The Activist Read online

  “A lawyer has a duty to protect his client. Period.”

  “Got it, Ike.”

  Ike fell into his swivel chair and stared at his nephew. There was another long pause. Theo finally asked, “Should I tell my dad?”

  “No. Just bury it.”

  “Okay.”

  Theo left a few minutes later. Riding slowly back to the office, he still could not accept the fact that his secret information would remain buried in a retired file, boxed away in the depths of Boone & Boone. It did not seem fair.

  Chapter 24

  After the final bell Tuesday, the activists hurriedly gathered in the school’s auditorium. The room would be vacant for about thirty minutes, until rehearsal began for a sixth-grade production. Mr. Mount had bargained for thirty minutes on the grounds that his debate team needed some vague form of practice. They quickly arranged the stage to appear ready for a real debate, with a podium in the center and a long folding table on each side. Since it wasn’t a real debate, chairs were moved in close and filled with fake spectators, a dozen or so friends drafted by Theo and Hardie. To improve the quality of the video, Mr. Mount used a camera on a tripod. When everyone was in place, Mr. Mount announced, off camera, “And now, Theodore Boone.”

  Theo stood from behind his table. To his right were Hardie, Chase, and Woody, all four wearing clip-on ties and bright-yellow surgical face masks. Theo walked to the podium and nodded to the opposing team, which consisted of Justin, Brian, Darren, and Edward, four other volunteers from Mr. Mount’s homeroom. They, too, had bad clip-on ties and the yellow masks. The spectators, including April and some guys from Hardie’s homeroom, were bunched together close to the podium. Their faces were also hidden behind yellow surgical masks.

  Hardie’s father had found the masks online. Nine bucks for a carton of fifty, available in every color imaginable.

  Theo yanked his down and looked at the camera. With a frown he said, “My name is Theo Boone, and today the issue before us is the so-called Red Creek Bypass.” He coughed twice, then covered his nose and mouth with the mask. Next to the podium was a large map of the county with the bypass highlighted in bloodred as if it were a deadly gash on the landscape. Theo pointed and said, “This bypass will take Highway 75 around the city of Strattenburg, out here into a more rural area, where it will destroy fifty homes, several farms, a hiking trail, a historic church, and it will bring about twenty-five thousand cars and trucks a day to the front door of Jackson Elementary School.”

  On cue, the spectators hissed and booed.

  Theo continued: “It will also take out part of this soccer complex and cross the Red Creek River in two places.”

  More booing and hissing.

  “The bypass will cost two hundred million dollars and is being pushed hard by businessmen, politicians, and trucking companies north and south of Strattenburg.”

  More booing and hissing.

  “One of the worst aspects of this bypass is right here, at Jackson Elementary School, home to about four hundred students from prekindergarten through fifth grade. There has been no reliable study as to the noise and pollution near this school, but it’s safe to say that the quality of air will be greatly harmed.”

  On cue, everybody started coughing, even the members of the opposing debate team. Theo, with great drama, said, “In short, this bypass is a bad project, a waste of money, a dangerous idea, and it should never be built.” He stomped away from the podium as if ready for a fistfight.

  The spectators managed to stop coughing and began applauding.

  For the other side, Justin rushed to the podium, and from behind his bright-yellow mask said, “On the contrary, this bypass is needed so that some folks can make more profits. Trucking companies, land developers, construction companies—all of these and more will make huge profits. That’s especially good for them, but it’s also good for us.”

  A loud round of booing and hissing from the spectators.

  “The more money they make, the more taxes they pay—well, some of them anyway—and the more taxes we rake in, the more stuff our leaders can do with it. Don’t you see?”

  The spectators did not see and continued their show of displeasure.

  Mr. Mount stepped forward and said, “Okay, let’s cut for a minute and rethink this.”

