The Lions of Little Rock Read Free

tonight, as quiet as the halls of Central would be tomorrow. Finally I got up and went into the kitchen for a glass of milk. Mother and Daddy were talking in the living room.
    â€œAlmost sounds like you’re an integrationist,” I heard Mother say.
    â€œI don’t think it’s such a big deal if Judy’s at school with a few—”
    â€œYou want our girls associating with Negroes?” asked Mother.
    â€œA few colored students wouldn’t—”
    â€œRace mixing. That’s what it’ll lead to,” said Mother.
    I stood in front of the open fridge in my nightgown, clutching the bottle of milk, and shivered. Race mixing was a scary thing—at least people always talked about it like it was polio or something. The thing was, the races didn’t really mix in Little Rock, not in the bathrooms of department stores, nor in the water of the swimming pools. In fact, I don’t think we’d ever had a colored person in our house until Betty Jean showed up ironing last week.
    â€œThere wouldn’t have even been any trouble last year if the governor hadn’t—”
    â€œRichard, watch what you’re saying!”
    â€œI’m not saying anything I don’t mean.”
    â€œDo you want people to call us communists?” Mother asked.
    The milk bottle slipped from my hand and crashed to the floor. So much for eavesdropping. My parents ran into the kitchen.
    â€œOh, Marlee!” Mother grabbed a towel and began to mop things up. “Now there’ll be no milk for breakfast.”
    â€œSorry,” I whispered.
    Mother just kept wiping up the mess.
    My father poured me a glass of water and walked me back to my room. “We weren’t arguing,” he said when we got to my door.
    I nodded. But when he leaned over to kiss me good night, his eye twitched like it always did when he was lying.

3

    QUEEN ELIZABETH
    The next morning Judy woke up early to eat breakfast with me, even though she didn’t have to. She’s such a good sister. I made two bowls of oatmeal and put one down in front of her.
    â€œPromise me something,” Judy said.
    â€œWhat?” I asked.
    â€œPromise to say at least one complete sentence today.”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” I said. Sometimes Judy was as bad as Mother.
    â€œI mean it,” said Judy. “At least five words. Together. In a row.
Yes
and
no
don’t count.”
    â€œI promise.”
    â€œThat’s only two,” said Judy.
    â€œTo talk a lot,” I added. “That makes six.”
    Judy laughed. I grinned and finished my oatmeal.
    â€œMarlee!” My father poked his head into the kitchen. “You ready?”
    Last year, Daddy had started driving me to school. The first time was the day after one of the colored girls from Central had been surrounded by a mob at the bus stop. In the picture in the paper, the white people were yelling at her, and yet she’d held her head up high. I couldn’t understand why half of Little Rock was screaming over a few colored kids. Surely they weren’t all stupid enough to believe Sally.
    It happened again a few months later. Daddy had invited a colored pastor to come talk to his Bible study group at church. He said the meeting had gone well, but the next day, he’d found a note tucked in with the morning paper. He didn’t let any of us read the note, not even Mother, but he drove me to school every day after that.
    Daddy and I didn’t talk in the car, but it was a comfortable silence. The closer we got to school, the more nervous I became, so I started counting prime numbers in my head again. I’d reached 67 by the time Daddy dropped me off at the front entrance to West Side Junior High. It was a large building, but of course I’d visited when Judy had been a student, so it only took me a minute to find my seventh-grade homeroom and sit down.
    I knew pretty much everyone there. Sally was two rows over,