The Year They Burned the Books

The next day, Jamie could barely keep her eyes open. She’d been up most of the night writing an editorial for the Wilson High Telegraph, plus her sex education article for the Renegade Telegraph, and was still polishing both at lunch. Terry looked miserable, but before Jamie had a chance to talk with him, Jack and Cindy, who had volunteered to write about Matt’s suspension, handed her a draft of their piece. “We talked to him off the record,” Jack told her, “on background, so we can’t quote him. But we did find out stuff about his qualifications and we’ve used that.”

“Off the record Matt said he’s proud of us,” Cindy added. “And he said he’ll back us if we get into trouble, but he’s pretty sure the school committee won’t listen to him.”

“Some of them won’t, I bet,” Jamie said. “And we sure don’t want to get him fired. When can he come back to the paper?”

“I don’t know,” Jack told her. “He didn’t say.”

“He said he’s glad his wife works,” Cindy said, “in case they do fire him. That was an attempt at a joke, I think, but we got the feeling he’s more upset than he let on. Right, Jack?”

Jack nodded. “He’s hurt, too, we’re pretty sure.”

“Anyway,” Cindy said, “someone want to read the piece over? Please?”

“I think it’s a little rough here,” Jack said. He took the draft back and pointed to a paragraph in the middle. “I’m not sure about this transition.”

Terry and Jamie both held out their hands.

“Here. I’ll do it,” Terry said. “You’ve got other stuff to do, Jamie. I’ll give it to you when it looks ready.”

“Okay,” Jamie said dubiously; Terry’s voice sounded strained and he looked miserable. “But …”

“Later.” Terry got up from the table.

“Right,” Jamie said, even more dubiously. “Later.” She returned to her Telegraph editorial.

Jamie had no chance that afternoon to talk with Terry privately, except briefly about the Matt piece, which had turned out to need very little work except for the one transition Jack had pointed out. Then, after school in the newspaper office, Ms. Hinchley read Jamie’s editorial and quickly handed it back to her. “Sorry,” she said. “But I think you know why we can’t run this.”

“No,” Jamie said, bristling, while Tessa and Nomi looked up from the layout table, where they were arranging photos, and Terry put his pencil down from marking up an article about the most recent football victory. “No, I don’t know. Why not?”

“We were told that editorials should reflect both sides of whatever issue they’re about. This doesn’t. And I think you know that perfectly well.”

“I’ve mentioned both points of view. And I …”

Tessa got up and stood behind Jamie. “Easy,” she said quietly.

“If you want to rewrite it, fine,” Ms. Hinchley said with more force than Jamie expected of her. “If not, either write another or we’ll do without.”

“I’ll write another,” Jamie snapped, plunking her first one down on her desk and yanking her computer keyboard toward her. Tessa returned to the layout table as Jamie’s fingers pounded on the keys.

“Smoking computer,” Jamie heard Terry say, and she was dimly aware of Tessa’s answering chuckle, but only dimly; her mind was on her words:

Editorial

THE NEW TELEGRAPH

With this issue, folks, we launch a new kind of newspaper. Despite recent upheavals—the suspension of Matt Caggin as this paper’s faculty adviser and the recent suspension of health classes while Families for Traditional Values studies the textbooks and the curriculum—the Telegraph, under its new faculty adviser, Ms. Dawn Hinchley, will concentrate on pulling the school together, and on GOOD news, not bad. It is the job of a school paper, Ms. Hinchley tells us, to foster unity and school spirit, and so from now on, that will be our mission. We hope you’ll be cheered by each and every issue!

“Change ‘despite’ to ‘because of,’” Ms. Hinchley said when Jamie had handed it to her, “and we’ll run it.”

“And if I don’t?” asked Jamie.

“And if you don’t, we won’t run it.”

“Change it,” Terry advised her. “The kids’ll get it,” he added under his breath.

Jamie highlighted “Despite,” banged “Because of” in its place, and slammed out of the office, just barely managing to snarl, “Back in a minute,” as she left. She headed straight for the girls’ room, where she leaned against one of the sinks, still fuming.

“Cold water,” said Tessa, coming in and turning on a faucet, “does wonders.”

Jamie splashed her face. “I could kill her!” she shouted. “I could just kill her. She’s not a newspaper person, she’s a—Oh, I don’t know what she is.”

