Why We Fly, page 11
He freezes with his fingertips just under the edge of my shirt. “Do I gotta worry about your dad coming through that door with a shotgun?”
I laugh. “My dad doesn’t own a gun.”
“Okay, but is he coming through that door while I’m trying to round the bases?”
“I’m not worried. But if you are, we could put another door in the way.”
He props himself up on one elbow and stares at me for a beat. “You want us to go upstairs to your room?”
“Yes. Do you?”
“I mean, yeah, but… You know I don’t expect that, right? We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
I stand up and offer him my hand. “I want to.”
* * *
Three lies back, taking up my entire bed, leaving me no space and no option other than to press up against him and rest my cheek on his chest. He runs his hand over my head, ruffling my hair, which makes me nervous.
“You’re not the cuddling type?” he asks, laughing.
I smile but reach over to the nightstand, fumbling for my phone. There’s still time to get dressed before Bull shows up, before my parents get home. There’s a chain of WhatsApp messages from the team I should check. And I have homework to get to.
“Guess not.” He takes the hint and scoots off my bed, reaching for his pants. “Just tell me you were this same way with Larson so I don’t get insecure.”
I freeze at the mention of Roman. Of course Three knows I was with him. Everyone knows. I don’t know how to answer. Am I supposed to give details about sleeping with my ex? Am I supposed to ask him about other girls?
“Roman and I…” The words stick in my mouth, tumbling out in a weird order. “We were. Last year.” Ughhhh, why is this so hard?
“You don’t have to tell me,” he says. But he glances at me, his eyes lidded. “If you don’t want.”
My stomach roils. Roman never asked about other guys. Roman never asked much of anything. We hooked up at a party at the start of basketball season last year, but almost none of the relationship happened in the light of day. Unless you count me joining his lunch table and him winking at me when we cheered at his games…which I now realize I shouldn’t have counted. By prom, I was single again. If Three wants to know about other guys, if he cares enough to ask, that makes this different. Doesn’t it?
“I guess you have a right to know.” I raise my eyebrows, and he gives me nothing in return. “I’m the same as I always am. Don’t be insecure about Roman.”
“Or anybody?”
I hesitate, that trembly feeling threatening to overtake me. Like I’m about to close my eyes and crest the biggest roller coaster I’ve ever ridden. “Or anybody.”
His mile-wide grin returns. “Same.”
Whoosh.
“Hey, listen. That was some ballsy shit your girls pulled on Friday night.”
He’s wearing his indecipherable game face, and I can’t quite read his tone. Does he mean ballsy in a good way? “You think?”
“Yeah.” His dark eyes lock on my face, showing none of their usual sparkle. “Why’d y’all do it?”
“It was Paris, believe it or not.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” he says. He swipes his Rams football T-shirt, the one with his number on the back, from the floor, considers it for a minute, and then tosses it to me, opting instead for his plain white undershirt. “She and Bull have been talking about Cody Knight like he’s some kind of superhero. Bull’s always been about the protest action, and then he fell in love with Aunt Rhonda and signed up for all these initiatives she told him about…”
A different flutter begins inside me. A nervous one. “You don’t think Cody Knight’s doing a good thing?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“I guess the rest of the team isn’t as into it as Bull. Or maybe I should say your coach isn’t.”
He sits on the edge of my bed, one knee crooked up so he can face me. “You shocked by that, Leni? You were there when he was talking about it. He feels it’s a distraction, and he’s not wrong. What’s everybody talking about since that happened—y’all or the game?”
My temper flares. Is he jealous people talked more about the cheer team than his latest record? He takes up enough inches in the local news columns. But this isn’t about him. “He tried to intimidate Pearce, did you know that?” He starts to shake his head, so I put my hand on his arm. “I saw it.”
“Coach Brown takes this seriously.”
“And we don’t? He better hold on to that cap he likes to wear. This was not a one-time thing. He can make all the threats he wants, but he should know we’re not afraid of him.”
“Afraid? Little extra, don’t you think? He’s trying to protect his players. Every second counts out there. You know that. I know you do. You have to be one hundred percent focused, in winner mode, all the time. Stuff going down on the sidelines pulls you out of that headspace. I get what you’re saying, I get the point, but the sidelines isn’t the place to start a revolution.”
I scoot away. I can’t believe he’s defending one coach intimidating another over this. Especially when Brown is so obviously wrong. “You sound like your dad. Cody Knight’s doing it.”
“Yeah, well, Cody Knight’s already got that contract, don’t he? Some of us are still trying to get there, and we have a lot riding on playing ball.”
“I get it.”
“Do you? I can’t get canceled before my career even starts.”
“I don’t think making a political statement should get you canceled,” I say.
“It’s not about making a political statement. It’s about making what people think is the wrong political statement—and you know as well as I do that the powers that be don’t agree with Cody Knight.”
“You know, it’s funny to pretend Cody’s kneeling is a political statement and other things aren’t. Even requiring the anthem to be played before a game is kind of a statement—it’s a patriotic display.”
“A nonpartisan one,” he says.
“So is Knight’s point. And that’s why it was wrong for the league to punish him for it.”
