A Matter of Principle

ONE

But it’s an important issue! Melissa said a little louder than she probably should have. I lifted my head up from the copy I was editing and looked at her confronting Miss Holdstein.

As far as I knew, Miss Holdstein had never lost a confrontation, and I doubted this was going to be the first time. She gave Melissa a withering look and said, Correcting school policy is not the function of the school newspaper.

We’re not correcting! Melissa cried, and then looked a little embarrassed. We’re suggesting. We’re making an editorial comment. We’re doing what newspapers are supposed to do. We’re trying to get people to think.

I looked around the classroom where we were putting the Southfield Sentinel together. Most of the kids were looking straight ahead at Miss Holdstein and Melissa, waiting to see, I guess, just how far Melissa would take her anger. Of the kids I liked, only Elliot was studiously bent over his work, figuring out layout. I could never be sure just how much of the real world Elliot was taking in.

We have no objection to getting people to think, Miss Holdstein said. We just have our doubts that students are capable of thinking better than the school board.

May I ask Mr. Malloy about this? Melissa said. I could see how hard she was working to keep her anger under control. Her right foot was tapping to its own furious rhythm.

Certainly, Miss Holdstein said. Let me know what he says.

I’ll go with you, I said. The way Melissa was acting she might bite Mr. Malloy. I got my bag from under the desk and swung it over my shoulder.

I’ll go too, Elliot said, proving he knew just what was happening. I smiled at him as we flanked Melissa and left the room.

I can’t stand that woman, Melissa whispered as we walked down the corridor. So help me, one of these days I’m going to kill her. Strangle her with her pearls.

Don’t be silly, Elliot said. Bean her with one of those open-toed shoes.

We all giggled. Miss Holdstein’s outfits were uniform regardless of weather.

What are we fighting about anyway? Elliot asked. What’s the issue?

Paul wrote this really good piece, Melissa said.

Paul, I said. No wonder.

Paul wrote this really good piece, Melissa began again. About how we should be allowed more control of our academic schedule. If there are two teachers giving the same course at the same time, we should be allowed to pick who we want.

But then nobody would pick Miss Holdstein, I said.

Nobody would pick half the teachers in this school, Elliot said. What a good idea.

"I always figured I’d edit the Sentinel next year, Melissa said. I’ve been working toward that since I started working on it. But I swear it’s just not worth it. If being assistant editor makes me this miserable, what would I be like as editor in chief?"

Probably a screaming, neurotic mess, Elliot said, and gave Melissa’s arm an affectionate squeeze.

What I like is the way Paul left you fighting his battles, I said. Where is he anyway?

He has a tennis meet, Melissa said. And this doesn’t have anything to do with Paul. Anybody could have written this essay, and I’d be just as angry.

We know that, Elliot said. Don’t get mad at Becca, Melissa. She’s on your side.

Of course I am, I said. Save it for Mr. Malloy. You’re going to need it there.

Don’t worry, Melissa said. I have enough anger to go around.

We announced our presence to Mr. Malloy’s secretary and waited around for a few minutes until he could see us. I hadn’t had that many encounters with the principal, but what little I knew about him I disliked. That didn’t mean he’d automatically side with Miss Holdstein, but it seemed like a strong possibility.

What can I do for you? he asked as we entered his office.

It’s a problem with the newspaper, Melissa said. We’d like to run this piece, and Miss Holdstein doesn’t think we should. She handed him Paul’s essay, which he skimmed.

Nonsense, he said, handing it back to Melissa about twenty seconds later. Of course we can’t publish this.

Why not? Melissa asked. Her right foot was starting to tap.

Because it isn’t the function of the school paper to criticize school policy, Mr. Malloy said.

Then what is its function? Elliot asked.

To report on school activities, Mr. Malloy said.

Like drug use on school grounds? Elliot asked.

School activities we can all be proud of, Mr. Malloy said. Activities which all three of you have participated in. School plays. Sporting events. Contests and awards.

But that doesn’t begin to cover what goes on here, Melissa said. Wouldn’t the school be a better place if its newspaper reflected a little more reality?

We don’t need a rabble-rousing piece of garbage, Mr. Malloy said. Let’s present a positive image of ourselves to our readership, all right?

What I wanted to do was punch his pompous pink face. But instead I took a deep breath and tried to sound rational. I don’t see anything negative with presenting different ideas, I said. It seems to me that’s one of the things a newspaper is supposed to do.

In the hands of responsible journalists, certainly, Mr. Malloy said. But I don’t think anybody would really regard high school students, no matter how intelligent, as responsible journalists. That’s why we have teacher advisors, and that’s why you should follow what your particular advisor suggests.

She didn’t suggest, Melissa said. She ordered.

All the more reason to do what she says, Mr. Malloy said. Now if that’s all, I have a lot of work to do this afternoon. This may be after-school activity for you, but for me it’s still part of the workday.

Excuse us, Melissa said. She clutched Paul’s essay and stormed out of the office. Elliot and I followed her.

I want to kill, she said.

Real sweetheart, Elliot said. Malloy, that is. Malloy really is a real sweetheart.

I hate being condescended to, Melissa said. I just hate it. And that’s all this school is. She scowled.

You didn’t really think you’d win this argument, I said. There was no way Malloy was going to override Miss Holdstein.

