School happens. None of us gets suspended. That’s all that matters. Nine thousand years pass between school and seven p.m., when the emergency school board meeting starts. I think I might even have a few gray hairs now.

We get to the meeting early and it’s already packed with people. Marci, Denis, and I have to squeeze through to the front, and with no chairs left, we opt to sit cross-legged on the floor. I can feel people glaring at us. I’m not sure if it’s because they know we’re the kids who started this thing or if it’s just that we’re kids and sitting on the floor. Soon, Grandad appears at the edge of the tightly packed mass of people; he sidles over and sits cross-legged next to us. He has his beads in his hand. I swear he’s not ever ashamed of who he is. It makes me sit up taller.

Even Denis stops slouching.

Right when the board is about to call the meeting to order, Hoa pops out of the crowd and smiles at the three of us. Aaron pops out after her. They sit down next to us on the floor. Hoa has the three books from Ms. Sett’s closet under her arm. Aaron has the same look as yesterday before the silent protest.

The board knows we’re all here about the censored book. They make us wait anyway while they take care of two other “emergency” things relating to parent volunteers and something else I don’t hear. I pull out my beads and find the gratitude bead and roll it between my finger and thumb. Marci smiles at me. I smile back. I’m grateful for Marci. She’s still the smartest person I know and I like everything about her.

Our time finally comes and Marci’s dad starts with a perfectly timed two-minute spiel about policy and intellectual freedom and how organizations like the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) and the American Library Association (ALA) have many resources for library and school boards. He also says they have lawyers who work in this field and the board wouldn’t want to come up against them.

He’s a firecracker, Grandad would say. Marci is beaming.

Aaron’s dad is not as well-spoken but he sure is emotional.

“Who does this teacher think she is, choosing what words my son can’t read?” he says. “And how come you don’t have more control over your own teachers when they get to censoring perfectly good books like these?”

He ends with a statement about freedom and the first amendment and how people died to give us our rights, that the board has no respect for those people who died if they take those rights away. It’s very moving. He’s good.

Mom makes her way through the crowd. She simply says, “I work with dying people. It’s what I do. I help people die. I’ve talked to some of the people I work with about what happened here and I want to share with you what Lester, who’s ninety-five years old, said. Lester told me, ‘When you get to death’s door, you regret all the things you could have learned but didn’t.’ I think this board and this town and this teacher have a lot to learn.” She smiles. “Thank you.”

The board president starts to speak but the crowd is jostling and people have their hands up and want to talk. Then a small older woman emerges in front. She walks to where the microphone is, but doesn’t use it.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she starts.

The board president cuts her off. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any more time for comments.”

The woman acts as if the board president hasn’t spoken.

“My name is Jane Yolen. I was passing through town and I heard there was a meeting about some of my words tonight. So I decided to stop by.”

Most of the people in the room haven’t realized that this is the author of the book. They’re still raising hands and trying to say things. The board president looks mad. I’m frozen in place.

“When I was a child, and I learned about the Holocaust and what happened to my people, the Jewish people, during the Second World War, I was horrified, like anyone is. But I was also relieved. I was relieved because I was seven years old and the adults around me weren’t keeping it a secret. I knew, at that young age, that I could trust them to tell me the truth.”

I swear my mouth is hanging open.

Jane Yolen.

Passing through town.

Came to this meeting.

She goes on to say that she wrote the book to give to readers what was given to her: the truth of a terrible, impossible thing. “Six million of my people were murdered. Six million women, men, and children. And this district is crossing out words for body parts? I’m not shocked. But it’s funny, don’t you think? That you’re concerned with a word when six million people died?”

I stand up. I don’t know why.

“I’ve had my books burned and shredded and pulled out of kids’ hands. Nothing shocks me anymore. But I’m here to say that children need to learn the truth. The whole picture of it, and not just the parts adults think they’re capable of understanding. Our job is to help them understand, not black out the topic.”

The room has realized who this is and hands go down. Adults are staring at her or trying to get a look.

“Thanks for giving me some extra time,” she says. “Would have been a shame to come all this way and not get to speak up for the capable, intelligent children you are educating. You taught them a lot with this experiment. I believe it’s now your turn to learn.”

Then she spins around and starts to walk out.