“I know. And yet, he still sat out for a year waiting for people to realize that. He was willing to throw away a lifetime of busting his ass. Don’t get me wrong, that’s real brave. I admire him. But no cap, it scares me to think about doing that myself. Fighting for social justice might be Cody’s calling, and I think that’s cool or whatever, but I don’t think the way he’s handling himself is the path for me.”
Wow. Not the reaction I expected. I know how hard he’s trying to make an NFL career his future, and I’ve seen glimpses of how much his whole family counts on him to do just that—how his parents need one of their sons to make it, how disappointed they are that Ray didn’t, how they’re teetering on a financial ledge trying to get Three where they all want him to go. Despite that, supporting Cody Knight seems like an easy choice to me. I’m confused by Three’s hesitation.
The sound of a honking horn cuts through the quiet night. Three leans over, parting my blinds. Another honk blares. “Shit, I gotta go before Bull wakes up your entire neighborhood.”
I hold out his shirt, but he pushes it back toward me. “Keep that.” He plants a kiss on my forehead and takes off down the stairs.
* * *
Marisol Fuentes starts Friday morning’s School Student Leadership Team meeting by pointing to me with her gavel. “I move that we amend the agenda and begin by recognizing the courageous act of the cheerleading squad on Friday night.”
Her eyes skip over the students assembled, all club presidents and team captains. School rules require us to meet once a month, and we gather in a conference room in the front office. We’re supposed to talk about issues, make decisions, and guide the student body. The first year the SSLT existed, the Student Council pitched a fit, claiming they were being usurped. They weren’t then, but the way Marisol runs things, they will be this year. Not that I think that’s a bad thing.
“I second that motion,” says Jamal Webster, chairman of the Black Social Club, “because it’s about time someone showcased that kind of courage in this place.”
Marisol grins and bangs the gavel on the table, the whack resounding around the room. “All in favor?”
It’s unanimous.
“I would also like to take this opportunity to announce the Gay-Straight Alliance’s intention to join them in taking a knee tonight.”
My neck nearly cracks as I whip around to look at Marisol. She nods at me, but I can only stare. Despite my bold words to Three the other night, the squad hasn’t talked about taking a knee again. We haven’t said we won’t, and I don’t think anyone’s feelings have changed, but I didn’t imagine anyone else would show up with the same level of enthusiasm.
“Count us in,” Jamal says.
Danny Harari says, “The Jewish Student Union will kneel.”
“Girls’ volleyball is yes.” That comes from Londie, who’s the captain of the team. She’s also Marisol’s girlfriend. Marisol aims a brilliant smile in Londie’s direction, who flashes an answering grin.
I suck in a breath and hold it until my chest burns. Where’s this going?
“Wait, wait.” Jessie Miller, drum major, holds up both hands. “Are we even allowed to do this? Will we get punished for it?”
We turn to Ms. Carpenter, a civics and poli-sci teacher and also the SSLT faculty sponsor. She clears her throat and taps one fingernail on the table. “There’s no rule against it that I’m aware of,” she says slowly. “I can think of instances when students have staged walkouts and the like. I know declining to stand for the Pledge of Allegiance is protected under the First Amendment.”
Marisol bangs the gavel again. “See? It’s legal. Jess, quit worrying.”
Jessie shakes her head, her lanky hair lashing her forehead. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”
“Why?”
She looks from Jamal to Marisol, who’s leaning forward, elbows on the table. Her voice trembles. “It’s disrespectful. I mean, some people say it is.”
“Who’re you listening to, extremists on Twitter?”
“It’s not just them.” Jackson Radsewicz stands, displaying the shoulders-back military bearing he’s honed as commander of the school JROTC squad. “It is disrespectful. When that flag is out, I’m standing at attention. Nothing less.”
“Jack, it’s not about the flag—”
“To me, it is,” he snaps. “Find some other way to protest whatever it is you’re protesting. The flag, the anthem—they are sacred.”
Danny chimes in. “That’s why it’s so powerful for us to use that moment—”
“I’m not using my country’s symbols for anything, get me?”
“I didn’t mean that.” Danny reaches over, going for a fist bump, but Jack jerks away. “Come on, I just meant I think it should be a unified moment.”
“Well, it’s not. I’m not even going to stay for a discussion of this topic. I’m out, and so is my squad.” He grabs his bag from the floor and slams out of the room.
What a cop-out. He didn’t even take the time to listen to what anyone else has to say. I think he’s insulted he’s not able to bark commands at us, like he does his squad. But this isn’t his show. He can try to make this protest about something it’s not, but that’s on him. One glance at Marisol’s face, and I can tell she feels the same way.
Ms. Carpenter watches him go. “I hope you all understand that this is a small taste of what’s to come. Social action is never without controversy.”
“But it’s the right thing to do. You agree with that, right?” Marisol demands. Her experience persuading people—adults—to take action with her comes through in every word. While the rest of us gravitate toward school-based activities, she’s out there working with community organizations, like Atlanta Pride, for real.
Our teacher offers a small smile. She says nothing, but her position is clear.
“Leni, is the squad going to kneel again?”
