The Fight by Elizabeth Karre Read Free Book Online Page A

I got a reply from the secretary saying that the policy wasn’t “up for review” for two more years. “Exactly what do you want to say?” the secretary wrote.
    At first, I was going to call Zoe. She’d given me her number, but I felt shy about it. Then I had a better idea. I called Matteo.
    He was really distracted at first, but when I yelled at him and cried a little, he started listening. I told him everything I could think of.
    â€œWell, it sounds like there’s a connection between the policy and bullying not being stopped. And some of this bullying may have led to the suicides.” It was so simple when he said it like that.
    So that’s exactly what I wrote back to the secretary. She responded that we’d have fifteen minutes on the agenda.
    When I got to the meeting with my mom, I saw Zoe right away with her parents. They were both wearing PFLAG T-shirts. Zoe was craning her neck to look for everyone else.
    â€œWe have to sign up to talk during “open discussion” on a topic. Other people I don’t know are already signed up for our topic,” she said in a low voice.
    â€œIs one Mrs. Walton?” I asked.
    â€œYeah and a couple of others. I wasn’t going to talk, but maybe I should sign up just to hold a spot? Or put down one of the others’ names? I don’t think the secretary would let me sign up everyone,” Zoe gestured toward a sour looking woman in a pink sweater at the front table. Zoe chewed a hangnail until it bled.
    â€œOh, there’s Ms. Klein with Lydia’s parents!” Zoe ran over and took them up to the secretary.
    They all came back to sit with us. Lydia’s mom was wiping her eyes.
    Ms. Klein leaned over to me. “Zoe said you might speak Spanish?”
    I nodded hesitantly.
    â€œMr. and Mrs. Mendoza speak English of course, but they’re really emotional. If they needed a little translating, could you help?”
    â€œUhh,” I said. Then my mom leaned into the conversation.
    â€œOf course we’ll help.” She went over to Mrs. Mendoza and put an arm around her as she talked. Mrs. Mendoza’s tears really started flowing as she patted my mom’s arm and nodded. Mom came back and sat next to me again.
    â€œUm, thanks,” I whispered to her. She squeezed my hand and got out a Kleenex.
    Everyone showed up who said they’d speak. After Zoe got the last person signed up, she whispered, “Everyone’s going to have two minutes or less. The secretary uses a stopwatch for the whole meeting.”
    Then one of the people up front banged that hammer thing, and the meeting started.
    Our row was vibrating with nervousness through the whole boring beginning of the meeting.
    Then, “Discussion of the curriculum policy regarding sexual orientation. This policy was passed by the board last school year. We invite those signed up to speak to the microphone. Please keep your comments brief. We have fifteen minutes for this portion of the meeting. Sheila Walton is the first on our list.”
    Mrs. Walton stepped up to the microphone. “May I go last instead?” she asked. The secretary nodded.
    Next was another member of the Concerned Parents who just rambled about the importance of leaving discussions of “homosexual lifestyles” to parents and churches “where they belong.” Another one said something similar. Then they called Lydia’s parents.
    My mom went up to the microphone with them, though they didn’t end up needing her. Mostly they had a hard time speaking because they were crying so hard. Lydia’s mom said they found almost a hundred texts calling Lydia a “dyke” and telling her she’d be “better off dead.”
    â€œAnd when she told the principal, she just told her to change her number. What kind of help is that? What do you think those kids were saying to her at school?” Mrs. Mendoza said, trying to take deep