18
Gladiators
Wednesday, December 10
Uncle’s voice boomed through my cell phone. I was lying on my back in bed, arm thrown over my face, covering my eyes. Ebony was singing in the bathroom and Lauren was doing sit-ups between the beds. Red was doing ballet stretches.
“Morning, sugar,” he said. “Missed you at dinner last night.”
“I had such a long day yesterday. What’s up, Uncle?” I fought back a yawn. Normally, at home, I’d already be up at this time, working at the bakery. My brain clicked on like a computer. I started mentally visualizing my “To Do” list.
He laughed. “Sugar, I thought maybe you’d like to come by later this morning. Do some baking.”
That woke me up. “I have a new recipe I’d like to show you. Maybe I could teach you a few things.”
He laughed, a loud barking sound. “Now you sound as crazy as your daddy. Must be where you get it from.”
“Must be.” I smiled.
“Anyway, I’m stuck with a kitchen full of ingredients I don’t have room to store because my big shindig I was telling you about got canceled. It’s a good time to try something new!”
I raised onto my elbows. “Oh, no! Uncle Al, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“I know, sugar. I know. Anyway, maybe sometime after breakfast, later in the morning, if you get a break in your schedule, come by and see your ol’ uncle. Maybe I can learn a thing or two. Or maybe I’ll knock you on your butt.”
“When it comes to cupcakes, Uncle, you ain’t ready for this!”
Who says bakers can’t smack-talk!
By the time I hung up, my three roommates were dressed and at the door. A sliver of daylight shone between the heavy drapes, but when they opened wider, I saw the ground covered in snow.
Now they stood at the hotel room door, holding their coats and hats, looking back at me.
“Want us to wait for you?” Lauren asked.
I shook my head. “I’ll try to meet you down there.”
As they were leaving, I called out to Red. “Hey, wait a minute. Can I ask you something?” The other two said they’d wait at the elevator.
Red was smiling, but her eyes didn’t look right. She looked tense.
“What’s up? Everything okay?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s awesome,” she said in her typical tone that said she meant the opposite.
“Why so awesome?”
She let out a sigh. “The usual. My demon ballet teacher sent me a text last night saying if I didn’t get back soon another dancer may have stolen my lead.”
“Evil witch!” I said.
Although she was doing her usual cool act, I could see that the text message really bothered her. On an impulse, I gave her a big hug.
“I’m really glad you chose to come on this trip and get to know everybody better,” I said. “It means a lot to me. But I sure hope you don’t lose your spot because of this.”
She shrugged. “Devil woman’s tricks don’t work on me. If that other dancer was so good, she would’ve won the spot two weeks ago. I’m good. But thanks, Justice. See you downstairs.”
She left and I pushed myself out of bed, went into the bathroom to get ready.
Water shushed from the faucet. I spat out minty foam, then reapplied more toothpaste. Aunt Tina always said the best weapon was a great smile. A yawn escaped my mouth. I had stayed up late writing my speech after the other girls had gone to sleep. But it was worth it—I finally had something to feel good about.
The phone by the bed rang.
“Brianna!” said Mr. G.
My hair was tied up, wrapped in a scarf the way the lady in the salon had showed me. Still had its blow-dried smoothness. (One thing you learn when you hang out with white chicks is that they can wash their hair every day. Some of them have to, because of oil buildup. Most black girls, though, would be bald if they washed their hair that much. Unless I got my hairdo wet, I’d be good for at least a week.)
The scarf was covering part of my ear. I was still trying to get it out of the way, but could hear Mr. and Mrs. G.’s voices, excitedly talking over each other.
“Hold on, please!” I said. It was too early for the G & G Show.
“Brianna! Have you heard?” said Mrs. G.
“You mean about the storm? Did something get canceled today?” We were supposed to have a full day of conference workshops this afternoon, after our Newseum trip.
“No,” said Mrs. G., clearing her throat.
“Okay, yes. Our trip to the Newseum is on hold. Entire city has shut down because of the weather. But that’s not why we’re calling. Yesterday, at the Capitol, you guys sat in the Senate chamber and heard the senator’s filibuster, remember? Well, she’s still at it. She is attempting to set a world record for the longest filibuster on record.” I could tell Mrs. G. was excited.
She took a breath, then pushed ahead. “We’ve already talked to several kids who’d like to head back to the Capitol with us. We wanted to see if you’d be willing to come, too. The senator is trying to draw attention to a pitiful lack of funding around the nation for technology programs in K-through-twelve programs.”
“Um… okay,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say.
Mrs. G. said hurriedly, “Brianna, this is big! Unless the states AND the federal government make technology in schools a real priority, kids like you and all the other Blueberries might face serious challenges when it comes to getting the very best opportunities in life.”
When I told them I’d love to come along, Mr. G. said to meet them in the lobby.
After I got dressed and got to the lobby, Lauren came running over.
“Brianna! Did you hear? Someone at the Capitol building is trying to set a world record! We’re going to watch.”
She looked so excited, I couldn’t help reaching over to hug her. She hugged back and handed me two red apples and a Nutri-Grain bar. She shrugged. “You didn’t eat this morning,” she said. Red and Ebony came up next, also wearing coats and gloves.
