“Where you headed?” Tebow asks, pounding Tommy’s fist and nodding at a couple of other guys from the football team.
“Scream Out,” Tommy replies, and my surprise hasn’t even had time to wear off before we turn a corner and come to the town green, which is thronged. I mean THRONGED. Yes—it’s so crowded that I need an SAT word to describe it.
Horns are blaring, and traffic is totally messed up, and I see Zitsy standing at the microphone, looking joyful. The crowd is even better than I had dreamed it—all the Nations are represented. It’s like the High School UN. Even the Haters are there.
“Was anyone expecting this many people?” I ask Brainzilla.
“Dude, we are going to have a serious cookie shortage.” Zitsy chews a fingernail, then spits it out. Disgusting, but I totally understand the sentiment.
“Are these guys expecting a speech or something?” Flatso asks. “Or celebrities? Why are they here?”
“I didn’t really prepare anything.” Brainzilla is holding her hand over the microphone. “I didn’t think more than twenty people would come.”
I put my hand on her shoulder, and say the first true thing that occurs to me. “You can handle it,” I tell her.
She heaves a deep breath. “Okay.” Brainzilla steps to the front of the stage, and Zitsy hands her the mic. I see her hand shaking, but her voice is solid as she says, “Are you ready to scream?”
A few people shout, “Yeah,” and I wonder if they only just realized that we were the ones who organized this event. Please don’t leave, I think, but nobody does.
“I said, ARE YOU READY TO SCREAM?!” Brainzilla shouts into the microphone.
And this time, the response is deafening.
All at once, everyone yells, “YEAH!”
Chapter 65
SCREAMING IS THE BEST MEDICINE
One by one, familiar faces step up to the mic. And as they speak, they become real people to me.
The fog has burned off, and the sun is out. The day is warming up, and I have to take off my hat to keep my brain from melting. I’ve never listened so hard for so long in my life, and I start yawning uncontrollably. But I don’t want to go home.
A Twinkie I don’t know—Jim? Jeff?—hands me half a chocolate chip cookie, and I sit down on the grass. The cookie crumbles as I take a bite, sinking my teeth into a dense chunk of dark chocolate. Instantly, I feel more awake, and I realize that Zitsy was right about the importance of snacks.
I’m surrounded by kids who are planted on the grass, listening as everyone sounds his or her own barbaric yawp over the green. Some people cry. One girl even gets up there and sings an Indigo Girls song. And everyone listens.
We just listen.
It’s like group therapy for the whole school. With cookies. And it’s mostly very peaceful.
Chapter 66
MY NAME IS MARGARET, OR MAGGIE, IF YOU LIKE
Go ahead, Kooks,” Flatso says as she hands me the microphone. “Tell them how it is.”
I’ve been standing on the grass and listening for about an hour, and I somehow drifted into the speaker’s line. I didn’t mean to. Well, I don’t think I meant to.
Did I mean to?
Tebow notices my hesitation, and says, “You don’t have to,” in this really gentle way that kind of makes me want to hug him and burst into tears at the same time.
I nod and hand the microphone back to Flatso, but I also walk out to the center of the stage, so I guess my brain and body are still not quite in synch. I’m a little worried about what might happen next.
“Can everyone hear me?” I ask.
“Yes,” the crowd choruses. “Louder!” someone shouts from the back.
“Um, hi. Hello. I’m, uh—I’m—” What’s my name? I think. For some reason, I don’t want to say, I’m Cuckoo.
I look out at the crowd. Nobody shouts anything. Nobody boos.
And then my eyes light upon Winnie. He’s standing at the center of the crowd, but the sunlight is shining on his hair and it’s like everyone else melts away. He’s the only person I can see, and he’s smiling. I remember him telling me that I could talk to him, if I ever needed to.
Just pretend you’re talking to Winnie, I tell myself.
“I’m Margaret,” I say. “Maggie. And I want to thank everyone for showing up today. We”—I look over at the Freakshow—“we really didn’t expect it.”
And then someone in the crowd shouts, “We love you, Maggie!” A few people clap. Not even my friends—just people.
“I love you, too,” I say. My eyes seek out Winnie, and he nods. “And I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true. Look, I’ve lost a lot this year. My mom left. I had to go to a mental hospital for a while. My foster mother died. My friend… got sick. And that was really, really terrifying. For a while, I was barely holding on. But Brainzilla—Katie—had this idea that we should try to make other people happy. That it would make us feel better to help others. So this whole year, my friends and I have been trying to bring the Nations together. Brainzilla, Zitsy, Flatso, Tebow, Eggy—all of us—we just had this cool idea that maybe school didn’t have to suck,” I say.
The sun is really getting hot now, and I feel my tongue drying out. Zitsy hands me his water bottle. I take a grateful swig.
“Anyway, we came up with this idea—this Operation Happiness. And we tried to bring everyone a little closer, you know? And it was a complete fail on every level. For months, it was fail after fail.” I look out over the crowd, and I can actually feel the energy. I can feel everyone listening, straining to understand. And just that—just everyone listening—makes me feel light and happy, like I’m a balloon that might just sail away over the trees and into the clouds.
“We failed on every level,” I repeat, my voice stronger, “until today. And I just have to say this: I love all of you! Sorry if that sounds cheesy, but I really do. I love everything we share. Now that people are being brave enough to speak out, and brave enough to listen, I can see just how much we have in common. When you stop and think about it—it’s a lot. Nobody here has it easy. Nobody. There’s a lot more that binds us together than there is that drives us apart.”
I step back. I forget to say, “Scream if you can hear me,” but it’s okay. We don’t all have to scream. Some of us can whisper.
Winnie waves to me, and I wave back.
Are people supposed to cry at rallies? Not really sure, but lots of kids are doing it. Even one of the guy gym teachers is boo-hooing up a storm. So, if we are gauging the success by the level of tears, I guess this rally is a triumph.
It’s at least a start.
Chapter 67
BLOOM’S TURN
No,” Tebow says suddenly, putting up a hand to block the next speaker. Flatso is still holding the microphone, like she can’t decide whether to hand it over.
It’s Bloom.
“Why not?” he demands.
Brainzilla folds her arms across her chest. “You aren’t welcome here.”
I hear a murmur from the crowd, and my stomach goes funny. Bloom is glowering, his eyes shifting and snakelike, and I’m amazed that I ever thought he was handsome.
But he’s here, at the rally. And isn’t the point of the rally that we’re giving everyone a chance to speak?
“Zilla,” I murmur, “come on.”
She shoots me a warning look, like she knows what I’m going to say. But I say it anyway. “He deserves a chance. Everyone deserves a chance.”