Seeing Red (16 page)

Miss Miller turned to us. “How many of you can fix a record player in two minutes?” She looked at Bobby. “How many of you can get up at five o’clock in the morning and work all day cleaning up behind children who call you names?” Still looking at Bobby, she added, “In a town where even some of those children’s parents call them names?”

Bobby was looking down at his desk.

It seemed quiet for a long while before Miss Miller started playing the Marvin Gaye song.

After it was over, Miss Miller asked, “What’s the subtext?”

What was she talking about?

“I mean, what’s he really saying? What’s the bigger story behind this song, hmm? Why is he saying too many of his brothers are dying?”

We stared at her blankly.

She explained that Marvin Gaye was really talking about guys, especially black guys, coming back from Vietnam and nothing had changed for them. There was still prejudice, even after these guys had risked their lives for freedom and democracy. That’s why he was asking, “What’s going on?” It made me think of Thomas’s Missing In Action bracelet and why he decided to wear it.

At least the homework Miss Miller gave us was okay: pick a song and write what it was really saying underneath the words. I already knew what mine was going to be – from the Edwin Starr album Thomas gave me,
War & Peace
.

Class got boring again when Miss Miller pulled a paperback book out of her flower-power bag, acting as if she were Santa Claus. “This is one of my favourite, favourite books, and I want to read it out loud to you.”

I looked at the cover. It looked like a baby book with a goofy barnyard on the front. It was called
Animal Farm
.

Bobby Benson screwed his face up at it. “I’m beyond talking-animal books.”

“You can’t judge a book by its cover,” Miss Miller said with a smile.

I tuned her out while she read and looked at the posters around the classroom. There was one of John F. Kennedy with the quote Daddy loved.
Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.

Miss Miller had put up a picture of Harriet Tubman, who rescued nearly three-hundred slaves using a secret network of safe houses and hidden routes, and had handwritten a quote by her.
Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.

The one I liked best was by Martin Luther King Jr., because it was short but said a lot.
The time is always right to do what is right.

Which is exactly what I was going to do to make sure we stayed in Stony Gap. By the time history rolled around, I was figuring out a schedule for me and Beau to cover both the shop and the What-U-Want. I was wondering why I was even wasting my time in school because I could be working at home when I heard Miss Miller say, “Then the property has to be preserved just the way it is. That’s what the National Register of Historic Places is all about. They can’t be changed or destroyed. So if a site has historic importance—”

I shot my hand up in the air even though I hadn’t really been listening to the whole story.

“Is something wrong, Red?”

“Does that mean you can’t sell the property?”

“Well, there certainly would be restrictions on a sale—”

“Restrictions?” That was all I needed to hear. “So how do you get on that register thing?”

“Well, you’d start by contacting your local historical society—”

My hand shot up again. “Do we have a local historical society?”

She looked at me like I was fooling with her. Me. Historical society. It did seem kind of strange. “I’ll talk with you at recess, Red.”

When recess came, I explained about getting our shop and the What-U-Want on the historic register. She explained that those weren’t exactly the kind of buildings they usually preserved, but she took me to the office with her to make a call to the historical society people, just in case.

By the time she hung up I knew it was bad news. “I’m sorry, Red. They’re focusing on preserving stately homes. Besides, it sounds like there’s already an older store in the county.”

It sure would’ve been nice if someone else, like a historical society, could’ve told Mama we had to keep our place just the way it was. I followed Miss Miller back to the classroom because I didn’t feel like being outside with a bunch of yelling, happy kids.

She sat down and motioned me over to her desk. “Red, why is your mama wanting to sell?” Miss Miller was tilting her head at me. Not mean, but concerned. I noticed then that she started off in the mornings like a jumpy Chihuahua but later in the day she looked like a droopy basset hound. I guess we tired her out. Maybe her basset hound look was why I spilled my guts. I told her all about Mama trying to sell our place and me trying to stop her, without the parts about the For Sale signs and spray-painting.

“I see,” she murmured, twisting her necklace in her fingers. “That explains a lot.”

“And Mr Reynolds is part of the problem.” I figured she should know what he was really like so she’d quit thinking he was so wonderful.

She stopped fiddling with her necklace. “Why do you say that?”

“Because he’s trying to sell my place, that’s why! And he’s trying to sell it to our neighbour, who comes from a whole line of bad blood.” I told her all about what Mr Dunlop was like, giving her example after example, because there were a lot of them.

Miss Miller was leaning back in her chair and I realized I was bent forward and practically spitting on her, so I stepped back. She cleared her throat. “I-I wouldn’t necessarily believe that Mr Reynolds is involved in something so…so…”

“Slimy?” I said. “He’s a lawyer, Miss Miller. No offence, but you can’t trust them.”

She blushed and smiled just enough for me to see her dimples. “I think I know this one pretty well. And I don’t think you need to worry about him.”

“You mean, you think you can stop him from selling my place to Mr Dunlop?”

She sighed. “Red, sometimes change is mysterious and complicated but it can be good. Change is just a new chapter in your life.” She twisted her peace necklace and looked at the Marvin Gaye album on her desk. “Change can be a very good thing.”

I stared at her as the bell rang and kids came back inside the classroom and took their seats.
Change
, Miss Miller? I guess change could be a good thing. Because I thought of a big change I could make, and it was a very good thing.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Change

On Monday morning I made the change that I wanted. Mama went to town early, before the bus came, so she could take care of something about Daddy’s will at the courthouse. I skipped school. I had to. Mama didn’t think we could handle the whole business, both the repair shop and the What-U-Want. But if I stayed home, at least sometimes, we could hack it.

