I can’t say what it is, but either the sight of a woman struck to the ground or the idea of Max being slaughtered, or both, snaps something in me. I turn back to the battle and hurl myself onto Gus’s broad back. I grab his ear and hang on even as he throws me off of him, and he yells and falls sideways to avoid losing that ugly flap of skin. I dig my fingers into his hair, pulling hard and holding on until he manages to get his hands around my neck. At this point I figure all bets are off. Fighting the urge to grab his hands, which I know won’t get him off me, I grab his body with my hands and plunge my knee into his groin. Hard. He screams, falls, and rolls helplessly on the ground.

  This is when I notice that kids from the bus are gathered around, and some of them are grabbing at Mitch while others circle Gus. Max is standing to the side, hands on his knees, panting and watching me. He says, “You okay?”

  From my hand I shake some loose hairs that I pulled from Gus’s scalp, massage my neck a little, cough once, wondering whether I can speak. I try, and “I will be” comes out convincingly enough.

  There are now about seven teachers with us, and Glasier is bending over Mrs. Wallace, who is now sitting up. I can see that Coffin is on a cell phone, no doubt calling for yet more ambulances. They should just leave one stationed here.

  Sylvia rushes over to Max and says all the usual things, examining his face, which looks a little battered but not bad. Still gorgeous. He’ll have some bruises and scrapes, and the way he’s standing tells me there are no doubt bruised ribs in there.

  She hugs him, tears on her face. “This is my fault. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry, Max.”

  I want to ask why it’s her fault some Neanderthal slugged her brother, but then it comes to me that these lunks were probably not happy that she wasn’t sufficiently intimidated by the damage to her classroom, and rather than attack her they jumped Max. Coffin comes over to me to ask if I’m all right, and I nod. Something in my face makes him ask, “What is it, Ethan?”

  “Somehow they knew Max would be alone. They were waiting for him.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I saw it from the bus. Gus was over there, and Mitch was over there”—I point—“and the bus was pulling away just as Max got to the door from the hall. He was going to miss the bus, and they knew it.”

  Coffin and I both look around, at the door, at where the boys had been waiting, at Max and Sylvia, at the bus.

  And then it hits me. “Max told me Sylvia was looking for him. Maybe she wasn’t really.”

  Coffin heads toward them and I follow. He says, “Max, did you stop to talk with Sylvia before heading for the bus?”

  Max looks a little dazed. His face will be rather purple tomorrow. He glances from Coffin to his sister and back. “I had a note. Meet her in the cafeteria because it wasn’t safe in her room, but she wasn’t there. I waited a few minutes, gave up, didn’t see her in her classroom either, so I headed out here.”

  Sylvia says, “I didn’t write any note, Max.”

  Coffin asks, “Do you still have it?”

  Max fishes in his jacket pocket but finds nothing. I look around, and there’s a crumpled white paper on the tarmac off to the side. Coffin says, “Don’t touch it, Ethan!” He comes over, gloves on his hands, and opens it carefully. It’s a typed note, and it says just what Max had said. No signature, just Sylvia’s typed name at the bottom.

  I hear the wail of sirens, and this time two ambulances and three police cars arrive nearly at the same time. I figure, you know, time to tell Mom I’ll be late. Thank God for this iPhone.

  This time she does come to get me, and Kyle stays in the car. Since I’m the one who saw it start, and then I got involved in the fight, there are lots of questions for me from the police. They also ask me about the bus ride this morning. They already know about the classroom, but they ask me, anyway.

  Mom stays with me through all of it, glancing from time to time toward Kyle in the front seat of the car. She acts pretty much like Etta had, the day of the road accident, which is that she just lets me tell my story. She doesn’t prod, she doesn’t say anything to the police, she’s just there. For me.

  When they finally let us go, I see someone I hadn’t expected. Etta. Mom must have phoned her to tell her what was going on. She comes over to me, and as she’s hugging me she says, “Glad you’re on my side, Ethan.”

  Just before Mom and I get into the car to leave, Sylvia comes over to me. “I’m going with Max to the hospital to make sure he’s okay. But I need to tell you something. I’ve talked with Mr. Glasier and Mr. Ivers, and we’re canceling the debate. I’ll let the others on our team know.”

