Aaron nods.

  “You can walk home with me if you want and borrow them,” I offer.

  “Sounds good. Can’t do it tonight, though. Going to the haunted house,” he says.

  “What haunted house?” Marci asks.

  “It’s secret. My friends would kill me if I told you.”

  “We are your friends,” Hoa says.

  After a minute, Aaron tells us where the haunted house is. It’s only a few blocks from Denis’s house.

  “That place?” Denis says. “It’s not haunted. It’s infested with squirrels.”

  “Ghost squirrels,” Aaron says.

  When she gets to group four, Ms. Sett surprises us all with the offer of Halloween treats. “Hoa, can you go to the closet and get the big grocery bag I put in there?”

  Hoa goes to the closet and Aaron keeps talking about the haunted house. “They hire real prisoners to scare you—like murderers and stuff!” I watch Ms. Sett talk to group four about their book and she seems so good at her job. And yet here I am, holding a censored book.

  “Mac!” Hoa whispers.

  I look over and she gives me the signal to come to the closet.

  Aaron and Denis are now debating whether real prisoners could be actors in a haunted house. Marci is reading over her list of things to do before tomorrow’s meeting. Ms. Sett is engaged in whatever conversation is happening in group four.

  I slide out of my chair and slowly walk over. Hoa hands me the big bag of Halloween snacks—sugar-free fruit snacks, of course—and says, “Look.”

  She holds a book open to a page with another black rectangle. It’s not The Devil’s Arithmetic. It’s a different book.

  “All of these have them,” she says, pointing to a box.

  I pull one out and zip through the pages quickly, stopping at a place where so much of the page is black rectangles, Ms. Sett should have just ripped out the page.

  Hoa says, “I love that book!”

  “It won a gold medal,” I say.

  Hoa takes the book out of my hand and reaches down for two different books, then hands all three of them to me and motions for me to hide them. So I hand her the bag of fruit snacks and hide the books in the waistband of my jeans under my shirt.

  When she gets back to group six from delivering the Halloween treats to Ms. Sett—now at group five—I hand her the books and she shoves them into her desk. Denis looks from me to Hoa and back at me. Marci is still reading her agenda for the meeting tomorrow night. Aaron is muttering to himself like he’s trying to memorize something.

  Then Ms. Sett sits at our desk pod and says, “Well, group six. Tell me what you thought of the book!”

  We talk for a minute about the things we read and the things we learned from The Devil’s Arithmetic. I space out and stare out the window as Denis talks. And then, suddenly, Aaron says, “I think it was a really great detail she wrote in there about the girls covering their breasts because anyone would in that situation, you know?”

  Before any of us can say anything, Aaron is in the hallway with Ms. Sett. Then she comes back in and he doesn’t. Ms. Sett sits at our table again. She expects us to talk, but we won’t.

  “What’s gotten into you guys?” she asks.

  None of us says a word.

  She looks sternly at me. I know she stood up for me last week when Aaron was mean to me. I know she was kind. But it still doesn’t mean I won’t stick up for Aaron. We may be a mismatched team, but we’re here for each other.

  “Mac, come with me,” she says, and heads out to the hallway.

  I’m frozen. Not sure what to do. Marci gets up and goes out instead. Then Denis follows. Then Hoa. So I have no choice but to go, too.

  “Start talking,” Ms. Sett says.

  None of us says anything.

  “Fine, go to the office,” she says. She walks into the classroom and expects us to do what she says. We don’t. Marci has the extra agendas her dad printed in her pocket and a Sharpie marker.

  We pass the marker around. Make four signs.

  YOU CAN’T CENSOR PEOPLE.

  BREAST IS JUST A WORD.

  SILENT PROTEST IN PROGRESS.

  FREE AARON JAMES!

  We decide with our eyes to skip club block. Marci can miss a day of chorus. Denis can play chess any time he wants. We sit outside Ms. Sett’s room silently holding our signs.

