I planned to stay home today to spend some time with Nana, but if that wasn’t reason enough to skip school and have a long weekend, Officer Shawn Sullivan gave me one. Knowing we’re early risers, he called at six a.m. and spoke with Mom. Still no leads, but he told her that members of the Riviere Police Department as well as several Riviere storeowners will gather at nine a.m. to remove the hateful graffiti from our inn. Officer Sullivan is arranging everything.
It’s only 6:20, but I call Logan.
“Hi. What’s going on?” she asks, sounding wide-awake.
“I’m staying home.” I fill her in on Mom’s conversation with Shawn. “After everything that’s happened and all the negative publicity, we need to show the good side of our community.”
“I’ll be there,” Logan says.
Of course, I knew she would. Still…“And ruin your perfect high school attendance record?”
“You think that matters?”
“Just a little,” I say honestly.
“More proof you know me so well. But I wouldn’t miss this for the world. We’ll spend the day together.”
“Come over as soon as you can. I’m working on something.”
“Oh yeah? Can I have a preview?”
“Nope. I’ll show you when you get here.”
Through Nana’s window, we see that the inn’s parking lot is full—not full, packed! This isn’t a few people, it’s a rally!
“Nana, come outside,” I plead. “All these people are here to support us.”
“I don’t like crowds and I don’t like a fuss,” she says.
“They’ll be asking for you.”
“Then they can come into the inn for coffee, tea, and cake after. Now go.”
“All right. I’m going, but if you change your mind—”
“I won’t.”
With a sigh, I head outside and join Logan in handing out the posters I designed and had printed on heavy cardstock. At Logan’s insistence, I made one hundred, thinking it would be too much. I was so wrong. Logan’s dad will be bringing two hundred more.
People gather underneath our apartment entrance and fan out across the parking lot. Many stand together in small groups, talking and drinking coffee in to-go cups that Dad and Mom provided. Some point at the vandalism. To its right, a wooden ladder leans against the stone wall.
It’s a warm day for late February—forty-six degrees—and I unzip my coat and scan the crowd for Logan. I finally spot her with Mom, standing off to the side surrounded by several women I recognize from the Junior Women’s League. When Logan spies me, she waves.
“No luck getting Nana to come outside?” Mom asks when I reach her side.
“Nope.”
“I’m not surprised,” Dad says, joining us with Professor March. “She hates crowds.”
“Exactly what she said.”
Dad sets a hand on my shoulder. “Cade, we want you to speak to the crowd.”
“What? No. I can’t.”
Mom cuts in. “You and Logan,” she says, like it’s an opportunity we can’t refuse.
“But I hate giving speeches,” I say.
“It would mean a lot to everyone if you did it,” Dad says.
Resigned, I ask, “What should we say?”
“Whatever’s in your heart,” he answers.
Professor March gives Dad some more posters and says, “We’re going to finish passing these out. You did a great job with these, Cade. I have no doubt after today we’ll see these in the windows of every business and many Riviere homes. It’s exactly what our community needs.”
Mom leads Logan and me through the crowd, stopping to greet people and to give and receive hugs. Logan and I are stopped, too. Over and over people tell us that we’re brave, that they are proud of us. I can’t help but smile and thank them for their support.
When we get to the front, I glance around. Nerves dance in my stomach.
Officer Sullivan, wearing his uniform, steps onto the ladder. As he climbs a few rungs, Dad grips the side, holds it steady. Officer Sullivan raises his palm and the crowd quickly grows silent.
“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for coming on such short notice. I know I’m overwhelmed, so I can only imagine how the Crawfords must be feeling right now.” He smiles warmly at Mom, then lifts his gaze. “This is our community. We’re here to show unity, to let the Crawford family know they’re valued members of Riviere. Their presence and generosity make us better. We are privileged to speak out against hate and intolerance.”
Shawn climbs down the ladder, nods to Logan and me.
There’s not much room, but we’re able to balance on the same rung, cling to the ladder, and mostly face the crowd.
With my free hand, I give a small wave. “Hi. I’m Cade Crawford.”
“And I’m Logan March.”
We get a few chuckles from the crowd. Of course they know who we are. I spot Officer Tisdale and, to my big surprise, Miss Wather. She waves to us.
Taking Dad’s advice to speak from the heart, I begin. “On behalf of my family, thank you for the overwhelming support.” I pause, look over at the swastika, then refocus on the people gathered around us. “Today, your presence is a positive statement about who we are as a community. We’re saying that bigotry, racism, and antisemitism, and everything else this symbol of hate represents, are not welcome here.”
The crowd breaks into applause.
“History teaches us that being silent and not speaking against injustice allows injustice to thrive. Let’s show the world who we are. Please hold up your signs!”
Three hundred fifty people hold up HUMANKIND WELCOME HERE! Many others are empty-handed. We needed more signs.
“Humankind welcome here!” The crowd chants it over and over again, louder and louder. I spot Bethany Beshett with her phone out. Standing next to her, there’s a woman taking pictures with a professional-looking camera.
When the chanting dies down to a murmur, I lift my chin, motioning for Logan to continue. She shifts her grip and pivots, facing more people. “As you may have heard, the New York education commissioner announced that the assignment will never be given again. We’re relieved and grateful that there will be no debate. But it’s not enough.” She points to the vandalism. “We’re getting rid of this symbol of hate today, but we need to continue to work hard to ensure it never happens again. Today is only one day. Every day we need to be vigilant against all forms of hate. We hope you’ll join us and display these signs in the windows of your homes and businesses.”
Logan takes the HUMANKIND WELCOME HERE! sign, holds it high. A chant starts up again. Logan ends with, “Thank you for adding your voices to ours. Thank you for your support.”
Her dad nods, beams at her, then me.
As we step down to more applause, Officer Sullivan takes our place. “We have a special guest with us today. Representing our district, State Senator Laura Luddy!” She gives a heartfelt statement on unity and community, then asks George Zentner, owner of Armageddon, the tattoo parlor that’s within a short walking distance from here, to come forward. Nana’s always had a soft spot for George. She calls him up and has him stop over whenever she makes his favorite blueberry crumb pie. George announces that funds are being collected to help us through this difficult time and gives the details on how people can contribute. Mom dabs at her damp eyes.
George holds a bucket and a scrub brush in his rubber-glove-covered hands. He dips the brush into the bucket and runs it over the spray paint. Almost immediately the paint begins to drip like bloody tears. Officer Sullivan brings over our garden hose. During the winter, we have it stored in the basement, but Dad must have hooked it up. People in front take a few steps back. George sprays the stone, washing away the paint.
A cheer goes up.
Some of the crowd begins to disperse, but many surround Mom, Dad, Logan, and me, sharing their opinions on the assignment. Several people tell us that they wrote Principal McNeil to express their disapproval. I thank each and every one. Standing among supporters with Logan is one of the most incredible feelings I’ve ever experienced.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Logan’s dad trying to get her attention. I nudge her and point to her dad. He holds up his keys, motions that he has to leave, and gives us a thumbs-up. I answer with one of my own.
Miss Wather comes over to us. “You did an amazing job speaking,” she says, clutching one of our HUMANKIND WELCOME HERE! signs. Before we can thank her, she adds, “You mentioned the commissioner’s announcement, but as far as I know the debate is still scheduled. In the future, the assignment will never be given again. Mr. Bartley is still holding the debate on Monday.”