“I’d want to read it even if it’s a rotten book, now that he doesn’t want me to,” Eddie says. “Man, I wish Billy were here.”
Dad says, “Well, remember one thing, Eddie. You have rights. Just because you’re not twenty-one doesn’t mean you’re not an American. You just need to know what rights you have and how to access them. And as far as Billy is concerned, remember this: We keep those we love alive with the acts we commit in their names.”
Eddie and I are intercepted by Dan Moeltke as he walks through the front entrance the next morning, although you don’t really intercept me unless I want to be intercepted. Dan puts his big ol’ quarterback’s hand in the middle of Eddie’s back and leads him to an empty classroom. Within a few minutes nine other upperclassfolks join them. Eddie recognizes them as student officers of YFC.
“Hey, Eddie,” Monica Bechtel says.
“Hey, Eddies” bounce around the room.
Eddie nods.
Dan gets to it. “Did Reverend Tarter talk with you last night? He said he would.”
Did he ever, Eddie thinks, and nods. I thought I’d never get to bed. According to Tarter, this Crutcher is promoting a lot of evil. He’s got gay characters, he’s got blasphemers, he’s got Lord’s-name-in-vainers. Tarter stayed past midnight giving Eddie the lowdown on what he expected from him at the school hearing once he got baptized.
“Good. Look, we know you’ve had a really tough year, especially this last summer.”
Eddie’s expression doesn’t change.
“And none of us can tell you how happy we are that you’ve decided to take Jesus as your personal savior.”
Eddie grimaces in the affirmative. It’s easy to see he’s nervous. Dan Moeltke is a big deal, in YFC and in the school. He’s a two-sport athlete with a near-perfect grade point average, and unless you were raised by wolves, you pretty much have to think he’s cool.
“We know you’re almost ready to testify at church,” Dan says. “Baptism comes right after that, and Reverend Tarter says you’ll be talking soon.”
Eddie nods.
“You’ll be a full-fledged church member then, which makes you automatically a member of YFC. We’re thinking of making you an honorary officer. At school, we’re a service group. You know about the food drives we’ve sponsored and the group trip to Mexico to build houses for unfortunates. Those things will all be available to you.” Dan pauses, lowers his voice. “We’re also going to spearhead a student-led drive to bring decency back into the school curriculum.”
Eddie smiles, opens his eyes as if hungry to join. He’s hot to be a spy guy.
“I’m glad you see the need,” Dan says.
Here comes the book-banning strategy.
“Everybody discounts teenagers,” Dan says. “Adults believe we don’t think for ourselves, that we’re morally immature. This group—” and he sweeps his hand to indicate those around him—“knows this is the perfect time to prove them wrong. We all know the best way to keep your mind pure is to keep evil thoughts out. Warren Peece is evil, plain and simple. The language is disrespectful and obscene; the Christians in the book are portrayed as mean-spirited and controlling. There’s a gay character at the center of everything. The book, in its entirety, is simply a lie. We’re going to come out swinging against it.”
It’s hard for Eddie to keep a neutral face. He loves the book, and he loves it more as he hears Tarter’s words come out of Dan Moeltke’s mouth. It’s hard not to like Dan, and if you’re in with these guys you’ll never hurt for people to hang out with, but Eddie kind of likes the champion-of-the-underdog role, too, especially when the underdog is him. He nods. I’m lyin’ scum, he thinks, but I’m righteous lyin’ scum.
“We think you can be a big factor in the outcome of this challenge,” Dan says, and the others agree. “Because you’ve been through all you have, people will listen to you. When you start talking, we want you to think about what you’ll say. I could see you holding my position in YFC before you’re out of high school. If you’re an honorary officer this year, that will give you a two-year head start on most.”
“I’ll be the head after Dan graduates,” Monica purrs. “I’m looking forward to working very closely with you.” I feel my man Eddie begin to weaken, so I give him a bump. He doesn’t feel a thing. Monica touches Eddie’s forearm, and even I feel his goose bumps.
