by Sarah Watson
When they arrived at the auditorium on that Thursday night, the room was already packed. Because of “unusually high interest” in the meeting, everyone who wanted to speak was required to sign up before it started. The girls were directed to a long line that snaked the length of the room. CJ crossed her arms in an irritated sort of way and counted the number of people in line ahead of them. The meeting was limited to two hours, and that meant that not everyone who signed up would be able to talk.
“It’s going to be tight,” CJ said.
Thank god, Ava thought.
She could feel Jordan glance over at her. “Hey,” Jordan said. “You okay? You look…”
The sentence did not need to be finished. Ava looked exactly how she felt. Like she was going to pass out. Or hurl. Or maybe both. Probably both. She shoved her toes against the edges of her shoes and held them there for a count of five. This was something her therapist had told her to try in moments of stress. Sometimes it actually helped. Today was not one of those times.
Martha gave Ava’s arm a squeeze. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
“Yes, she does,” CJ said abruptly. Long ago, CJ had decided that it was her job to be the “tough love” best friend. She saw it as an admirable quality. Ava was still on the fence. CJ was always pushing her to do things that were out of her comfort zone. Just last week she’d forced her to submit one of her paintings to a local gallery. Ava knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that the Coventry Art Gallery would pick the painting of a high school amateur over all the professionals and more experienced artists who would be submitting, but sometimes it was easier just to do what CJ said rather than argue.
“I’m sorry, Aves,” CJ said. “I know you hate this. But you’re going to thank me later.”
Ava seriously doubted that. But it was impossible to slow CJ down once she got excited about something. If there was a problem, she wanted to solve it. The girls were only twelve when CJ dragged them to their first protest. Ava contributed the artwork for their signs. That was the extent to which she was comfortable sticking it to the man.
“Look at her,” Martha said, pointing to Ava. “She’s like… an unnatural color.”
“She’s not an unnatural color.” Ava could feel CJ’s eyes on her, evaluating and processing. “Okay, maybe she’s slightly paler than her regular color. But only slightly.”
“I’d say it’s dramatic,” said Jordan.
Ava clenched her eyes shut while her friends argued about her. She wished she could just astral project right the hell out of there. When she opened her eyes, she was disappointed to discover that not only had her soul not left the room but that Logan Diffenderfer was walking up to them. Great. That’s all she needed right now. Even worse, he had his camera around his neck.
“Hey,” he said to Jordan. “I’ve been getting some great shots for the paper.”
“Good,” she said. “I’m thinking front-page spread for sure. Let me see what you’ve got.”
He held up his camera and clicked through a few images. Ava had to admit that he was good. She’d never say it to his face, but secretly she loved his work. Jordan complained that his shots were often too artsy for the paper, but Ava loved them. His photos weren’t just beautiful. They told a story.
He clicked forward and paused on a picture. Oh god. It was a picture of her. She really did look pale. Logan lowered his camera, and it seemed like he was about to say something to her. Ava was thankful that Martha jumped in before he could.
“Hey, Diffenderfer,” she said. “You weren’t in AP Physics today. Mr. Young said you’re dropping it.”
Logan glanced down at his camera. “Yeah.”
“Why?” Martha asked.
Logan hesitated and a commotion stirred up in the line ahead of them. He looked pretty relieved about the distraction. Ava recognized the look. It’s how she felt every time something happened that took the focus off of her.
They all turned and saw that a couple of their classmates were arguing with the woman supervising the sign-in sheet. It was getting loud. “We have rights,” someone said. It was Kaia Huber. She was one of the best writers in school other than Jordan.
Jordan turned to Logan. “Get your camera ready. Come on.”
The line dissolved as the commotion got bigger. Jordan was already pulling her notebook and a pen out of her bag. She quickly jotted down quotes. CJ followed right behind her. Ava would have preferred to stay out of it, but Martha grabbed her arm. “Come on. Let’s see what’s up.”
They reached the table where a mob of their classmates surrounded the woman with the sign-in sheet. “I’m sorry,” she said. She was older and had the distinct look of someone who watched a lot of public television. “But only constituents can speak at these meetings.”
Ava didn’t know what a constituent was. She thought about discreetly googling it, but Logan Diffenderfer asked the question for her. “What’s a constituent?”
“It’s a voter in this district,” answered Kaia with annoyance. “None of us are registered. So they won’t let us speak.”
“Well, we would register,” CJ said to the PBS woman. “But we can’t. We’re not eighteen.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding that sorry at all. “These are the rules.”
“But we’re the ones most directly impacted by the park closure. We should get to talk about it,” Martha said.
The woman looked frustrated and tired and completely unmoved. “You’re welcome to sit and listen.”
“But we don’t want to sit and listen,” Logan said. “We want to stand and be heard.”
There were cheers from their classmates, and Ava had to admit it was a pretty good line. She saw Jordan jot it down in her notebook. The public television woman put up her hands as if she were staring down an unruly mob. “If you insist on making a scene, I’m going to have to ask you all to leave. This is not appropriate behavior.”
Martha scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Not appropriate? Are you kidding me? We’re just asking for two minutes.”