  The assistant principal approaches us as the end of the day gets nearer. He tells us to follow him. We don’t. He asks us to tell him why we’re doing this. We don’t. He goes into the room to talk to Ms. Sett and the intercom rings out with the usual bus calls. Suddenly, hallways are filled with kids and a lot of them notice us but don’t say anything. Some people stand for a while and read our signs. A little kid smiles and sits down with us.

  The assistant principal comes back out of the room along with Ms. Sett.

  “You guys have to get up right now and get your things and walk home,” he says.

  I want to tell him that we’re not trying to disrespect him, but I stay quiet. He and Ms. Sett and Mr. Black, the science teacher, and the substitute music teacher who’s really cool all stand there looking at us. The walkers are called to leave. Then the last bus. We stay seated and quiet. More kids join us, so there are about ten of us now. I don’t even know the other kids here. They just sat down and clammed up.

  This is what happens when you take candy from children on Halloween.

  When I get home, Grandad is waiting for me on the front porch.

  “Did they call Mom?” I ask.

  “Sounds like you had a great day!” he answers. “And yeah. They called her. She called me.”

  “I might be suspended,” I say.

  “You won’t be.”

  “It feels like a hundred years until tomorrow night and the meeting,” I say. “How do you stay calm?”

  He pulls two strings of beads from his jacket pocket. His, and … mine.

  “These are for you,” he says. “I’ve been making this string for the last month. I made sure to get crystals that most matched your personality and your needs. Had to special order that Botswana agate.”

  “You’re a real hippie,” I say, taking the beads. I feel bad because I have no intention of meditating.

  “My friend Laurie taught me about these. They’re really effective. You look pretty worked up right now, so just sit down and let me show you.”

  I put my backpack on the porch floor next to the other rocking chair and I sit down. I look at the meditation beads he just gave to me. On one end of the string, there’s a big clear quartz crystal. On the other end, there’s a little charm of a tree. Grandad explains everything. How to use each bead for a breath or a task. When we get to the one where I think of all I’m grateful for, I sit with my eyes closed and get lost in a river of gratitude.

  It’s funny. When I think of Dad, I’m grateful that he taught me what not to be and what not to do, and I’m grateful that I told him what I really thought of him on Saturday. When I think those things, I feel less like his personal garbage and more like a 100 percent human kid who got unlucky when it comes to my father. That’s all.

  By the time I work my way up the different crystal beads, I feel so much calmer than I ever thought I would from doing something so easy. All I’m doing is breathing and directing my thoughts.

  “I didn’t know meditation had anything to do with thinking,” I say.

  “It does and it doesn’t. It really all depends on the day.”

  “I’m grateful,” I say. “Thank you for the beads.”

  “Take them with you tomorrow night to the meeting. They’ll give you confidence and strength. I made sure of it when I made them,” he says.

  When Mom comes home, we all go inside and talk about what happened at school today. Grandad makes dinner while she sits with her feet up on the couch. She looks so comfortable, I lie the same way on the other couch.

  When I wake up, there’s a blanket on me. The whole room is dark except for the stove light. Mom’s still asleep on her couch and she has a blanket on her, too. There’s a note by the stove from Grandad. When you wake up, if you’re hungry, there’s food in the fridge. Microwave for a minute on high. Love you.

  When I finally settle onto my bed to sleep again, I bring my new string of beads with me. I stop at the gratitude bead and I fall asleep to memories of me and Grandad over the years. I know my dad is my dad, but Grandad is my father. It’s possible to choose. No one can change my mind about that.

  School happens. None of us gets suspended. That’s all that matters. Nine thousand years pass between school and seven p.m., when the emergency school board meeting starts. I think I might even have a few gray hairs now.

