Why We Fly, page 14
My head fills with white noise. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Carter’s mouth starts moving, and I vaguely hear him droning on, but I cannot make out any words. I look around wildly, and my eyes latch on to Principal Hart standing to Carter’s right. She signed off on the after-school community service work I did last year, and she always remarks that she’s so proud of me. I send her a pleading look. I know she will be the voice of reason in this catastrophe of a conversation.
Hart looks away.
“—suspension.”
I straighten my back. “What?”
“Calm down,” Officer Nichols says. He grips the top of the baton hanging from his belt.
This is a nightmare. I shrink in my seat and soften my voice, choosing every word very carefully. “Yes, sir,” I say. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful. Can I just—may I ask if I’m receiving an in-school suspension?”
“Are you trying to negotiate with me?” Carter snaps. “You got a nine-day out-of-school suspension, and I expect you will return with more respect for this institution.”
I can’t think of anything I’ve done that would warrant a nine-day suspension. This cannot be real. My legs are trembling, and I’m afraid they’re going to give out, but I’m also afraid to move. I’ve never felt this alone in my life. I don’t have any allies in this room. “Is that the normal amount of time for something like this?”
“For the number of violations you committed?” Bryant grabs the code of conduct from the desk and slams it into my hands. “Turn to page eight. Read the highlighted portion. Aloud.”
I clear my throat. “Students may be subject to disciplinary action, up to and including suspension from school, when they: engage in any willful act that disrupts the normal operation of the school community; engage in conduct that is insubordinate or disruptive; and/or use social media during school functions in a way that may lead to substantial disruption.”
Carter begins ticking off the points on his fingers. “Disrupting not one but two football games with a misplaced ‘protest’; doing so repeatedly, despite your coach being warned that you would not be permitted to continue; using Twitter to encourage violation of school rules.”
They are going way too hard. I’ve seen horrific cyberbullying happen at this school, and it didn’t receive this reaction. They’re making this up as they go along. The way they’re facing off against me, there’s no win for me in this room. I fear if I try to talk my way out of it, I’ll dig myself in deeper. And Officer Nichols is still holding on to his baton.
I really wish I didn’t, but I need help. I need to get my dad to handle these people. “Am I supposed to stay through the end of the day and not come to school tomorrow?”
“No, you will leave campus immediately. You may not return until next Friday. And that includes extracurricular activities,” Bryant says, removing the booklet from my hands. “If you need to stop by your locker, Officer Nichols will escort you.”
“I have everything with me.” If I’m missing something, I’ll get Leni to bring it to me. Oh my God. I bet hers will be the next name called over the intercom.
Carter waves his hand. “You’re dismissed.”
I stand, clutching my bag, and step out into the hall, which is oddly quiet. I thought the next victim would be waiting outside. If it’s not Leni, maybe Marisol? I bet she’ll rage in that room, tell them where they can stick their suspension. But that vibe… I’ve never felt that scared before. I had no idea what was about to happen.
On my way out to the parking lot, my phone vibrates with a text from Marisol.
Hey. Heard your name get called. Hit me back.
I sigh. This is sure to be the first of fifty texts, if not more, from every busybody in the school. I do not have the energy for it, so I power down my phone and stash it in my glove box. There’s only one person I need right now, and that means there’s only one place to go.
Thirty minutes later, I turn onto Exchange Drive and pull up to the guardhouse. I recognize the security guy who steps out. Mr. Raymond has worked here for as long as my father. When I was a little girl, he gave me my own “badge.” It was just a laminated name tag, but whenever I visited my father, he pretended to scan it like I really worked there.
“Hey, little lady. I didn’t see your name on the list today. Is Dad expecting you?”
“No, it’s a surprise visit.”
He cocks his head and studies me. “Why aren’t you at school?”
“It’s a long story, Mr. Raymond. I really need to see my dad.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
I smile weakly. “No, sir, but I appreciate the offer.”
I pull into guest parking, take a deep breath, and wait for my legs to be willing to move toward the door. I have to get out of the car and go have this talk. On the elevator ride up to my dad’s office, I run through the facts in my head, trying to get them organized, preparing all the arguments I couldn’t make in the principal’s office. I know my father will listen, and we’ll figure this out together. We’ll make a plan. I’ll be back in school no later than Wednesday.
My father’s office sits at the end of a long carpeted hallway that leads through the open floor plan to the northern corner. A few of his long-time employees call hi, and I wave back, wishing I could disappear. I don’t have the energy to engage. He’s waiting for me at the door to his office, standing tall, his bald head shining under the fluorescents. His shoulders are broad under his tailored suit jacket. His lavender pocket square matches his tie, and he wears Ferragamo loafers. “What’s going on, baby girl? You under the weather or something?”
“I’m okay.”
“Come on in, then.” He leads me into his office, and I shut the door behind us. He takes a seat at his desk. I sit across from him, dropping my bag into my lap. “What brings you to the office at eleven a.m.?”
