The Year the Lights Came On by Terry Kay Page B

him. He had a ready temper and because he dealt with children he had no fear of challenge. Now, in the aftermath of a riot, his face was blotched in anger and he waved his thin leather belt around like Al “Lash” LaRue in a saloon.
    “Now, who started this?” Hollister demanded.
    “Wesley Wynn,” shouted Dupree. “Wesley Wynn started it, by granny.”
    Freeman took one step toward Dupree and Hollister lashed him with his belt. Freeman growled and turned to face the second blow. He was in a nasty, fighting mood.
    Wesley pulled away from Old Lady Blackwall’s hammerlock. He caught Freeman by the arm and jerked him away from Hollister. Both groups froze. Hollister raised his belt. Wesley did not move. Hollister dropped his arm. Hitting Freeman or me or anyone else was one thing; hitting Wesley was another matter. Wesley defied such punishment.
    “This fight started,” Wesley said in a measured, perfectly calm voice, “because Dupree and them was makin’ fun of Shirley Weems. I know that’s wrong and you know it’s wrong. But Shirley’s put up with that since she’s been in school and she’d of taken it again today. We would’ve watched it happen again…” Wesley looked at Shirley and apologized with his eyes. She dropped her head and stood perfectly still.
    “That’s not so,” Dupree interrupted. “She’s his girl.”
    “Dupree, you keep quiet,” Mrs. Simmons ordered, and even Hollister recognized her presence.
    “Well, like I said, it would’ve been just like before,” continued Wesley, “but that little brother of hers, well, he’s not learned what it’s like to be pushed around all the time, and when Dupree slapped him to the ground for tryin’ to help out his sister, well, Mr. Hollister—” Wesley turned to include the other teachers “—and the rest of you grownups, that’s when we don’t take it no longer.”
    Hollister studied Wesley from squinted eyes. He looked for help from Mrs. Simmons, but she offered none. No one moved or made a sound.
    “You got to be punished, Wesley,” Hollister finally said, raising his arm.
    Wesley locked his hands behind his back and lifted his face to Hollister. It was a martyr’s pose; Wesley looked like Daniel surrendering to the Lion’s Den.
    “Well, sir, you can punish me if you want to, but I have told you the truth and you know it,” Wesley replied calmly. “You know I don’t lie—never.”
    I had never known Wesley to be so direct. I could feel a quiver of pride flutter through Lynn’s body as she stroked my head.
    Hollister was struck by the lightning of Wesley’s words. He was speechless, paralyzed from his jowls to his lips. The red left his face and a pale, drained-out expression of defeat crawled around the tight circle of his thin mouth. He had, at last, been challenged, and by a child, and he had lost.
    Mrs. Simmons moved to Wesley. She placed both hands on his shoulders and spoke quietly. “Mr. Hollister’s not saying you’ve lied, Wesley. He’s just trying to find out what happened.”
    “Yes’m. I know that.”
    Hollister was confused. His voice pleaded with Wesley. “But—but, why, Wesley? Why didn’t you just come and tell me or one of the other teachers about Dupree?”
    “Because this is between us and them. Because you would’ve let it go. Because you would’ve got mad at me for tattling.”
    “No—no, Wesley. I—would have…”
    “No, sir. There’s two sides in this school, and any side gets stepped on, it’s us.”
    “Wesley, that’s not true. There’s no difference.”
    “Yes, sir. There is a difference.”
    “What difference, Wesley?” Hollister was begging. “What’re you talking about?”
    Wesley stepped back and turned around. He looked at me and I knew it was the Right Time for telling. He looked at Freeman and Freeman smiled; Freeman also knew. He turned back to Hollister.
    “Well, Mr. Hollister, you may not believe it,” Wesley said, “but the difference is