Because the paper was getting so many letters, the governing bodies in town, the borough council and the town board, announced two extra meetings for the months of November and December. They would be held in the back room of the Main Street Hotel because the last meeting was so big, it didn’t fit in the tiny room in the town hall anymore. People wanted rules changed. Pizza delivery. Blue houses. Halloween. People wanted to live again the way other towns lived. Many adults around here finally realized, maybe, that they have a say in what happens.

Until we started our protests, people thought they had to follow rules no matter how weird the rules were. We reminded them that just because someone says something is the way it should be, it doesn’t mean that’s the way it should be.

In school, things settled down once lit circle ended. Ms. Sett packed the censored books up in their boxes and put them back in her closet. I don’t know what she’ll do with them; I don’t know if she’ll ever hand them out to other students. She seems not to have changed or opened her mind, and maybe that’s just how some people are.

Mid-November rolled around and pizza delivery was allowed again. Also, the house paint ordinance was changed to include ten other colors.

“I just hope we can buy Cheetos here before I graduate high school,” Denis says at recess a few days after the mid-November meeting.

Marci says, “I predict it will happen a lot faster than that.”

Marci and I decided to be best friends and not be anything more serious because we’re twelve. We both know we like each other. But it’s better to hang out with Denis and be friends. The three of us did a poetry-pottery workshop with Sage Jones last weekend. My haiku saucer reads:

important is truth

even if it hurts sometimes

it is still the truth

The week before Thanksgiving break, we even invent a new way to play BOT DUCK MAN with three players. The school is decorated with handprint turkeys and an occasional Native American and Pilgrim display.

Okay, look. I don’t want to offend anyone, so I’m not even going to talk about Thanksgiving. I know it’s Marci’s favorite holiday because it’s all about family and doesn’t involve gifts. I used to really like it, too, because I love turkey, and Grandad and I always take a walk, even if it’s freezing, and feed the ducks.

But the whole idea and the story they gave us for Thanksgiving is just not something I want to talk about ever again. And the fact that we still all gather on this day and eat and celebrate family while the families whose land we live on are not celebrating Thanksgiving because all we gave them was …

I said I wouldn’t talk about it.

I won’t talk about it.

And I want you to have a really great Thanksgiving.

But I also want you to think about the truth of the whole thing and at least try to figure out why some people don’t really believe in celebrating Thanksgiving because it’s not the real story.

Also, it’s a billion-dollar business now, so the idea of it being a sacred family holiday is sorta lost on me.

Crap. I said I wouldn’t say anything.

Just—make your own mind up.

That’s what happens next.

What happens next is people start making their own minds up about all kinds of things. Based on the truth.

When I sit and talk to Grandad at the end of the day, sitting in lotus position and rolling our beads in our hands, we daydream.

“I wish for a day when all people are truly treated like equals and have the same chances as everyone else,” he says.

“I wish for a day when the truth isn’t hidden in the long grass,” I say.

Mom doesn’t contact Dad anymore, but he’s still in touch with Grandad, who updates him about me. For now, we’re all taking a break from each other. He’s seeing a therapist who is going to help him with being mad all the time and also with the stories he makes up.

I think of Jane Yolen and how she told me to find one thing I like about Dad. I’m still working on it.

What happens next, if we let it happen, is the truth sets us free.

Even if it makes us uncomfortable or sad.

It’s still better to know the truth than it is to be lied to.

What happens next is the adults around here realize that there is no such thing as a perfect town, so they can stop feeling ashamed of the cool little town they already have.

What happens next is: I will go to middle school. Denis will be able to buy Cheetos on Main Street. Marci will be allowed to start an official feminism club. We will all listen to punk rock and dance accordingly. Three best friends take on the world and win.

Anything is possible now.

We just keep being ourselves.

That’s what happens next.