The first period bell rings, and they break to head for class. Dan puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “We’re counting on you, man.”
11
GOOD GUYS AND BAD GUYS
“Okay, dead man, you owe me big,” Eddie says to me as he rounds the corner on the dirt road and starts the climb toward the abandoned radar site on Burgess Peak. Burgess rises above town like a majestic mini-Matterhorn, its peak jutting into the thin air like a spire. Ooooo. I’m waxin’ poetic, which is another thing you can do when you’re dead. If Eddie knew how easy these runs are for me now, I’d get an earful. If I had an ear.
I say, “How do you figure I owe you?”
“Bailed out when I needed you most,” he says. “Left me running by myself, mostly, and now nobody’s covering my back. But you can make up for some of it by helping me spy. And you can prove yourself. See, most of the time I still think you’re really just a Fig Newton inside my demented head, as in not real. But if you could, like, tell me some stuff I couldn’t know…well, you could prove yourself.”
“You’re asking a dead guy to prove himself?” I say back. “Man, you got some huevos. What if I’m connected big-time out here? You might want to be nicer to me. Making me prove myself, well…”
“See, that’s all stuff I’d expect you to say, which is why I think it’s me.”
So I say, “How ’bout that Sputnik?” in Russian, and you should see that little bugger pick up his pace.
A mustachioed man in his late fifties smiles at the YFC council from a PowerPoint display projected onto a screen pulled down from the ceiling in a small auditorium off the foyer in the Red Brick Church. Eddie is invited to the meeting and was late because he ran farther than he meant to, because he knows he couldn’t have made up that Russian. Dan Moeltke was late also, so everybody’s just settling in. Dan stayed to work out some new plays with Mr. Casteel, the football coach. No YFC meeting starts without Dan Moeltke.
I, on the other hand, was not late, because dead kids are never late.
“If we orchestrate this correctly, we can make a big impact on the community and on our school,” Dan says as Eddie finds his seat. “I put this display together from images on Crutcher’s website. This guy is trouble, but I think not all that bright. He brags about having read only one novel the whole time he was in high school, and Cathy found a way to get his college transcripts from Eastern Washington. The guy operated at C level.”
Everybody chuckles at the pun.
“A lot of people think he’s a Ph.D. in psychology or something, probably because he talks a lot about his life as a child and family therapist, but I couldn’t find anything that indicated he even went to graduate school. He’s pretty old, so it’s possible you could get into that business without much education back when dinosaurs roamed the earth.”
Dan moves through the website, while the kids fill paper plates with cookies shaped like crucifixes, compliments of Rachel Horn’s mom. Dan skips quickly through highlights of Crutcher’s work, including middle and high schools he’s visited in the past year along with boring photographs taken during those visits. Even if you’re dead, they’re boring. How many pictures can you look at of a guy with an arm draped over some kid’s shoulder or signing a book? Dan clicks on a section titled CC SOUNDS OFF and reads excerpts of Crutcher’s explanation of his use of offensive language, pointing out that he makes excuses for school shooters and promotes other books of questionable taste, like To Kill a Mockingbird (which was that one book he read in high school) and The Things They Carried, a highly offensive book by a Vietnam vet, Tim O’Brien. “And look at this,” Dan says, bringi
ng up the cover to The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. “The narrator of this book is dead. How offensive is that? Claims to know what heaven is all about.” He clicks another section, in which Crutcher gives tips to educators who are faced with censorship challenges. Dan laughs. “This guy knows he is going to be censored,” he says. “He knows his writing is offensive, to the extent that he even arms teachers who want to promote his indecency with ammunition when his books are found out. He even has a ten-point plan to battle censorship.”