  The goal was a two-minute video, with the debate scene burning about thirty seconds. Under Mr. Mount’s direction, they did another take, then another. On the third take, the two teams actually began yelling at each other, with names like “Liar!” “Crook!” and “Sleazebag!” thrown in for a bit of exaggerated drama. The spectators tossed debris at the podium while Justin ranted on.

  With all faces hidden behind the surgical masks, it was easy to conceal the smiles and laughter. After half an hour, Theo, Hardie, and Mr. Mount were satisfied. They had enough footage for a great opening scene.

  * * *

  The filmmaking would become more difficult. For the second scene, many more actors were needed and there was a greater risk things could go wrong.

  After school Wednesday, the activists met at an old softball field not far from Strattenburg Middle School. Softball season was several months away and the field was supposed to be vacant that afternoon. However, in Strattenburg, as in most cities, no vacant field was safe during soccer season when coaches scoured the neighborhoods in search of any open area that might work for a quick practice. There had even been fights. The fine new soccer complex near Jackson Elementary was built to provide adequate space and thus reduce the pressure. It was packed five afternoons a week and throughout the weekend, but it seemed as though there would never be enough soccer fields.

  But there was no soccer in sight, at least not of the organized variety. At precisely 4:00 p.m., bikes and cars arrived in a rush. Many of the players of Red United, Hardie’s team, showed up and quickly began changing into their uniforms. Their coach, Jack Fortenberry, brought a bag of balls, some orange cones, a small, portable goal complete with netting, and some extra practice jerseys for the other “team.” The other team was a ragtag bunch of nonplayers who’d been recruited by Theo and Hardie, most of whom came from their homerooms. In all, about fifteen players took the field, half wearing a Red United jersey, half wearing a white practice shirt, and all wearing bright-yellow surgical masks, as if the air was pure poison. Along the sidelines, parents held homemade signs that read: STOP THE BYPASS, PROTECT OUR KIDS, NO BYPASS GAS, and so on. The parents were also wearing the yellow surgical masks. Many of the adults were either Quinns or related to the family.

  For extra drama, and perhaps a bit of humor, the two coaches, Mr. Fortenberry and Mr. Mount, strapped around their heads bulky gas masks of the World War I variety. They weren’t real—Hardie had found them online for ten bucks each—but they looked authentic.

  Theo was in charge of special effects, and after gauging wind directions, he and Chase eased down the foul line in right field. When no one was looking, they lit a smoke bomb, tossed it on the ground, and quickly got away from it. A slight breeze lifted the bluish smoke into the air and carried it over the field. Theo had done his homework. There was a city ordinance against the use of fireworks unless proper permission was granted, and Theo, of course, had chosen not to get permission. However, fireworks were defined as portable devices and objects designed to make loud noises when triggered. In Theo’s opinion, the city’s ordinance did not outlaw the use of silent smoke bombs. That’s what Theo was prepared to argue, if, in fact, he got caught. Getting caught, though, seemed highly unlikely. Who was going to complain? Everyone at the site was on the same team, so to speak.

  As a light fog settled over the field, the game began. It wasn’t really a game, but more of a playtime as the boys chased the ball around and kicked it as far as possible. They coughed and coughed, and gagged, and, under Theo’s fearless direction, even collapsed in fits of wheezing as if overcome by diesel exhaust. Theo and Hardie filmed the fans, their signs, and the coaches trying to yell from under their g
as masks. They filmed a penalty kick in which the goalie seemed to fall dead at the precise moment the ball blew by him.

  The final scene was a pathetic shot of all the players lying on the field, all gasping and wheezing and unable to continue, much like dying soldiers left behind after a gun battle.

  An elderly man from a nearby house showed up and began asking questions. “Where’d that smoke come from?” Everybody shrugged.

  “You kids all right?”

  More shrugging as the kids got up and began walking away.

  “Should I call 911?”

  “That’s not necessary,” Mr. Mount said.

  “Why’s everybody wearing a mask?”

  “Air pollution,” Theo replied as he hopped on his bike.

