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THE FINAL BELL OF THE DAY rang and Roland headed for his locker. Jarret insisted on giving him and Keefe a ride home from school so they could all talk. Papa had said they weren’t to make plans and that they were all to have dinner together. Afterward, maybe Roland could go to the Fire Starters meeting and talk to Caitlyn. And get a break from all the family stuff.
If not, maybe he’d get time to do more martyr research. He’d looked up a few saints between classes. Every one of the Apostles had died a martyr’s death, not counting Judas Iscariot, who hung himself, or Saint John, who lived on an island to a ripe old age. But Roland wanted a lesser-known saint, someone the other Fire Starters might not have heard about already. He’d never realized how many hundreds upon hundreds of people had been martyred for refusing to deny their faith, many in groups. Still. None of the ones he’d read about had clicked with him yet. But he was running out of time. Then, once he’d found the right saint, what would he do? Father said they could present what they’d found in any way they wanted. Two boys planned to make up a song. A few girls wanted to do a skit. Peter would probably have everyone laughing, regardless of his method of presentation. Could you present a martyr humorously?
Nearing his locker, Roland walked around a group of girls and glimpsed a boy with pink hair. Marshall leaned one arm and his forehead on the wall and held his phone to his ear.
As Roland lifted the latch on his locker, Marshall spun toward him, stuffed his phone away, and sprang over to Roland. “Hey, Roland West, newest member of Empowerment, you’re not out the door, are you?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“No, you can’t!” came his desperate plea. “We need you to stay. We’re having an emergency meeting tonight. You really need to be there.”
“What’s the emergency?” Roland dropped off two books and picked up one then slammed his locker shut.
“We want to go on that big camping trip that your friends are hosting. Everyone in school’s talking about it.”
“Oh, that’s great.” Pushing aside feelings of discomfort, he faked enthusiasm. Everyone in school? “But why is that an emergency?”
“Empowerment never just goes anywhere. We’ll need to get ready for this.” He waggled his brows and smirked. Then he gave Roland’s arm a slight tap. “You’ve got to be there. We need your help. You went last year, right?”
“Uh, yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair as he tried to come up with an excuse. If he stayed after school for this, he stood less of a chance of getting out later for the Fire Starters meeting. “I don’t think I can.”
Marshall sighed, glancing up at the ceiling. “Of course, you can. Just call and get permission.” He whipped a phone from his pocket and offered it to Roland with a flick of his wrist.
Roland pulled his own phone out and turned away, not sure why he was even asking. He didn’t want to do this. But then again, maybe he should talk to them. They said in the last meeting that they wanted to “build bridges across differences.” So maybe they’d be willing to listen to the Fire Starters’ saint stories. They could learn something about what made Catholics tick and maybe even change their negative view of them.
A few minutes later, Roland turned down the hall to the room where Empowerment met. Papa had given permission and said he’d pick him up, but he couldn’t go to the Fire Starters meeting. It didn’t matter. Peter would keep him informed. And he could talk to Caitlyn on another day. Did she still have that phone? He could call her.
“Hey, there you are. We were just getting started.” Marshall stood in the doorway, playing with a tuft of his pink-streaked hair and watching Roland walk. Rather than move out of the way, he flattened himself against the doorframe to let Roland pass.
A dozen kids sat at art tables that had been pushed together in the middle of the room. No one sat on the tables this time. Mrs. Lowrey hunched over the art desk nearest the front of the room. She straightened as Roland strode into the room.
“Hi,” said the heavyset girl with jet black hair. And another kid nodded at Roland, but the rest simply looked. Except for Tessia. She narrowed her eyes and tilted her chin with a suspicious and challenging air about her.
“Glad you could make it, Roland.” Mrs. Lowrey grabbed a paper from the tall teacher’s desk in the front corner of the room. “Will you be going camping? I just handed out a signup form.”
Marshall took the page from her and brought it to Roland, then he sat on one of the two empty stools left.
Roland took the page and sat on the other empty stool, finding himself on the opposite end of the tables from the teacher, next to Marshall, and two seats from Tessia. He never cared for close seating arrangements.
“Before we talk about camping, I wanted to bring up a mean prank that happened last week. I’m sure you’ve all heard. Someone put a bunch of smelly fish in a girl’s locker. Now this particular student is Muslim, and unless you go through life with blinders on, you know that a lot of people are suspicious of Muslims. So I think this is another area that we can focus on.”