Before I realize it, tears well up in my eyes and begin to drop. All those talking points in my mind disappear. “I got suspended.”
“Suspended! For what?”
“Literally for tweeting.”
“How is that even a thing? You mother told me about what the team did, but I did not think it would escalate to suspension.”
“I can’t believe it, either. My tweet just said how proud I was of my community for standing up for what’s right. Now I’m getting in trouble.”
“How ridiculous can they be?” he says. “That was a personal choice. They don’t get to take that away from you.”
I look at his face. I don’t think I ever recall seeing him this mad. He hasn’t needed to be. My sister and I are not the types who find ourselves in trouble. “I’m glad you understand, Dad. That’s why I came. They suspended me for nine days.”
“No. That’s not acceptable.” He opens the door to call to his assistant. “Stephanie, do I have anything tomorrow morning?”
I know this look. It’s his impatient face, the one he wears when he’s ready to move and he wants everyone to go a hundred miles per hour with him. Stephanie is organizing papers at her desk and doesn’t hear him, so he repeats, “Excuse me, Steph? Did you hear me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Could you repeat that?”
“If I have any meetings tomorrow, shift them around. I won’t be in until ten or eleven, I’m guessing.”
“Yes, sir. On top of it as we speak. I don’t think you have anything major.”
He plops down into his seat, takes a deep breath, and looks at the wall. I see the wheels spinning in his mind. Then he looks back to me and says, “I need all of the details. Exactly what happened. Who said what. Who you spoke to. And baby girl, I’m not accusing you of anything, but you can’t leave details out. I can’t get surprised if I’m calling in the cavalry.”
The strangest part is, there aren’t any deep, dark secrets here. Everything is out there online. I took a knee, I posted about it, and now I’m in trouble. I almost wish something bigger had happened. I thought I was doing what was right.
I shake my head and make a blowfish face. “The only thing I did was participate in a protest. Then I tweeted about it. Different people latched on to that. Someone wrote about it in the Gazette. And now it’s been blown out of proportion.”
He reaches out and takes my hand. “I’m going to take care of this first thing tomorrow morning. Don’t you worry.”
I smile for the first time in hours, knowing the administration will be getting a rude awakening tomorrow when he walks into the office. “Thanks, Dad.”
* * *
Leni’s text comes through just as practice must be starting.
Where are you? Are you coming?
I’m not allowed. You are? Did you not get called into the principal’s office?
No. What happened when you did?
I’m suspended.
WTH? G2G. Practice about to start. I am coming over RIGHT AFTER to talk.
Wait, am I the only person who got in trouble? Dozens of kids participated in the protest, and I definitely was not the only one who orchestrated it. All I know right now is that Leni and Marisol are in the clear. I bet Bull caught some heat, though. Maybe Paris too. When Leni comes over later, I’m going to need her to give me all the intel.
My dad will have me back in school quickly, though, which means I should do my homework so I don’t fall behind. Instead, I take my makeup bag out to the shed as soon as I get home. Even though I normally take only one short puff, I find myself taking extra puffs today and holding the vapor longer. I need to take this escape as far as I can push it. And thank goodness I do, because by the time my mom gets home, I’m balanced. She stands in my doorway like she did this morning. “I had a conversation with your father.”
At this stage, I don’t know what’s coming next, but I’m prepared for whatever.
“He says he has a plan. I’m going to let him work this out. I stopped and grabbed a rotisserie chicken and salad. It’s in the fridge. Help yourself.”
That’s a surprise. I’m going to take the win and be quiet. “Thank you.”
* * *
The doorbell rings, and I look at the clock on my desk. It’s probably Leni, so I jump up to get the door. She grabs me in a hug as soon I swing it open.
“Nelly, tell me what happened.”
I wave her into the house. “Let’s grab some food and go to my room.”
We sit on the floor with plates of salad, chicken, and string cheese and big glasses of water, and I relate everything the principal said to me.
“That’s outrageous,” she says. “It’s super unfair.”
“That’s what I thought. Was everyone at practice? Did anyone else get in trouble?”
She’s quiet. “No.”
“Wow.” Is this all just because of my tweet? Are they making an example of me? Or could it be because I’m Black? I’ve never been singled out like this before, and I’m running out of other ideas about what made my actions so suspension-worthy.
“I’m so sorry this happened. But listen, the team will stand with you. I know they’ll be prepared to keep kneeling in solidarity until you can come back.”
“I’m going to be back in school before lunchtime tomorrow. My dad is going to handle this situation in the morning. They do not have any real cause to keep me out of school. And please, don’t do anything on my behalf. I don’t need any more attention.”
“We should do something, though, Nelly. It’s not right, what the administration is doing.”
“Easy for you to say. You haven’t gotten in trouble for anything.”
“I’m worried about Three, too, though. I’m pretty sure Coach Brown came down on him hard.”
Of course she’s circling this all back to that ridiculous boy. “But I bet he didn’t get suspended. The whole town is anticipating the day he puts on an NFL uniform.”
