In the Unlikely Event (31 page)

“I don't think you understand, Corinne. Natalie is very sick. If we don't do something we could lose her.”

Corinne breathed in, teared up, waved a hand at her husband. “Don't ever say that again! There's nothing wrong with her. She's just sensitive. It's all been too hard on her. That's why she stopped eating.”

“And I'm saying get her out of here so she doesn't have to worry about planes crashing into houses, into schools, so she doesn't have to think about death and dying.”

Natalie slumped to the floor of the car, her hands over her ears.

FEB. 18—Thomas Granik of Sunnyside, L.I., filed suit today in Federal Court against Miami Airlines, Inc., for the death of his daughter, Ruby. She was a passenger in the airplane that crashed on Dec. 16 in Elizabeth. Mr. Granik said that the 22-year-old woman, a nightclub dancer, was the sole support of his family.

25

Miri

At school the following Monday, as Eleanor and Miri walked to English class together, Eleanor asked, “Are you still best friends with Natalie?”

Miri hesitated. “Yes,” she said, but the truth was, she wasn't sure.

“Why was she absent all last week and again today?”

“I don't know. When I saw her last Sunday she wasn't feeling well.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“No.”

“Her parents?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I've called a bunch of times but there's never any answer.” She
didn't say she'd talked to Steve or that she hadn't believed a word of what he'd said.

“I don't like the way this sounds,” Eleanor said. “Why don't we just go over, ring the bell and ask what's going on?”

“I don't think that's the best idea. I think if they wanted us to know, they'd tell us.”

She could see Eleanor digesting that. “Maybe you're right. Anyway, we've got a paper to put to bed.”

Miri said, “I meant to tell you, I wrote a feature story.” She hadn't planned to say anything about the story she'd started on the night of the meeting at City Hall.

“What's it about?”

“The situation.”

“You mean
the situation
?”

“Yes, that. Not about Natalie.”

“When can I see it?”

“I'll clean it up tonight and bring it in tomorrow.”

“Good. We could use an interesting story about the situation.”

THAT NIGHT
Miri took the story she'd written from her desk drawer. Her own indignation spilled out as she quickly made changes, adding the latest crash to the story. She copied it over in ink. Then she took a bath, using Rusty's citrus bath salts. She slept well for the first time in a long time.

The next morning she handed the story to Eleanor. When they met in the cafeteria at lunchtime Eleanor said, “I like it. It makes you think. We can get it into the spring issue if we hurry. I'll run it by Tiny this afternoon.”

Later, Tiny took Miri aside in homeroom. “Good story, Miri,” she said. “Provocative.”

“Thank you,” Miri said. She wasn't sure
provocative
was a compliment but
good story
was.

“I'll have to show it to Mr. Royer.”

“Mr. Royer…why?”

“As principal he has a veto over controversial stories.”

“You think my story is controversial?”

Tiny smiled. “Don't you?” She didn't wait for Miri to answer. “But I'm on your side, so stop worrying.”

Until then she hadn't been worrying.

ON WEDNESDAY
, Tiny reported to Miri that after reading her story Mr. Royer said they couldn't run it in
Hamilton Headlines
.

Miri was speechless.

“He doesn't think it's appropriate. It could be seen as inflammatory.”

When Miri still didn't respond, Tiny said, “I'm so sorry, Miri. I tried to explain but he was adamant. No stories about the crashes.”

“That's crazy!” Miri said, finding her voice. “All the kids are talking about it. He can't pretend those airplanes didn't crash.”

“I think he's concerned about how the parents might react.”

“The parents? They don't read our paper.”

“All it takes is one parent to start an uproar.”

“Does that mean we're not supposed to have opinions?”

“I understand what you're saying and I agree with you. But I can't risk my job.”

“Your job?”

“Yes. That's how it works. I'm a teacher. Mr. Royer is my boss.”

“Then who stands up for us, the students?”

Tiny shook her head. “Welcome to the real world.”

“
I WROTE
a story about the crashes for the school paper,” Miri told Henry at dinner. It was one of the rare nights Henry was home in time to eat with them. “Mrs. Wallace, the adviser to the paper, called it ‘provocative.' ”

“Provocative!” Ben Sapphire said. “We need more provocative thinkers. Don't you agree, Henry?”

Henry glanced at Ben but didn't respond.

“She showed it to the principal,” Miri continued. “He vetoed it, said it was inflammatory.”

“Inflammatory!” Ben Sapphire said. “This is sounding better and better.” Irene put her hand over Ben's, letting him know he should keep quiet. Miri didn't miss the gesture.

“I'd like to read it,” Henry told her.

“Make that two of us,” Rusty said.