The natives are getting restless, so Dan kills the PowerPoint. “This guy makes somewhere between twenty-five and forty school visits a year,” he says. “He goes to schools in every state, spreading his evil drivel. If you were to read his other books, you’d get intravenous drug use, sex outside marriage, masturbation; I could go on and on.” He walks over to the cookies and paper cups of punch. “But I won’t. We’ve seen enough. We know what we need to do. The building meeting was held today and Reverend Tarter says it now goes to the school board.” He bites off the base of a chocolate-chip crucifix. “Look, guys, far more teachers came out against cleaning up the curriculum than not, so we need to make a big splash at the board meeting.” He looks to the back of the room, where Eddie sits in his sweats. “Eddie, my man, we’re counting on you.”
Eddie stuffs two cookies into his mouth and raises a fist.
“I’ve gone through Warren Peece with a fine-tooth comb.” Dan passes out several sheets of paper. “The first sheet lists all the offensive words and phrases in the book and catalogs them according to page number. I didn’t want to ask the rest of you to read through all this garbage, so it’s all right there. This second page is a list of what we YFC members consider offensive issues. Those will be our speaking points when we face the school board.”
There has to be at least one person in here who knows this is bogus, Eddie thinks. In fact there are, but if you’re going to take on Dan Moeltke, you better do your homework and bring your lunch, because he’s as good on the debate team as he is on the football field, and he can humiliate you either place.
When I was alive I liked to read stories with good guys and bad guys, and in fact I thought if there weren’t good guys and bad guys, it wasn’t really a story. What I’m watching here is a story, and a pretty darn good one, but I’m bopping around in and out of everybody’s head and heart, and I can’t find any real bad guys. Moeltke believes he’s doing what he’s doing for a greater good and that it connects him, and anyone who agrees with him, with God. The Reverend Tarter is passionate in his belief that if Christian adults don’t step up and protect kids, they aren’t fulfilling their responsibility to God or to mankind and that the world literally is going to hell in a handbasket. Eddie’s mother just wants God to love her and take away the pain. Ms. Lloyd believes as passionately in the healing power of stories as Reverend Tarter does in the healing power of God. Those are all good guys. They want good things. The principle characters here are mad at one another for what they believe, so maybe the fact that they look good or bad to one another can take the place of good and evil in this story, should I actually try to get it down on paper, which I’ve been thinking would be a good idea.
I mean, wouldn’t it be cool if I could figure out how to turn this conflict into a book that humans could read and talk about? It could be what I leave, and what Eddie stays with. Think of it—a book with no good guys or bad guys, like it is out here in the universe. Want me to throw you a real curve? Well, here it comes, whether you want it or not, ’cause dead guys do what they want. Judas—or at least the twenty-one grams that was Judas—is out here. You know, the guy who ratted out Jesus? I mean, if you want to know about bad guys, who better to talk to, right? Know what he said? He said it was such a relief to be dead because teaching people the extremes of betrayal required him to be greedier and more devious than most souls could tolerate for long. Anyway, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have a book with my friend Eddie Proffit as a main character, but first I have to see how the climax goes.
12
JESUS LOVES A GOOD BOOK
Mrs. Madison strides from her principal’s office to the library, pushes the doors open like a sheriff entering a saloon, and crosses to the main desk, where she stands, impatient. When you see her come for a kid this way, you pray for him. Ruth Lloyd finishes checking out a book to Rick Sellers and points Abby Clark to the nonfiction section for a book on the caveman Australopithecus boisei. Man, I swoosh into a room and instantly know everything. Too bad I don’t have earthly needs; I could make a killing on Jeopardy.
Mrs. Madison says, “Could I speak with you in the back room, Ruth?”
“Of course.”
The door is barely closed when Mrs. Madison says, “Ruth, do you value your job?”
“Of course,” Ms. Lloyd says back, and she’s on guard. “Why would you ask a question like that?”
“A number of the kids in your literature class have finished Warren Peece. You were ordered to collect and keep those books until after the results of the challenge.”
“Which I did.”
“Could I see them?”
“Mrs. Madison, are you accusing me of something?”
“Not yet,” Mrs. Madison says. “But in my outer office this afternoon, I heard four students discussing the ending to that book. You specifically said you were less than three-quarters through it.”
