Because We Are (16 page)

“Where's everybody?” Carrie said, interrupting Emma's thoughts.

“They'll be here,” Emma said with assurance.

They did come, on time, all except Liz. Emma waited a few minutes, then went to the point.

“What?” someone shouted and they all started talking at once.

“I thought this was about fun and games,” someone sneered.

Some laughed derisively when they knew there was to be no real gambling.

Emma saw Liz slip quietly into the group. Her courage was renewed. “Please, wait …” she cried.

“Yeah, shut up,” Carrie said.

“At least listen to the lady,” Don muttered.

“It's a real gamble,” Emma said. “Let's bet that we will outsmart Kooner, call his bluff, say we won't scramble and win.”

“Who you think'll tell Kooner we aren't gonna scramble no more?” James asked.

“You always flapping your lips 'round Kooner. You tell 'im,” Walt said.

“We can all tell him and not say a word.” Emma tried to get back to the point.

“Naw, I don't think we should try that. Mr. Kooner ain't lame, you know,” James countered.

“He sho' ain't bright, neither,” Liz muttered and everybody laughed.

“He might be very bright,” Emma said, “but I think he should have figured out by now that we need only
one
more book.”

“We need thirty-five books,” James countered again.

“She don't know what she talkin' 'bout.” Someone agreed with James.

“James, you just mad 'cause it ain't your idea,” Don said. “Go on, Emma.”

“I know we're already doubled up with only one person always without a book,” Emma said.

“If he can't see that and a teacher, he ain't bright.” Liz cracked everybody up again.

Emma moved quickly. “So, what do you say? Shall we gamble?”

“I say gamble,” Carrie said. “Scurrying for them books ain't fun no more, anyway.”

Emma explained the plan. “Remember, it's our secret. Nobody,
but nobody
, is to know except us. Promise!”

“And if any of you feel you're gonna flake out, then ditch tomorrow.” Carrie was stern with her advice.

Emma was bursting with excitement when she found Allan. Things were going her way. She had a feeling that the long gamble planned would bring an end to the scramble.

She wrote Gary a note:
I should warn you. I might not get to the prom.… So now you see. I put my head under that tiger's paw. If I come out of this alive, I'll be able to face anything
—
even Stanford
.

Twenty

If Mr. Kooner was surprised at the room being filled shortly after the second bell, he didn't let on. Emma was alert to his every move, every change of expression, looking for any indication that the secret may be out.

In his usual manner Mr. Kooner read announcements. The list today was long and varied: elections for the prom queen and her court were underway; seniors interested in jobs should report to the office; candy drive advanced orders; usher club.… Emma worried. Maybe he had learned about the plan and was not going to hold class at all.

The reading went on: field trip for eleventh graders; driver's ed test. Finally a sudden voice change brought Emma to attention. “
Seniors only: All papers for the competition for a speaker's spot at graduation are due in to your teacher for screening the day after tomorrow.
”

Emma sighed. Her paper was in good shape; she'd have it finished. If only he'd get on with the scramble. She looked around the room. How were the others feeling? she wondered. Were they as worried and as nervous as she? She dared not look at anyone long enough to catch an eye. She might crack up and ruin the whole plan, she was so jittery.

Finally Mr. Kooner went to the books and paused as if counting them. Had he added one? Emma quickly counted—only eight in one pile and nine in the other. The same. She held her breath.

“Get set, go.” The books were on the floor.

Nobody moved. In the silence Emma could hear the accelerated heartbeat in her chest.

Mr. Kooner was caught off guard. “OK, now, get with it.” He laughed a short laugh. “We don't have much time.”

No one moved.

He seemed confused. Then he became angry. “I guess I'll have to charge you all with insubordination and fail everyone of you.”

Emma felt cold sweat running down her arms. Would they hold out against that threat? She stiffened in her seat, trying to ward off the sudden shivering.

Still nobody moved.