It was starting to dawn on Ava that she was getting her wish. She wouldn’t have to get up in front of the crowd while her voice quavered and her cheeks turned bright red. The relief didn’t feel as wonderful as she’d thought it would.
“Hey,” CJ said, pointing to someone at the door. “Isn’t that the councilman?”
Ava, Jordan, and Martha followed her gaze to an older man in a tailored suit. He walked with a level stride of self-importance and was trailed by a younger man, who was also wearing a suit, though not nearly as expensive-looking.
“That’s definitely him,” Martha said. “I recognize his picture from the district website.”
Councilman Kenneth Lonner looked like the kind of guy whose voting record favored large developments. Which it did. They’d learned that from the district website too.
“Well,” Jordan said, straightening the skirt of her dress and tugging at the top to make sure everything that should be covered was covered, “everyone back up. If they’re not going to let us speak, then I guess it’s up to the press to solve this.” She turned quickly to Logan. “Get as many shots as you can.” Then she broke into a fast walk. “Councilman! A minute of your time, please.”
Ava watched with awe as Jordan walked right up to him and got in his face. “I’m with the McKinley Blaze and wanted to ask you about your decision to ignore the input of students at tonight’s meeting.”
The councilman looked up from the file that he’d been thumbing through as he walked. He closed it and handed it to the young man next to him. The young man was very young. Probably close to their age. An intern or something.
“I’m sorry,” the councilman said. “Which paper did you say you work for?”
“The McKinley High School Blaze. I’m the editor. Jordan Schafer.”
She put out her hand, and the councilman took it and flashed a charming grin. “I love it when kids get involved in our civic proces
s, Jordan. I really do. But I’m afraid I’m a bit overscheduled tonight. If you call my office, we’d love to give you a tour. My associate here can set it up for you. Best of luck to you, Jordan.”
He reached into his pocket and handed her something that she awkwardly took. Then he continued toward the front of the room, where a seat was waiting for him. Ava, CJ, and Martha scrambled to get to their friend. Logan hung back and took a couple of pictures.
“What was that?” CJ asked. “What did he give you?”
Jordan looked stunned. She finally opened her hand. It was a campaign sticker. “I asked for a hard-hitting interview,” she said. “And he gave me a sticker.”
Jordan went to bed angry that night, and she woke up angry the next morning. After they’d learned that they weren’t allowed to speak, a lot of their classmates had left. Not Ava, CJ, Jordan, and Martha, though. They’d sat right in the front row and tried to look intimidating. Jordan was pretty proud of her epic scowl, but it’s not like a rude facial expression was going to solve anything. The meeting had not gone well for them. The developer was convincing, and even though several people spoke out in favor of the park, their remarks were rambling and all over the place. They hadn’t practiced and prepared like the girls had. The night ended with Councilman Lonner saying he would support the development. It still needed to be approved by the city, but with the councilman’s support it was considered a done deal. If they were going to save the park, they needed a real plan and they needed it now.
Jordan opened her laptop so she could search for “successful protest ideas.” Maybe a letter-writing campaign coupled with a demonstration. They could have sign-making parties and then descend on City Hall en masse. She wondered if one of her classmates would suggest that they chain themselves to the park fence. Ordinarily, Jordan didn’t agree with extremist measures. But that was before the councilman had called her a kid and handed her a sticker.
She saw that she had an e-mail from Logan and opened it. He’d sent her the pictures from the city meeting. She clicked through them and stopped when she got to one of her. Logan had managed to capture the exact moment when the councilman handed her the sticker. Her head was cocked slightly to the side and frozen in an expression of bewilderment.
She’d felt so good going into that night too. She’d been wearing her vintage-style swing dress in a bright-red apple print that her little brother said made her look like a wicked queen. He didn’t mean it as a compliment, but she took it that way. The dress usually made her feel powerful. Now, looking at it in the pictures, it seemed like a childish thing to wear to an important event. Jordan was used to people not taking her seriously when they first met her. Not just because of her clothes. People loved to say that they didn’t see color, but she could read the lowered expectations in their faces. That usually shifted as soon as she opened her mouth. They would tell her that she was “well-spoken” and express awe at how smart she was. She hated that she had to be smarter, better, and more eloquent than her white classmates, and yet she loved that she was.
Councilman Lonner had misjudged her. He’d looked at her and dismissed her as just a kid. Which, okay, technically and legally speaking, she was. What he didn’t know was that she was a kid with a stack of newspaper awards. She was the reason that the school had been forced to switch cafeteria food vendors after she’d published an article taking the vendor to task for their unethical business practices. She’d won national recognition for her story about mismanaged funds within the music program. She wanted the councilman to know all that. She wanted him to look at her and acknowledge that he’d been wrong.
An idea came to her. She knew how to get her wish. It was simple and yet completely effective. She fired off a quick text to her friends even though she knew they wouldn’t be up yet. She was too excited to wait. Now that she had a plan, she felt giddy about it. Councilman Kenneth Lonner had messed with the wrong kid.