But it’s such a good piece, she said. And he didn’t even read it. He just looked at the first paragraph and discovered there was a real idea there. A genuine unadulterated idea. No wonder he panicked.

He didn’t exactly panic, I said.

Sure he did, Melissa said. That sleazy little brain of his probably turned purple. He just didn’t show it.

I guess, I said.

Whatever, Elliot said. The big question is how to tell Miss Holdstein.

We won’t have to tell her a thing, Melissa said. She’ll know as soon as we walk in.

That may be, Elliot said. But there’ll be some sort of ritual.

He was right. We walked back into the classroom, where the Sentinel staff was back at the work Melissa had interrupted. Miss Holdstein looked at us with a half smirk and said, Well?

He said we can’t run it, Melissa said.

The half smirk turned whole. I guess you’ll just have to grin and bear it, Miss Holdstein said.

That does it, Melissa said. I quit.

What? Miss Holdstein said. All the other kids looked up.

I quit, Melissa said. I’ve had it. This school has no idea of what a newspaper is all about. I don’t see why I should waste my time. I’m crazy to stay on. I quit.

Be my guest, Miss Holdstein said.

I quit too, I said. "Melissa is right. The Sentinel is just garbage. There’s a real world out there, and nobody lets us even think about covering it."

Very well, Miss Holdstein said. "I’m sure the Sentinel will survive quite nicely without your contributions."

Aw, hell, Elliot said. I quit too.

Then I suggest the three of you leave this room immediately, Miss Holdstein said. And the school building, since there’s no longer any call for your presence here.

With pleasure, Melissa said. She got her bag and her books from under her desk. Elliot and I followed her example. We looked like three outcasts as we made our way out of the room.

I’d kill her if she were worth it, Melissa said.

Kill her anyway, Elliot said. I have her for history tomorrow.

We all do, I said. Do you think she’ll take this out on us in class?

I don’t think we’ll be able to tell the difference, Elliot said. Now what?

Let’s go to Donner’s, Melissa said. Maybe some carbohydrates will help calm me down.

So we walked the two blocks to the diner. Occasionally one of us would snarl or curse. I didn’t do much of anything because I still wasn’t sure what I’d done or even why. Melissa was my best friend, and I believed in loyalty, but I hadn’t had too much practice with the dramatic gesture. And when I realized that Paul, whom I’d never liked, was a major part of the reason I’d given up working on the newspaper, which, even if it was garbage, was fun, I got even more confused.

Sugar sounded like a good idea to me too. We found a booth and all ordered chocolate cream pie, a well-known cure-all.

Hi there, Kenny said, coming over from the other end of the diner. What are you guys doing here?

I could ask the same thing, I said, looking around to see who Kenny had been with. He slid in next to me, kissed me, and put his arm around my shoulder. No matter who he’d been with, that felt good.

Mom’s working late, he said. I figured I’d get a sandwich here to hold me until we had supper. But why are you here? I thought you had a newspaper meeting.

Newspaper? Elliot said. What newspaper?

We had a slight difference of opinion with the administration, I said. We walked out.

I want to kill, Melissa said. Her foot was tapping strong enough to shake the booth.

I gather you lost, Kenny said. Come on, Melissa, it can’t be as bad as all that.

Don’t you tell me what’s bad, Melissa said. I don’t know about anybody else, but I really cared about that paper. I put a lot of time and a lot of love into it, and what do I get? ‘Sorry, but you’re a stupid immature child and can’t be trusted with any kind of decision.’ Who needs it?

Who told you that? Kenny asked, and I could see he was upset for Melissa’s sake. I would have been jealous, but they were cousins. You could see the physical resemblance too, the sandy-brown coloring and hazel-green eyes. They were closer than many brothers and sisters. What wounded one wounded the other. I just hoped someday Kenny and I would share that sort of closeness. Melissa had been trying to get the two of us together for years, but the timing hadn’t been right until last summer. Then everything fit together, and we’d been dating steadily ever since. I couldn’t get over how smart Melissa had been all those years and how dumb I’d been not to listen to her sooner.

Who told us? she said. Malloy, of course. And Miss Holdstein, although not in so many words.

They were kind of offensive, Elliot said.

They said we were children and fools, Melissa said. Well, we showed them.

No, we didn’t, I said. We walked out, but what did that accomplish? Nobody followed us.

So what do you want? Melissa asked. Should we go back there and beg to be reinstated?

No, of course not, I said. I’m just saying we bit off our own noses, that’s all.

My nose feels just fine, Melissa said. I swear, Becca, sometimes I think you should write propaganda for that school.

That’s what we’ve all been doing for the past two years, Elliot said. Straight party line. The school is fine, the school is perfect, there’s never been any trouble at our school.

I don’t want to write propaganda, I said. But I don’t think we really proved anything by quitting.

So what would prove something? Melissa asked me. I could feel her anger turning on me.

We could start our own paper, I said. "That would prove something. We could write those articles that the Sentinel’s never let us print. Even Paul’s masterpiece. And the kind of stories and poetry that they won’t let us run because they mention sex or drugs or something else we’re not supposed to have heard of."

A paper, Melissa said. That’s not a bad idea.

Kids do it all over the place, I said. Underground papers.

I could really get excited by something like that, Kenny said. I hardly read the school paper because it’s so boring. An underground paper that really tells what’s going on sounds great.

We wouldn’t have any trouble recruiting a staff, I said. "There’s the four of us, for starters, and I bet a