“She’s doing what she was told to do,” Tessa said calmly. “I think the school’s scared. I think Mr. Bartholomew and whoever else is in charge is scared of Mrs. Buel and FTV, and they’re going to do anything they can to keep her from attacking them or really harming them. You read the same stuff I did, Jamie; you know people can be really vicious about sex education. I don’t think anyone wants that to happen here.”

“Well, I don’t either,” Jamie barked. “But I also don’t want us to give in. The school committee voted on that curriculum and on making condoms available, too, although everyone seems to have forgotten about that. How can one woman overthrow a vote?”

“By getting enough support for there to be another vote. You know that. Hey, that’s the American way.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jamie leaned against one of the sinks. “And if it were me trying to get something changed, I’d do everything I could to be successful at it, too. Maybe I’ll write about that next time.” Then to her horror, Jamie burst into tears.

Instantly, Tessa was beside her, holding her. “Hey,” she crooned softly, rubbing Jamie’s back. “Hey. You can say anything you want in the Renegade; you know that.” She tipped Jamie’s head up and, taking a tissue out of her pocket, dried Jamie’s eyes. “Like your mom, I like the fire in you. You’re quite a person, my friend, you know that?”

There was a click; the door to the girls’ room opened, and Jamie, feeling instantly guilty, sprang away from Tessa; Tessa looked surprised and, Jamie realized, not at all guilty. Why should she, she thought bitterly. I’m the only one who’s got feelings to hide.

Karen Hodges stood in the doorway, staring.

“I left my jacket somewhere,” she said after a moment. “I—Well, it doesn’t look like it’s in here.”

“No,” Jamie said shakily. “I haven’t seen it.”

“Me neither,” Tessa said, watching Jamie, an odd expression on her face. She put her hand on Jamie’s arm. “You feeling okay now?” she asked loudly, as if for Karen’s benefit.

Jamie nodded.

“Oh?” said Karen, sounding surprised, then skeptical. “Was that it? I thought …”

“Never you mind what you thought.” Tessa herded her out. “You just keep your thoughts to yourself. And I hope you find your jacket,” she called after her.

When Karen was gone, Tessa faced Jamie. “Jamie,” she asked gently, “am I crazy or is there something going on here that I should know about? You jumped away from me like you’d been shot. Or like … Well, sort of like you felt guilty.”

Jamie turned away. “No. No, nothing’s going on,” she lied miserably.

Tessa shrugged and moved to the door. But then she turned and, in a very quiet, firm voice, said, “Jamie, I’m your friend. And when I’m friends with someone, that’s all that counts with me, okay?”

The words TELL HER thundered in Jamie’s mind. But all she actually said, in a voice she struggled to keep steady, was “Thanks, Tessa. That’s what counts with me, too.”

That night, Jamie called Terry. “Okay, come on. Tell me. Something’s happened, right?”

“Yeah. Right.” Terry’s voice sounded unnaturally cheerful. “Well, I saw it coming, you know? I wasn’t surprised.”

“You saw what coming?”

“Ernie. He’s decided he’s straight. Or he wants to be, anyway. He’s going to stay with Vicky. He says she’s wonderful, very patient and understanding, blah, blah, blah. They’re—I don’t know—having a big-deal relationship or something. As if Vicky could ever stick to one person.”

“Oh, Terry!”

“Yeah, well, like I said, I knew. Pretty much. And I don’t want to talk about it, okay? I was so shook about it, Mom asked what was wrong, and I fell apart telling her. I’ll bawl again if you’re nice to me, Jamie, so please, just let me get used to it for a while. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, aching for him. “But I’m here if you need me, Terry, okay?”

“Sure. Thanks. Goodbye.”

On Monday morning, Jamie, Tessa, Terry, and Jack—Cindy had to study for a test—each took a corner two streets away from school and passed out copies of the Renegade Telegraph as people arrived. This issue was both sides of two pages, stapled together. Cindy and Jack’s piece about Matt’s suspension, with a photo by Tessa, was on the first page, running over onto the second, where there was also a brief editorial, and Jamie and Tessa’s sex education feature was on the third and fourth. Copies of the Wilson High Telegraph were, as usual, in bins by the school’s front door, but almost everyone, including the faculty, had read the Renegade before they’d even picked up the Telegraph.

This time, though, there was sudden laughter as Jamie walked past where Brandon, Al, and Sam Mills were standing with a few other boys near the front door. “Ooooh,” she heard Sam say in falsetto as he dangled a copy of the Renegade delicately between his thumb and forefinger. “This is such a sexy paper!”