I told J that I was getting a ride to school and he was just as happy that his stupid brother wasn’t going to be riding his bus. Then I put on Daddy’s work shirt, the one with his name on it in , even though the sleeve was torn, because it made me look official.

When I walked into the What-U-Want, Beau tilted his head at me and I don’t think he quite believed my story that it was a teacher workday. “How come J’s in school, Red?”

“Uh…this is just a special day for the sixth-grade teachers. Something about getting us ready for junior high, I think.”

“Oh.” Beau scrunched his nose up like he was still confused, but he didn’t say anything to Mama.

He didn’t have to. Miss Miller called her up and ratted on me.

When Mama asked me why I skipped school, I think she was surprised that I didn’t look scared. I didn’t feel scared. Just ornery. “You want to yank me out of this school and start me in a new one somewhere else, anyway.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Before I went to bed, though, she told me she didn’t expect it to happen again and she’d better see a change in my behaviour.

Well, like Miss Miller said, sometimes change is mysterious and complicated, so I stayed home again the next day. This time I hid in the shop because I didn’t feel like answering Beau’s questions. I sat at Old Man Porter’s desk.
My
desk. I’d inherited it just like Old Man Porter’s name, even his nickname. He’d had red hair, too, and Daddy said the Porter way was for it to skip a generation but when it came out it was “a shock of red”. Old Man Porter had red hair, then my grandaddy, and now me. Frederick Stewart Porter.

I didn’t care what Mama said, there was no way I was leaving my desk behind. She’d taped a
PLEASE MOVE
note on the bookcases in the living room that looked built-in but weren’t. She didn’t want to forget to tell the movers, when they came, that those bookshelves were coming with us.

I looked through the drawers of the desk until I found a blank piece of paper and a marker and wrote in big letters,
ON PAIN OF DEATH THIS DESK HAS TO BE MOVED!
and taped the paper to the top of the desk. “There,” I said. If Mama had her way and we really did move, at least I’d have my way and take the desk with me. It was my legacy.

When Miss Miller called that night, Mama was spitting nails. “Do you want this on your permanent record, Red? That you’re a truant?”

Truant
sounded like such a bad word I figured it must mean a kid like Darrell, and I wasn’t doing anything that bad. “I’m not causing any damage.”

“Just to yourself, Red. Think about it.”

I had to think about it for maybe two seconds. Manning the store was something that Daddy would call “productive”, not like what I did on the mountain behind Kenny’s. I had to go to school the next day, though, because Mama decided the courthouse stuff could wait and she’d best be hanging around the house for a while.

At school Miss Miller said, “We’re glad to have you back with us, Red.”

I doubted she was really glad. I sure wasn’t, and I don’t think any of the kids cared if I was there or not. And I got a D+ on my Edwin Starr paper, which said, “The subtext of ‘
War
’ is that war is bad,” so it didn’t take very long for me to be sick of school.

A couple of days later Mama went back to the courthouse and I put on Daddy’s shirt and skipped school again. Beau tried to talk me out of it. He even talked to Daddy about it. I heard him out back while I was loading boxes of TV dinners into the freezer.

“I tried, Mr Porter, honest, but he won’t listen.” There was a pause as he let out a little moan, and I could just picture him tugging on his hair. “I’m sure it’s on account of how much he misses you but Miz Porter’s gonna be real upset, I just know it.”

I was still distracted by Beau when I heard the bell on the door jangle and a stuttery voice call out, “H-hello?” Mr Reynolds. What was Poindexter doing back here again?

I was about to go to the front of the store when Beau blocked my path. He motioned me to lay low and whispered, “You shouldn’t let a
lawyer
see you out of school.”

Beau lumbered to the front. “Well, good morning, Mr Reynolds. How is the
law
business today?” I rolled my eyes because I wasn’t scared of old Poindexter. Being a lawyer didn’t exactly mean you were the law.

I heard Beau and Poindexter talking as I kept stacking the freezer, and then Beau raised his voice, saying, “Well, good morning, Sheriff! How is the
law
business today?”

“Beg your pardon?” Poindexter said.

Poor Beau. He was trying so hard to scare me into being good, but the bell hadn’t even jangled on the door, so I knew the sheriff wasn’t there.

I stepped into the aisle and called out, “Nice try, Beau,” just as the bell on the door jangled, the boots stepped inside, and I heard the Kiss of Death.

Sheriff Scott stared at me. “You was just on your way to school, wasn’t you, Red?”

“Uh – yes, sir,” I said, tripping over my own feet as I headed for the door.

“Get in the patrol car. I’m driving you.”

My voice was as high as a little girl’s. “That’s okay. I can walk.”

“Didn’t you hear me, boy?”

I nodded and wobbled all the way over to the patrol car like the gravel had turned into slippery marbles.

I swear, as fast as the sheriff drove, it must’ve taken all of ten minutes to get the ten miles to school, even with all the twists and turns. It still seemed like for ever.

Every time Sheriff Scott took the toothpick out of his mouth he’d take a deep breath, and I was sure he was about to holler at me. It smelled like sweat in the patrol car, and I was sticking to the vinyl in the back seat, wondering if all criminals felt like jumping out of their skin and throwing up at the same time.

When we peeled into the school parking lot, I tried to open the back door before he even stopped. When I realized he had me locked in I almost wet my pants.

He turned around in his seat and gave me a stare that just about melted me. “Tell me you ain’t gonna be skipping school again.”