  * * *

  Saturday afternoon, the soccer complex was packed with ten games under way and cars wedged into overflow parking lots. Hardie had played that morning and was free for the afternoon. Theo, Chase, Woody, and April met him near the elementary school for the shooting of another scene. Because the driveway that led to the school also ran along farther to the soccer complex, there was a lot of traffic. They had to be careful. It was not a crime to wander across the campus of a public school on a weekend, but Theo did not want curious people asking questions. He knew from experience that security guards kept a casual eye on the various local schools during nights and on weekends.

  The gang put on their yellow surgical masks and posed for photos by the large JACKSON ELEMENTARY SCHOOL sign near the front entrance of the campus, then they drifted behind the main building until they came to a playground. There was no sign of a security guard or school employee. Theo dropped another smoke bomb and walked away from it. Soon, there was a cloud drifting over the playground. While Chase worked the camera, Theo, April, Hardie, and Woody jumped into swings and began kicking and ripping through the air. At thirteen, they were too old to be posing as elementary school students, though the yellow surgical masks hid most of their faces. Shot from a distance, the scene just might work. Chase continued to back away with the video camera, and from fifty yards, he found his range. The scene became almost too good—kids on a playground, faces covered for protection as a cloud of dirty diesel exhaust settles over them.

  “Perfect!” he yelled to his friends. “Just perfect.”

  * * *

  Theo and Hardie slept over at Chase Whipple’s Saturday night. The Boones and Whipples were close friends, and there was often a weekend sleepover in the works. The boys said they had a couple of movies to watch, but the real reason was to polish up their video. Chase knew of a website where they could purchase footage of almost anything imaginable, and for six dollars (paid for by Hardie’s father and his credit card) they downloaded scenes of real eighteen-wheelers roaring along a crowded highway, exhaust pouring from their pipes. They downloaded shots of four-lane highways choked with slow-moving traffic. With Sebastian Ryan’s permission, they borrowed footage, diagrams, and scenes from the Stratten Environmental Council’s website.

  Everything was loaded onto Chase’s laptop, since he was the principal editor. Chase could do more with a laptop than anyone they knew. He had recorded albums, made movies, created comics, built science projects, illustrated stories, and had live interactive chats with kids from around the world. In the school’s annual Computer Olympics, he had won the gold medal the past three years, often competing against kids three years older. If it was online, Chase could find it, and often before anyone else could find the On switch. And if the software existed, Chase could master it in minutes.

  As they watched and brainstormed and sometimes argued, the video came together.

  It began with a black screen and the loud noise of big truck diesel engines. The title Bypass to Nowhere appeared as the trucks grew louder offscreen. Cut to Theo, at the podium, introducing himself as he covered his nose and mouth with a bright-yellow surgical mask. As he railed against the bypass, the camera cut to the spectators, all wearing yellow masks, then to the other team. The audience booed and hissed as the debate raged on. The next scene, borrowed from the SEC, was a virtual ride along the proposed bypass. When the ride approached Jackson Elementary, the narrator, Sebastian Ryan, spoke gravely offscreen about the dangers to the students. Cut to a photo of the activists posing by the Jackson Elementary sign, all wearing yellow surgical masks. The sounds changed back to the roar of diesel trucks as the video changed to an action shot of the kids swinging happily on the playground while a dangerous fog settled over them.

  The smoke bomb had worked perfectly, and the three boys were quite proud of themselves.

  Suddenly there was the face of a young mother, wiping tears and going on about the unknown dangers that 25,000 vehicles a day would pose to Jackson Elementary. She had two kids at the school. How could the county even think about such a project? Why not put the safety of the kids first?

  The next scene was back at the debate, with Justin arguing the bypass was needed so more profits could be made. While the spectators booed and hissed, a couple actually tossed wads of paper at him. As he spoke, the video cut to a four-lane highway jam-packed with eighteen-wheelers and cars bumper-to-bumper.

