Dawn Atkins - His Brother's Keeper

As he pulled up to the school, he noticed that his fighters were crowded onto the sidewalk, marching and carrying signs. Picket signs. What the hell?

He got out of the car, his eyes scanning the slogans, all drawn in Alex’s fat-cap graffiti style. Jorge Largo’s said Kids Need Gyms. Digger Jones carried Strike Back for STRIKE. Tony Lizardi jiggled On Strike for STRIKE.

The boys were chanting, responding to Victor’s shouts from a mic hooked to a boom box. “What do we want?” he yelled.

“STRIKE back!”

“When do we want it?”

“Now!”

“What’s going on?” Gabe asked Conrad, who was standing near the curb.

“Dave Scott chased us out for not having some forms. Then he tells us we’re getting kicked out for good. What the hell did you say to the principal?”

“We’re still talking,” he said, angry that the vice principal had gotten involved prematurely. “Damn. He had no business saying that.”

Alex noticed Gabe and came over. “We’re gonna be on the news, Coach. I called that TV 6 On Your Side hotline.” He looked so proud Gabe didn’t have the heart to tell him that unless this turned into a drive-by or a drug bust, he doubted a reporter would show.

“So what’s the story on this?” he asked Alex. Watching his boys march, their voices loud, strides firm, faces determined, he got a tight feeling in his chest. They were standing up for what they believed in. They weren’t beaten down. If they could stay that way long enough to make good lives for themselves, Gabe would be happy.

“We have a right to the gym, so I got the idea to protest.”

“It’s the principal’s call. We don’t have a lease. But I’m impressed with what you got going here.” He noticed Devin fidgeting near the door. “Devin! Get in there with a sign.” Damn, that kid needed to nut up.

Victor started a new chant. “Strike back for STRIKE… On strike for STRIKE… Strike back for STRIKE…” The fading afternoon sun glinted off the windows, making the signs flash golden. Cars driving by honked their support, hip-hop blaring from open windows.

Smalls Griggs ran up to the group carrying a case of water bottles and bags of tortilla chips Feliz Mercado had donated to their cause.

The kids broke for snacks until a cop car pulled up. Then they picked up their protest signs and started marching again.

A female officer stepped out, face stern. “Who’s in charge here?”

“Gabe Cassidy. I coach these boys. They’re protesting the loss of their gym.” He figured she was mentally skimming statutes for possible violations, so he jumped in. “This is legal, since they’re not disrupting traffic or interfering with commerce. And a permit is not required.” This kind of deal was why he’d wanted to become a lawyer—to defend people who got mowed down or tossed aside, work toward fair play and justice.

He’d been naive.

She stared at him, deciding if he was being a smart-ass.

He had to smooth that. “If it helps, I’ve got the number to the principal’s office.” He wondered why Felicity wasn’t already out here having a fit.

Seeing that he wasn’t challenging her authority, the cop relaxed, took the number and went to her cruiser. When she returned, she told him the principal was on her way from the district office, and asked him to keep a lid on things until she returned from a dispatch call.

“Aren’t we getting arrested?” Alex asked him as the cop drove off.

“You’re already in the system, Alex. You don’t want juvenile hall.” Robert’s stint there had sunk him. That and Cici abandoning him. That had broken him in two. And what was her excuse? She moved. They don’t write letters in Flagstaff? Use phones?

“But it’s publicity. We need publicity.”

“Keep your nose clean. I’m not kidding, Alex.”

A few minutes later, a white van with the district logo on the door pulled up and Felicity jumped down from the driver’s seat. She headed over, her mouth an angry line. “I got pulled out of a district meeting to take a police call. You organized this?”

“Just got here myself. This is on your guy. Dave told the kids they were being evicted, so they got understandably upset.”

“I did not authorize him to do that. I asked him to call the district to find out if the waivers you’re having the kids sign would suffice.”

“Hell, no, we won’t go!” was the current chant.

Tyrell, from North Central, waved his sign: STRIKE a Blow for STRIKE. Beside him Devin waved a piece of notebook paper that said Defend Our Right to Fight. The kid had a way with words, at least.

“This is not good,” Felicity said. She was maintaining her cool, but was clearly flipped out. Maybe he had some leverage here.

“It’s about to get worse. The TV 6 investigative team should be here any minute. I believe the police will be back, too.”

Felicity’s eyes went wide, but she kept her voice calm. “You need to stop this right now.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

“Come on. You can’t control these boys?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t. Aren’t you impressed with their initiative? This is democracy in action. Don’t you teach kids to stand up for their rights? Isn’t that a lesson these poor barrio kids need to learn?”

“You think sarcasm helps?”

“Probably not,” he said. “Couldn’t resist.”

Anger made her eyes flash in the fading light. He doubted she’d appreciate him telling her she looked pretty when she was pissed.

She glanced over his shoulder. “Damn it.”

He turned to see a TV 6 van turning the corner. “Looks like the media circus is about to raise a tent.”

“You’re an ass, you know that?”

“No doubt.” He fought a grin.

“What do you want, Gabe?”

“What the kids want. The gym back.”

She glared at him, then glanced nervously past him.

“Getting closer?”

“All right. You can stay four weeks, but you’ll have to split the space with my after-school program, fifty-fifty.”

He considered that. They could condense the equipment, he supposed. Clear out a few mats. “Make it eight weeks and then we negotiate.”

She glared at him. “This is not over.” She went to the gym entrance. “Attention, please,” she said. The boys stopped marching and looked her way.

“I need to speak to your leader.”

Silence. They glanced at each other, not sure who to name.

“Okay, who called the TV station?”

“I did,” Alex said.

“Then it’s you. The rest of you go in and take your signs with you. Alex and I will finalize an agreement on your behalf.” She unlocked the door and pushed it open for them. The boys ran into the gym yelling in triumph.

Alex stared at Felicity, a look of mild awe on his face. Good God. He had a crush on her. Gabe hoped to hell the kid wouldn’t fold at her first demand.

“Your coach and I agreed that we’ll keep the gym open for eight weeks, Alex, but only if you and I can keep the protest out of the news.”

“But the TV people are already here.”

“That won’t matter if you tell them we’ve worked out our differences.”

“But I want to explain about our rights and fighting for them and all.”

“If you want your gym back, you need to shut down the story. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

“Shit.” Alex cringed over the swearword. “Sorry.”

They all watched as a guy in a golf shirt with the station’s logo began unloading a camera from the back of the SUV.

“Do we have a deal?” Felicity held out her hand, looking at him steadily.

“I wanted to be on TV so bad.”

“When you’re a leader you have to look out for the group’s interests, not just your own.”