The Fight (7 page)

M

onday morning my mom was reading the paper at breakfast. I was just trying to wake up.

“How terrible,” she murmured. I didn't pay much attention. But when she flipped the paper over to read the other page, I saw “teen suicide.”

“What happened?” I asked, suddenly alert.

“A girl killed herself over the weekend. Not from your school but from one of the middle schools.” Mom sighed.

“Was she gay?” I asked.

Mom looked at me over her glasses. “I'm not sure at that age…. It just says here that her family says she was being harassed for being a tomboy.”

On my way to school, I stuffed the paper in my bag.

There was nothing on the morning announcements, but I guess since it wasn't our school, they didn't have to tell us anything. Kids could be killing themselves at other schools all over the district, and we'd never know.

At lunch I rushed up to Zoe.

“I heard,” she said grimly. “That's my old middle school. My cousin goes there. I don't know why I didn't think of it before, but we should be reaching out to GSAs at other schools, especially for the school board meeting.”

“There are GSAs at other schools?” I asked. We drifted over to a table and sat down to eat while we talked. Lunch was only twenty minutes after all.

“Some. There's one at that middle school. That's why I wanted one here. I didn't go to a meeting until eighth grade, but it helped me a lot. I'm going to talk to Ms. Klein—she's the GSA adviser there—after school and see if any of her students would come to the school board meeting. Wanna come?”

“Sure…” I said, glancing over at my friends. “I'm gonna go now….”

Zoe nodded, not offended. “I'll meet you at my car.”

Ms. Klein at the middle school was really happy to see Zoe but very emotional about Lydia, the girl who killed herself.

“She came to a couple of meetings, but she didn't say much. I think she was dating another girl in the group, but they broke up. Her parents are the ones who have come forward about the bullying. I guess they didn't know much until after her death. Her sister told them a little, and they looked through her text messages…. It was terrible the things other kids were saying to her.” She stopped to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.

“I think her parents had tried to ignore her sexuality, or she hadn't told them much. But now they are outraged that she was being harassed and no one did anything.” Ms. Klein continued.

“Did anyone know?” Zoe asked.

Ms. Klein nodded. “She showed some of the texts to the principal. She told her to change her number. Her sister had heard about that too.”

Then Zoe asked her about the policy. Ms. Klein nodded.

“Teachers only heard about it from their principals. We can't find out what it means. And I've been pushing for years for staff training on how to handle bullying, especially when it's GLBT related.”

She sighed.

“I don't know the best way to help either. There are plenty of other students who have come to me with suicidal thoughts or serious depression. I'm scared to refer them to the counselor—I've heard she's not very helpful. And honestly, many teachers are worried about their jobs.”

We told her about the school board meeting and our plans.

“Do you think any of your students would come and talk about problems with bullying and adults in school not helping?” said Zoe.

Ms. Klein looked thoughtful. “Maybe. I'll ask. It would be amazing if we could get that policy changed. Maybe then I wouldn't be so desperate to find a job in another district.” She cracked a little smile.

“I got in trouble for offering snacks when the GSA started. That Concerned Parents group said I was trying to lure kids into being gay. With Cheetos!” Ms. Klein shook her head. “I don't have snacks at meetings anymore.”

“The Concerned Parents lady, Mrs. Walton, spoke at the meeting when the policy was passed,” I said.

“They're a very formidable group,” said Ms. Klein, looking nervous. “But I think you're right to take them on.”

A

nd then it was the night of the school board meeting. There were four kids willing to talk and Lydia's parents.

It almost didn't happen. When I'd e-mailed to get on the agenda, 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.

“Well, 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.

“We 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.

“Is one Mrs. Walton?” I asked.

“Yeah 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.

“Oh, 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.

“Mr. and Mrs. Mendoza speak English of course, but they're really emotional. If they needed a little translating, could you help?”

“Uhh,” I said. Then my mom leaned into the conversation.

“Of 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.

“Um, 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.”

“And 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 breaths.

“Time,” said the secretary.

A

ll the kids talked next. They did OK, but the school board didn't do anything to make them less nervous. Some of the school board members barely looked interested or sympathetic. A couple of kids mumbled or talked too fast.

Couldn't the school board see that even to come and talk about these embarrassing things showed how serious it was?
I thought. The whole thing was very frustrating.

Then the secretary called “Sheila Walton,” again.

Mrs. Walton adjusted the microphone. “Some of the stories we've heard tonight are quite upsetting,” she said. “However, I would like to remind everyone that the district already has a policy against bullying. Also, research shows that children who identify as gay have more mental health problems. This is why our group of Concerned Parents has opposed allowing the GSA clubs in our schools to promote such an unhealthy lifestyle.” She held out a paper. “There are resources available to help individuals wishing to leave the homosexual lifestyle. I would like to see these resources available to all students who are struggling.” Then she sat down.

My blood was pounding in my ears so hard I could barely hear. One of the school board members said something about “looking into” the matter. Then we had to sit through the rest of the boring meeting.

All I could think about was how Mrs. Walton had said the Lydia and Dominic had killed themselves because they were gay. Which was true in a way, but not how she meant it.

“Look,” said my mom the next day. “We're famous.” She showed me the newspaper. There was a photo of the Mendozas at the microphone with my mom sitting nearby. And a short description of the comments at the meeting.

“Students and parents claim that the district policy is contributing to bullying of GLBT students, some of whom have committed suicide in the past two years,” the paper said. Well, at least someone seemed to have gotten it.

I don't think any of us wanted to admit it, but the school board meeting had felt so scary that no one really wanted to go to the next one to find out if they were going to do anything.

“Whatever they say will be in the minutes,” Zoe said. The GSA was sitting in Salazar's room. I think he was embarrassed he wasn't doing more so he had told Zoe we could start using his room to meet.

“My mom gets the e-mail and they put them online,” I said. “I'll let everyone know.”

“I'm not holding my breath,” said Tyler. “Now, I think we need a chant to cheer us up. Hands in! GSA! GSA!” We rolled our eyes, but soon we were laughing and getting loud.

So loud we didn't notice Shana Walton standing in the doorway until Mr. Salazar yelled, “Guys!” as he went over to talk to her. We hushed immediately. Shana had some question about auditions for the next play.

Mr. Salazar didn't say anything when she left, just went back to his desk to keep grading, but his face was set.

“I hope we didn't get him in trouble,” I said to Zoe as we left. She looked worried too.