Phase Two—Double B-Day.
B&B—Bread and Butter.
Everyone goes through the line, buying one slice of bread and two pats of butter.
The bread gets buttered, with more butter around the edges.
A few minutes before the bell is to ring, Jill goes up to the cafeteria teachers, who are all standing in one place, probably discussing how they got stuck with such a lousy assignment.
Jill asks for a bathroom pass.
That’s the signal.
Everyone quietly sticks the bread to the underside of the table top, butter side up.
The teachers tell Jill to wait until the bell rings, since the period’s almost over. They always say that to kids. They think that kidneys can tell time.
The bell rings.
Everyone rushes out of the place. I don’t think the cafeteria’s ever been emptied out so quickly.
Later we get the report from the kids who have lunch next.
The bread falls down—piece by piece.
Cafeteria workers freak out.
The janitors rush around cleaning it up while kids are trying to get lunch and be seated.
No bread and butter is served for this group.
We figured that would happen. So everyone buys the yucky yellow cake with the awful yellow icing and mushes it under the table.
This time Beasley does react.
I’m in Algebra class figuring out that the letters in the word ALGEBRA spell out REAL GAB when Beasley gets on the intercom.
“All senior high students are to report to the school auditorium immediately.”
Mr. Michaels, our teacher, says, “Okay, everyone line up.”
“What about me?” Eric Parker, child genius, raises his hand.
Eric’s only nine, but the grammar school has him in high school academic courses. He’s so smart, they don’t know what to do with him. However, he’s not real bright about asking. He should have just gone. That’s the problem with child geniuses. Academically they do fine. It’s socially that’s a problem.
Michaels shrugs. “Why don’t you go back to your old school and have recess?”
Michaels hasn’t liked Eric since the day Eric corrected one of Michaels’s mistakes.
“The assembly may not be acceptable for you.” Michaels puts books in his briefcase. “We have to go.”
What’s he expecting, an R-rated assembly?
Eric says, “Okay, give me a pass to the library. I’ll do some work on the computer.”
“Good idea,” Michaels says.
Good for Eric. He didn’t let Michaels’s remark get to him. And I’ve seen him work on the computer before. He’s got Space Invaders programmed on it.
We march down to the auditorium. Some kids look nervous. Others smile a lot.
Beasley is on the auditorium stage pacing as everyone sits down.
This time he does react.
He starts to speak.
Something tells me that this time no one is going to get the chance to sing “Trees.”
He grips the podium. “What’s going on?”
The room is quiet. The only sound is the auditorium clock ticking.
Dave raises his hand. We’ve decided that he should be spokesperson.
Beasley calls on him.
“We’ve all complained about the cafeteria food before, and no one has done anything about it. We just wanted to emphasize our dissatisfaction.”
Dave’s speaking very calmly. I’m proud of him. I’m so glad he’s asked me out. I’m glad he called me last night. At Kilmer that’s how people “go out,” by making phone calls and walking around the halls together. When you’re a kid, it’s hard to have lots of real dates. One good thing is that he’s older and has his license, so we’ll have a chance to spend some time together. I hope that he’s a good kisser. I definitely like good kissers.
Dave continues. “Civil disobedience is the cornerstone of a democracy. We just wanted to be democratic about it.”
Beasley snorts. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to send a telegram? Did you have to disrupt a school assembly, embarrass a guest, and ruin school property?”
Dave speaks firmly. “No property was ruined. We realize that there was a mess to deal with, but there was no willful destruction.”
Beasley doesn’t listen. He talks about the Kilmer school spirit and how we should stand behind the school, no matter what.
Maybe we should send him a telegram. That’s expensive, but if we can keep it under ten words, it shouldn’t be too bad.
ROSES’RE RED,
VIOLETS BLUE.
THE FOOD STINKS.
SO DO YOU.
Beasley keeps talking. “I don’t like the food any better than you do. What do you think? That the administration and staff have their lunches catered? We have to eat the same food as you do.”
Teachers get to cut in line and they get the few good things first. In the morning they can also put things aside for later. And one day I saw my home-room teacher send a note down to the cafeteria staff asking for special food.
I tried asking a cafeteria worker to please put aside a cottage cheese and fruit platter for me.
She said, “What do you think this is? The Culinary Institute?”
So it’s not the same.
It’s like the book that we’re reading in English, Animal Farm, by George Orwell.
Some animals are more equal than others. (Especially if they’re teachers.)
Beasley ends up by saying that the foolishness has to stop, that no one will be punished if everything goes back to normal.
We all troop out of assembly.
On to Phase Three.