.”

  Mama gives up, and we all move back.

  I scan the crowd for Aubrey. Even if he can’t forgive me, I expect to see him. To care enough about this meeting to want to see what the school board decides, but he isn’t here.

  A board member says they would like to make a motion. They say they would like it resolved that the name of John Wayne Junior High be changed to Sylvia Mendez Junior High.

  I think this is it. They will say okay or not, but instead someone announces there is a motion on the floor and it’s now up for debate. At the word debate, I get a sour taste in my mouth.

  The board starts talking about the name change. They talk about how much money it will cost and whether the district can afford it. They talk about process and policy. And they talk about the real stuff. The reasons we are all here. It’s all the same arguments we’ve heard. Respecting history. Respecting the community.

  It’s not until a board member with a little president sign in front of her calls for public comments that anyone says anything about John Wayne making racist comments. I can actually see the wave that goes through the crowd. A tidal wave. There’s all sorts of mumbling going on, and the board president asks for people to be quiet so they can hear the speakers.

  Person after person gets up and says something. Sometimes for, sometimes against, but I don’t think anyone on the for side says what they need to. No one talks about how important it will be, not for the neighborhood, but for the students at the school. But to me, that’s more important than anything. If our school is named after Sylvia Mendez, then everyone at our school, everyone who ever goes to our school, will know about her. Will know that a kid can be brave.

  I wait for Gee to get up and go to one of the mics they have in the aisles. That’s why he’s here. But he doesn’t move. Does he think the words won’t come? Come on, Gee. Then I think it harder. COME ON, GEE!

  As if I shouted it at him, he turns and looks at me. He scowls. I point to the mic. He points at me.

  At me.

  60

  Nothing Comes Out

  “We’ll just hear a few more comments before closing for the vote,” the president says, sounding like she has a big headache.

  Gee is watching me.

  I walk toward a mic on my shaky legs. With each step, my tongue grows, making it hard to breathe. And my mouth is so dry, I can’t swallow. A pain burns behind my left eyebrow, and I rub at it, trying to quiet down the heat, but that only makes it worse. My vision is starting to blur, and sweat drenches my shirt. I can’t do this.

  One of the board members points at me.

  Everyone is watching.

  They all see me.

  Wait for me to say something.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

  The board member who pointed at me has turned away. She starts talking to the member next to her, and then the whole group is talking, but I can’t hear a word. Blood and panic pound in my ears.

  My legs are rubbery, and I don’t know how I can make it back to my spot.

  Suddenly, Gee is there, next to me. He grips my elbow. And at first, I think he’s offering a supporting arm so I can walk to the back of the room without falling, but then his grip tightens. The blue circling his irises glows like ice.

  I glance back at Mama, and she’s watching me, looking like she’s holding her breath. And then she does something I sure don’t expect. She plants her feet wide, pops her hands onto her hips, and straightens up tall, with her chin raised and her eyes staring like daggers. She’s striking Astrid Dane’s trademark power pose. What Astrid does when she’s about to do something brave. And then Mama nods at me and smiles.

  I open my mouth again.

  “Wait,” I say, and move closer to the mic. “Wait. I have something to say.”

  The whole board turns to look at me.

  61

  Something to Say

  “I’m eleven years old and not very big, but I’m older and maybe bigger than Sylvia Mendez was when she had to go to a school where she wasn’t wanted. Maybe every day the other kids said mean things, but Sylvia had to go anyway.”

  I think of Mr. Humphries’s advice and take a big breath.

  “I guess she was pretty scared. I don’t know how anyone, especially a kid, could be that brave. And it seems like it’s important . . .”

  Everyone is staring at me. Everyone. My throat tightens.

  “Important for other kids to see that. Real courage, not fake movie courage.”

  I feel Gee’s grip on my arm tighten. “Gee—my grandpa—loves the Duke’s movies. He watches them all the time. But just because someone was great at one thing doesn’t mean we ignore their bad parts, and John Wayne said some stuff that wasn’t nice. And if the Duke was the type of person who wouldn’t have wanted someone like Sylvia Mendez at the same school as his kids, or wouldn’t have wanted someone like me there, then maybe he isn’t the best person for our school to be named after.

  “I don’t like giving speeches,” I say. “I know it’s hard for other people too, but not like it is for me.” My scalp is sweating and I am pretty sure I stink something awful. “But my grandfather told me that life isn’t supposed to be easy, and sometimes you have to overcome your fear if you want to do something great. If Sylvia Mendez could be so brave, then so can I. And that’s why our school should be named after her.”

  When I am done, I hear some angry shouting, but mainly I hear the applause. Someone whistles, and when I look in the crowd to find out who, I see it is Mr. Humphries! And he isn’t alone. Some of our class is here too. But Aubrey isn’t.

