by Amy Allgeyer
“You want me to eat somewhere else?” Dobber asks. “Or make napkins outta these papers?”
“Sorry.” I scrape my research copies into a pile next to me.
He drops his tray on the table and opens his straw. “My daddy said you came by last week.”
“Ah … yeah.”
His smile stretches all the way across his face. “That was brave.”
“Brave or insane?”
“Some o’ both, maybe. You sure did piss him off.”
“Sorry.”
“Naw. It’s good.” He jabs the straw into his juice box. “We talked ’bout stuff. I think I understand him some better now.”
“Oh, well … good then.”
Dobber leans over and reads the article on top of the stack. “‘Agency Revokes Permit for Major Coal Mining Project.’ What’s all this for?”
I take my backpack off the chair next to me as Cole arrives with his lunch. “Um …”
At this point, there’s no way I can avoid the subject—no matter how much I want to avoid an argument with Cole. And in this town, he’ll hear about it by tomorrow anyway.
“I’m putting together a presentation for the county commissioners’ meeting tonight. About the damage the mine is doing to the valley.”
“You’re what?” Cole slams his tray onto the table and applesauce splatters all over my notes. “Are you crazy?”
“Calm down,” I say, mopping up the damage. “It’s a public meeting. Anyone can speak, and the county needs to know what MTR mining does, so they can see what it’s doing to Ebbottsville.”
Cole snorts. “No way.” He shakes his chocolate milk so hard I’m sure it’s going to go Mount Vesuvius on us. “You are not doing this.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not going to let you make a fool of yourself.”
I nearly laugh in his face. “You’re not letting me? I don’t remember asking for your permission. And why do you assume I’d make a fool of myself, anyway? I happen to know what I’m talking about.”
“All the facts and figures from your crazy liberal websites? Nobody wants to hear that shit.” Cole opens his milk and takes a long drink. Dobber’s staring at him with his forgotten burger halfway to his mouth. “So forget it. All of it. No more research. No more talk about the mine. This is the end of it.”
I’m speechless. Does he honestly think he can tell me what to do? All I can do is stare while he shovels french fries into his mouth and avoids my eyes.
“You don’t own me.”
“You’re my girlfriend,” Cole says evenly. “That gives me the right to say when you’re making a mistake.”
“I don’t take orders from anybody.” The people at the tables near us look over to see what’s going on.
“You’re not going to that meeting,” Cole says, still not looking at me. “This isn’t up for debate.”
“You’re right about that. It’s not up for debate.” I’m absolutely dumbfounded that he thinks he can control me. “I am going to the commissioners’ meeting and I am going to tell them what Peabody’s mine is doing to this place. And I don’t give a damn whether you like it or not.”
The tables around us are quiet, and I get the impression that everyone’s listening even though they’re pretending not to. I glance at Dobber, who hasn’t said a word. He’s looking from Cole to me with narrowed eyes.
“Liberty …” Cole wraps his hand around the top of my arm and squeezes hard. Now his eyes are locked on mine. “I said no.” His voice is quiet but his grip hurts. “I’m sick and tired of having to defend you to everybody.”
“Then stop. I never asked you to do that.” I try to pull away from him. “But I’m going to the meeting.”
His grip tightens. “I said no.”
“I don’t care what you said.” I’m trying to pry his fingers away, but he’s too strong. “Cole, let go.”
“Not till you agree you’re not going to that meeting.”
“Forget it.”
“Then I’m not letting go.”
“Cut it out, man,” Dobber says quietly.
“I’m just trying to keep her from looking like an ass.”
“Bullshit! You’re trying to force me to do what you want,” I say.
“It’s for your own good,” Cole says.
My arm is throbbing and my fingers are going numb. “Dammit, Cole. Let go.”
“Not till you agree to drop the meeting.”
“No!” The veins in my arm are standing out and my hand has turned bright red. I try to twist my arm away, but it doesn’t work. “That hurts.”
People are glancing over at us, but nobody seems to want to get involved, like it’s not their business. Staring at Cole’s face, I realize he knows he’s hurting me. He just doesn’t care.
Dobber’s voice seems so far away. “Let go, Cole.”
But Cole’s hand doesn’t loosen.
I’m starting to feel a little light-headed, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to pass out on the cafeteria floor. It’s probably crawling with bacteria. So I make my free hand into a fist, pull my arm back, and punch Cole square in the face.
My fist lands hard on his eyebrow and my ring finger makes a snapping sound. Cole grunts and lets go of my arm. As the blood swirls back into my hand and through my body, it carries waves of pain from my broken finger to my brain.
“Shit!” I hunch over, cradling my hand in my lap. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“Goddammit!”
I look over at Cole. He has blood running over his eye and down his cheek. Looking down, I see my wounded finger swelling like a sausage around my class ring.
“What the hell?” Cole’s voice isn’t calm and quiet anymore. It’s sort of hysterical and whiny.
Watching the blood drip off the napkin he’s holding against his eye, I know I’ll be in some big trouble with the school, but I’m having trouble caring. “You deserved that, shithead.”
