Early Monday morning, Jamie, Tessa, Cindy, Jack, and Terry again stationed themselves on corners a couple of streets away from school, each with a supply of Renegade Telegraphs to distribute.
By first period, nearly everyone at Wilson High had a copy of the latest issue, and most of them seemed to be reading the lead article about the book burning: the facts and a few quotes, including one Cindy and Jack had managed to get from Mrs. Buel saying that FTV planned to pay the fines for the books they still had and that they’d offered to buy the town library a locked case for them. The article ended with the Renegade staff’s unanimous opinion: “Nothing, we feel, can justify the burning of books, even if they’re controversial”—and an invitation for opposing views.
By the time classes started, there were only a few Renegades left, but the bin of Telegraphs—the Telegraph hadn’t mentioned the burning—was almost a third full. “Newspaper war!” Terry chortled as he and Jamie walked to their first class. “I love it!”
“Neat issue,” Cindy said, passing them in the hall, “if I do say so myself.”
But Jamie was silent, and she remained silent until lunchtime, when she and the others got their food and settled down at their usual table. It was true that she’d seen more Renegades in students’ hands than Telegraphs, and people had come up to her in each of her classes, praising the Renegade and saying they agreed with the lead article. But you can look at that both ways, she thought: a lot of kids haven’t said anything. She’d passed Brandon Tomkins and his friends on her way into the lunchroom; there was no laughter this time, but one of them muttered something that sounded like “Now you’ve really done it.”
“I think,” Jamie said when the others, except for Nomi, who was eating with Clark at the next table, were all there, “that we need to do an opinion survey.”
Terry groaned. “That’s our editor. Work, work, work! Geeze, we’ve just done a Renegade issue! ‘Published occasionally,’ it says. It’s not a frigging daily!”
“I don’t mean for the Renegade,” Jamie said quickly, watching Nomi, who was obviously listening. “I mean for the Telegraph, to find out what kids really think about the book burning.”
“That’s a great idea,” said Cindy. “I’ll help interview.”
“We’ll need photos …” But then Tessa’s eagerness faded. “Hinchley will never approve.”
“We could do it first and ask for approval afterward,” Jack suggested. “That seems to be our usual M.O. anyway. We don’t usually ask for approval before we do a story.”
Nomi leaned toward them. “Yes, we do. We always planned issues in advance with Matt.”
“In a general way, though,” Jamie said. “We’ve also done a couple of stories without discussing them first, when things have come up.” She pushed her chair back. “I’m going to see if I can make an announcement. We’ve got about half the school here right now.” And before she could acknowledge her own nervousness, she walked briskly to the corner table at which the teacher-monitor sat—Jamie recognized that day’s as a new student teacher—to ask permission.
“Announcement about what?” he asked, but when Jamie told him it was for the paper, he said, “Sure,” and went back to correcting a pile of what looked like freshman math tests.
More aware of her nervousness now, she returned to the newspaper table and shouted, “Hey, everyone! Announcement. Can you listen for a second? Won’t take long.”
The racket in the room subsided, and Jamie spoke over the remaining muted voices and clatter. “You all know what happened Halloween night.” There was an interested murmur. “And you all know what we’ve said about it in the Renegade Telegraph, those of you who’ve read it, anyway. But we still have our regular school paper, which I think should also cover the story. We’d like to try to do a sort of student-in-the-halls survey and see if we can get approval to run it in the regular Telegraph. If we can’t, we’ll run it in the Renegade. The basic question is ‘What do you think about the book burning?’ Please give your answer to Terry or Tessa or Cindy or Jack or me.”
“Or me,” Nomi said quietly, moving to the newspaper table and sitting down after a quick glance at Clark. “I’m still part of the Telegraph. And some kids might feel more comfortable talking to me. Besides, I’d still like to make up for that op-ed I didn’t do. I’m not an ogre, Jamie.”
“No, you’re not,” Jamie said quickly. “Or Nomi,” she announced loudly. “You can give your answer to Nomi, too. We’d like to get some photos also, so if you don’t mind having your picture taken, go to Tessa.”
“Are you going to ask teachers, too?” someone asked.
Jamie looked toward the others, who nodded. “Sure. Why not? Maybe some parents and other people as well.”