  I’m the last person who gets to make a comment, because Skinny-Tie Man nods at the school board president, and she leans toward her mic.

  “Okay. Okay,” she says. “On the motion of changing John Wayne Junior High to Sylvia Mendez Junior High, how do you vote?”


  It’s like a movie.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes.”

  There’s some applause, and the school board president tells everyone to please be quiet again.

  “No.”

  That gets applause too, and my stomach starts to ache. I walk back to Mama, and she holds my hand.

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “No.”

  It’s a tie. The school board president has the last vote, and I’m trembling, I want this so much. I stare at her. Hard. So, so hard, and I beam one word at her: YES.

  62

  Decision, Decision

  The president looks at me and rubs her index fingers around on her temples. She seems tired and like she has had a very long day, maybe a very long year. I wonder if she heard my thought blast.

  She clears her throat and leans toward her mic. “On the subject of changing the name of John Wayne Junior High to Sylvia Mendez Junior High . . . I vote yes. The motion passes.” She bangs her gavel, and just like that, it’s done.

  A glorious feeling spreads through my chest, and I jump up and down. We did it! I think over and over. It’s like fireworks going off inside me. Malcolm comes over and gives me a high five and then squeezes me into a hug. His crutches rub against my shoulder, but I don’t mind. Mama gives me a hug too and whispers into my ear that she’s proud of me. Even Rox hugs me.

  My aunts and uncles crowd around, while Skinny-Tie Man tries to get the crowd to leave the room.

  Uncle AJ puts his arm around me.

  “Look at you,” he says.

  “My, my, Jenae,” Auntie Jackie calls out. “Aren’t you something!”

  My cheeks heat up, but I don’t disappear. I’m not sure what I think of all this notice. It’s awkward but not awful.

  “Too bad that little friend of yours isn’t here,” Auntie Maug says.

  I look around again for Aubrey, certain that if he’s here, we can move past today. And somehow, we can be friends again. But I don’t see that flame of hair anywhere.

  63

  Safe but Not Sound

  When we all get home, I don’t know what to do with myself. I keep checking and checking my phone, but there aren’t any messages from Aubrey. I text him that we found Gee and tell him again that I’m sorry, but he still doesn’t reply. I can’t even feel good about Rox and Malcolm sitting close to each other on the couch, laughing about something. I’m glad they are getting along, but it doesn’t seem as important anymore. Not when I don’t have anyone to share the news with.

  I text Aubrey that I’m sorry, but I’ve already texted that a whole bunch of times, and he didn’t answer any of those messages.

  Everyone is so glad Gee is safe and sound that they all ended up over at our house, and it feels like a Friday.

  The doorbell rings, and I race to it, knowing it’s going to be Aubrey, but it’s not.

  “Jenae!” Tía Rosalie says. She’s carrying a container of pastries. “I wanted to drop these off. And to say how sorry I am to have caused so much worry.” She looks at me. “But to also say gracias. What you said at the meeting . . . so lovely. And strong. I was so proud of you. Your mami—you take after her.”

  “Thanks,” I say, happy and disappointed at the same time.

  Mama comes up behind me and asks Tía Rosalie to come inside, and with a surprised look, Tía does, handing me the pastries as she passes by.

  “You should’ve left a note for your family, no?” she asks Gee disapprovingly, but then she gives his shoulder a little push to show she’s teasing him.

  “Right?” Mama says. “Acting like people wouldn’t be scared to death.” She and Tía Rosalie laugh together like they’ve been friends for a hundred years.

  I watch everyone look so happy, and I want to be happy too, but I want Aubrey to be here.

  I leave the pastries in the kitchen and then climb up the stairs. They groan like they always do, but this time they sound like they are groaning at me.

  Up in my room, I text Aubrey again. I check my laptop to see if maybe he emailed me, which would be strange but not impossible. There’s an email alert from the police department, letting everyone know Gee was found, but no mail from Aubrey.

  I try watching an Astrid Dane video, but I can’t focus on it. Everything in my room seems wrong.

  All the talking and laughing from downstairs slithers into my room, and I find a playlist on my computer that Malcolm made for me. It’s the perfect music for my mood, and I pop in my earbuds and fill my head with loud, angry words, drowning out everything else.

  I keep glancing at my phone, beaming thoughts at it.

  TEXT ME BACK.

  TEXT ME BACK.

  But my phone stays silent.

  64

  Fixing Everything

  In the morning, I feel sick, which is pretty ironic. But no way am I going to ask Mama if I can stay home. Sometimes you just can’t avoid your problems.

