The Year They Burned the Books

Matt waved the Renegade as he shooed them inside, nodding perfunctorily at Nomi, who looked up, obviously startled, from the layout table. “Siddown!” he barked at the others. “Do you have any idea what’s going on right now? At this very minute our esteemed principal, Mr. Bartholomew, is meeting with Mrs. Buel, several members of the school committee, and a couple of people from Mrs. Buel’s little group, Families for Traditional Values, which, as you may not have figured out, is the hottest thing going in town right now. Responsible journalism in this school,” he shouted, waving the Renegade, “does not extend to putting out a competing paper without permission.” He stopped, glaring at them, his face red and his hands, Jamie saw, trembling slightly.

“It’s not meant to be competing,” Jamie said. “It’s just …”

“Okay, okay.” Matt sank into his chair. “Wrong word. But, Jamie, you should’ve known better; you’ve been on the paper as long as you’ve been in high school. You, too, Terry, and Jack also. Cindy and Tessa—where is Tessa?—maybe can be excused, but …”

Terry, glancing at Jamie, said, “Mr. Bartholomew and Mrs. Buel and everyone—they’re meeting about the Renegade, right?”

“Yes, right. They’re meeting to decide what to do about it. I was late this morning. I didn’t even see your—your paper till last period …”

“And you’re in trouble?” asked Cindy.

“Of course I’m in trouble!” Matt shouted. “How could I not be?” He took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself. “Look,” he said, as Tessa came in, “I don’t think you kids have figured out what’s really going on in this town.”

“You mean Mrs. Buel?” Jamie asked uncomfortably.

“Yes, I mean Mrs. Buel!” Matt exclaimed. “Look,” he went on, sounding patient now, as if trying to calm himself, “I think Mrs. Buel is a fanatic of sorts. A religious fanatic. Do you guys know what a theocracy is?”

“A government with a state religion,” Nomi said. “Mrs. Buel’s in my church. Lord’s Assembly. But we don’t want a religious government. We just want …”

“No,” Matt interrupted. “No, of course you don’t want a religious government. And I’m sure most people at Lord’s Assembly don’t either. But there are people who do, and Mrs. Buel, I firmly believe, is one of them. At the very least she wants everyone in Wilson to go along with her ideas about morality. Officially.”

The pamphlet at Lord’s Assembly, Jamie thought, disgust and anger seizing her all over again.

“Her group, too?” Terry asked. “FTV?”

“I don’t know about her group. Maybe some of them, maybe all of them, maybe none of them. But I believe that Mrs. Buel wants to get as much power as she can by being on the school committee, so she can force her ideas on everyone in Wilson. We’re her enemies, guys, because freedom of speech is her enemy, and so, really, is freedom of religion and all other kinds of freedoms.” He paused. “Anyway, that’s beside the point, sort of. Nomi, I know you’re not involved, but the rest of you should’ve gotten permission for this paper.” He thumped the Renegade Telegraph against his desk. “If you had, and if it had been granted, you’d be in a strong position to defend it. However, you didn’t …”

“But,” Jack protested, “we didn’t use school property or school supplies.”

“We did it on my family’s computer,” Terry explained, “with my parents’ scanner, and we bought the paper …”

“Yes,” said Matt, “as well you should have. All that was right. But what you didn’t do was get permission to distribute it on school grounds.”

“Is there a rule about that?” Cindy asked. “I mean, I never heard of one, and I’ve read the student handbook.”

Matt reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small square booklet. “‘No outside group,’” he read after thumbing through a few pages, “‘shall distribute literature, pamphlets, brochures, advertisements, or announcements on school grounds without permission of the principal.’”

“But it says outside group, Matt!” said Jamie. “We’re not an outside group.”

“Aren’t you?” Matt asked quietly as the phone on his desk rang. “Look at the name of your paper! You know you’re a renegade group, linked to the school by breaking away from it. You all work on the school paper, for Pete’s sake. Matt Caggin,” he said into the phone.

A moment later he said crisply, “Right,” replaced the receiver, and stood up. “My turn. That was Mr. Bartholomew’s secretary. I’m wanted in the office.”

“Oh, no, Matt,” Jamie said miserably, standing also. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t I come, too?”

“I think,” Matt said grimly, his hand on the door, “that your turn will come soon enough.”

It did, although not as quickly as Jamie had anticipated. For the rest of the afternoon, they all worked quietly, and a little awkwardly because of Nomi, on the next issue of the official paper, saving space for a story about the Renegade Telegraph and the school’s reaction to it. Jamie kept worrying about Matt, who didn’t return, and she expected to be called in herself before five o’clock, which was when Mr. Bartholomew usually left the building; he’d know, certainly, that the newspaper staff often worked late.