She looked up at Mr. Kooner. He caught her eye and suddenly she recognized the look on his face. It was the one she had seen when she first noticed him in the yard with the other teachers.
He was afraid
. Suddenly she realized that he suspected her. She became frightened and felt the urge to run from the room.

“Mr. Kooner.” Liz's voice broke the silence. “We ain't goin' move, and all you gotta do is git
one
book.” The silence remained.

A gradual change came over Mr. Kooner's face. He seemed more at ease, but said nothing.

Everyone breathed again and sighs were heard around the room. The bell rang and Emma knew Mr. Kooner was as relieved as they. By tomorrow he will have found that one book, she thought.

The students were restrained until they were out of the hall. Then they let loose with laughter, hand slapping, and hugs. They believed they had won. Were they celebrating a victory too soon?

At the sound of the bell, books were passed out—one for every two students and one extra—and the lesson was immediately underway. Sometimes a joke or an unusual mispronunciation of a word brought peals of laughter. However, by and large, everyone was attentive. The teaching was almost formal. Once upon a time, Emma might have been happy with these events in Room 202.

On surface Mr. Kooner appeared pleased with the change, but Emma felt she was coasting in mined waters. Her instinct to flee had been right that day when she had seen the fright on Kooner's face: She had been and still was suspect. It was as though the weapon was poised, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The first sign of hostility was Kooner's benign unawareness of Emma's existence. He never recognized her in class, even if she raised her hand. Though she knew she had done well on all tests and was prepared for the finals, this being ignored made her a bit uneasy.

On the day of the deadline for the speech competition, two days after the gamble on the scramble, Emma turned in her speech to Mr. Kooner. Feeling a sense of pride in her carefully written, neatly typed pages, she approached his desk just before the second bell. He did not look up.

“Mr. Kooner, here's my speech for the competition,” she said. Still no response. Emma shrugged, placed the speech on the desk, and sat down.

Days passed and Mr. Kooner said nothing. She felt she had done a good job, but surely there must be some need for revision. Maybe he had not gotten around to reading it.

With graduation only three weeks away, Emma was too involved in senior activities to keep the competition uppermost in her mind. There were pictures to take, measurements for the cap and gown, the excitement of Gary's coming, and the fun of prom night. Then suddenly the day came when the committee would meet to choose the three speakers and three alternates for graduation. Emma did not know what to do, but she wanted to know if her speech would be considered in the final round.

Early that morning Allan was waiting in their usual place. Her first words after greetings were, “Kooner has said nothing about my speech.”

“Did you say anything to him?”

“I didn't think I should. He's the critic. I don't feel comfortable asking him what he thinks.”

“Ms. Dohling discussed the speeches turned in to her with each one of us. I know I'm in the finals. You better talk to Kooner. They're meeting today.”

Emma saw Mr. Kooner near the vending machines. He was close to a group of teachers, but not with the group. When she started toward him, he moved into the group, his back to her.

Why had he turned away? She felt a wave of weakness, a sinking stomach. She did not want to be embarrassed, yet she had to know about her speech. She risked the possibility of being ignored and asked pardon for the interruption. No response.

Finally, one of the teachers in the group nudged Mr. Kooner. “Jack, this young lady wants your attention.”

Emma's heart beat wildly and she was flooded with shame.

“What is it?” he asked curtly.

“My paper … the speech I turned in. Will it be considered …?”

“Did you give me a speech?”

“Yes, in the room.”

“You sure?”

Her shame turned to fright. Had he not seen her speech at all? “Of course, I'm sure.”

“Did you hand it to me?”

“I put it on the desk,” Emma said, feeling desperate.

A thin smile played on his face. “Oh … you should've put in my hands.”

All that work, she thought. She felt panicky. “Let's look on your desk.”

“I'll check after the first bell. Come by after then.”

Emma pushed through the crowd toward Allan, trying to fight the feeling of having been deeply wounded. Why couldn't he look now? Every moment of waiting was like being held forcibly underwater.

Allan tried to reassure her that Kooner would find the speech—all would be well. There were not that many speeches in the competition, and her chances as a speaker or an alternate were more than good.

