But something had changed.
There were signs taped to trash cans all over town.
Not fancy signs.
Printer paper.
Markers.
Kids’ handwriting.
THANK YOU, SILAS.
WE STAND WITH OUR WORKERS.
SORRY WE JUDGED YOU.
One trash can had a drawing of a huge man standing between a little house and a black car.
The man had a cape.
I cried when I saw that one.
Then I honked once.
Just once.
For Junie.
The kids on my bus cheered.
At Kinsley’s stop, Aaron came out with her.
She walked slowly to the bus, holding something in both hands.
A folded piece of notebook paper.
Her face was red.
She climbed the steps and stood beside me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I turned slightly so the other kids couldn’t see her face.
“I know.”
“I didn’t mean what I said.”
“I know that too.”
“You didn’t ruin my life.”