  I glance at Etta, and she’s nodding like she already knew this. I wonder if she might even have been the one to suggest it. I ask her, “Is the town hall meeting still on?”

  “At this point, yes. Though I’m pretty sure there will be some police presence. If there’s a change, I’ll call.”

  I look around for Carl Phinney, and there he is, moving from parent to parent—a number of them have shown up by now—and generally behaving like some rabid politician.

  Mom and I climb into the car, and I’m thinking there’ll be no debate team dinner tonight. This suits me fine, but I would like to have sat with Max at the town hall. Now he probably won’t even be there.

  Kyle’s in front, so I get into the backseat, and as Mom’s pulling onto the road she asks, “Ethan, why do you really think those boys attacked Max?”

  I glance at the rearview mirror, and the expression on her face tells me she thinks it might have something to do with being gay. She doesn’t want to say this out loud in front of Kyle.

  I hold her gaze for just a second, to let her know I understand. “It’s just that he’s Sylvia’s brother. I’m sure, that’s all.” And I am sure, actually; I don’t think anyone has a clue about Max.

  Then Mom surprises the hell out of me. “How would you kids like to have some burgers tonight, and have Dad join us, before we head over to the meeting?”

  Kyle turns a puzzled face toward her, and I decide to speak up. “Yeah! Great!” I’m thinking, you know, maybe Mom has decided to keep Dad up to speed on what’s going on with his sons. Maybe that’s why she’s suggesting this get-together.

  “Ethan, why don’t you phone him now? That way if he can join us I’ll stop and get stuff at the market.”

  Dad tells me he’s glad I called. “I almost came over to the school. Heard something about what was going on. Just didn’t know if you’d still be there. Called your mom and got no answer.”

  “She probably had her cell off. We were talking to the police for awhile. Anyway, you’d need to come early for dinner, ’cause then we have to go to the town hall meeting. Are you going to that with us?” I glance at Mom; she hasn’t said anything about that.

  Dad doesn’t seem too sure about it, either. “We can talk about that over dinner, Ethan. What I want most is to see you kids and find out all about what happened.”

  Mom leaves me in the car with Kyle when she stops at the supermarket. I understand why, but there’s an odd silence between us that I don’t like. I’m remembering his response when Mom and I talked about the people who threw rocks at Sylvia’s house. He’d said they were just expressing their opinion. So I’m biting my tongue now; otherwise my voice will escape and say something like, Which opinion were they expressing today, do you think?

  So we don’t speak at all, just sit there and wait as it gets darker slowly. Sightlessly my eyes follow cars coming in, people walking into the store, coming out, on and on in this irregular but predictable mosaic pattern. I imagine what it would look like from above, and how you can’t tell by looking at any of these people which opinion any one of them might want to express about this debate, which seems to have spread everywhere. Etta’s signs get stolen from people’s yards. She gets hate mail and death threats. Lowell Galway won’t plow Etta’s driveway for the first time in, like, decades. Coffin gets called an atheist by a crowd of people camped outside his house. Sylvia’s home is wrecked. The Brearlys’ place is trashed. Have I left anything out? And that doesn’t include all the stuff at school: Gregory hospitalized overnight and still weak today, Sylvia’s classroom, the fight today, Mrs. Wallace getting slugged.

  And then something sneaks up on me from the back of my brain. It moves forward like it’s on bat wings, silent and sure in the darkness. In that whole laundry list of violence, I can’t come up with one thing that didn’t start in the ID camp.

  I let my voice out. “Kyle? Still sitting with Phinney tonight?”

  He takes a minute, breathes audibly, then, “Don’t think I want to go.”

  “Why not?”

  “This isn’t right. This isn’t how it should be. I know what it’s going to be like, and it’s wrong. This isn’t how God wants it.”

  Wow. I wouldn’t have given him that much credit. I decide he deserves a little more. “You were right. About the debate. Fortunately they’ve called it off.”

  “Good.”

  “But you’d still, you know, if you could vote, you’d still vote for Phinney?”

  “Of course. As far as I know, he hasn’t hurt anyone, and he’s still right.”

