CHAPTER 6
IF YOU DIDN’T ALREADY KNOW THIS WAS A classroom you might think it was a landfill. But for clothes. And it sort of smells a little bit like it, too, even though all these clothes are supposed to be clean. Must be a mix of smells of all the houses they came from. Maria steps out from behind the huge pants pile, raises a pair of jeans above her head, and disappears behind it. Me and C.J. crack up at this corny magic trick she’s been doing like every five minutes as we sort through all the donations for students in need. Mr. James is the only teacher at Booker T. who eats cafeteria pizza, and he scarfs down a slice while he reads a book at his desk while Maria makes a big deal about how many Marias could fit in random pairs of pants.
“Yo, Deijah be wearing stuff like this,” C.J. says, holding up an extra-small T-shirt with a giant unicorn that has a glittery rainbow over its horn. Bars.
“Oh das CUTE!” Maria squeals.
C.J. carefully folds the shirt the way Mr. James used a piece of cardboard to teach us how they do it at clothes stores. He puts it on top of a neat pile he has on one of the desks he’s using just like the rest of us are doing. Maria’s got pants, C.J.’s got shirts, and I’ve got dresses and jumpers. A few other kids have socks and shoes in the back of the room. This is our second time on donation duty since our first open mic at the shelter when I did the project on my friend Mr. Sunny. After the first one we had, people started bringing so much kids’ clothes to the school that Mr. James had to get an even bigger cabinet than the one he had before and he set up a way for groups of kids to help sort everything during lunch a few times a week. When it’s our turn, Mr. James lets us leave fifth period a little early so we can eat fast and come back to his room to help. We love doing this, low-key, cuz it feels like getting an extra recess and there aren’t any Bobbys or Kennys in sight. Plus, Mr. James be playin’ all the bops.
“Guys, I know what we can do,” Maria says in a softer voice than usual. She takes a quick look over her shoulder at Mr. James to see if he’s paying attention. He takes a huge gulp of orange pop and burps. Nope, not paying attention to us at all. She walks over to my pile with a pair of pants in her hands and pretends to fold, just in case.
“About what?”
She gives me a look that says Really?
“Oh, oh, oh, right. About who we about to fight, right, right,” I say, trying to sound like I already understand.
“What y’all over here whispering about?” C.J. can never be left out of the action for too long. He walks over, folding a Chicago Bulls jersey that he’d probably beg Mr. James for if it was another two sizes bigger.
“I have an idea for how we can get our school’s money back.”
“Somebody stole the—”
Maria puts her face into her palm.
“Sssshhhhhh,” I tell C.J., looking over his shoulder to make sure Mr. James is still in La La Land.
“A petition.”
“Oh yeah! We could—wait, what’s that again?” I quickly realize I don’t know that word. Or at least, I don’t remember.
“Swear, I’m the only person who listens in class around here,” Maria tells us, shaking her head. “It’s what Mr. James talked about yesterday. It’s something we can get people to sign to show the principal that a lot of people think it was wrong for them to take away our clubs.”
SEE, I BE FORGETTIN’, WHAT WAS A PETITION? 
OH YEAH! SOMETHING TO MAKE PEOPLE LISTEN!
MR. JAMES SAYS IT ALWAYS STARTS WITH A VISION!
OR BETTER YET, A MISSION, WHEN THINGS NEED SOME FIXIN’. 
YOU WANT FOLKS TO LISTEN? START A PETITION!
GET THEIR ATTENTION WITH THE STUFF THAT YOU MENTION!
GET THEM FIRED UP LIKE SMOKE IN AN ENGINE.
GET THEM FIRED UP LIKE THE STOVE IN A KITCHEN. 
PETITION, PETITION! WE NEED A PETITION!
DON’T NEED A PHYSICIAN, DON’T NEED A MAGICIAN.
DON’T NEED MORE EXCUSES, OR STUFF TO BE MISSIN’.
WE NEED TO DO SOMETHING! PETITION, PETITION!
“Aw SNAP! Wait. How we gonna do that?” C.J. asks us both. He gets a pass cuz he’s not in our class and Mrs. Leary definitely isn’t the same kind of teacher ours is.
“I’ll explain later, but last night my mama told me about how her and Auntie Julia stopped the city from putting another liquor store down the street from your house, C.J.,” I say. C.J. looks up with a face that’s less confused and a little more interested in what else Maria might say about petitions. I lean in a little more, too. Yesterday Maria said she wanted us to fight what’s happening in our school and then Moms told me it’s what her and Maria’s mom did so we could have fresh vegetables in our neighborhood.
Maria says, “If we can get Ms. Berry to see that a lot of people in Creighton Park want us to have after-school programs, then maybe she could tell the school board that taking them away was a bad idea.”
Mr. James clears his throat. We look in his direction and scatter back to our spots, realizing he’s staring at us. Usually we wouldn’t do this cuz Mr. James is chill during lunchtime, but the way Maria was talkin’ made us all feel like it’s something he’s not supposed to know about even though it’s something he taught us. A lot of things I overhear grown-ups talking about feel that way.
Maria looks up at the clock. Me and C.J. look and see we only have five more minutes left before recess. She looks back at us, poking her head out from behind her pile of clothes.
“Swings at recess.” Our leader has a plan.