Free Dakota Dream by JAMES W. BENNETT Page A

you’d expect from somebody who’d just won a college scholarship.
    When the bell rang, I asked Mr. Porter if I could have a different seat for my other detentions.
    â€œYou’ll keep the seat I gave you,” he said.
    Thanks to a phone call from the school, Mrs. Grice knew about the detentions by the time I got back to Gates House. After she chewed my ass for being rebellious and disrespectful, she informed me I was now on probation.
    I told her I didn’t do anything wrong, but all she said was, “I don’t want to hear it.”
    Then she spelled out the terms of my probation. It was more or less like being grounded. I couldn’t go on any special activities, unless they were required by the agency; I wouldn’t have any sign-out privileges to go places on my own. I was required to take a chart to school every day and get it signed by Mr. Saberhagen to show that my behavior was appropriate.
    That was about it. The last thing she told me was, “Naturally, I’ll be calling your social worker.” She was popping her loose lip a mile a minute.
    â€œNaturally,” I said.
    â€œI sincerely hope that’s not a tone of voice.”
    â€œI’m just trying to be agreeable here.”
    Then she told me I needed to go to my room, which was where I wanted to go anyway.
    Barb came over after supper. She asked me what I was working on, so I showed her the form for the story contest. She sort of skimmed it, then said, “Do you like to write?”
    â€œI like to think of myself as a writer,” I said. I pointed to my journal, which was out on the table. “I keep a record of story notes and ideas,” I said.
    It seemed to impress her. “I tried to write some poems once, when my son was real small. I guess they were okay, in a greeting card sort of way.”
    I didn’t know what I was supposed to say about it, but then it was kind of funny; not humorous, but strange: She was handing me back the contest form and I saw her wiping a tear from her eye. Like something just surged up in her emotions and then disappeared. I didn’t know what to make of it, but it made me a little edgy.
    She asked me if I was going to enter the contest.
    â€œI was thinking about it,” I said.
    â€œGo for it. Maybe you’ll write the story that wins first prize.” Then she made a quick shift. “We need to talk. You can’t smoke in here, so how ’bout if we go outside and sit on the stoop?”
    It didn’t matter to me. As soon as we got to the stoop, she lit up. “You’ve got yourself in detention and on probation. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
    â€œWe had a shoe controversy,” I said. I gave her a basic summary of my meeting with Saberhagen.
    Barb looked at my moccasins and said, “What’s the problem with them?”
    â€œSaberhagen says they’re not appropriate for school.”
    â€œThey look presentable to me, and they look like good quality.”
    â€œThey are good quality. These are authentic Dakota moccasins, handmade.”
    She looked a little impatient. I noticed she was wearing blue jeans and a sweat shirt, not that it mattered to me. Her clothes were her business. She said, “So what’s the problem?”
    â€œI got pissed and gave him some lip. That’s the real reason I got the detentions, if you want the truth. I told him my moccasins weren’t hurting anybody, and I was going to go right on wearing them.”
    â€œAll right, it was a mistake to lip off. You can see that as well as I can. But I’ll go in and talk to him; there has to be a way to sort this out.”
    She doesn’t have a clue , I thought to myself. She thinks she can walk into Saberhagen’s office and use logic on him. She probably even thinks she could use logic on Mrs. Grice.
    There must have been a look on my face, because Barb said, “You don’t want me to talk to him.”
    I