  I shrug. “You’re entitled to your opinion. And I’m entitled to mine. Guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

  “Guess so.”

  Truce. I might actually like my brother. What a concept.

  I see Mom leave the store, and her path to the car takes her across the path of a woman going in. I see Mom freeze in her tracks and look at the other woman. It’s Nancy Hyde. Nancy’s head turns just enough to see who’s standing there, and then she looks back toward the door she’s headed for. She doesn’t say a word. Neither does Mom.

  I want to run after that bitch and shake her so hard she bites her tongue.

  I notice there are no signs in our front yard when we get home. I’m pretty sure that this time Mom took them down.

  Dinner is short but kind of fun, because Dad can’t get enough of my story. I’m sure he wouldn’t have used my techniques—ear pulling, hair yanking, groin kneeing—but he loves that I jumped in when Mrs. Wallace got slugged. He’s proud of me, and he says so. The day is still a dark cloud, but I do get some silver lining.

  Then I ask about the town hall. I know now that Kyle doesn’t want to go, so I’m unsure who will go and who won’t. I kind of don’t even want to go at this point. I’m thinking maybe Mom and Dad could go together, and that might actually be good. But Dad says he doesn’t want to go. Doesn’t want to get involved. I cringe a little; it sounds like me, and I don’t like it. I decide suddenly that I do want to be there.

  This is when Kyle says he doesn’t want to go, and Mom looks at him, surprised. “I thought you wanted to support your candidate.” She actually gets up and walks over to him, places her hand on his head, and says, like it’s a joke, “You aren’t sick or anything, are you?” But then her smile fades and she says, “You do feel too warm, actually.”

  He shakes his head, picking through the pile of loose ground beef mixed with onions and ketchup that Mom gave him so he can use only his left hand. “I still support Mr. Phinney, because I still think evolution without design is wrong, but I hate all this violence. It’s wrong, too. And there’ll be more tonight.”

  Mom looks at him for a few seconds before she sits down again. “I expect you’re right. Ethan, I’m going to ask you to stay home with your brother. You’ve had enough excitement for one day, and there’s no debate assignment now.”

  I’m trying to weigh the need to watch Kyle against my decision to support Etta when Dad says, “I can stay with Kyle, Charlene. If Ethan stays home, it’ll look like he’s scared after what happened at school today. He’ll look like a coward.”

  “He’ll look like a sensible person!”

  They can’t argue; I won’t let them. But I don’t want to lose Dad’s pride in me. “Okay, okay. Look, Mom, you shouldn’t go alone. Kyle’s right, this will be ugly. I’m okay, y’know. I didn’t get hurt today. And Dad can stay with Kyle.” I know she doesn’t like this idea, but for reasons surpassing understanding, Dad’s been great ever since he got here. Having him stay here with Kyle isn’t quite as good as having my parents do something together, but it would keep him involved with the family. Finally, I add, “I want to support Etta.”

  Mom scowls, looking like she’s trying to come up with a good reason why this won’t work. Evidently she can’t. She also can’t deny that Etta deserves support.

  We get the dishes stacked up, and Dad even says he’ll wash them so Mom and I can head over. Like, wow. Kyle goes into the living room and turns on the TV. I stand in the doorway to the kitchen where I can watch Kyle and hear my parents.

  “Dave, I can’t have you talk to him like last time—”

  “I know, Charlene. I won’t. I was just pissed that you hadn’t told me. I know more about it now. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

  “What have you had to drink today?”

  “Nothing but coffee and soda. As a matter of fact, I haven’t had a drink in over a week.”

  There’s a pause, like Mom is taking this in, and counting in my head I wonder if that flask he poured from at Friendly’s was his last. Then, “You have to watch him. He does things like sit in his room, chant Bible verses, and hold his hand up in the air to deny it nourishment.” Dad nods, but I can see he’s taken aback by this. “If he goes upstairs, you’ll have to keep going upstairs to check on him. And take his temperature; he felt too warm to me. Give him some ibuprofen if he’s over ninety-nine.”

  “Got it.”

  Dad sees us to the door, and he surprises me. “Be careful, you two.” He watches as we drive away.