Still Emma worried. Maybe this was his way of revenge. He had found that one book, led them to think he was not ruffled, and now he would keep her out of the competition. But he couldn't do that, she thought. Why had she waited until the last minute?

The first bell rang. Allan went with her to Kooner's room. Emma was a bit hopeful when she saw the stack of papers on Mr. Kooner's desk, but the search did not produce her speech. Kooner had triumphed.

Emma held back the tears when she told Allan that her speech had been lost. But she walked down the hall weeping, not knowing what to do, trying to force herself to forget it, not really caring.

But why should Kooner triumph? exploded in her mind. “Maybe I can rewrite my speech.” She dried her eyes with the back of her hand.

“They're meeting at noon. You wouldn't have time,” Allan said.

“I still have the rough draft. I'd only have to type it.”

“Where's your rough draft?”

“Oh, Lord. If only I could get home, Allan.”

“Call your mother,” Allan said excitedly.

Emma pulled Allan along to the office. She was so excited. She would have time to go home, type her speech, and give it directly to the committee when they met at noon. It was now fifteen minutes after eight. She must hurry.

She called her mother at work. She had just missed her. Her mother was out in the field all day. “I
must
reach her,” she shouted into the phone.
No way
, was the answer.

What would she do? An adult would have to get her off campus. Maybe her father was still at home. All he had to do was get her to her house. He wouldn't have to wait while she typed. Maybe he'd find a way to get her back—a taxi even.

When she learned that her father had just left home for the hospital, where he would be in surgery all morning, she burst into tears. She could hardly compose herself enough to tell Jody what had happened.

Finally she understood what Jody was saying: “I'll come get you; tell me where you are.”

She was so relieved she clung to Allan right in the office and let the tears flow. “This is my lucky day,” she said through tears. “Jody was about to leave home, too. She has some kind of part-time thing, but she's coming.” She looked at Allan and forced a grin.

Just at the beginning of fifth period, Emma handed the guard a note that would let her reenter the school grounds. She pushed through to the hall that led to the meeting room of the committee.

They were just about to enter. “Mr. Wheeler, Ms. Dohling, wait a minute,” she shouted. She gave them each a copy of her speech and explained what had happened. She then went past them into the room to give Mr. Kooner a copy also. He had no choice but to take it.

When she reentered the hall there was a burst of cheers: “Emma! Emma! yea, yea, yea.” There were Allan and all of the students from Room 202. Carrie and Liz hugged her. She was happy that they approved of her making the deadline. Now all she had to do was wait for the results.

Twenty-one

The sky was still heavily overcast that June afternoon as the graduation class of Manning High marched into the stadium under the eyes of their families and friends.

Emma was a bit nervous, filled with mixed feelings: happy to be graduating, but sorry to have had so little time with her new-found friends in Room 202, especially Liz and Carrie.

She sat listening to the praise for her class and was surprised, though pleased, that she, too, was moved by the spirit of the occasion. She knew this praise was too little, too late. She was overwhelmed and could not withhold her joy or her tears when Allan was introduced for his speech: Valedictorian, National Honor Student, National Awards winner, winner of Today's Music Masters Award, and the University of Southern California's Music Scholarship Award. He was on his way. She was proud; he was her friend.

The sun broke through as the next speaker was announced: National Honor student, recipient of the National Merit Award, future student of Stanford University … class speaker,
Emma Walsh
.

Emma winked at Allan, rose, and walked determinedly to the podium. She looked out at the vast, applauding crowd and saw her father and Jody. Her mother was beaming; with her mother were Cheryl and Dee. Down front, smiling, sat Gary.

She felt a sudden rush of love, satisfaction, and confidence as she began her speech: “Where Do We Go From Here?” She moved clearly, deliberately, and forcibly through the words that declared her proud to be a Manning Girl, ready to go from this place into an uncertain world, certain that she now had the desire and the will to help make earth a safer and healthier place for
all
living things.