  The mock soccer game was the climax of the video. Chase cut and pasted until the scene was a mix of players trying to play while coughing and gagging in the toxic air, and parents watching and cheering behind yellow masks and hand-painted protest signs, and coaches trying to yell through bulky gas masks. When all the players had finally passed out, the final scene was a close-up of Judge, sitting in the bleachers, with a broken leg and a yellow surgical mask strapped around his face.

  On the black screen were the words: PROTECT THE KIDS. STOP THE BYPASS.

  After they watched it the second time, the boys couldn’t suppress their laughter. If they could be forgiven for a bit of bragging, it was nothing short of brilliant, at least in their opinions. They tweaked it some more, cutting and adding a little here and there, and at 11:00 p.m., Mrs. Whipple stepped into Chase’s room and announced it was time for bed.

  Chase asked his mother if she wanted to see their masterpiece. Of course she did. Long ago, Mrs. Whipple had learned not to be surprised at anything that came from her son’s laptop, most of which he kept hidden from his parents. But when he offered to give her a peek, she never said no.

  For two minutes the boys held their breaths as their first viewer reacted. She smiled and frowned and even laughed when the soccer players keeled over.

  “Very good,” she said when it ended. “Excellent. Now what do you plan to do with it?”

  “We’re still discussing that,” Theo said.

  “I’ll bet you are. Now go to sleep.”

  After she left the room, Chase sent the video to Mr. Mount and to Sebastian Ryan at the SEC.

  Chapter 25

  At 5:00 p.m. Sunday afternoon, Chase posted the Bypass to Nowhere video on their group’s Facebook page (of the same name), and on YouTube as well. The page had over two hundred likes, and most began posting the link to the video. Sebastian Ryan sent the link to every other environmental group opposing the bypass, and they in turn e-mail blasted their members.

  The last thing Theo did before turning off the lights Sunday night was to check YouTube. One thousand eight hundred eighty-three people had seen the video, including Theo’s parents. While they seemed to approve, they were also worried about their son taking a public role in such a nasty political fight.

  When Theo woke up Monday morning, over 3,000 had seen the video. When he arrived at school, his classmates talked of nothing else. By lunch, the number of viewers was over 4,000. By the time Theo bounded up Ike’s steps for their weekly meeting late Monday afternoon, the number was almost 5,000.

  Theo had e-mailed Ike the night before, and Ike had spent most of the day sharing the link with everyone he knew. He’d also read many of the comments. “Virtually all positive,” he said. “Looks like you’ve really hit a nerve, Theo.”

  Theo, too, had read many of the c
omments and was overwhelmed by the responses. Most viewers were obviously opposed to the bypass and delighted to see the video attack it. Most admitted to laughing out loud at the soccer scene when both teams were overcome by toxic fumes. Not surprisingly, there were a few critics. One guy called the video a “two-minute cheap shot by a bunch of kids who don’t vote, don’t drive, don’t pay taxes, and evidently can’t read a newspaper.” Overall, though, the video was being well received.

  Ike wanted to know how they filmed it, and Theo told the story in great detail. He took credit for the smoke bomb idea, and he gave credit to Hardie for the yellow surgical masks. Ike loved the idea of including Judge, but made the observation that the dog looked fairly miserable with a mask.

  They laughed for almost half an hour before Theo had to go. Neither thought of mentioning the secret information Theo had found in Joe Ford’s file. Theo certainly had not forgotten it; he just didn’t know what to do with it.

  * * *

  After the lunch break on Tuesday, Mrs. Gladwell, the principal, sent word to Theo that he was needed in the office. When Theo arrived, he saw Norris Flay of the Gazette waiting with his usual smirking smile. Flay had the habit of always looking as if he’d just rolled out of bed. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair a mess. He seldom shaved. Theo had seen homeless people downtown put together better than Flay.

  “He says he wants to talk to you, Theo,” Mrs. Gladwell said. They were standing in her office.

  “We know each other,” Theo said, eyeing Flay suspiciously.