Karen Hodges, who Jamie now saw was sitting in the back near Sam and Brandon, jumped to her feet. “How come you’re so worked up about this whole thing?” she asked. “I mean, it’s just books, and they owned the ones they burned. Or is it …” She paused and took a step forward. “Or is it the subject matter you’re upset about? Your newspaper”—she said the word sarcastically—“said most of the books were about homosexuality. Who cares, then, except maybe homosexuals?”
Jamie heard Nomi draw her breath in sharply, and there was some boisterous laughter from the group at Karen’s table. The teacher-monitor looked up from his papers, but then looked down again. Ernie, Jamie noticed, was sitting very still two tables away with Vicky, looking as if he was barely breathing.
“Burning books is an act of censorship,” Jamie called out evenly, trying to ignore the now-familiar chill that crept over her. She tried to ignore Terry, too, who’d gotten up and was standing beside her, and Nomi, who looked embarrassed, horrified, and frightened, all at the same time. Cindy and Jack looked both embarrassed and surprised. “At least I think it is. It’s against the First Amendment. That’s freedom of speech and of the press. It’s against democracy. It doesn’t matter what the subject matter is.”
“Oh, yeah?” Brandon shouted over the heads of the students between Karen and Jamie. “If they’d burned books that were against homosexuality, would you have felt the same way?”
“Yes. I’d feel that way about burning any book. But what we want to find out is how all of you feel.”
“You know how I feel,” said Karen. “And lots of other kids feel the same way.”
“Homosexuality is wrong,” Al Checkers shouted. “You know that, Jamie. It’s even in the Bible …”
The teacher-monitor looked up again, then got uncertainly to his feet.
“I agree with Al.” Karen Hodges moved toward Jamie, shouting. “I don’t have to wait for any survey to say it. My opinion is that it’s a good thing they burned those books. I don’t think we should have filth in our library, like Mrs. Buel says.” She reached Jamie and, glancing at the teacher-monitor, lowered her voice. “And I don’t think we should have filthy people in our school.”
“Who …” Jamie began angrily.
Almost simultaneously, the teacher-monitor called out, “Cool it, kids. Let’s not get carried away. Period’s almost over anyway. Time to pack up.” He waved his hand ineffectually in their direction and gathered his papers. The buzz of general lunchroom conversation resumed as students began leaving, but Karen was still facing Jamie, hands defiantly on hips, at the newspaper table.
“A lot of help he is,” Terry said in a low voice, glancing after the teacher-monitor as he left. “Let it go, Jamie. Let it go.”
Jamie closed her eyes for a second, trying to regain control of herself. “Can we print what you just said, Karen?” she asked when she trusted her voice.
Karen shrugged. “Like I told you, I don’t have to wait for your survey to say what I feel. But sure, if you want. Go ahead. But I bet you won’t.”
“Of course we will,” Jamie answered, “if you repeat it to one of us later so we can write it down accurately. Remember,” she said, raising her voice above the noise of departing students, “we’re not sure if we can run this in the Telegraph. We’ll try. But if we can’t, we will run it in the Renegade, so watch for the next issue. Anyway, thanks for listening, everyone. And please give us your opinions.”
Karen walked back to her table, and quickly, before anyone else could speak, Jamie sat down.
Tessa’s dark skin looked ashen. “That bitch! What do you mean we’ll print what she said? Where I come from,” she added, her voice shaking with barely controlled fury, “we call that hate speech.”
“I guess that’s what we’re going to have to call it here, too,” said Jamie. She felt so drained that the fact that Tessa—Tessa, who was straight—was angry barely registered. “But we’re also going to have to print it. If we do an opinion survey, we’ve got to cover all opinion, especially in the Telegraph.”
“She’s right, Tessa,” Jack said calmly. “Even though what Karen said sucks. I don’t care if anyone’s gay or straight,” he said, crumpling his sandwich wrapper and looking everywhere but at Jamie, “just so they’re a good person.”
“Yeah.” Cindy put her hand over Jack’s for a moment. “Neither do I.”
“But stuff like what Karen said is harmful, for God’s sake!” Tessa shouted angrily. “Like that old thing about free speech not letting people yell ‘fire’ in a crowded theater. Free speech doesn’t let you do that. And free speech shouldn’t include printing stuff that’ll hurt people.”
“Free speech,” Jamie said, seeing Nomi watching her intently, “means everyone’s allowed to voice their opinion. I can say what I want in an editorial, and other people can refute it in an op-ed or a letter. But if we do an opinion survey, it’s going to cover all opinion, hateful or not.”