I hold my breath. I feel Three’s eyes on me. He’s sitting on the other end of the room by the door, pushed back against the wall. He hasn’t said a word this whole time, but he’s been listening. I have a sense he’s holding his breath too.
I nod.
Marisol pounds her fist on the table. “We’re stronger together. GSA, Black Social Club, and Jewish Student Union. Volleyball and Cheer. Who else? Jessie, come on. Band has practically a hundred kids on its own. They’re a huge block of the stands. It would be a powerful image, that whole group of kids taking a knee. Think about it. They can’t come down on a hundred kids, can they? No.”
Jessie shakes her bangs into her face intentionally this time. “I’ll ask. That’s all. I’m not going to force anyone.”
A rumble goes around the room as clubs agree or offer to talk about it with their members. It’s not one hundred percent participation, but there are more yeses than nos. I can’t believe it. I watch kids debate and argue and agree, and I can’t believe this all started with us making a decision in the locker room twenty minutes before a game. I can’t wait to tell my team. They’re going to lose it.
There’s one last vote to be cast: the football team. Three.
“Come on, man,” Jamal says. “Is football in or out?”
Three hesitates. “I’ll put it out there, but I’m not promising anything.”
Marisol skewers him with a look. “Are you in, though, Three? Are you?”
She’s looking at him, but he’s looking at me. Finally, he says, “Yeah. I’m doing it.”
I think my chest might explode. He came through for me. After all that hesitation the other night, maybe something I said made an impact. He’s with me. I can’t wait.
12
Chanel
Well, well, well. This morning at the SSLT meeting, Ms. Eleanor Greenberg agreed—on behalf of the team—to take a knee during the anthem tonight. During pregame prep, as I fix Taylor B.’s hair, I can’t help but ruminate on that. I just think it’s interesting that this is the moment she’s leaning into leadership. It’s easy to agree to a big gesture in a meeting, but when it comes to doing the actual work, she’s struggling. She bounced in here all excited without reading the room, and her little announcement fell flat. Everyone’s just standing here, staring.
Skylar folds her arms over her uniform top. “I had no idea we were expected to keep doing this.”
“Yeah, man. Me neither. I think I’ll bow out,” Sydney says.
And look at that. You can’t galvanize your troops when you’ve already started the charge. Leni’s face turns sunburn red.
“The administration was kinda mad the first time, but we got away with it,” Avery says. “Isn’t it just asking for trouble to keep going?”
“Other people are going to be fighting with us this time, you guys,” Leni says, sounding hyped up. “You would not believe how many teams and clubs committed to kneeling.”
“What do you think, Nelly?” Gia asks.
I eye Leni. “It seems like common courtesy to ask our thoughts before making a commitment for us.”
Her eyes get watery, and her shoulders droop. I’m sorry for her, but it’s time Leni starts facing the difficulty of leadership.
Paris steps up to stand beside Leni. “Are you guys serious? Did you think making a woke TikTok was going to save the world? This is the real work. If you care like your social media says you do, you keep stepping up and supporting the leaders campaigning for change. If we back out now, we’re just a bunch of posers. If we keep going, it means something.”
A wave of relief washes over Leni’s face. “Thanks, Paris.”
Around us, there’s nodding—some reluctant, but mostly enthusiastic. Paris has shown more leadership in ten seconds than I’ve seen Leni display since she became captain. But it’s effective. I’m persuaded, and by the time we head out to the field, the rest of the team is feeling more confident too.
Despite the fall breeze, my entire body is so warm that I can feel sweat dripping all the way down to my briefs. The band takes its place in the stands, and the ROTC heads to the field, flags lifted and waving in the wind. Any second now. And then it’s time. More eyes are on us than on the flags. Everyone must be wondering what we’re about to do.
The choir sings the first strains of the anthem.
I kneel, and even though it breaks formation, my head turns side to side, watching the team and the spectators. I’m curious to see who stood by their word.
Marisol and her club have taken up residence in the dead center of the stands, and all around them are members of the Jewish Student Union and the Black Social Club. It’s like a sinkhole forms in that section of the crowd. Big chunks of the band join them. Then more random people start to go down. To our left, the flag team is on their knees. To our right, a few of the ball players are down—Three, Bull, a handful of others. Not many, but enough to make a point.
I let out a sigh. We’re not alone. People’s integrity shows. Blood rushes to my head, and it swirls for a minute. This is what it’s like when we nail a move, when we win. A smile creeps over my mouth. I’ve never imagined experiencing this euphoria doing anything other than cheering. All around me, people have joined us, perhaps even feeling the same way I do.
Bull’s massive frame catches my eye. Most people have their faces turned toward the ground, but not him. He’s looking at me, and his eyes glimmer. Is he crying? Trust Bull to show that emotion. He nods at me, and I return the gesture. Bull is the last person I ever thought I would have a moment with, but honestly, he’s got me tearing up too. Next to him is another player, a white boy named Ryan, and he’s not kneeling, but his hand grips Bull’s shoulder like he’s right there with him. His arm shakes, but he’s not letting go. That connection winds from us to them to every person in this crowd who’s taking a stand by kneeling down.