  “I’m working on a story about the video, Theo,” Flay said. “It’s a nice story, and I’d like to talk to you and your friends, the kids who made the video. It’s kinda gone viral, don’t you think? Ten thousand hits in the first thirty-six hours.”

  “It’s doing okay,” Theo said.

  “It has created quite a buzz and that makes it news. That’s why I’m here.”

  Norris Flay was everywhere, always sniffing around for some dirt, and occasionally for a good story. “What do you think, Mrs. Gladwell?” Theo asked.

  “If I were you, Theo, I’d check with my parents.”

  “Good idea.”

  Theo stepped outside and called his mother. Mrs. Boone felt strongly that Theo had already received more than his share of attention in this matter. But, on the other hand, a rowdy fight led by a bunch of schoolchildren might turn the tide against the bypass. She cautioned Theo to watch his words, specifically not to use such favorites as “thugs” and “crooks.” She also advised him to avoid answering any questions about the smoke bombs.

  After school, Theo, Hardie, Woody, Chase, and April met with Norris Flay in an empty classroom, with Mr. Mount in attendance and listening to every word. Flay was obviously amused by the video—he even claimed to be opposed to the bypass—and asked easy questions. He admired their filmmaking talents, but was equally impressed by their knowledge of the issues. They had done their homework and knew more about the proposed bypass than some of the politicians he had interviewed. Hardie was very effective describing the total destruction of his family’s farm and his grandparents’ way of life. Theo knew more about eminent domain than some of the lawyers Flay had talked to. As always, Flay had his camera and took a few group shots. He couldn’t predict when the story might run but felt like it would be soon.

  * * *

  At 6:30 the following morning, Theo awoke to his alarm and immediately went online to check the Strattenburg Gazette. He was stunned. The bold front-page headline announced: VIRAL VIDEO SHAKES UP BYPASS FIGHT. Under it were two photos. The first was a color shot from the video with the gang of activists posing at the Jackson Elementary School sign, all faces adorned with yellow masks. Under it was a photo taken by Norris Flay the previous afternoon. Their names were listed beside the bottom photo.

  With a knot in his stomach, Theo quickly read the story, praying he had not been misquoted and said something that might get him sued in court. He had not. Flay did a nice job of describing the video, now with over 15,000 hits, and even included the link. He wrote that the video was causing a lot of trouble for the county commissioners, all five of whom were being flooded with angry phone calls, angrier e-mails, and even irate citizens who were showing up at the county offices and demanding face time. Flay had also visited Jackson Elementary and interviewed a few parents. One mother of four claimed to have seventeen registered voters in her extended family and not a single one would ever again vote for any commissioner who voted to approve the bypass. Another mother vowed to remove her two children from the school and pay private tuition. An angry father said he was organizing other families and raising money to hire lawyers to fight the bypass. A kindergarten teacher, name withheld by request, was quoted saying, “I’m shocked at the lack of concern for the safety of our children.”

  Not surprisingly, the only commissioner willing to talk was Mr. Mitchell Stak, who seemed as aggressive as ever. He claimed he had not seen the video but called it a “childish stunt” anyway. He welcomed the phone calls, e-mails, letters, and personal visits, saying, “This is what democracy is all about. I believe in the First Amendment, the right to free speech, and I urge all the people in my district to make themselves heard.” He went on to tout the great advantages of the bypass.

  Theo mumbled to himself, “And not a single word about your son-in-law making some big bucks if it’s approved.”

  There was a soft knock on the door, then it opened. Mrs. Boone eased in and said, “Well, good morning, Theo. Couldn’t wait to see the morning paper, huh?”

  Theo smiled. Busted. “Morning, Mom.”

  “I made some hot cocoa,” she said, holding two tall cups.

  “Thanks, Mom.” She sat beside him on the bed, Judge just inches away and looking for his own hot cocoa, and said, “Nice article, huh?”

  “Very nice,” Theo said. “I was nervous.”

  “Good. It’s wise to always be nervous around reporters. But Norris Flay did a