Because We Are (15 page)

They rode in silence. Although Emma was relieved that she had put her mother on notice, she was still worried and uncertain. She had no idea what she was going to do. She knew she didn't want to leave her mother feeling anxious and tense. She wanted to say that she would not do anything foolish; but how could she say that? She was not sure of anything.

As the car pulled alongside the curb she felt a moment of fear and wished she had brought the book. No turning back now. “Mama, I'm glad you left it up to me. It's time I live with what I decide to do.” She leaned over and kissed her mother's cheek. “Hope with me that I don't do anything foolish, something not worth living with.”

The second bell had sounded before she slipped into first period unnoticed as the teacher readmitted students absent the day before. Now she had time to be angry at herself for sleeping late. She did not want to break her resolve never to enter the cafeteria again. She had enough money for lunch off campus if only she had a pass.

Suddenly she had an idea: Allan could get lunch for her. Would he be at school today, and would she find him in time? Maybe she should ditch Kooner's class and talk to Allan. She had to find a way to deal with that man. If only she had taken American lit at Marlborough. Then he'd be teaching some other required course. Forget Kooner.

The second period ended and she hadn't seen Allan. She just might have to break her resolve; on top of no breakfast, missing lunch would be too much. Already she was hungry. There were twenty minutes before third period. She decided to get an apple from the vending machine.

It was as if everyone else had the same idea, including Allan. “You're never around when I need you, man,” she said, joining him in line.

“Say good morning before you start blowing off,” he said and grinned.

“Good morning, Allan,” she said sweetly. “Do me a favor.”

“That's better. What now?”

“Get me a sandwich and an orange juice off campus at lunchtime.”

“I'm cutting out at sixth. Can't wait around 'til seventh.”

“Maybe I'll ditch Kooner and eat lunch on his time.”

“And mine.”

“I'll buy you lunch, too. We can talk, OK?”

By the time they got apples the bell rang. “Why don't I give you the money now—”

“No way. Meet me at your locker the end of fifth. We'll go from there.”

The rest of Emma's morning was filled with worry and indecision. How could she convince her mother to write a note to get her back into Kooner's class if she ditched today? There would be a thousand questions. Maybe she should eat in the cafeteria, just this once.

Her mind wandered back and forth, refusing to focus on her classwork. She should probably go on to his class and forget—scramble like the rest of them. That thought recalled the scene in the restaurant. The anger she had felt at her father returned. Suddenly she knew no matter what,
she would never scramble
. She would ditch class and have lunch with Allan to try to find an answer to her dilemma.

Allan was waiting near the classroom door after fifth period.

“Gotta see Wheeler before I leave campus,” he said, pulling her along after him.

“What about lunch?”

“Just take a minute. Come on.”

They rushed in only to find Mr. Wheeler hurriedly gathering papers. “Wait for me, Allan. I have to take these reports down to the counselors' office. Be right back.”

Emma looked around the room. Every inch of chalkboard was covered. Wall space was crowded with posters and pictures, including those of some Black writers. She glanced at the chalkboard again and read aloud, “
An African Proverb: Because we are
, I
am.
”

“You read it wrong.” Allan said. “Emphasize the
we
, not the
I: Because
we
are, I am.
”

“What difference does it make?” Emma demanded.

“A lot. The
I
is always included in we.
We
, never in I. So the
we
becomes all inclusive. Example: We're all in the same boat.”

She looked at Allan. Why does he always have to be so heavy? She recalled the day he had classified the students, and the time he had explained why he had chosen Manning. Her mind flashed to Kooner and the scramble. “And sinking fast,” she said angrily.

“Don't write us off.”

“I'm not writing people like us off. I'm thinking about those idiots and Kooner.” Suddenly she had a glimpse of what Allan meant. In Kooner's room every class Allan had identified was represented: James, the boojei; Carrie, the climber; Liz, the survivor; and lots of toms. This glimmer made her understand the anger and humiliation she had known in that room. She laughed uneasily. “Man, Kooner sure lumps us all together.”

