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stage, mounted the steps and surrounded their friends. There were more angry shouts from the audience. The judge looked around desperately.
    Out of the crowd, a small figure appeared. He tucked a notepad into his pocket and climbed the steps. It was Mr. McCall. Jarmaine said something to the other students. They stepped aside, and he approached the microphone.
    â€œFolks,” he said, “it’s been a good contest, and we’ve got our state champion.”
    The Negro students murmured unhappily.
    â€œBut these kids have a point,” he went on. “I propose that next year, we expand the contest and let everyone participate.”
    Bradley called out, “Participate: P-A-R-T-I-C-I-P-A-T-E .”
    Jarmaine grinned and shouted, “Victory: V-I-C-T-O-R-Y .”
    The Negro students cheered.
    The judge stepped back up to the microphone. “We’ll consider it,” he said.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    The crowd spilled out of the YWCA, still buzzing. Daddy glanced over at Mama and shook his head.
    â€œWhat a shame. It was Janie’s day, and they stole the spotlight from her.”
    He didn’t have to say who “they” were.
    â€œWhy weren’t they in the spelling bee to start with?” I asked.
    â€œThey’ve never been in it,” said Mama.
    I thought about what Mr. McCall had said. “What do you think it’ll be like next year?”
    â€œMaybe there won’t be a next year,” said Daddy.
    Mama rolled her eyes. “Charles, it’s just spelling. Anyway, it’s not like they were carrying guns.”
    There was a flash, and I looked up. Grant was hurrying around with his camera, taking pictures of us and the other people in the crowd. He snapped a few last photos, then joined us as we headed for the car.
    â€œWhat did you think of Jarmaine Jones?” Grant asked.
    â€œYou know her?” said Daddy.
    â€œShe’s Lavender’s daughter,” I said.
    Daddy’s eyes opened wide.
    â€œOh my goodness,” said Mama.
    Grant said, “I met her at the Star . She’s a student intern there. They’ve had an internship program with Cobb High for a couple of years now. Jarmaine just started. Sometimes she helps my dad with his stories. He tells me she’s good.”
    Mama said, “She has nerve, I’ll give her that.”
    Daddy shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he was amazed or disgusted. Maybe both.
    I dropped back beside Grant and lowered my voice. “I met her before the spelling bee. She seemed angry.”
    He said, “Think about how Negroes must feel. Their fathers and brothers fought in the war, and when they came home, nothing had changed. Separate but equal. Colored only. The courts say it’s illegal, but we keep right on doing it. Then all the little things, like the spelling contest. Wouldn’t it make you mad?”
    I didn’t know how to answer. It was like trying to play a game when you didn’t understand the rules.
    Larry Crabtree understood the rules and thought it was his duty to enforce them. That’s what he was doing at school on Monday when I went looking for Grant. I found the two of them tangled up on the floor in front of Grant’s locker, with a group of students gathered around, watching.
    Larry yelled, “Got it?”
    Grant said, “No!”
    Larry slugged him.
    â€œGot it?”
    â€œNo!”
    Larry slugged him again.
    I jumped on Larry’s back and started pounding him on the shoulders.
    â€œHey!” he screeched.
    I put a choke hold on his neck, and when he reached back to stop me, Grant gave him a shove and struggled to stand up. I let go and stood next to Grant, facing Larry.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” I asked Grant.
    â€œThey’re mad at my father. They don’t like what he did on Saturday.”
    Larry said, “We don’t want any Negroes in our spelling bee.”
    â€œYou weren’t even there!” I told