“Look!” said Lauren, pointing at the gigantic television screens in the carpeted hotel lounge. It was the senator we’d seen yesterday. Letters crawled under her picture:
BREAKING NEWS: U.S. SENATOR ATTEMPTING TO BREAK RECORD SET IN 1957 FOR THE LONGEST RECORDED FILIBUSTER
Mrs. G. climbed onto a chair and clapped at us until everybody shut up. “Okay, students, this is a rare opportunity to watch how government works,” she said. “We’re going back to the Capitol building not only to see history being made, but also because we want you guys to really think about what’s at stake. Now, be on your best behavior. Let’s go, Blueberries!” Now I knew how amped up Paul Revere must’ve felt before riding through the streets of Boston. No, wait. More like Julius Caesar rolling into Rome! Mrs. G. might as well have yelled, “Charge!”
When we stepped outside, we were greeted with the sparkling white glare from last night’s storm. The air was cold and smelled like Christmas. Holiday decorations on the trees danced in the breeze.
As we walked to our bus, I noticed a few kids I didn’t recognize from the conference making snow angels and laughing loudly.
Mr. G. saw me looking at them, shrugged, and explained that school was out all over the D.C. area. Lauren and I exchanged glances. It wasn’t even that much snow. In Michigan, we’d have to go to school in that little bit of fluff. Just saying.
We all climbed aboard. I texted Mom. Most kids had to stick around to attend their workshops, but I was lucky not to have any until the afternoon. Mom was staying behind with several other chaperones to look after the bulk of our group while Mr. and Mrs. G. took ten of us over to the Capitol.
The ride had taken about seven minutes yesterday. Now it took close to twenty. Snow and ice crunched under the tires. We climbed out. Inside the visitors’ center, we once again checked our coats and headed to Congressional Hall. But this time, entering the chamber was like entering another world.
Even though the room was large and deep with seating like a theater, it felt hot and cramped. Down at the podium, the same African American woman from yesterday, with her dark hair in a bun, was swaying to the beat of her own words.
“… oh say can you see, from the dawn’s early light…”
I glanced at Mrs. G. “Why is she saying the words to the national anthem?”
“Because,” Mrs. G. said, leaning forward like she was at the summer’s biggest blockbuster and didn’t want to miss a single word. “The rules of a filibuster are that a person can say anything as long as they keep talking.”
“Why?” I asked. “What good does that do?”
Mr. G. explained. “The whole purpose is to disrupt the bill the majority wants passed. Remember what I told you yesterday, Brianna. A filibuster’s primary function is to disrupt the proceedings. This is Congress’s last session before breaking for the holidays. If they can’t reach a vote by noon today, the bill will have to be shelved. The senator wants to stop the legislation and draw attention to her message. She wants funding for technology in K-through-twelve education to be a priority in state and federal budgets. All she needs is a little more time to get people on her side.”
Ebony leaned over Mrs. G.’s shoulder. “Who are those people huddling close to her over on the other side?”
“Her warriors. Her gladiators,” Mrs. G. said. She looked proud. “They are there to show they support her because they believe in what she’s doing. You guys are witnessing history.”
We watched for a while. I was mesmerized. The senator looked so strong and committed as she switched from the national anthem back to her topic that I wanted to root for her, too.
Glancing around the room, I eyed the other senators. Some would try to say things to throw her off her game, but Miss Filibuster was having None. Of. It.
A few senators looked so angry that their faces were red and their jaws trembled; a few dozed in their seats. You could tell some were totally behind the filibustering senator, and others wanted to ship her away to a desert island. The ones backing her up, her gladiators, were like her girls (and guys). Her posse.
Congress really was a lot like middle school. There were cliques. Rude people shouting over you. Others giving you the stank eye. And some who had your back no matter what.
The senator’s voice rose, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“… if you can hear my voice, reach out, call your representative, call your senator, call everybody. The fact that we are even considering passing a nothing bill like the one before us, while our esteemed colleague Senator Howard Graham refuses to even listen to arguments that could amend it and add safeguards for education, is a travesty. So if you are listening, if you can hear the sound of my voice, call. Don’t be idle when you can be active!”
The woman sagged a bit. I realized she’d been at this since we were here yesterday. Now it was almost nine thirty in the morning, and she looked dog-tired. Mrs. G. said if the senator wanted to break the record, which would help draw even more attention to her cause, she’d have to keep talking until noon.
There was an explosion of applause. Several female senators stood, clapping hard.
“What is her name again?” I asked.
“That’s Madeline Wilson-Hayes,” Mr. G. said. “She’s the President’s sister-in-law.”
The President’s sister-in-law.
Neptune’s aunt Maddie.
“… She’s always into something,” I suddenly remembered him saying.
“So this is who he was talking about!” I blurted out.
“What?” said Mrs. G.
“The President’s nephew. He told me his aunt was raising a ruckus, but I didn’t realize this was who he meant.”
Mr. and Mrs. G., Lauren, Red, and Ebony stared at me. Then I realized what I said.
“Um, yesterday at the White House. Tell you about it later.”
Gradually the senator pulled herself up, seeming to draw strength from her supporters. She looked ready to fight on.
And maybe I knew someone willing to help.
A picture popped into my mind. Along with an idea.
Was this the next chapter for The Adventures of Cupcake Girl?