“Now you're getting the point. When we
all
get the point, the Kooners of the world will be as useless as a robot without a programmer.
We program
the Kooners.”

Emma felt a rush of excitement. What if she told the class what Allan had just said? Maybe they would see the scramble for what it was.

“What's keeping Wheeler?” Allan asked. “We gotta git outta here if we're gonna eat today.”

“Allan,” Emma cried, “help me. I want to get all of us in Kooner's class together.”

“Send them a notice.”

“Allan, this has to be a secret.”

“Write it in code.”

“Great idea! Let's do it.” Suddenly she remembered she should be in Kooner's class. She became frightened. What if she were caught in Wheeler's room alone with Allan. She would be in serious trouble. “We gotta get out of here, Allan. I'm ditching.”

“OK, OK, I'll leave Wheeler a note and see him later.”

It was easy to get lost on the crowded yard. Emma was anxious to get the notices started. The whole process had to be completed in minimum time, with minimum risk. They had only three hours to come up with a plan to get the students to a meeting and arrange it so that even they would not guess what the meeting was about. “Allan, should we start out with something like … er … ‘It's a matter of dignity and destiny'?”

“Then they sho' won't show.” Allan laughed. “How do they look at scrambling?”

“It's fun and games.”

“So, you gotta meet them where they at, woman. The last thing you want to do is make them look stupid. Now, let's think
who, what, where
, and
when.
”

“We want just sixth period from Room 202, to talk, under the bonsai tree, tomorrow.”

They quickly came up with five lines:

Just you in sixth, Room 202,

Come talk under the bonsai tree.

Talk of fun and games

Tomorrow at eighth.

Don't be late.

“Allan, that doesn't sound right. Something is missing. We gotta say at least one word about the scramble. I can't just come from nowhere with it.”

“Keep thinking.”

“I am. I'm thinking the whole thing is too big a gamble.”

“Hey, you got it,” Allan shouted. “Let's put it together.”

They finished the note and suddenly realized they needed thirty-five copies. “We'll have to find a copying machine,” Emma said.

“That means money.”

“We'll give up lunch,” Emma said.

Seventh period was almost over when Allan returned with thirty-five clean copies. Emma read aloud:

Just you in sixth, Room 202,

Come talk under the bonsai tree.

Talk of fun and games,

Talk of gambling with scrambling,

Tomorrow at eighth.

Please, don't be late.

Excitedly they divided the chore. Emma gave notices to the girls, Allan gave them out to the boys.

In the hallway as classrooms emptied, the task was difficult. However, on the grounds, where only a few people were still eating lunch, Emma found the going easier. Liz was with Brenda and their little group in their territory. Emma handed Liz a notice.

Brenda quickly snatched the paper. “What's this mess?”

“Stop, Bren. Gimme that,” Liz screamed.

“Lemme see what it is.” Brenda held on.

“It's none of your business, Brenda. Give it back to Liz,” Emma said firmly.

“Ha! Listen whose tryin' t' tell me what t' do. I'll tear the shit up.”

Emma, controlling her rage, spoke softly, “Tear it up and I promise, you'll never tear up anything else.”

There was sudden silence. Emma moved in on Brenda. “Go on, tear it.” She stared Brenda in the eye as the silence deepened. “Tear it up,” she almost whispered.

Brenda broke the stare and handed the paper to Liz.

Emma waited, feeling she would not be hassled by Brenda again. Finally she said, “I hope you'll be there, Liz.”

“She won't,” Brenda muttered.

“That's up to Liz.” As Emma walked away she heard Brenda caution Liz angrily. “If you do go, don't count y'self no friend o' mine.”

The anger Emma had felt when she moved to dare Brenda turned to hurt. Why had she thought she could work with people who would do something like scrambling for books. She should have had lunch instead of wasting money on copying notices. Maybe none of them would show.

Right on time Allan returned with all notices delivered. “I wouldn't do this for nobody but you, Em.”