After dinner Miri gave Henry her story. Tiny had returned it to her in case she wanted to revise it. “Maybe write about how the community is helping those in need,” Tiny had suggested. “Something uplifting. Mr. Royer likes uplifting stories.”

“I'm not writing for Mr. Royer,” Miri had said. “I'm writing for the
student
newspaper.”

Tiny gave her a sad look. “I know that, Miri. And I'm sorry.”

“You already said that!” Miri felt bad lashing out at Tiny. She knew Tiny was on her side, but she wanted more. She wanted Tiny to remind him this is America. We have free speech. We have freedom of the press.

Henry went to his room to read the story. When he came out ten minutes later, he said, “If I were in charge I'd publish it.”

“Really?” Miri asked. “You're not just saying that?”

“You know I'd never do that.”

Miri nodded. She knew.

“That's not to say I agree with everything in your story.”

Rusty grabbed the story from Henry and went upstairs to read it on her own.

While she was gone Miri saw clearly what she had to do. “Can I use your typewriter?” she asked Henry.

“Sure.”

She'd had a full semester of typing. She could type thirty-five words a minute. At Battin next year, she'd take Typing for College, something they all laughed about. “Sounds like Typing for Chimpanzees,” Robo had said. Miri wondered if they had Typing for Chimpanzees at Millburn High School.

“This is good,” Rusty said, coming back downstairs, waving
Miri's story. “I'm so proud of you, honey. You know how to speak your mind. But is this what you really believe?”

“I'm still not sure…” Miri began.

Ben Sapphire interrupted. “When do I get to read it?”

“When it's published,” Miri told him.

Henry, seeing where this was going, said, “I don't have a stencil at the house but we do at the office. You want to take a ride with me?”

She got her coat.

“I type eighty words a minute,” Rusty called. “You want me to come?”

“Thanks, Mom, but I can do this myself.” She grabbed the story from Rusty.

Rusty looked disappointed, but Miri didn't care. It was
her
story.

The
Daily Post
office was busy but probably not as busy as it would have been during the day. Henry set her up at a typewriter, removed the ribbon and rolled in the stencil. She'd never cut a stencil for a mimeograph.

“You have to press down hard on each key,” Henry told her. “It's different from regular typing.”

Maybe she should have let Rusty help. It took a long time for her to cut the stencil. Henry didn't seem to mind. He was at work on another story at his desk. She went through a lot of correction fluid changing her typing mistakes. Finally, when she was as satisfied as she was going to be, Henry helped her run off a hundred copies on the mimeograph.

On Thursday morning she showed Eleanor her story. “I'm going to distribute it on my own.”

Eleanor took a copy from the stack Miri was holding. She read the headline out loud. “ ‘Zombies, Martians, Commies or Sabotage?' ” Then she smiled, showing her braces, which she almost never did. “I like this. It's so
cheeky
.”

Cheeky wasn't what Miri had in mind. Eleanor used expressions the rest of them had heard only in movies.

ZOMBIES, MARTIANS, COMMIES OR SABOTAGE?

By Miri Ammerman

The first one fell a block from Hamilton, and 4 blocks from the Elks Club, where 100 children were enjoying a holiday party.

They said it could never happen again.

But it did, skimming the roof of Battin High School, 45 minutes after 1,000 girls were dismissed for the day, and just missing St. Mary's.

They said it was a coincidence but it could never happen again.

This time it just missed the Janet Memorial Home and at the end of that block, Vail-Deane School for girls and Pingry School for boys.

Coincidence?

Some people think so, especially the adults in our lives. But not everyone.

The students at Hamilton talk about it before school begins, gathering in small groups outside their homerooms. Everyone has a theory. Some believe it is creatures from outer space, Martians in flying saucers intercepting and causing planes to crash. Others say it's zombies. Still others, sabotage.

Could it be caused by Communists? Some say so. But how could Communists cause three planes to crash in a row?

Why is this happening?

Evidence points to a plot against the children of Elizabeth, whether they attend public, private or Catholic school—whether they live in an orphanage, or in the best section of town. Children are the one thing these crashes have in common. Hit where there are children and teenagers. Hit where it will hurt the most.

The adults don't believe it. They say close Newark Airport and that will be the end of it. Change the flight paths that bring planes in and out over our city on their way to and from Newark Airport and everything will be fine.

They want to protect us from the truth. They can't admit this might be a force they don't understand. Admitting that would be like admitting they don't know the answers to our questions, and how many adults in our lives would ever do that?

Finally, the airport has closed. Will this be the end of it? We can't say yet, can we?

We listen, but we must draw our own conclusions. Prove to us that we're wrong. We're waiting.