The sound of an air horn rocked Martha out of a deep and blissful slumber. She bolted upright and searched for the source of the noise. Her phone usually made a soothing bell sound when she got a text, but someone had changed it. CJ, most likely. They’d been in a cell phone prank battle since summer.
The air horn sounded again, and Martha opened the texts while simultaneously plotting her revenge. Both messages were from Jordan.
I KNOW HOW TO SAVE THE PARK!
That councilman messed with the wrong kid.
After the text was a black fist emoji.
Martha didn’t respond. She padded into the bathroom and cringed when she saw her reflection in the mirror. She hadn’t bothered to wash her face last night, and her eyes were dark with smudged eyeliner. As she scrubbed her face clean, she thought about everything the developer had said at the meeting. And how convincing she’d been. She’d talked about how the new office building would create about three hundred jobs once it was built. How that would give the local restaurants a boost and bring in a lot of tax revenue. She said it would revitalize the neighborhood. She had facts and figures to back it up.
Face clean, Martha turned her attention to her hair. She never quite knew what to do with it. Her natural hair color was a mousy brown, but over the summer, Jordan had helped her dye it a shade of black called Urban Death. Her mom had cried when she’d seen it, which made Martha like it even more. She pulled it up into a messy bun. Three hundred jobs. Martha couldn’t stop thinking about that number. Maybe her dad could get one of those office jobs. And even if he didn’t, somebody’s dad would. Or somebody’s mom. Or somebody.
Martha hated that her dad had to work a crappy loading job. It hadn’t always been that way. Martha still remembered what it was like when he was a production supervisor at the Ford engine plant. The people who worked for him called him sir. He even had his own business cards. His name and title embossed onto a shiny white card. He’d given one to Martha to keep in her backpack in case she ever needed to call him at work. She took the card eagerly even though she knew the number by heart—still knew the number by heart. Then the plant closed in 2012 and Martha’s parents got divorced not long after that and she moved into this tiny two-bedroom apartment with the gray carpeting in the neighborhood that made Ava’s mom purse her lips together every time she drove into it. Revitalizing it didn’t sound like such a bad thing.
The air horn sounded again and Martha jumped. This time it was CJ.
I’m in.
CJ punctuated her statement with a fist emoji in her signature shade of beige.
Ava’s response came not long after that.
As long as I don’t have to talk in public.
She added a brown fist emoji.
Martha stared at the fists and wondered which was worse: letting her friends down or letting her neighborhood down. She only had to think about it for a second. She typed her response and hit send.
It was an extremely pale white fist emoji.
CHAPTER FOUR
CJ WAITED for her friends in the quad. Jordan had told everyone to meet there twenty minutes before the first bell, and as usual, CJ was the only one who was there on time. She was eager to hear Jordan’s big idea and hoped it wasn’t anything too extreme. There was no way in hell she was chaining herself to the park fence or doing anything else that might jeopardize her chances of getting into Stanford.
She checked Find My Friends to see where everyone was and saw that she had a new e-mail. It was from the school college counselor. SAT Sign-Up Deadline Approaching/FINAL CHANCE. CJ opened the message, expecting to find a general reminder to the entire class. The e-mail was addressed only to her.
Hi, CJ. I look forward to sitting down with you to discuss your college plans. In the meantime, I wanted to make sure you were aware that the deadline to register for the fall SAT test is quickly approaching. This is the last chance for your scores to count for this application year. Given your current score and your academic goals, I highly encourage you to sign up to retake the test.
Best,
Ms
. Fischer
CJ’s cheeks burned. Did Ms. Fischer seriously think CJ wasn’t already aware that her SAT scores blew? She was aware. She was painfully aware. The first time she’d taken the test, she’d been shocked by her results. 1150. She assumed it must have been some kind of mistake, and if it wasn’t a mistake, then it was certainly an anomaly. Just a bad test day. Everyone had them. So she rallied and regrouped and studied harder and took the test again. 1150 again. When she saw her score this time, she was furious. Not at the SATs and not even at herself. She was angry at everyone who had ever told her that she was special, that she was smart, that she was gifted, that her hard work would pay off. Her parents, her teachers, her friends. They were clearly all wrong. CJ Jacobson wasn’t special. She was average.
She knew that this was her last chance to take the test. The date was circled in red on her calendar and seared permanently into her brain. She would need to score at least in the high 1400s to have a shot at Stanford. She was doing everything she could to get that score. Over the summer, she’d used almost all of her babysitting and birthday money to take an SAT study course. She’d quit cross-country so she could study harder.
“Hey, babe.” CJ turned and found a bubbly Jordan bouncing her way over.
“You’re late,” CJ said.
“And you’re grumpy. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I thought we were meeting twenty minutes before class.”
“When have I ever been punctual? Where are Ava and Martha?”
“When have they ever been punctual?”
Ava and Martha arrived a few minutes later with a trail of apologies. That only left a few minutes for Jordan to reveal her big plan. “I want to interview the councilman,” she said.
Ava, CJ, and Martha traded looks. Unimpressed ones. Although CJ was relieved that Jordan didn’t expect her to chain herself to anything.