“I’ve already met with the drama club, as some of you know.” Mrs. Lowrey exchanged smiles with a few of the kids. “The drama club wants to create skits and short videos of different kids in school. Someone even approached this girl for an interview, but she won’t do it.”
“What will the skits and videos be about?” a girl asked.
“We’ll do an interview that shows she’s just a regular person, just like anyone else,” Mrs. Lowrey said. “We’ll ask what she likes to eat and do. Then people won’t see her as so different from themselves, and they can stop hating her.”
“And we can show that her religious book—what’s it called?” an enthusiastic girl said.
“The Koran,” Mrs. Lowrey answered.
“Right, well, and it’s just the same as the Christians with their Bible,” the enthusiastic girl said.
Roland squirmed, disagreeing. It wasn’t at all the same as the Bible—which was inspired by God.
“Hey, maybe we can make skits to perform at the camping trip,” said a kid with orange hair.
Roland did a double-take. Was he the kid Caitlyn had told him about? So this kid thought he knew who trashed Brice’s house?
“Right! Awesome idea!” an enthusiastic girl said, bouncing in her seat. “And we can bring freebies for everyone, like our bookmarks and pins and things that promote our group.”
Roland squirmed even more. This was getting out of control. The Fire Starters had their own plans for the camping trip. Would this interfere with them?
“I’ve heard that there’s a big bonfire every year,” another girl said. “And that groups get together for activities, so we can participate in that.”
“Roland goes every year, right, Roland?” Marshall said, everyone turning to look.
“Um. No. I went last year.”
“And what type of activities did they have?” Mrs. Lowrey said.
“Flying kites, paddleboats, hikes, a big bonfire. That kind of stuff.”
“Okay, so in the evenings, around the bonfire, we’ll have skits that encourage people to accept one another for who they are, you know, without judging or trying to change them.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Roland forced himself to say.
“What’s not a good idea?” Tessia said.
He didn’t want to answer. Why couldn’t they just go camping and have fun? “The Fire Starters already have plans for activities that everyone can participate in and skits that everyone can watch.” There. He said it.
Mrs. Lowrey gave him a tight smile and a look he didn’t understand. “If I’m not mistaken, the Fire Starters have some rigid ideas about right and wrong.”
“Yeah, they’re right and everyone else is wrong,” Tessia said with hostility.
“Is that what you believe?” Marshall whispered.
Outnumbered and not wanting to discuss it, Roland shrugged. “I don’t think everyone’s wrong. I mean, I believe in right and wrong, but doesn’t everybody?”
“Well, from what I understand, the Fire Starters is one of the groups that could benefit from change.” Mrs. Lowrey stared across the tables at him.
“I-I thought you wanted to build bridges.” He couldn’t believe he’d said that. Now he’d captured everyone’s attention.
“We can’t build bridges with people who aren’t open to change, with people who don’t respect others.”
He hesitated but only for a second. “Okay, well, respect each other, sure, but we don’t have to agree, do we?”
“I’m not sure you belong here, Roland.”
“What?” Not sure how to take her, Roland glanced at the others around the table. Cold eyes stared back. “Are you throwing me out?”
“This group is to promote an appreciation for differences, not to say I’m right and you’re wrong.”
“I didn’t say that. You were talking about people having to change.”
“You didn’t say it in so many words, but it doesn’t matter what you’re saying.” Tessia acted as though she hadn’t heard the rest of his comment, leaning over the table and glaring past the girl who sat between them. “You don’t really understand the purpose of our group, and maybe you never will. Like I pointed out last week, you’re white, straight, male, with no handicaps, and you’re rich. You can’t possibly relate to the struggles of minorities or people with special needs.”
Mrs. Lowrey put a hand up. “Tessia has a point, but we aren’t here to argue. And . . . maybe this isn’t a group for you, Roland.”
~ ~ ~
ROLAND STOOD OUTSIDE River Run High, the toes of his boots hanging over the curb and his backpack slung over one shoulder as he peered down the road, looking for Papa’s silver Lexus. Leaves on the trees across the street rustled in a gentle breeze. A cloudy sky hung above, reminding Roland that Father had asked them to pray for good weather for the weekend.