  We get to the meeting early and it’s already packed with people. Marci, Denis, and I have to squeeze through to the front, and with no chairs left, we opt to sit cross-legged on the floor. I can feel people glaring at us. I’m not sure if it’s because they know we’re the kids who started this thing or if it’s just that we’re kids and sitting on the floor. Soon, Grandad appears at the edge of the tightly packed mass of people; he sidles over and sits cross-legged next to us. He has his beads in his hand. I swear he’s not ever ashamed of who he is. It makes me sit up taller.

  Even Denis stops slouching.

  Right when the board is about to call the meeting to order, Hoa pops out of the crowd and smiles at the three of us. Aaron pops out after her. They sit down next to us on the floor. Hoa has the three books from Ms. Sett’s closet under her arm. Aaron has the same look as yesterday before the silent protest.

  The board knows we’re all here about the censored book. They make us wait anyway while they take care of two other “emergency” things relating to parent volunteers and something else I don’t hear. I pull out my beads and find the gratitude bead and roll it between my finger and thumb. Marci smiles at me. I smile back. I’m grateful for Marci. She’s still the smartest person I know and I like everything about her.

  Our time finally comes and Marci’s dad starts with a perfectly timed two-minute spiel about policy and intellectual freedom and how organizations like the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) and the American Library Association (ALA) have many resources for library and school boards. He also says they have lawyers who work in this field and the board wouldn’t want to come up against them.

  He’s a firecracker, Grandad would say. Marci is beaming.

  Aaron’s dad is not as well-spoken but he sure is emotional.

  “Who does this teacher think she is, choosing what words my son can’t read?” he says. “And how come you don’t have more control over your own teachers when they get to censoring perfectly good books like these?”

  He ends with a statement about freedom and the first amendment and how people died to give us our rights, that the board has no respect for those people who died if they take those rights away. It’s very moving. He’s good.

  Mom makes her way through the crowd. She simply says, “I work with dying people. It’s what I do. I help people die. I’ve talked to some of the people I work with about what happened here and I want to share with you what Lester, who’s ninety-five years old, said. Lester told me, ‘When you get to death’s door, you regret all the things you could have learned but didn’t.’ I think this board and this town and this teacher have a lot to learn.” She smiles. “Thank you.”

  The board president starts to speak but the crowd is jostling and people have their hands up and want to talk. Then a small older woman emerges in front. She walks to where the microphone is, but doesn’t use it.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” she starts.

  The board president cuts her off. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any more time for comments.”

  The woman acts as if the board president hasn’t spoken.

  “My name is Jane Yolen. I was passing through town and I heard there was a meeting about some of my words tonight. So I decided to stop by.”

  Most of the people in the room haven’t realized that this is the author of the book. They’re still raising hands and trying to say things. The board president looks mad. I’m frozen in place.

  “When I was a child, and I learned about the Holocaust and what happened to my people, the Jewish people, during the Second World War, I was horrified, like anyone is. But I was also relieved. I was relieved because I was seven years old and the adults around me weren’t keeping it a secret. I knew, at that young age, that I could trust them to tell me the truth.”

  I swear my mouth is hanging open.

  Jane Yolen.

  Passing through town.

  Came to this meeting.

  She goes on to say that she wrote the book to give to readers what was given to her: the truth of a terrible, impossible thing. “Six million of my people were murdered. Six million women, men, and children. And this district is crossing out words for body parts? I’m not shocked. But it’s funny, don’t you think? That you’re concerned with a word when six million people died?”

  I stand up. I don’t know why.

  “I’ve had my books burned and shredded and pulled out of kids’ hands. Nothing shocks me anymore. But I’m here to say that children need to learn the truth. The whole picture of it, and not just the parts adults think they’re capable of understanding. Our job is to help them understand, not black out the topic.”

  The room has realized who this is and hands go down. Adults are staring at her or trying to get a look.

  “Thanks for giving me some extra time,” she says. “Would have been a shame to come all this way and not get to speak up for the capable, intelligent children you are educating. You taught them a lot with this experiment. I believe it’s now your turn to learn.”

