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I’M NOT SUREhow the people who run Instagram let the fake @AliCross4Cops page stay up, even though I’ve reported it multiple times. But I’m kind of not surprised, given what I see when I scroll through people’s pages. I gotta tell you: there’s an awful lot of ugly stuff. To be honest, some of it is so dirty and mean that I can’t (and I don’t want to) give you examples. Sure, I’m pumped when I read posts from friends that support my point of view. But I’m just as super-mad when those people write nasty stuff about Sienna. Not that I plan on going easy on her myself when we debate.
Frankly, I’m worried. Word has started to spread about this debate, and social media seems to be supporting Sienna. I’m totally outnumbered.
YouTube has thousands of videos of cops using unnecessary force. And only a few videos of them helping a cat out of a tree.
But I’ve got numbers on my side. Major statistics about gang murders and assaults on innocent citizens. Plus my boys Cedric and Mateo have been filming interviews with people in our neighborhood—mostly people of color—talking about how the cops helped them.
From a tough-looking, tough-sounding teen:
“That officer on Benning Road where the shopping center is, he literally saved my mama’s life. He stun-gunned the little punk who slashed my mama’s wrist and arm and…”
From a middle-aged woman in a supermarket:
“There’ve been so many killings by the gangs, my husband says he slips and slides on all the bullet casings that litter the street.”
Other people say things like, “We wouldn’t be alive without the cops” and “They risk their lives every day. Who would evenwanta job like that?”
Hearing real people is going to be a powerful moment in the debate. But Sienna will have that, too, in the other direction. I have to remember that I still have to have the numbers, the charts, the facts. If not, Sienna will tear me apart.
I know I should resist checking Instagram again. But I can’t. The posts are just as bad as before. Except now I’m getting some scary DMs, too. From people who think that fake Instagram account is me.
Enough of this. I’ve got a Spanish vocab quiz tomorrow that I’ve got to study for. But the minute I open my textbook, the front doorbell rings. I’m the only one at home. I look out the little side window to make sure it’s not a protestor. I see a woman, maybe thirty years old, with black hair down to her waist. She’s carrying a big leather satchel and wearing a blazer over nice jeans and a pair of blue-and-white Nikes.
“Good afternoon,” she says as she flips open an ID case. It reminds me of the Washington, DC, police ID my dad carries. Only this woman’s ID says “The Washington Post” right next to her photograph. (She looks a lot better in person.) But her name is too small to read. She soon fixes that.
“My name is Gloria Torres. I’m a reporter with theWashington Post.”
“How do you do,” I say politely.
“I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”
“Good. Thank you,” I say, waiting for her to tell me why she’s here.
“Are you by any chance Ali Cross?”
This does not feel right. And anyway, this kind of thing has happened a few times before. So I’ve been trained by Dad and Bree to be very cautious when a newspaper person comes around asking questions.
“I’m Ali Cross,” I say, and then I quickly add, “I’d ask you in, ma’am, but I’m not allowed to talk to you.”
“Why can’t you talk to me? You believe in the First Amendment, right?” she asks. She’s not pushy, but I don’t think I’m letting her in. There’s a pause.
I can tell immediately that she’s the kind of person who has to fill silence. So because I didn’t answer her question about the First Amendment as fast as she’d like, she decides to pitch it at me again.
“Ali, I repeat. You do believe in the First Amendment, don’t you?”
As she asks the question again, she removes a small notepad from her leather bag. Then she clicks her pen and gets ready to write. A notepad? It’s like something out of an old movie. Hasn’t she heard about smartphones and recorders and iPads? But I move on to answer her question.
“Oh, yeah. I’m a total believer in the First Amendment,” I say.
Then I can’t stop myself from showing off.
“I can even tell you my favorite part of that amendment. ‘Congress shall make no law abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press.’ So, yes, I believe in the freedom to speak. And I also believe in the freedomnotto speak.”
“You know the amendment very well,” she says. “Maybe I could step inside for a minute? We could talk about the First Amendment. Only the First Amendment.”
I bite my lower lip (it’s kind of a cute-guy pose that sometimes works for me) and say, “No. I don’t think so. I have a feeling that we’d end up talking about some other stuff.”
“Like what?” she asks. She’s acting all innocent, like I’m just being stubborn.