That’s when Hoa stands up in front of the nine board members and says, “Hold on!” She opens a book and reads aloud into the microphone. “ ‘If the peach is leaking then we shall surely sink! Don’t be an’—”

Aaron screams, “BLACK RECTANGLE!”

Hoa finishes the sentence. “—‘the Centipede told him.’ That’s James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl, page one hundred six.” She shows the black rectangle to the crowd and hands the book to the board president, who is still holding a gavel in her right hand.

Jane Yolen stands, watching.

Hoa opens another book. “This is page thirteen of Newbery-winning The Higher Power of Lucky,” she says.

“BLACK RECTANGLE!” Aaron yells.

Hoa jumps right in. “—‘sounded to Lucky like something green that comes up when you have the flu and cough too much … Deep inside she thought she would be interested in seeing an actual’—”

“BLACK RECTANGLE!” Aaron yells.

“ ‘But at the same time—and this is where Lucky’s brain was very complicated—she definitely did not want to see’—”

Aaron yells and Denis joins him. “BLACK RECTANGLE!”

Hoa shows the crowd three pages of black rectangles in the book and hands it to the board president, who is being screeched at by a woman also on the board who thinks the president should stop Hoa from talking. Everyone hears the president when she says, “These are the students you care so much about, Emma. I think they should be heard.”

Hoa speaks over the exchange. “This is Judy Blume’s Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, which has many pages that look like this one.” She shows the crowd a page with a few black rectangles on it. “This is from page thirty-five. ‘ “And,” Janie added, “she’s been”’—”

Aaron and Denis and I yell, “BLACK RECTANGLE!”

Hoa continues, “—‘ “since fourth grade”’—”

“BLACK RECTANGLE!”

Hoa reads, “ ‘ “Did you get it yet, Margaret?” Nancy asked. “Get what?”’—”

“BLACK RECTANGLE!” Aaron yells, with help from the crowd. I can hear Grandad in there somewhere. And Mom. And Aaron’s dad, who looks so proud. He’s recording the whole thing on his phone.

Hoa says, “ ‘ “Oh—no, not yet. Did you?” Nancy swallowed some’—”

“BLACK RECTANGLE!” the crowd yells.

Hoa goes on, “—‘and shook her head. “None of us has yet.”’ ” She takes a deep breath. “These are just a few examples. How many more books will it take? When will it stop if you don’t stop it?” She takes a small bow in the board’s direction, says, “Thank you for your time,” and then puts the microphone down.

Jane Yolen smiles at Hoa, turns back toward the door, and walks out.

I follow her.

“Wow!” she says. “You guys know how to throw a meeting!”

I introduce myself and then say, “I didn’t even know Hoa was going to do that. Or Aaron.”

“It was effective, don’t you think?”

“I think so,” I say.

We walk to her car and don’t say much. I thank her for coming. She tells me that I shouldn’t think too much about why my dad does bad things and instead try to find one thing I like about him. I tell her that’s a hard one, but I’ll try.

“I think you’re brave,” I say to her.

“I think you’re fearless,” she says.

Marci and Denis come out of the building and start walking toward us, followed by Hoa and Aaron. Jane Yolen gets in the car and rolls down her window. She introduces me to her friend, who’s in the driver’s seat.

“Ms. Yolen!” Marci says. “Can I shake your hand?”

Jane smiles all goofy and shakes Marci’s hand.

“I loved your book,” Marci says. “Uh. Thanks for writing it.”

“Me too,” Denis says.

“Us too!” Hoa says. Aaron is waving his hand like he’s seeing a rock star.

“I’m grateful for you,” I say to her.

“Keep in touch,” she says. “Keep being yourself.” She smiles and the car backs out of the parking space and drives down the road.

“Wow,” Marci says.

“Yeah,” I say.

“That was so cool,” Denis says.

“Yeah,” Hoa answers.

We turn and walk back to the entrance. “I wonder if she listens to punk rock,” Marci says.

“She seems too old,” Denis says.

“A lot of those singers are in their eighties now. You never know,” Marci says.

I listen to them talk and know that no matter what happens with the school board or the book or the policy, everything is going to be fine. Middle school will be fine. High school will be fine.

I just need to keep being myself.