Hero–Type by Barry Lyga

anyone before 1892 prove they loved their country if they didn't have a Pledge? Or, y'know, magnets to put on their, well, their horse and buggies, I guess."
    My smart-assery is unappreciated, but I can tell that I've caused at least a bit of confusion in some skulls out there.
    "Sit down
now,"
says Mrs. Sawyer, and her voice has this note of panic in it, like she's about to pull a gun. John pauses, trying to figure out how serious she is.
    "I'm not going to listen to this crap," he says.
    "You both have five seconds and then I'm writing hall passes to the principal's office."
    John goes back to his seat.
    "You should know what you're saying and what you're doing and why," I say. I'm on a roll. I'm not stopping now. "Like, the word
equality
was originally going to be in the Pledge, but do you know why it isn't? Because the guy who wrote it knew that the people in charge of the schools back then didn't like women and African Americans. So he didn't put it in there."
    Not much of a reaction there, but then again, there are only like ten black kids at South Brook, so I don't really know what I expected.
    "And it originally said 'my flag,' not 'the flag of the United States of America.' A bunch of people changed that like twenty years later even though the guy who wrote it didn't want them to. And then in the 1950s, they added 'under God.'"
    That gets a couple of people stirring—no one realized that God wasn't an original part of the Pledge.
    "The guy who wrote it was a minister, but he never put God into it. It was a bunch of people sixty years later who did that. Your great-grandparents grew up reciting a Pledge that didn't mention God." I look pointedly at John Riordon. "They weren't saying the real Pledge, I guess. So, like, I guess they never loved their country, huh?"
    Mrs. Sawyer says, "OK, Kevin, you've made your point. Thank you for the history lesson." She's a history teacher, but I guess she doesn't appreciate the irony.
    "I have more to say."
    "No, you don't." She's got her pad of passes in her hand already.
    "Yes, I do."
    She sighs as the announcements start. Everybody jumps up and puts their hands over their heart and recites the Pledge, just like we have a million times before. I stand there at the front of the class, doing nothing,
not
saying the Pledge even though every tissue and fiber in my body wants to do it. Because that's what I've been trained to do ever since I started school, and not doing it is killing me, especially with everyone watching.
    But I resist. I don't say it.
    As soon as the Pledge is over, I get right back into it: "Did you know people used to salute the flag while saying the Pledge? Like this." I demonstrate. "But during World War II, people realized it looked just like a Nazi salute, so they stopped—"
    "Kevin!" It's Mrs. Sawyer. "No one can hear the announcements."
    "But, Mrs. Sawyer, this is important."
    "So are the announcements. You're done."
    "But—"
    She rips a hall pass off her pad and hands it to me. "Principal's office."
    "Why?"
    "You know why."
    John Riordon starts clapping as I walk out the door, and a few other people join in. Mrs. Sawyer tells them to stop, but they don't, at least not right away.
    And so I get to visit the Doc, not to be confused with the Surgeon. Dr. Goethe is actually a fairly cool guy. Unlike the assistant principal, the Spermling, he's pretty calm and collected most of the time.
    "Why are you doing this to me, Kevin?" he asks. He's pretty straightforward, too.
    "I haven't done anything."
    "For a few shining, perfect moments the whole country was looking at you with pride. Now I'm hearing that the wire services might pick up the paper's cover story from yesterday. Then your stunt last night with the bridge. And now this. What have I ever done to you to deserve this?"
    "I didn't have anything to do with the bridge, Dr. Goethe. I swear."
    He groans and leans back in his chair. "Are you going to sue over the Pledge? Is that it? A church and state thing