Theodore Boone: The Activist Page 13

  “You haven’t been snooping around this office, have you?”

  Theo managed to act surprised at the very idea. “No sir. I don’t snoop around this office.” This was only partially true, and both he and his father knew it. To help clear things up a bit he said, “Someone told me.”

  Mr. Boone shook his head as if he believed this when in fact he did not, and Theo knew it.

  “What else did this someone tell you?” Mr. Boone asked.

  Theo had nothing to gain by saying anything else. “That’s it. Nothing else.”

  His father’s concern only confirmed the truth about Joe Ford and his shady deal, but Theo decided to leave it alone. Fast Ford had said good-bye as a client, and Theo was secretly thrilled such a bad character was gone from Boone & Boone. And he suspected he wasn’t alone. Theo had a hunch his mother was on his side. She had no fondness for real estate developers in town who sought to chew up the land and build more shopping centers and condos. Things had been said before, around the office and around the house, sharp little one-liners and zingers that left no doubt Mrs. Boone did not care for some of Mr. Boone’s clients. Theo was not supposed to hear these things, but Theo missed little.

  Theo said, “Look, Dad, I’m sorry, but I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for Judge to get hurt. I didn’t ask for the trial yesterday. I didn’t ask to get my photo on the front page. It all just sort of happened, and if Mr. Ford is angry, then I’m sorry. Frankly, I think he overreacted by firing our law firm.”

  “Our law firm?”

  “Got my name on it.”

  Mr. Boone smiled and seemed to relax. Theo suspected he wasn’t really that upset at losing Joe Ford as a client. “Go finish your homework,” he said as he got to his feet.

  “Sure, Dad.”

  Chapter 19

  Theo was hard at work memorizing Spanish verbs when someone knocked on his door. It was Hardie. He stepped inside, paused to rub Judge on the head and speak to him, then said, “Say, Theo, are you free for about thirty minutes?”

  On a typical afternoon, after Theo checked in at the office, he was free to come and go, as long as his homework was finished. “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Let’s hop on our bikes, take a ten-minute ride. I want to show you something.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  Eight minutes later, they wheeled to a stop in front of an old, redbrick warehouse in the Delmont section of town, near Stratten College. Most of the warehouses appeared to be abandoned, but on the street front there were a few offices. Above one a sign read: STRATTEN ENVIRONMENTAL COUNCIL.

  “In here,” Hardie said, and they walked through the front door. The SEC office was one long, wide room with high rafters, bare brick walls, and a concrete floor in serious need of sweeping. There were some desks and tables, lots of computers, aerial photos and maps tacked to the walls, and at least half a dozen dogs. Evidently, if you worked at SEC you could bring your dog to work. The place hummed with energy, and, for the most part, the crowd was young. Lots of beards and flannel shirts with faded jeans.

  The Reverend Charles Quinn, Hardie’s father, was in the midst of a serious conversation when he looked over and saw Theo. Loudly, he said, “Theo Boone, the man!” Others heard this and before Theo knew what was happening he was led, or sort of shoved, to a large wall. Tacked to it was the photo in the morning paper, except it had been enlarged many times over. It was gigantic, larger than life-size, and Theo was stunned to see himself and his dog blown up to the point that they covered an entire wall. His partial statement, “. . . fight the bypass and all the thugs who work for it,” was highlighted in bold letters and stretched across the top of the photo. While Theo was gawking at the wall, the room became quiet and the crowd gathered around him.

  Reverend Quinn said to the others, “I’d like to introduce to everyone Mr. Theodore Boone, the hero of the moment, the owner of the most famous dog in town, and a great friend of my son, Hardie.” Theo nodded awkwardly at the others. He would soon learn that only a handful of these people actually worked at the SEC. Most were volunteers, with the majority being students from Stratten College.