“The hell I did.”
The whole cafeteria is staring at us, and one of the teachers is making his way toward our table.
“You’re gonna regret this, bitch.” Cole stands up, grabs his backpack, and walks out of the cafeteria.
My finger is throbbing like it has bongo drums in it and blood is seeping out of little crescent-shaped wounds where my fingernails cut into my palm. Dobber’s standing over me, staring at my hand.
“I think you broke it,” he says.
“No shit.” I’d like to go to the nurse and get some ice, but my head is swimmy and standing up seems kind of dangerous.
Mr. Cheek, the PE teacher, stops at our table. “Everything okay here?” He too is staring at my Quasimodo hand, which is clearly not okay.
“Fantastic,” I say.
“I think the nurse should take a look at that.” And then, miraculously, he’s gone. Broken fingers at Plurd County High … nothing to get worked up about.
“Good thing you didn’t tuck your thumb in,” Dobber says. “Most girls do.”
“Do they?” I frankly couldn’t care less about most girls right now.
“I’ll get you some ice.” Dobber heads for the kitchen, leaving me at the table all alone, in a room full of people staring.
Given that I just punched in the face one of the two people who actually speak to me, being alone is probably something I should get used to.
Twenty-Two
Twelve note cards, held together with a hair band, lie in my lap. Each is neatly printed with a topic and several bulleted notes underneath.
• health statistics in the valley (compliments of Dr. Lang)
• health statistics of MTR mining communities
• commonalities between the two
I toy with the green splint on my finger and try to concentrate on what I’m going to say. I need to
be convincing but not inflammatory. I need to point out that jobs can’t take precedence over people’s lives. I need to sound less nervous than I feel. I need to breathe.
I look at the clock over the wood-paneled counter at the front of the room. 7:02. They should be starting, but the council is nowhere in sight. I’m sure I’m at the right place because there’s a handful of people sitting in the room with me, each with his or her own version of notes. No one else has a bright-green splinted finger though.
Someone drops into the seat next to me and I glance up.
“Hey, new girl.”
Dobber! I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my entire life. “What are you doing here?”
He glances sideways at me, a half smile on his face. “Taking a stand.”
I remember my advice to his father and grimace a little. “Does Cole know you’re here?”
“Yep.”
“How’d that go over?”
“’Bout as well as you punching him in the face. But dammit, Liberty, Peabody screwed my daddy over bad.” His eyebrows pull together. “I gotta do something.”
“I understand.” In my mind, I see a frail old lady on a faded plaid sofa, clutching a bloody Kleenex. “We’re in the same boat.”
A door at the back of the dais opens and a group of men and women come through, the last two men deep in conversation together. The taller man, dressed in a suit I can tell was cut just for him, has Donald Trump hair and a lot of shiny, white teeth he manages to smile through even when talking. I recognize him from the photo at the town library. His library. Robert Peabody.
“Mother fucker.” Dobber’s hand tightens on the armrest.
“What’s he doing here?”
“You think he knows why you’re here?”
“No way. I didn’t tell the woman from the county what my business was.”
“That don’t mean he don’t know.” Dobber frowns at me. “You were talking about it at school.”
“Just to you and …”
We stare at each other, both wondering the same thing. Would Cole have told Peabody? Even with the black eye factored in, I just can’t see Cole doing that. It’d be like tattletaling on me. So kindergarten.
“No way,” I say. My voice sounds about as sure as I feel. Which is not very.
Dobber sighs. “Liberty, there’s something you should know. Cole—”
A gavel bangs and everyone in the room stands.
I raise my eyebrows at Dobber. “What?”
“Later.”
The meeting is called to order with the Pledge of Allegiance and an introduction of the commissioners. Robert Peabody takes a seat on the stage even though he’s not on the commission. I don’t like it at all. It’s bad enough that he’s here, but for him to be up on the dais, in a position of power, while I make accusations against his mine … “I think I might throw up.”
Dobber puts his hand on my arm. “Don’t let him scare you.”
I nod, looking down at the agenda again, where “Liberty Briscoe” is listed as Item Number Four. I hadn’t noticed before, but Item Six is Peabody Mining Company. I point that out to Dobber as an older guy makes his way to the public podium.
“Hm,” is all Dobber says.
I watch Peabody while Items One through Three complain about their neighbor’s fence, the trash burning ordinance, and property taxes. He completely ignores the people presenting and spends the time texting or checking his watch. His arrogance is obvious—at one point, the chairperson of the commission looks over at him and Peabody taps his watch. Immediately, Item Three is thanked for their comments and dismissed. Apparently, the county government runs on Peabody’s schedule.
I hate him even more now that I’ve seen him.
“Item Number Four,” reads the chairperson. “Liberty Briscoe?”
I stand and walk to the podium. I’m about halfway there when I realize Dobber is right behind me. I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing, but it’s comforting to have him there.