I thought Leni coming over would make me feel better, but all it’s done is disrupt the only shred of peace I’ve found in this day. We finish eating in silence, and once we’re done, I pick up both plates. “I’ll walk you out.”
At the door, she says, “I’ll check on you later?”
“Fine.” Good luck with that. I’m turning my phone off and checking out.
After the day I’ve had—after getting a suspension, which would jeopardize my chances of getting into Penn if it somehow sticks—Leni expressing equal concern for Three, whom she’s known for five minutes, is unbelievable. But if I told her how much that annoyed me, she wouldn’t even get it. She loses her focus the minute some boy comes around. When she was dating Roman, she practically had her wedding dress picked out. And here she is, doing the same thing again.
I’m looking forward to a new day tomorrow.
15
Eleanor
Nelly is not back in school on Tuesday. Or Wednesday. In fact, the administration puts its foot down, and despite all the pressure her dad brings, they refuse to reverse her suspension. A schoolwide email goes out talking about insubordination and disruptive conduct. It has come to our attention that certain students… Another one goes out to the SSLT immediately afterward: As our most prominent student leaders, we expect you to set an example of behavioral standards… They both end the same way: Behavior that violates the student code of conduct will not be tolerated.
Neither of these missives mentions Nelly by name. They don’t need to. We can look past the administrative jargon veiling the threat and the target. The warnings set off a debate among the student body. Some people argue that we have to keep kneeling to prove our point. Others pretty loudly insist that we never should have done it in the first place. Kids with lawyer parents offer to involve them. Others don’t want to risk getting in trouble. Arguments can be heard in every hallway and at most lunch tables all week.
We reach fever pitch on Friday. The school always buzzes with anticipation the day of a game. We’re playing away tonight, which means we’ll be boarding a bus right after school to drive to our opponent’s field. We can’t stop talking about how things are going to go down tonight.
“Come on, you can’t ignore the fact that the only person who got in trouble just happened to be a Black girl,” Marisol says. She and Londie have been sitting with us at lunch since we knelt. My heart squeezed a little when she mentioned earlier that she’d been texting with Nelly. I haven’t heard from her since I went over to her house. I haven’t actually heard much from Three, either. It’s not so bad that I’d call it ghosting, but it’s close.
“Exactly,” Bull chimes in. “She got played.”
“This ain’t nothing new,” Paris adds. “I bet that office became an interrogation room. So the question is, what are we going to do now?”
The entire table looks to me.
I am the captain of the cheer team. I should have an opinion about what to do. I really don’t want to say we should back down. I’d feel like we would be letting down…I don’t know, everyone. Why would we give up now? But a teeny voice at the back of my head keeps replaying Nelly, telling me not to draw any more attention to her, and Three saying he’s worried about college offers.
I don’t know what the right thing to do is. And I’ve got only a few hours left to decide.
The bus rides to away games are usually pretty boisterous, with hair styling and temporary-tattoo application and battles for playlist dominance. But we’re subdued today, holding quiet conversations with our seatmates instead of shouting from the front to the back of the bus. I sit alone in a seat near the middle and participate in none of the discussion, feeling the brush of every glance that flickers my way. I wish desperately that Nelly were sitting beside me. That I could ask her what to do.
How am I supposed to captain at all without her, let alone make this choice?
I consider sending her a text, but she won’t answer. I know if it were me, I’d be horrified I was missing a game over a suspension. I don’t want to make her feel worse by rubbing her face in the fact that she’s not here. So I put my phone away, put my earbuds in, and try to distract myself with music. There’s not enough volume on my phone to drown out my thoughts, though, and the bus arrives at the other school before I’m ready.
Our downcast mood carries over to our locker room preparations, which are quick today, since we arrived suited up. Because of that, we’re allowed to make our locker room coed. I still don’t know whether I should tell them we’re kneeling again. The tension weighs on us all. A couple of bickering sessions break out, and I feel a headache begin.
The moment for a decision is coming.
I’m lost.
As we hear the home team band begin to play some pregame warm-ups, loud knocking on the door makes us all jump. A deep voice yells that everyone better be decent, and then Principal Carter barges in. Coach Pearce dogs him, practically stepping on the heels of his shiny loafers. Everyone freezes. The principal has never—not once in my almost four years at Franklin—made a pregame locker room appearance. Not even when we competed at State. Somehow, I have a feeling he’s not here to give us a pep talk.
“Squad—er, Team,” he says, planting himself in the center of the room. “Your attention, please.”
A couple of people file over from the bathroom area, where they were doing last-minute hair and lip gloss checks. Paris, who’s been stretching on a yoga mat in the corner, folds her body into a crisscross-applesauce position, her face turned toward the principal. I sneak a peek at Coach Pearce, who’s avoiding my eyes. Her face is pink, like maybe it was recently red and is still fading back to normal.
Carter looks at us, settles his face into a grim mask, and says, “I’m here to let you know that you will be remaining in the locker room for the pregame program. You may come out once the first quarter commences.”
