Night on Fire by Ronald Kidd Read Free Book Online Page A

until it flattened out and turned into Tenth Street. As it did, we got a good view of Anniston, where the tallest buildings were churches. Anniston was beautiful and it was my home, but I still found myself looking over the steeples and wondering what lay beyond.
    We found Mr. McCall at his desk, hunched over a typewriter with boxes stacked on the floor all around him. It had been almost a year since the Anniston Star moved to its new headquarters, but he’d been too busy writing to unpack.
    The new building, on Tenth Street at the edge of town, was made of bricks and glass, with a white rectangle jutting out over the entrance. It was just one story tall but covered most of a city block, with the reporters and sales offices up front and a big open area in back for the presses. Mr. McCall had walked Grant and me back there once to see the presses pounding away like pile drivers, churning out the news.
    Mr. McCall looked up from his typewriter and smiled.
    â€œHey, kids. What brings you here?”
    â€œI liked your article about Janie,” I told him.
    For years, the only time I had read the newspaper was when Daddy and I checked the sports section. But when Grant and his family moved next door, I had started reading the articles by Mr. McCall. This one had appeared on the front page of the Sunday edition, the day after the spelling bee. It had described the contest, as well as what had happened afterward. In Mr. McCall’s articles, even if you knew the subject, you always learned something. In the case of Janie, I found out she was excited about facing the Negro students next year.
    I nodded toward Mr. McCall’s typewriter. “What are you working on now?”
    His face lit up. “It’s about the first American in space, Alan Shepard. You know, the local angle. After all, Huntsville is just a couple of hours up the road.”
    Thanks to Mr. McCall’s stories, I knew about Huntsville. They called it the Rocket City. A rocket designed there had launched America’s first satellite, Explorer 1. Just the year before, they had opened a big space center there, run by a scientist named Wernher von Braun.
    â€œWhere do you get all that information?” I asked.
    He chuckled. “That’s the best part of the job. I ask questions.”
    â€œMiss Hobbs, our English teacher, says to write about what you know.”
    â€œFor me, it’s just the opposite,” he said. “I write about what I don’t know and want to find out. So I learn something every day.”
    I thought about all the things I didn’t know. Why do I hate homework? How do you throw a curve? What’s it like to live in New York City? Why do people get mad when you try to be nice?
    â€œHey,” I said, trying to sound casual, “I heard that Jarmaine Jones works here.”
    â€œThat’s right. Sometimes she helps me out. Jarmaine’s good.” He glanced around. “She was here a minute ago.”
    I lowered my voice. “Can I ask you something? How come Cobb High has an internship program and Wellborn doesn’t? I wouldn’t mind working here myself. And I know Grant wants to. Right, Grant?”
    I glanced over and saw that he was fooling with his camera. I poked him with my elbow. “Right, Grant?”
    â€œHuh? Yeah, I guess.”
    Mr. McCall shrugged. “That’s no big secret. Mr. Ayers, the owner of the Star , believes in equal rights for Negroes. He thought the program would help the students at Cobb, and the paper too.”
    â€œSome people call it the Red Star, ” I said. “You know, like communist.”
    I thought Mr. McCall might laugh. Instead, he leaned toward me, his expression full of feeling.
    â€œDon’t you believe it, Billie. Equal rights isn’t communist. It’s as American as you or me. Or Jarmaine.”
    I glanced around, partly to avoid his glare and but mostly to look for Jarmaine. She wasn’t there.
    Just