“Yeah?” Tessa said acidly. “Well, then you can count me out of it, Madame Editor. I don’t work for dictators, and I don’t believe in giving people like Karen Hodges a public forum.” Angrily, she got up from the table and stalked out of the cafeteria.
By the end of the day, Jamie had a handful of scrawled opinion statements from students, including Karen—and no word from Tessa, who had avoided her in the one class they shared after lunch. At dismissal, Terry handed her more statements, and she found an envelope on her newspaper office desk with even more. There were no notes about photos, though, and Tessa was nowhere to be found.
Miserably, Jamie walked home alone, and spent the evening sorting the statements. First Nomi, she kept thinking bitterly, now Tessa. How come Terry’s the only friend I seem to be able to keep?
The next day was the same. When Jamie arrived at school that morning, she saw Tessa in the hall, but when she went up to her and said, “Hi,” Tessa turned and said noncommittally, “Hey—sorry—I’ve got to get to class.”
“Tessa …” Jamie began.
But she was gone.
At lunchtime Tessa wasn’t in her usual place at the newspaper table.
“You’re not eating,” Terry chided Jamie gently after about fifteen minutes.
“No. I’m not hungry.”
“She’ll get over it.”
“Yeah.” Jamie picked up her tray. “But I won’t till I find her.”
“What’s with our editor?” Jamie heard Cindy ask as she tossed her uneaten lunch in the trash, but she didn’t wait for Terry’s reply. Instead, she scoured the school, and finally found Tessa out behind the parking lot, sitting under a tree next to her backpack, smoking a cigarette.
“You don’t smoke,” Jamie said, standing awkwardly in front of her.
“No.” Tessa stubbed the cigarette out. “You’re right, Jamie, I …”
“Tessa,” said Jamie quickly, “I am a dictator sometimes, you’re right. I pretty much railroaded everyone into doing that survey, but I really do believe we have to publish everyone’s opinions, at least about the act of burning books. We can limit it to that; that’s all we asked about. But maybe even the other stuff people said wouldn’t be hate speech if it was published as part of a survey, or …”
Tessa made a rueful sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “I’ve really been trying to understand your point, Jamie. And I guess I finally do. But still, if I say all blacks have tiny brains, or all Hispanics are crooks, or all gays molest children, that’s a bunch of lies, and it’s hate speech, no matter where it appears.”
Jamie closed her eyes for a moment. “Okay, maybe you’re right about that. It’s hateful speech, anyway. But I still think that if we’re doing an opinion survey, we have to publish all opinions, much as I’m against hate speech and lies and bigotry and anything like them. Maybe hate speech itself is a matter of degree, sort of, and circumstance. Maybe. Maybe it’s hate speech only when it causes violence—I don’t know. But I do know we have to keep our personal feelings out of this. I—look.” Jamie felt her mouth go suddenly dry. “What Karen said hurt me, hurt me personally, I mean, more than I can say, and …” She stopped, cutting herself off.
“I know, Jamie.” Tessa put her hand on Jamie’s arm, then almost as quickly removed it and took a few steps back. “It hurt me personally, too,” she said quietly. “For you. For Terry. And I’m sorry I walked away. Look, I don’t know how to say this, but Cindy told me what she and Jack think, and I think they’re right. I’ve thought it for quite a while, but you didn’t seem to want me to know, so I …” She paused for a moment. “You’re gay, too, aren’t you? Like—like Terry.”
Speechless, scared, as still as if the world had iced over or as if she’d been frozen within it, Jamie nodded.
“I’m not gay,” Tessa said gently. “But I—I love you, Jamie. You’re one of the finest people I’ve ever met, maybe even the finest. And I’ve seen how you look when Brandon makes his cracks, and I was pretty sure what Karen was thinking that day in the john. I hate it when people are cruel, and that’s what hate speech is, and that’s why I was so mad.”
Jamie nodded; she still couldn’t speak, and she needed all her energy to keep breathing and to keep back the tears she felt welling up in her eyes. She knew she’d be touched later by what Tessa had said about loving her, but even so, the words “I’m not gay” sounded so final they pounded over and over in her mind, pushing away the tiny spark of hope she hadn’t dared acknowledge she’d been fostering.
But Tessa was coming toward her now, holding out her hands, taking Jamie’s, squeezing them. “I want to be your friend, Jamie. I want to go on being your friend, always, no matter what. And I’m sorry I got so mad.”
Jamie squeezed Tessa’s hands back and tried very hard to smile.