Footfalls sounded behind Roland, but he decided not to look.
Then a voice over his shoulder. “Hi, Roland.”
Realizing how close someone stood to him, Roland shivered. Then he shrugged to hide it as he turned around to face Marshall. “Hi.”
Marshall hugged a single notebook to his chest. Wind blew pink strands over his forehead and revealed dark roots. “Sorry you got thrown out of Empowerment. I’ve never seen that happen before.”
Roland shrugged again. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me. The group’s supposed to be for everyone. And just because you’re straight and all that, doesn’t mean you don’t care.” He gave Roland a quirky grin.
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Waiting for your ride?”
Roland nodded and turned to look for the Lexus again.
“Could you possibly give me a ride? I just found out I’m stranded. My mom said she can’t come get me.”
“Where do you live?”
Marshall pointed down the road, opposite the way Roland would go. “Just ten minutes or so that way. I guess I could walk but I wanted to get home before my Dad. I’m s’posed to do some stuff before he gets home.”
Roland recognized the sound of the Lexus approaching. He turned toward it and his stomach clenched. Asking if Marshall could have a ride home meant admitting that he had a friend with pink hair. Papa would not understand. And he might jump to conclusions and think he’d need to have a talk with Roland. Which he wouldn’t do for a long time, since he didn’t talk about difficult subjects easily.
Papa pulled up to the curb and the door locks clicked. He did a double take at Roland. Or maybe at the boy with the pink hair who stood beside him.
Roland opened a back door and stuck his head in.
Miss Meadows turned around in the front passenger seat and smiled.
“Hey, can we give, uh . . .” He couldn’t get himself to say my friend. “Marshall needs a ride home.”
Papa glanced at Roland in the rearview mirror. “Sure. So long as he’s not too far. We’ve got dinner reservations.”
Roland nodded to Marshall, who then jogged around the car and got in.
“Thanks,” he said, breathless, “I appreciate it. My mom usually picks me up, but she called and said she couldn’t. And my dad . . .” Marshall babbled on without pause for the next five minutes, that strange lilt in his voice. Papa nodded every now and then. Miss Meadows responded with polite questions and comments.
Roland added nothing to the conversation and couldn’t help exhaling when Marshall stopped talking.
Then Miss Meadows said something to Papa and they mumbled to each other for the rest of the ride, no longer seeming to notice Roland or Marshall.
“Turn down this next street,” Marshall said five minutes later.
The house on the corner looked familiar. Roland studied it as they drove past, then he realized what neighborhood Marshall lived in. “You live near Brice?”
Marshall’s gaze flitted down the road and then to Roland. “Oh, yeah, I guess I do.”
“Which is your house?” Papa said, glancing over his shoulder.
“Oh.” Marshall leaned forward and pointed. “Yellow one with the open garage . . . Oh, no. Dad’s home already.” He pursed his lips and stared as they pulled into the driveway. A heavy middle-aged man in denim shorts and a short-sleeved button-front shirt pushed a lawnmower into the yard. He peered at the car for a moment. As Marshall opened the car door, the man shouted, “’Bout time you got home. What’d you do with the gas can? Leave it out again? One day someone’s going to walk off with it.”
“Looks like you’ve got chores to do.” Miss Meadows twisted around and smiled at Marshall.
“Yeah, s’posed to cut the grass.” One hand on the door handle, he turned to Papa. “I appreciate the ride, Mr. West.”
Papa nodded.
Still turned around in her seat, Miss Meadows shook his hand. “I’m glad I got a chance to meet one of Roland’s friends.”
Roland felt the burn of a blush, but something Marshall’s father said bothered him even more, so as Marshall opened the car door, he blurted, “Something happen to your gas can?”
One foot outside, Marshall gave Roland a dumbstruck look. “Uh, I don’t know. It’s just missing. Misplaced, I guess.”
“I found a gas can around here.” Roland decided against admitting that the same can was probably still in the trunk of this very car.
“Really?” Marshall scooted from the car, glanced at his father, and then at Roland. “Where?”
“Woods.” Roland pointed in the general direction of the woods where he’d found it, though they couldn’t see it from here.
“What were you doing in the woods?”
“Marshall, say goodbye and get over here.” His father loped back to the garage.
Marshall gave Roland one last look and closed the car door.
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