Mr. Bartholomew’s face was impassive while he read Jamie’s editorial. When he’d finished, he gazed out his window for so long that Jamie thought she’d scream. But when he finally turned to her, he was smiling—a bit wanly, but smiling.
“Jamie Crawford,” he said, “I’m glad you’re a senior, because pretty soon there’s going to be no stopping you. As I said to Terry, I wish we had a Pulitzer to give. This”—he picked up the editorial—“is fine work, mature, well expressed, dramatic, persuasive.”
“Can we run it?”
Mr. Bartholomew looked startled. “Say again?”
“Can we run it? Ms. Hinchley says we can’t. But if we got an op-ed—I mean, I can see that; this is pretty biased, and it’s a controversial issue, and …”
“Do you think you can get an op-ed? Remember what happened with the condom editorial.”
“I know, but—yeah. I think I can get one this time.” Jamie hesitated. “Especially if you’ll let us run this if we can get one.”
“Yes, I will. I suspect the school committee will object—it does go against their edict about editorials. But this is a vital issue, and it’s always been my feeling that, barring obscenity and libel, freedom of the press applies to school papers, too. I warn you, though, there’s a famous court case that doesn’t entirely support that, and a good many people, including, it seems, the members of FTV, don’t either. I’ll argue against anyone who tries to curb the Telegraph more than I think is reasonable, Jamie, but there’s no guarantee I’ll prevail.” He handed the editorial back to her.
“Thank you,” Jamie said humbly. She wondered if the school committee would be able to fire him if they got upset with the editorial and the survey. Maybe, she thought, we shouldn’t do it after all. Maybe it’s too risky to too many people …
But before she could say anything, Mr. Bartholomew started punching buttons on his phone. “I’ll take care of Ms. Hinchley.” He gestured to the door, obviously asking Jamie to leave.
The next day, Mr. Bartholomew called the newspaper editors, plus Jack and Cindy, into his office and announced that Ms. Hinchley had “graciously agreed” to advise the freshman literary magazine and so wouldn’t be able to continue on the paper. He was looking for another adviser, he said, but in the meantime, the paper’s editors should report to him. “I don’t have time to hang around your office,” he told them, “and I think you’ve proved you’re capable of running the paper yourselves. Just bring me all copy before it’s final.”
“That is one brave man,” Jamie said as they left his office, and at the same time Terry stabbed his fist into the air, shouting “YES!” Then he threw his arms around Jamie, Tessa, Jack, Cindy, and Nomi, and they shared an awkward six-way hug.
On Monday, both the survey and Jamie’s editorial ran, along with an op-ed piece written by Clark:
Op-Ed
MORE THOUGHTS ON THE BOOK BURNING
There’s no question but what FTV’s dramatic book burning on Halloween night has polarized this school and this town. And because of that, I can understand why some people condemn it. I agree with FTV’s stand on condom distribution and sex education. And I think FTV is right that the books they burned shouldn’t be available to kids. Okay, maybe they’re selling us high school kids short. We’re not children anymore, and we’re not dumb. We’re not going to be hurt by having access to other ideas, even ideas that are abhorrent to us, as the ideas in those books are. But it’s not going to hurt us to have those books in a locked case either, and that will protect impressionable children, who really have no business seeing them.
The book burning was a symbol, a very dramatic one, sure, but sometimes it takes a dramatic symbol or act to bring people to their senses. The fact remains that people all over the world are dying of AIDS in great numbers, and the fact remains that teaching that homosexuality is okay is immoral, and teaching that relying on condoms will prevent AIDS is dangerous. Worse than that, using condoms to give oneself permission to have premarital sex, or to have homosexual sex, is also immoral, not to mention selfish and dangerous. Kids need to be taught to respect their bodies, to regard their bodies as temples, as the Bible says, and to cherish them enough not to abuse them. Sex is for married love between men and women and for procreation within marriage, not for sensual indulgence. We need books that teach that, and classes that teach that. If the Halloween book burning has reminded people of it—and I think it has—then it was a good thing.