  A man named Sebastian Ryan stepped forward and shook Theo’s hand. He said, “I’m the director of the SEC and we’re delighted to have you join us here.” Theo was not aware that he had joined anything. He was suddenly very uncomfortable being the center of attention in a place he’d never been before. He said something like, “Yeah, sure, nice to meet you.”

  “How’s the dog?” someone asked from the crowd.

  “Doing great,” Theo said.

  “We’d like to meet him,” someone else said.

  “He’s not traveling much these days,” Theo said, and several thought it was funny. Others began drifting away. “Let’s get back to work,” Sebastian said, and the crowd broke up. Theo and Hardie followed Sebastian to the rear of the long room, where he had an open office tucked into a small wing. His desk had once been a wooden door but was now mounted on two cable spool pedestals, and, in Theo’s opinion, was perhaps the coolest desk he’d ever seen. There were no chairs around it, and Theo had already noticed that everyone at SEC worked standing up. No sitting. He made a mental note to ask his mother about this. Probably some new fad.

  Theo and Hardie stood and looked at the brick walls, all of which were covered with photos, diplomas, and maps. The first thing Theo saw was a diploma from the Stanford School of Law. Sebastian Ryan was young, perhaps not yet forty, and with his jeans, boots, and beard looked more like a hunting guide than an environmental lawyer.

  He said, “I hear both of your parents are lawyers, Theo.”

  Theo nodded.

  “And I hear you’re a pretty good lawyer yourself.”

  “Not yet,” Theo said.

  “He knows a lot of law,” Hardie added.

  Sebastian was nervous and intense and not much for small talk. “We are attacking this bypass on many fronts. Abuse of eminent domain, destruction of natural resources, noise, pollution, an idiotic traffic plan, and so on. I have a wild idea that I’d like to share with you guys.”

  Theo and Hardie nodded because they really had no choice.

  Sebastian walked to the wall on his left and pointed to a large map of the proposed bypass. He pointed closer and said, “This is Jackson Elementary School, prekindergarten through grade five. Four hundred students. Right now it sits off to itself, isolated from traffic and noise, just minding its own business, educating little kids while the birds chirp outside and the breeze blows the leaves here and there. However, economic development is on the way. The bypass rips through this parking lot here and comes to within a hundred yards of the school’s front door. So in two years there will be four lanes of heavy traffic, big trucks and buses blasting diesel fumes into the air while cars fly by doing eighty miles an hour. It’s a disaster, and the sad part is that no one has carefully studied the impact the bypass will have on the health of these kids. The governor doesn’t have a clue, nor do his people. The state highway department hasn’t studied it. We’re raising money right now to hire experts who can analyze it and make predictions, but money is tight.”

  Theo doubted he and Hardie were expected to write big checks. He asked, “Where do we fit in?”

  “Organize the kids. They’re too young for Facebook, but they have older brothers and sisters. Four hundred students equals about three hundred families—some have more than one at the school. Organize the kids, the parents, the teachers. I like the idea of kids—you two—getting other kids involved and angry. If the kids get mad, then the parents get mad, and, of course, the parents are the voters. It’s all coming down to politics. What do you think?”

  Theo and Hardie were frowning at the map, not sure what to say.

  Sebastian never waited long for an answer. “And it gets better,” he said, taking a step to the
side and pointing at the county’s new soccer complex near Jackson Elementary. “Look at this, the SSC—Stratten Soccer Complex. Opened two years ago and the site of ten new fields, all with lights.”

  “I play there,” Hardie said.

  “Do you know how many kids play soccer in this area?”

  “About a million,” Theo said.

  “A lot. Now, the bypass shaves off only three of the fields here on the eastern side, and, of course, the promise is that these fields will simply be relocated over on the western side. Two problems with that. First, you can’t believe any of the promises being made. Second, the state does not yet own the property where it’s promising to put these three fields. But let’s say the state keeps its word and relocates the three fields. That means on any afternoon from March through October there will be several hundred kids, parents, coaches, and other spectators at the complex trying to enjoy the games with four lanes of traffic roaring by.”