  The drive to school is too fast, though, and before I want to be, I’m walking into first-period history.

  I take my seat next to Aubrey and try to smile hopefully at him, but he doesn’t even look over at me. This is going to be harder than I thought.

  It’s still so early in the school year, maybe I could get my schedule changed. Swap English and history. That would fix everything.

  When the bell rings at the end of class, instead of walking out, Aubrey goes up to talk to Mrs. Crawford, and I wonder if he’s asking if he can change desks. Or maybe he got the idea too of switching classes.

  I pass behind them, and neither of them glances my way. I am invisible.

  At lunch, I go to our spot and hope Aubrey will show up. I can’t imagine what made me think eating lunch by myself, away from everyone, was ever a good idea. It’s pretty horrible now.

  I can’t even eat. Everything tastes like sand. And no matter where I look, I don’t see bright red hair.

  After lunch, I trudge my way to English.

  A moment after I sit down, Aubrey comes in, and we lock eyes for a moment, but then he looks away, and I stare down at my desk.

  Mr. Humphries quickly takes attendance, and then he scrapes his chair back and stands up. He walks to the front of the class, giving stern looks to anyone who hasn’t settled down yet. “Good afternoon, class. Today we are—”

  I shoot my hand into the air, and Mr. Humphries stops talking in a jerk, clearly surprised that I, of all people, would be interrupting him. I’m shocked myself. I look up at my arm and wonder how it got up there.

  “Yes, Jenae?” he asks. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

  My tongue starts to swell, and I pull my Astrid Dane bag to my chest. I didn’t take any books out yet, and the weight of the bag is a tiny bit comforting. “No. I need to say something.”

  Mr. Humphries blinks in surprise. A few people are looking at me like a horn just sprouted from my forehead.

  “What would you like to say?”

  “Just that . . .” Yesterday was hard with a bunch of strangers looking at me; this is ten times worse. “Being in this class has been hard for me,” I say, and my voice is barely above a whisper. “I even tried to transfer out of it.” My throat has shrunk down to straw size. Everyone is staring at me now. I have never felt so visible. I don’t know what to say and hope that if I start talking the right words will come. I think about my breathing and fill my lungs.

  “Yesterday I let down my . . . my friend. I was afraid. I thought if I had to give a speech, I might die.” The class titters at that, and I smile self-consciously. I swallow and notice my tongue has shrunk down almost to normal size.

  “Anyway,” I go on, “I wish I hadn’t messed everything up. And I think everyone deserves second chances. And I know you said no makeups, Mr. Humphries, but maybe you could make an exception.” My voice has gotten so quiet, I’m not sure if anyone heard me. It’s hard to talk when you have tears ready to gush up your throat and fill your whole head, until they spill out of your eyes and nose
onto the floor. “That’s all I wanted to say,” I mumble.

  “Well, Jenae,” Mr. Humphries says, “I, for one, am very happy you chose to stay in our class. And although you make a good point, we just don’t have time in the schedule for makeups.”

  “Okay,” I say sadly. I pull out a notebook and flip to a blank page. I try to take notes on everything Mr. Humphries says as if I’m truly listening.

  Before class is over, an eighth grader, Javier, comes in with a piece of paper. He hands it to Mr. Humphries, and after Mr. Humphries reads what’s on it, he tells Javier he can go back to his class. Then Mr. Humphries says, “Well, the eighth graders met at lunch and picked two students who will join debate club this year. Before I announce the names, I should mention the debate club members gave full consideration to everyone who gave speeches.” Mr. Humphries pauses and looks over at me. “Whether their partner showed up or not.”

  A tiny gasp slips out of my throat. Is Mr. Humphries saying what I think he is?

  “It wouldn’t be fair to punish someone just because their partner didn’t deliver a speech,” Mr. Humphries says, and I wish he would either stop saying partner or would just say my name. Everyone knows who he is talking about.

  “I’m pleased to announce the students who are joining the club are . . .” Mr. Humphries pauses like we’re at an awards show and he needs dramatic effect. I just need him to hurry up and say Aubrey’s name.

  I thought blast as hard as I can at Mr. Humphries. AUBREY BANKS! No matter what’s on that paper, that has to be one of the names Mr. Humphries is going to call. I’m so relieved I didn’t mess things up for Aubrey. Maybe now he will forgive me.

  “Dawn Hernandez and Joshua Chin!” Mr. Humphries calls out.

  The room tilts. There must be a mistake. I wait for Mr. Humphries to call out another name.

  “Okay, everyone, make sure you study your vocabulary words,” Mr. Humphries says over the bell. “There will be a test tomorrow. And, Aubrey, can I speak to you for a moment?”