“Opinion,” Terry said, slipping into his place at the newspaper lunch table on Monday when the paper came out, “I’d say is running about sixty-forty now. Sixty for our side, forty for FTV’s.” He glanced across the room to where Ernie was sitting alone under a window, not far from where Vicky and Brandon seemed to be having an animated conversation opposite the teacher-monitor’s table. Then he picked up his hamburger and took a large bite.
“That’s not bad.” Tessa made room for Nomi, who’d just arrived with her lunch tray.
“Good op-ed,” Jamie said to Nomi.
“I thought so, too,” Nomi replied. “I’m proud of Clark.” She opened a can of soda. “But could we talk about something else?”
“Sure,” said Jack. “Let’s see …”
“The weather,” Tessa suggested.
“Football,” said Terry.
Jamie grimaced. “Math?”
“Mr. Bartholomew’s new tie.” Cindy put down her sandwich. “Have you noticed?”
“No.” Tessa leaned forward with mock enthusiasm. “Do tell.”
Terry rolled his eyes and clapped his hand to his forehead. “Not,” he said dramatically, “the one with the naked woman on it!”
“No, no,” said Cindy. “The one with the eensy-weensy cute bunnies on it.”
“And the socks.” Tessa winked at Jamie. “The matching socks.”
Terry picked up his lunch tray. “Excuse me. I’ve got to go barf.”
Instead, though, he headed toward Ernie.
All afternoon Jamie kept sneaking glances at people in the halls and in her classes to see if they were reading the paper and, if so, what they were reading. “Your eyes are positively on stalks,” Tessa whispered as they walked to social studies. “It’s like you’re staring at everyone, everyone’s papers, anyway.”
“Look. There’s another Telegraph, open once again, ladies and gents, to the editorial page.”
“Yeah,” said Tessa, “and the hands that are holding it, if you’ll swing your eyes upward, oh, editor, belong to Karen Hodges, our favorite sophomore. Hi, Karen,” she said cheerfully when Karen turned and looked at them.
“Oh. Hi.”
“What do you think?” Jamie asked her.
Karen briefly looked more startled than hostile. “Think? About what?”
“Of what you’re reading, bonehead,” Tessa answered. “Of the editorials.”
“One sucks and the other’s okay. And if you want to know which is which,” Karen added, sashaying down the hall as the bell rang, “yours is the one that sucks, Jamie Crawford.”
“Predictable,” said Jamie, trying not to mind.
“Well,” Tessa said, “at least she’s honest. Come on. We’re going to be late.”
Social studies was uneventful, mostly, except Terry handed Jamie a note saying, “Meet me and Ernie—YES, ERNIE!—at Sloan’s Beach after school?” Jamie gave him a thumbs-up sign across the room, but when the bell rang she was delayed by a girl who came up to her saying, “Hey, Jamie, good editorial this week,” and a boy with her who added, “It’s good you, like, had two, one pro and one con. That was cool. You should do that more, you know? I’ve been thinking of writing for the paper myself, maybe.”
By the time Jamie had taken down his name and found out that what he really wanted to do was publish what he called “satiric political poetry” in the paper, Terry had left.
Tiredness washed over her as she hurried down to the seniors’ lockers in the basement. Maybe, she thought, I can ask Terry if I can meet them some other time.
But when she got to the basement she saw that Terry was standing near her locker with Ernie, and it was very obvious something was wrong. Terry looked furious, and Ernie looked stunned, defeated.
“What’s up?” Jamie reached nervously for her combination lock.
“Um, Jamie, you sure you want to do that?” Terry said. “You sure you’ve got anything in there that you really need tonight?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Jamie looked from one to the other of them, puzzled. “Books, my jacket—what’s with you guys, anyway?” She twirled her lock and pulled open the door.
The words hit her full in the face when she picked up the thin sheet of cardboard that fluttered down. They were spelled out in big black capital letters, spray-painted on both sides of the cardboard:
FUCKING DYKE SLUT LOVER
“Oh, Lord,” Jamie said. “Oh, no.”
“We got love notes, too,” Terry told her. “Ernie and I also got little presents, taped to the outside of our lockers.” He displayed a package of condoms, crumpled pink wrapping paper, and a gift tag: For Wilson High’s Number One Fag.
“I’m Number Two Fag,” Ernie said with a thin smile, his voice shaking.