“That wouldn’t stop some people from reading ahead,” Ruth says.
“One student said she finished it last night.”
“It’s restricted in school,” Ms. Lloyd says, “not in bookstores or libraries or the internet, or anyplace else with a shred of common sense remaining.” She retrieves the box of confiscated books.
Mrs. Madison takes a quick count. “How many students in the class?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“There are only twenty-six books here.”
“Eddie Proffit indicated he’d left his at home.”
“Eddie Proffit doesn’t talk.”
“I said indicated, Mrs. Madison. When I counted only twenty-six books, he opened his backpack to show me it wasn’t there. I told him to bring it the next day.”
“And he hasn’t?”
“Not yet. Mrs. Madison, do you really think Eddie, after all he’s been through…”
Mrs. Madison looks away. “No, of course not. Besides, he’s one of ours.” Her voice trails off as if she’s talking to herself.
“Excuse me?”
“Eddie Proffit—Nothing. Never mind.”
“You said he was one of yours. Mrs. Madison, did you have something to do with this challenge? You’re not trying to influence my curriculum from behind the scenes—”
“I don’t know what you mean. Maxwell West brought the challenge.”
“I’m asking if you had something to do with this challenge.”
“I did not. I went over the paperwork when Mr. West brought it in, but I certainly did not initiate it. I will say, however, that I’m not sorry it happened. It’s not a book I’d choose.” Mrs. Madison is splitting hairs, as they say. If Ms. Lloyd could see what I see, she would know she has her on the run. Adults are just like kids; get them in a pinch and they’ll say anything. She’s embarrassed. I’d have killed for information like that when I was alive.
Ruth Lloyd turns away. “I see. Well, I’ll be sure to encourage Eddie to bring his copy back.”
“I don’t understand, Ruth. There are a thousand good books.”
“And Warren Peece is one of them,” Ruth says.
Mrs. Madison decides this is neither the time nor place. And she’s right, because she has no idea how fast Ruth Lloyd would be in her face if she started a philosophical discussion about censorship now, principal or not. Ruth Lloyd is steaming.
“That’s it, class,” Ms. Lloyd says at the sound of the bell. “I’ll see you all tomorrow. Eddie, could you stay a minute?”
Historically, when he’s asked to stay after class it’s trouble, but si
nce he hasn’t been talking, that particular kind of trouble has stayed at a distance. He drops his backpack and sits in the desk closest to Ms. Lloyd’s.
“I’ve enjoyed you in class so far this year,” she says to him, and he smiles. “Of course your silence has been a gift, if your reputation is even close to accurate,” and he smiles again and nods. “But I’d rather have you talking, Eddie.”
She steps forward and puts her hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry for all you’ve lost,” she says. “I was at your father’s funeral, and I know you stormed out because you loved him and because of how unfair it seemed and how much it hurt.”
Eddie grits his teeth, but he can’t stop the tear breaking the surface tension at the corner of his eye. “And then Billy,” she says. What should bring a flood of tears actually brings a smile, but Ms. L misreads it; she thinks it’s born of some small memory, when it’s actually born of the knowledge that even when I die I don’t go away.
“I have to say something, Eddie,” she says. “I don’t know whether or not it’s appropriate, but it is something I care so much about. I don’t need an answer; I just need to say it. It seems some of the kids have gotten their hands on copies of Warren Peece and finished it. Mrs. Madison accused me of providing it, and when I told her I confiscated all the books, except for yours, just as she instructed, she said, “He’s one of ours.” I don’t know exactly what that means, but I assumed it meant you’re in favor of removing the book. I would never tell a student what or how to think, but…”—and her eyes fill with tears—“I hope it’s not true. I believe in stories, Eddie. I believe stories have the power to heal. I believe in ideas.”
Eddie looks up and smiles. He smiles so bright that Ruth Lloyd can’t take it wrong. He smiles so bright he might just as well say, “I believe in ideas, too, Ms. Lloyd, don’t sweat it.”