Frank hurried home from work. He didn’t want to miss Dedra’s call about some graduation plans the Black Student Committee had put together. His friendship with Dedra had been renewed ever since she had seen him in his suit. He had driven the hearse at her aunt’s funeral two weeks earlier. Frank generally tried to stay in the background, but that day Mr. Fields had had him assist the family into their cars. Dedra hadn’t seen him at first. They hadn’t spoken since he had refused to be part of the walkout. But her face had softened when their eyes met, and she’d said, “So, this is where you’ve been keeping yourself, Frank. Quite a change from that football uniform, I’d say.”
Now he hurried out as soon as Mr. Fields closed the door on the last mourner. Frank drove home from the funeral home without trading his suit pants for the jeans he usually wore. The driver’s seat of his mother’s car was worn, but he had examined it for any snags before sitting down. He folded the jacket and laid it carefully on the passenger seat. He couldn’t afford another suit. The job took up all of his after-school and weekend time, but he had been able to save some money.
As he drove his mother’s old ’53 Crown Victoria up the road to his house, Frank noticed the row of mailboxes. Theirs was left open. He looked and saw nothing inside, so he snapped the small door shut.
“Ma! I’m home! I’m starving. What’s for dinner?”
He found her sitting in her wing chair, as she called it, the one with the brown-striped velvet upholstery. She was holding a piece of paper, and a long white envelope was on her lap.
“I need you to read this, and then we can talk. Please sit with me.”
“Ma, can’t I change my clothes and then read it?”
“No. Sit with me, Frank.”
He looked at his mother’s dull eyes, the tight set of her jaw, and realized that the paper in her hand didn’t bear good news. As he sat down, she handed him the letter:
Dear Mrs. Woods,
The parish school board has made the decision to require all seniors from West Hill High School to attend a fifth year at Kettle Creek High School. This generous offer will assure that all students receive a full curriculum before graduation. This decision will delay the graduation date for your son, Franklin Delano Woods, until the completion of the 1970–71 school year.
Sincerely,
Mr. Cornelius Palmer
Principal, Kettle Creek High School
Frank shifted his body in the chair and read it again. It didn’t make sense. He leaped up, unable to contain the anger boiling inside him.
“They can’t do this to me, Ma!” Peterson and his promises. “Damn honkies do what they want. First, they cut me from the team? And now no graduation?”
One look from her, and he settled down. What she said next shocked him.
“Frank, I’ve been sitting here and praying on this. We cannot let this happen. I don’t know how to stop it, but we’ll find a way.”