Free With the Might of Angels by Andrea Davis Pinkney Page B

was too tight. And queasy.
    Goober sat with his chin rested on the table.
    He rocked gently in his chair. He’s been very quiet all evening. He hasn’t looked at me much. His eyes have gone someplace else for now. He’s locked himself off.
    All through supper, Goober mostly watched the pickle person he’d put on my plate. Finally, softly, he said, “Eat, Dawnie.”
    “Not hungry, Goober,” I said.
Tuesday, September 28, 1954
Diary Book,
    The Panic Monster had a hold of me all night. He sure works hard, even when I’m sleeping.
    Daddy had to wake me this morning. I’d slept past the in-between, past the clock, even.
    “Dawnie, time for school,” he said, rubbing slow circles on my back.
    Mama was there, too, saying, “You don’t have to shine, but you
do
have to rise.”
    There was light at my window. It startled me. Morning had snuck up on me.
    I dressed quick. I could only stomach orange juice.
    Mama had set out one of my church skirts, a simple blouse, and a cardigan. It was still more dressed up than if I were going to Bethune. At least Mama took pity on me, and let me wear a plain white headband, not a
bone-y
bow.
    I hurried into my clothes. But the Vaselines —
uh-uh.
Mouse traps on my feet would have been more comfortable than those shoes. Mama and I agreed on my loafers, which I wear for everything except baseball.
    Mama secured my knuckles around the handle of my molasses lunch tin, which she’d still dressed up in the Peach Melba fabric.
    This morning my picture was in our town newspaper, the
Hadley Register.
    The headline said: S HE S TANDS A LONE.
    Daddy bought ten copies of the paper. He’d picked them up on his way home from the dairy supply, as newsstands were just opening.
    I’ve clipped the article here:
    The first steps toward school integration in Hadley began yesterday when one brave Negro girl entered Prettyman Coburn School. Withcourage and determination, the child faced hundreds of angry protesters who assembled in an effort to keep Prettyman Coburn segregated, and to prevent the child from enrolling.
    Many parents have refused to let their children attend Prettyman Coburn School. By midmorning yesterday, several had come to the school to remove their children. In a statement, Spencer Lloyd, the principal at Prettyman Coburn, said, “Allowing Negroes to attend our school poses a hazard to the safety and well-being of our institution.”
    Local officials and members of the state legislature are in continued talks with Virginia governor Thomas B. Stanley about next steps in the process. Until further notice, school integration remains the law. Any Negro wishing to attend Prettyman Coburn School, or any white student wishing to attend Hadley’s other public school, the Mary McLeod Bethune School, is free to do so under the laws set forth in the recent
Brown v. Board of Education
Supreme Court ruling banning segregation.
    Even though the paper never printed my name, there were photographs of me going into Prettyman.
    Looking at the newspaper pictures, I don’t recognize myself. My hair is all muffin-y. My Vaselines are catching glints of light from every which way. And my face —
What is that eyes-looking-straight expression?
    Under my picture the caption says: “A Soldier for Justice.”
Wednesday, September 29, 1954
Diary Book,
    Today Daddy and I walked to school at a clip. We said our good-byes at the same corner, Waverly and Vine.
    I saw the police cars up ahead, but very few other people. Seems the angriest folks had stayed home. It was quiet, too. Like a fever that flares one day, then cools the next. I sure didn’t miss all that hollering, but I noticed right off there was no school bell. I did miss that.
    I went around to the back of the building, where I’d left Prettyman yesterday, and got in that way. It was easy. The policemen didn’t even see me. I came in on my own.
    Walking two miles to school with Daddy is a long way, but today, moving through the corridors of