She told him what had happened with Brenda. “All this could be for nothing.”

“No way. In this one, Em, if you
lose
, you win. Think about it.”

She hugged him around the waist. “I'll make up the lost lunch. Bring you one tomorrow made with my own hands.”

She went to meet her mother, wishing she could feel as assured as Allan that what she had started was a winner no matter what.

“Well, how'd it go today?” her mother asked.

“Fine.” She thought of the last couple of hours and wanted to place her head on her mother's lap and cry. Instead, she forced a smile and said, “Just fine.”

Nineteen

The house was quiet, Emma's mother sleeping, as Emma finished sandwiches, washed apples and grapes, and wrapped huge slices of homemade gingerbread for tomorrow's lunch.

Then she hurriedly typed a note excusing her absence from Kooner's class on a page from a pad—
Note From the Desk of Janet Walsh
. Why not? she told herself. How many times had Kooner, while searching through piles of papers for a lost note, told students, “Write another; you know you wrote that one.” He was forever losing or misplacing things.

She went over the freshly typed pages of her speech, pleased that it was taking shape. She had done all she could do right then for she had not completed all of the research. Still, she put off going to bed. She rolled her hair, put away things strewn around, cleaned out her purse, and laid out clothes for the morning.

How she hated to face tomorrow. What if somebody showed the notice to Kooner and he came? The thought made her shiver. Maybe she should contact everybody first thing and call it off. He'd still know she had planned it. If she got into trouble, that would be the end—no graduation, no college, no profession. What was she thinking about, getting involved in such a thing?

Finally in bed, she forced herself to lie still, concentrating on sleep, pushing all thoughts of “what if” away.

She awoke startled out of a dream she vaguely remembered. It had something to do with the class booing and chasing her down the hall into Kooner's room. Kooner frightened her more than the students. The clock showed that it was only five o'clock. She lay still, hoping to get another hour of sleep, but her mind was too full of things: the dream, the meeting, her paper.…

She was startled awake again. The phone was ringing. Who could it be so early in the morning? It was Gary. She was so excited she squealed with delight when he said he could come down for the prom. When she hung up she thought of Kooner. Maybe she should have told Gary. Then the joy welled up again. “He said, ‘yes.'” She hugged herself. Yes, yes, yes!

Bounding around the room, she was glad she had put things under control last night. Now she had plenty of time. There would be no hassle with her mother.

The whole morning went smoothly. The only sign that notices had been given were the secret smiles and friendly
Hey, Ems
from class members on the ground and in the hall. Liz asked if she could bring somebody, and Don wanted to know if money was needed for stakes.

It was not until the scrambling for books went off as usual, however, that Emma breathed a small sigh of relief. Nobody was aware that their idea of fun and games was threatened. With that minimum of assurance, she joined Allan for lunch. Before she settled, she told him about the friendliness of everyone and how Kooner suspected nothing and moved right into the scramble. They even got some work done, but not much.

She watched Allan eat, wishing she had as good an appetite. She was nervous, on edge. Would they come? If they came, what would she say?

“Are you gonna meet with us, Allan?”

“Would love to, but I'm not in Room 202 at sixth. It wouldn't look cool if I showed.”

“I need you. I don't know what I'll say, even.”

“Let them do some talking.”

“And I just steer, eh?”

“Right. Guide it the way it should go.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“You just have to know for sure what you want to happen, stay loose, and let others help you make it happen.”

Allan left her under the bonsai tree just before eighth period began. He promised to wait for the outcome in the library.

Emma waited. She tried to empty all thoughts from her mind so that she could fill it with words that would bring her classmates onto her side. Suddenly she realized that she didn't want to put Kooner down; she only wanted the students to see scrambling for what it was. She also wanted them to help Kooner know that scrambling was wrong, and that they were not going to participate any more. She remembered that while looking at a catalog from Howard University she had read a statement from a former dean: “
It is not the treatment of a people that degrades them, but their acceptance of it.…
”