“Hello.” My amplified voice is high and shaky. I run my finger over the duct tape holding the microphone to the stand. “My name is Liberty Briscoe. My grandmother, Kat Briscoe, lives on the east side of the mountain, across the valley from Tanner’s Peak. Well, where Tanner’s Peak used to be.”
I glance at Peabody. He’s not texting now. He’s looking at me with a half smile on his face. Turning my attention back to the commission, I start rattling off facts and figures, my voice warbling more the longer I talk.
Cancer rates in the valley: two hundred percent higher than normal.
Kidney disease: seventy percent higher.
Birth defects: twice as high.
I pause to let that sink in then deliver the punch. “All of these statistics match those seen in other communities with mountaintop removal mines.”
My bombshell bombs. None of the commissioners are looking at me. They’re shuffling papers, staring at their watches. One woman is digging around in her purse. But Peabody’s still smiling at me, amused, like I’m a kitten with a ball of string.
That pisses me off. I didn’t come here to be amusing. This is my best, if not only, chance to get that mine shut down. And I need these commissioners to listen to me.
“My granny has cancer.” I hear the words before I realize I’ve gone off script. It works though. Every one of the commissioners looks up. “She’s going to die. Any day now.” I point behind me, to where Dobber stands like a stone wall. “Quentin Dobber’s father has cancer. The ‘pray for’ list at my church gets longer every week. I bet it’s the same at your church. You have to ask yourself, why are these things happening? Why here?”
The chairperson, Mr. Hennequin, looks over at Peabody, who casually cuts his hand across his neck before straightening his tie. His message is clear. Hennequin looks up at me and smiles. “We’re gonna have to stop you here, Miss Briscoe, since we’re running out of time. But I think we should all be proud of the job Plurd County High School is doing with our kids. That was a most professional-sounding presentation.”
“What? This isn’t some school project,” I argue. “Those numbers I read off earlier, they’re real! They have faces and families. They’re people you know.” The two women on the commission … I can tell I’ve gotten to them. One is nodding. The other is staring through me, like the sick people I’m talking about are hovering behind me.
Hennequin ignores me. “Let’s give the young lady a round of applause for her school project.”
The commissioners clap a few times, then look down at their agendas, ready for the next item.
“People in your county are dying! Lots of them! Don’t you care?” My voice goes all high and shaky. I sound hysterical, but I can’t help it. It’s not that I expected them to shut the mine down tonight, but I thought there would at least be some discussion. That they’d show some shred of concern.
Hennequin motions to the cop standing at the back of the room and he heads toward me. I figure I’ve got about twenty seconds. “Weren’t you elected to take care of this town? Isn’t that your job?”
“Young lady,” says Hennequin, “this commission does everything it can to protect our citizens. It may interest you to know we ordered tests to make sure everyone’s water was safe to drink.”
“Yeah, tests you let the mine have control over. Do you realize how easily they could have been tampered with?”
“Get her outta here.”
The cop reaches out for my arm, but Dobber steps between us. He’s a good six inches taller than the cop, and I’m sure Dobber could turn him into jelly in about three seconds.
“It’s fine, Dobber. We’ll go.” I turn back to look at Peabody. The smile is still there, but his eyes are different. I’m no longer a kitten but prey.
“People I care about are dying,” I say. “If you want to keep lying to yourselv
es about the cause, you do that. But whether you admit it or not, you’re responsible for those deaths.”
Dobber pulls me to the back of the room as the cop follows. Hennequin starts the meeting again. “Item Number Five: Tammy Edgerton,” he says as the door closes behind us.
Dobber and I stare at each other in the lobby until the cop says, “Sorry, but y’all have to actually leave the building.”
He follows us to the front door then says, “See ya, Dob.”
“Later, man.”
“You know him?” I ask.
“I know ever’body.”
We walk to the edge of the parking lot, where Dobber’s car is parked next to mine.
“That didn’t go so good,” Dobber says.
“Understatement of the year. That bastard has the whole commission under his thumb! Did you see the way Hennequin kept looking at him for guidance?” My teeth chatter over the words as I shiver in the damp evening air.
Dobber opens his passenger door and motions me to get in. “I saw. Problem is …” He pauses as he walks around to the driver side. After he climbs in, he closes the door and taps the steering wheel for a couple seconds. I can tell he’s choosing his words carefully, trying to be gentle, I think. “Problem is, we ain’t got no real proof that the mine’s causing the cancer.”
“No. But we will.” I feel like a gauntlet’s been thrown down. I came here tonight thinking the commission just needed to understand what was happening, that they’d do the right thing if they knew there was even the possibility that the mine was hurting the people of Ebbottsville. But now I know—Peabody owns them. “I’ll find the proof, Dobber. Somewhere. I’ll bet you a hundred dollars Peabody screwed with the water reports somehow.”
“I’m with ya,” Dobber says. “Like you said, we’re in the same boat.”
“We are.” I barely see him, silhouetted against the streetlight across the road. His hair is sticking up like it always does and his cheekbones are more lumpy than chiseled. For some reason, I think of Cole, with his Greek god chin and perfect teeth, which reminds me … “Hey, what were you going to tell me earlier?”