  The meeting is at one of the other schools that the board represents, in the auditorium. I’m glad it’s not my school; there’s too much tension there already.

  We’re not the first ones there, that’s sure. Etta’s there already, and Carl Phinney, onstage and discussing the speakers’ chair placement, water pitchers, who knows what else. She sees us and waves. Mom puts a hand on my shoulder and moves us toward a position near the front but off to the side Etta is on, near the emergency exit door.

  I watch as other people mill around, choose seats, chat with each other. So far, so good; I don’t see any signs of trouble. But then people carrying homemade signs start to show up. They stand in the back, on the Phinney side of the house. They’re quiet, but their signs are not.

  BLESSED IS THE NATION WHOSE GOD IS THE LORD

  This is the first one I notice. I point it out to Mom, and she snorts. Into my ear she says, “As opposed to which other God, I’d like to know?”

  Some of the other signs are even sillier:

  SCIENTISTS ARE THE PAGAN PRIESTS OF ATHISM!

  NO GOD = NO GUILT = NO MORALITY

  GOD’S CHILREN ARE NOT MUD AND OZE!

  IN THE BEGINING, GOD CREATED. THAT’S ALL I NEED TO KNOW.

  CREATION IS FACT!

  DON’T VOTE GOD OUT OF TOWN!

  There are more, but I can’t bring myself to read them all. I want to laugh at some of the misspellings, except that I don’t want to laugh at all. To Mom I whisper, “Sylvia thought the ID side would deny that ID is religion.”

  “Guess some of them have decided to be honest about that, at least. But that’s good; it should make it easier to put ID in its place.”

  I shake my head; I’m not so sure. It seems to me that if two words tell someone everything they need to know, they’re not likely to even see that there is any place other than theirs.

  I see Mr. Coffin come in and sit a few rows behind us. The Glasiers settle in on Phinney’s side, but they seem to want to distance themselves from the signs. Then I see Mr. and Mrs. Modine. They don’t have Sylvia or Max with them; I’m not sure what that means. They sit in our row but toward the middle.

  Mom says to me, “That takes guts. I admire them for that.”

  I crane my neck to see everyone I can, seated and coming in. No sign of Jorja. Sylvia does appear, finally, and sits with her folks. I look hard at her, wanting to ask about Max. She turns to me, smiles, and I see her mouth say, “He’s fine.” So he’s not coming. Just as well, I suppose.

  Before long there are no more seats. It’s not a huge auditorium, but it’s big enough, and it’s standing room only. More signs have appeared on the Phinney side. I strain to look around to the back of my side, Etta’s side, and there are no signs at all. I wish I knew what that means. I also wish I could tell for sure whether there’s overflow from one side to the other. I mean, with no empty seats, I can’t tell if ID has more supporters, and they just had to sit on our side, or if it’s the other way around.

  I’m just about to turn back to the front when I catch sight of a woman with long frizzy hair who’s wearing something billowy in greens and blues. It’s Heidi Wolcott, maybe four rows behind us. She sees me looking at her and waves, smiling broadly. I don’t know the woman she’s sitting with, but I make a mental note to introduce Mom to Heidi when this thing is over.

  Etta had been right about the police presence. There are men and women in blue standing at attention all along the walls, with one at either end of the stage, hands crossed before them, eyes in motion around the room. This makes me feel creepy, and I look at Mom. She looks at me, and I use my eyes to indicate what I’m noticing. She nods and whispers, “Government is good for some things, Ethan. I’m not against keeping you safe, y’know.”

  This makes sense to me. I gaze back toward the stage. Etta looks calm, but lonely.

  The school board president, a Mrs. Chamberlain, stands at the podium and hits it lightly with a gavel, but not many people hear that. She taps a finger on the microphone, and the room quiets down.

  “Good evening, everyone. I think we all know why we’re here, so I won’t spend a lot of time on introductions. Please remember that you must be recognized by me before you address either candidate, and I reserve the right to dismiss any question that I deem unproductive to the discussion. Also, I want to stress that all speech must be respectful, and all behavior must be civilized. Nothing else will be tolerated. Are there questions before we begin?”