  “So we organize the soccer kids too,” Theo said.

  “Exactly. Thousands of them. Get the soccer crowd upset, and our five county commissioners will run for cover.”

  “It’s that easy?” Theo asked.

  “No, it’s not. Keep in mind, Theo, that a lot of folks who live here are in favor of the bypass. They’re tired of the traffic on Battle Street and they think this is the solution. Any bypass is a good bypass. Heard that?”

  “Yes. I read it in the newspaper.”

  “It’s not uncommon.”

  Sebastian stepped away from the map and rested his rear end on his desk. He said, “The idea here, guys, is for the kids in this community to get mad, involved, and vocal. On the one hand, you have the big guys—the politicians, the trucking companies, the contractors, the businessmen who write big checks to the politicians—and on the other hand you have a bunch of kids who are about to get run over. It could be a great story, and, frankly, we need all the help we can get. This is an uphill fight, and the big money is against us. The public hearing is next month, and we’re working around the clock.”

  “When will the commissioners vote?” Hardie asked.

  “At the public hearing. They’re not talking much, but it looks like two are in favor of the bypass, one is opposed, and the other two are undecided. But who knows what these guys will do. Frankly, right now, I’m not that optimistic.” His cell phone vibrated. He yanked it out of his pocket, looked at it, and decided not to answer. Then his desk phone began buzzing, and he ignored that too.

  Theo loved this guy. He was a lawyer, a tough cool guy with an important job and a passion for saving the environment. He seemed fearless, ready for a good fight, ready to take on the big boys. Even his office was cool, so unlike the rather stuffy ones at Boone & Boone.

  Sebastian said, “We need your help, guys. Whatta you say? You can make a real difference here if you jump in and start fighting. We’re on the same team.”

  Hardie looked at Theo, who looked at Sebastian, who was nodding as if to say, “Are you guys tough enough?”

  “I’m ready,” Hardie said.

  “How about it, Theo?” Sebastian said. “They’ve already tried to kill your dog.”

  Theo flashed back to the nightmare of Judge being pounded with a stick, and bleeding, and looking up at Theo with those painful, frightened eyes. Theo thought about his dog, and he thought about the Quinn family and their beloved farm, and the more he thought the more determined he became. He looked at Hardie, then he glared at Sebastian, gritted his teeth, and said, “I’m in.”

  “All right!” Sebastian said as he slapped him on the shoulder.

  * * *

  At precisely 7:00 p.m. on Thursday evening, the three Boones plus Judge sat down for dinner. As always, on Thursdays, it was a roasted chicken from a Turkish deli, served with hummus, pita bread, and, tonight, couscous.

  It was not Theo’s favorite meal of the week. Judge, however, loved the chicken. He seemed to be improving by the hour, moving around more and sleeping less.

  Mrs. Boone asked, “Theo, where did you get off to this afternoon?”

  Theo anticipated this. Someone in the law firm usually noticed if he came and went, and that was usually Elsa. She could be on the phone with two lines holding, and chatting with a client at the front door, and reading e-mails on her screen, all at the same time, and still know precisely when Theo sneaked out the back door. He swallowed hard and said, “Hardie and I rode over to the Stratten Environmental Council.”

  His mother was intrigued and said, “Oh really.”

  His father frowned and said, “Why’d you go there?”

  Theo said, “Hardie’s father was there and he wanted me to stop by. On a wall, they have this huge blowup of the photo of Judge and me leaving court last night.”

  “So you’re the hero?” his mother asked.

  “Sort of, along with Judge.”

  “Did you meet Sebastian Ryan?” she asked.

  “I did, a real nice guy. He wants Hardie and me to help organize a group of kids to oppose the bypass.”

  Mrs. Boone was still smiling, and she was also watching Mr. Boone, as if she expected some harsh words. Theo wanted his mother around for this discussion.

  Mr. Boone asked, “What sort of a group of kids?”