“Those who can’t do it write about it,” Brandon said loudly as Jamie went by. “Know what I mean, butch?”

“Sweet seventeen,” someone else called out, “and never been kissed—not normally, anyway.”

Ignore them, Jamie said to herself as she walked on. Don’t listen. They’re just bored.

But when she saw that Karen Hodges was standing with the boys, her whole body suddenly felt chilled.

It wasn’t very far into the day before Jamie was called into Mr. Bartholomew’s office, along with Tessa, Terry, Jack, and Cindy. Ms. Hinchley was already there when they arrived.

“Sit down,” Mr. Bartholomew said; Jamie could see copies of both papers on his desk. “You’ve had a busy week,” he said dryly, leaning back and lacing his hands together. “I know you’re angry and upset at losing Mr. Caggin as your adviser. And apparently you’re angry about the health class suspension, although I don’t think that feeling is shared by your classmates, most of whom are just as happy to have an extra study period and less homework. You’ve followed the letter of my ruling by passing out your renegade paper a little away from school property, although I’d be more comfortable if you’d done it farther away. And you’ve cooperated, on the surface anyway, with Ms. Hinchley, after, shall we say, a rocky start. But Ms. Hinchley has, rightly, pointed out some concerns that I think are legitimate. Ms. Hinchley?”

Ms. Hinchley’s mouth was tight and her words were clipped as she spoke. “I think it’s obvious,” she said, “that you’re subverting the Telegraph. The legitimate Telegraph. And I’m sure you’re well aware of that. In fact, I think that’s your goal.”

“Our goal is to get the news out to the students,” Jamie replied, trying to sound as pleasant and reasonable as she could. “Since it looks as if we can’t do that in the regular paper, we’re doing it on our own. I don’t see that we’ve broken any rules.”

“You haven’t,” Ms. Hinchley said crisply. “But you’ve created a conflict of interest for yourselves, and you’re spreading yourselves very thin. I don’t see how you can possibly have the commitment the Wilson High Telegraph needs as long as you’re publishing your own paper at the same time. You’re going to wear yourselves out, and your schoolwork is bound to suffer. It’s hard enough doing one paper; two should be just about impossible, even if the second one doesn’t come out as often. I think, and Mr. Bartholomew agrees with me, that if you’re going to publish the Renegade regularly, you may soon find you’ll need to choose between it and the Telegraph—which will go on publishing,” she added, “regardless of your decision.”

Jamie glanced at the others; Terry and Tessa nodded imperceptibly, Cindy and Jack more obviously. “I think I can manage both,” Jamie said. “I don’t like choosing, but if I have to, I’ll choose the Renegade.”

“So will I,” Cindy said.

Jack nodded. “Me, too.”

Tessa and Terry nodded.

“Okay,” said Mr. Bartholomew. “So be it. But—and this goes for each of you—if your grades suffer because you’re working on two papers, we’ll have to ask you to drop one. If you won’t drop the Renegade, we’ll have to require that you drop the Telegraph. Understood?”

“Understood,” Jamie said, and the others nodded again.

“One more thing,” Mr. Bartholomew added. “I admire you for your idealism and the depth of your commitment, but please be careful. I trust that your good journalistic sense will keep you from libeling anyone. Just remember that what you’re doing with the Renegade is in no way connected to the school, and that the school won’t be able to support you if it backfires. Are you aware of that?”

They all nodded once more.

“Very well,” said Mr. Bartholomew. “Thank you for your time. And remember what I said about your grades. It would be very unwise to let them slip.”

“Well, looks like we’re on,” Terry said as he and Jamie followed Jack, Cindy, and Tessa out of Mr. Bartholomew’s office. The hall was empty except for some students putting up posters about a costume party to be held at Cindy’s that Saturday, which was Halloween. “I offer my room as the Renegade’s new home. I have lots of time. Time, space, and dedication,” he said bitterly. “No distractions, except the Telegraph. It’s great not to have a social life. A—whatever. I’m yours, Renegade editor, all yours.”

“He’ll be back,” Jamie said softly.

“Oh, please,” Terry said. “What are you, Madame Crawford, Seer?”

“Maybe,” Jamie said, putting on an accent and seizing Terry’s hand as if about to read his palm.

But Terry shook her hand off.