But no call came, and the next morning things seemed normal enough. Jamie had a full schedule of classes and wasn’t able to look for Matt, but at lunch Terry said he hadn’t seen him. Then right before afternoon classes started, a student came up to Jamie and said Mr. Bartholomew wanted to see her in his office.

Mr. Bartholomew was a heavy-set, graying man with a kind face; he was known both for his fairness and for his adherence to school rules. It didn’t take him long to get to the point.

“Sit down, Jamie,” he said, and when she’d settled herself in the large leather armchair opposite his desk, he asked, “You’ve been working on the Telegraph since you were a freshman, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And I believe that you want to do newspaper work when you’re finished with your education, and that you’re planning to major in journalism in college?”

“That’s right,” Jamie answered cautiously.

Mr. Bartholomew folded his hands and leaned back in his chair. “The Telegraph’s been good this year, Jamie, and it showed a marked improvement during the last couple of years as you emerged as its most dedicated reporter. You toed a dangerous line with your condom editorial, but I was proud of you, and I was sorry when Mrs. Buel and the school committee made such a fuss about it. I disagreed with the school committee’s ruling—an editorial is opinion, certainly—but I did wish you’d gotten an op-ed for that issue.”

“So did I. I tried, and maybe I should’ve tried harder. But …”

“That’s done with now. I can understand the temptation you faced, the impulse you felt to put out a counter paper.” He leaned forward. “In the real world, Jamie, that would be fine. But a high school isn’t the real world, even though we try very hard to make it resemble the real world as much as possible. The fact remains that you should have gotten permission to distribute that paper, first from Matt and then from me.”

“But—well—would you have given it?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Mr. Bartholomew admitted. “I would have wanted to. But Mrs. Buel is very much a presence these days, and I’m not willing to give her an opportunity to—let’s just say I’m not willing to give her an opportunity. You can go on publishing your renegade paper, Jamie, with my unofficial blessing. But you cannot distribute it on school grounds or work on it on school time. You’ll have to figure out another way to get it to the students, but I strongly suggest you avoid handing it out at the edge of school property, because even though that would fall within the letter of the law, Mrs. Buel would probably find some way to create a public uproar about it.”

“But if I distributed it, say, on the town green or in Lang’s Store or a couple of blocks away from school …”

“That would be fine. I don’t think Mrs. Buel would be too happy about it, but she wouldn’t have a legitimate complaint. After all, she could do the same thing, if she had a journalistic bent.”

“Thank you,” Jamie said contritely, both relieved and embarrassed. “And I really am sorry, Mr. Bartholomew. I didn’t think about distribution. I didn’t even know about the rule.”

“Did you ever hear that ridiculous thing about ignorance of the law not being any excuse?”

Jamie nodded.

“I’ve never thought it was very fair. But lots of things aren’t fair.” He stood up and held out his hand. “You’re a fine student, Jamie Crawford. And I expect Wilson High’s going to number you among its highest-achieving students when you’re out in that tough real world. Keep up the good work, but for heaven’s sake, be careful!”

Jamie shook his offered hand. “I will.” She turned to go and then turned back. “Mr. Bartholomew,” she asked. “Is Mrs. Buel trying to control the school committee?”

“I don’t know. It’s the opinion of some of the faculty that she is. She certainly seems to want to impose her strong opinions on others. And she appears to have backing from some very powerful groups from out of state. There are people on the school committee who share her opinions. But they weren’t very vocal till she came along. We live in a democracy, Jamie. Mrs. Buel is entitled to her opinion, as you well know, just as you’re entitled to yours. Good luck.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bartholomew,” Jamie said, and left.

She had one class with Terry that afternoon, and right before it she was able to tell him what Mr. Bartholomew had said. But she didn’t see the others, so as soon as the last bell rang, she ran down the hall to the newspaper office, burst inside full of the good news that Mr. Bartholomew seemed to be on their side—and stopped. Terry was sitting silently at Matt’s desk, Nomi had her hands over her face and her elbows on her drafting table, Tessa was shaking her head as if she’d heard something she couldn’t believe, Jack was drumming a pencil on Jamie’s desk, and Cindy, a folder of new ads still in her hand, was staring out the window.

Terry stood up when Jamie came in.

“It’s Matt,” he said. “The school committee’s kicked him off the paper.”