  Then she spins around and starts to walk out.

  That’s when Hoa stands up in front of the nine board members and says, “Hold on!” She opens a book and reads aloud into the microphone. “ ‘If the peach is leaking then we shall surely sink! Don’t be an’—”

  Aaron screams, “BLACK RECTANGLE!”

  Hoa finishes the sentence. “—‘the Centipede told him.’ That’s James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl, page one hundred six.” She shows the black rectangle to the crowd and hands the book to the board president, who is still holding a gavel in her right hand.

  Jane Yolen stands, watching.

  Hoa opens another book. “This is page thirteen of Newbery-winning The Higher Power of Lucky,” she says.

  “BLACK RECTANGLE!” Aaron yells.

  Hoa jumps right in. “—‘sounded to Lucky like something green that comes up when you have the flu and cough too much … Deep inside she thought she would be interested in seeing an actual’—”

  “BLACK RECTANGLE!” Aaron yells.

  “ ‘But at the same time—and this is where Lucky’s brain was very complicated—she definitely did not want to see’—”

  Aaron yells and Denis joins him. “BLACK RECTANGLE!”

  Hoa shows the crowd three pages of black rectangles in the book and hands it to the board president, who is being screeched at by a woman also on the board who thinks the president should stop Hoa from talking. Everyone hears the president when she says, “These are the students you care so much about, Emma. I think they should be heard.”

  Hoa speaks over the exchange. “This is Judy Blume’s Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, which has many pages that look like this one.” She shows the crowd a page with a few black rectangles on it. “This is from page thirty-five. ‘ “And,” Janie added, “she’s been”’—”

  Aaron and Denis and I yell, “BLACK RECTANGLE!”

  Hoa continues, “—‘ “since fourth grade”’—”

  “BLACK RECTANGLE!”

  Hoa reads, “ ‘ “Did you get it yet, Margaret?” Nancy asked. “Get what?”’—”

  “BLACK RECTANGLE!” Aaron yells, with help from the crowd. I can hear Grandad in there somewhere. And Mom. And Aaron’s dad, who looks so proud. He’s recording the whole thing on his phone.

  Hoa says, “ ‘ “Oh—no, not yet. Did you?” Nancy swallowed some’—”

  “BLACK RECTANGLE!” the crowd yells.

  Hoa goes on, “—‘and shook her head. “None of us has yet.”’ ” She takes a deep breath. “These are just a few examples. How many more books will it take? When will it stop if you don’t stop it?” She takes a small bow in the board’s direction, says, “Thank you for your time,” and then puts the microphone down.

  Jane Yolen smiles at Hoa, turns back toward the door, and walks out.

  I follow her.

  “Wow!” she says. “You guys know how to throw a meeting!”

  I introduce myself and then say, “I didn’t even know Hoa was going to do that. Or Aaron.”

  “It was effective, don’t you think?”

  “I think so,” I say.

  We walk to her car and don’t say much. I thank her for coming. She tells me that I shouldn’t think too much about why my dad does bad things and instead try to find one thing I like about him. I tell her that’s a hard one, but I’ll try.

  “I think you’re brave,” I say to her.

  “I think you’re fearless,” she says.

  Marci and Denis come out of the building and start walking toward us, followed by Hoa and Aaron. Jane Yolen gets in the car and rolls down her window. She introduces me to her friend, who’s in the driver’s seat.

  “Ms. Yolen!” Marci says. “Can I shake your hand?”

  Jane smiles all goofy and shakes Marci’s hand.

  “I loved your book,” Marci says. “Uh. Thanks for writing it.”

  “Me too,” Denis says.

  “Us too!” Hoa says. Aaron is waving his hand like he’s seeing a rock star.

  “I’m grateful for you,” I say to her.

  “Keep in touch,” she says. “Keep being yourself.” She smiles and the car backs out of the parking space and drives down the road.

  “Wow,” Marci says.

  “Yeah,” I say.