  “Students at Jackson Elementary and also the soccer kids.” Theo took a big bite as if such involvement was no big deal.

  “That’s a great idea, Theo,” she said. “How do you plan to do it?”

  “We haven’t decided yet.”

  “Why do you insist on getting involved in this mess, Theo?” Mr. Boone asked slowly and firmly.

  Theo’s reply had been practiced a few times. He took a sip of water, cleared his throat, and said, “Because I think it’s wrong for the Quinns to lose a farm that’s been in the family for over a hundred years. It’s wrong for the state to take private property for unnecessary projects. It’s dangerous to build big roads next to schools and soccer parks, especially when no one has studied the pollution. It’s wrong for politicians to help their buddies make money on stuff like this. Lots of reasons, Dad.”

  “And all good ones, I might add,” Mrs. Boone said quickly as she glared at her husband.

  Theo wasn’t finished. “And most importantly, I’m ticked off at the men who hurt Judge. If you had been there when they tried to kill him, you might have a different attitude.”

  “Don’t lecture me, son.”

  “I’m not lecturing anyone.”

  “He certainly is not,” Mrs. Boone said. The battle lines were clearly drawn. Two against one. Mr. Boone was in the process of losing badly. She went on, “I think it’s admirable that Theo wants to get involved in this fight. Most thirteen-year-olds could not care less.”

  Go Mom!, Theo thought as he cut another piece of chicken. You got him on the ropes, go for the knockout. But a truce came over the conversation and the Boones ate in silence.

  Finally, Theo asked, “Dad, is it okay if I do this?”

  To which his mother quickly responded, “Of course it’s all right, Theo. You have some strong feelings about this, so go to work. Right, Woods?”

  Woods Boone was in no position to argue, and he knew it. He surrendered with a weak, “I suppose.”

  Chapter 20

  After lunch on Friday, Theo and Hardie took advantage of a one-hour study hall and met in the library. The school’s Internet server was faster than their laptops, so they could save time by using the desktop models that were available to all students upon request. When they were properly logged in, and when the IT clerk disappeared, they quickly began searching for information. The soccer data was easier to retrieve than anything from the Stratten County School System.

  The night before, after they had left the SEC offices (as full-blown activists), Hardie spent an hour on Facebook. He played for a team called Red United, affectionately k
nown as RU, and RU had its own Facebook page. He searched other pages of other teams in the Under 14 division, and quickly put together a directory of about one hundred players, girls and boys. Tucked away in the library, Hardie roared through Facebook and added dozens of names to his list.

  Theo hammered away at the school system. According to the official website, Jackson Elementary currently had 415 students in prekindergarten through fifth grades, but there was no listing of these students and certainly no information about them. There was a nice teachers’ directory with color photos and e-mail addresses and such, and Theo decided this could be a valuable place to start. The Parent Teacher Organization (PTO) had a separate website with a few names and contact information but little more.

  For almost an hour, the two were lost in their rambling searches for the names of people—students, teachers, parents, administrators—anyone who might be contacted with whatever Theo and Hardie decided to use in their little campaign.

  * * *

  After school, Theo was bored and killing time around the office. He planned to meet April Finnemore at Guff’s Frozen Yogurt on Main Street at four o’clock, something they tried to do once a week. Her older siblings had fled an unhappy home, and April was often alone. Theo didn’t feel sorry for her because she didn’t want sympathy; plus, she was bright and funny and a gifted artist. He didn’t consider her to be a girlfriend, not in the romantic sense, just a good friend who happened to be a girl. Most of his pals did not understand how it was possible to have a friend who was a girl but not actually a girlfriend. Theo had grown weary of trying to explain this. It was complicated.

  Vince, the paralegal who worked for Mrs. Boone, popped into Theo’s office and said, “Say, Theo, could you run these by the clerk’s office and file them before five p.m.?” As he asked this question, he tossed down a folder filled with documents. It was probably papers in one of the many divorce cases Mrs. Boone had at the moment.