Our proposal is still “under consideration” with the school board; whether it’s true or whether it’s just a cover for anti-change sentiments, the main obstacle they’ve cited is lack of funds. So when you think about it, it actually makes perfect sense to ask for help from someone who has millions of dollars pretty much going spare.

The first thing we did was start delivering flowers to Trey’s office. One hundred and twenty roses, one for every thousand Japanese Americans that his grandfather helped send to the internment camps. And two thousand carnations, one for every million of the total of the estimated two billion dollars in income and property they lost—not even adjusted for inflation—during their three years in the camps. In bunches of two dozen. Owen, Zach, Emily, Nikki, Lili, Mizhir, Tulasi, Aviana, and I took turns making the deliveries. I would have loved to use black-eyed Susans for justice or purple lilacs for memory, but we couldn’t afford to buy enough to make the statement we wanted with the cash we’d raised, so we settled for what was cheapest and most abundant.

The lobby is a riot of color; I guess Trey either ran out of room in his own office or got tired of being interrupted with deliveries pretty early on. Red roses cover the coffee table in the waiting area. Purple and pink roses are stacked on an armchair, and the floor is literally carpeted with a rainbow of carnations. There’s just enough room for a path through the lobby that stops at the receptionist’s desk and continues through the double doors into the inner recesses of the building. Alice, the receptionist, glowers at us from behind her desk as we walk up to it.

“Hi, Alice. Could we please talk to Trey?”

“I’m sorry, CJ, but I’m pretty sure he’s in a meeting right now.”

“Could you please check?”

“I have checked, hon. See? I have everybody’s meetings on this schedule right here.” She tilts her monitor at me to prove it.

“Okay. I guess I’ll just call him, myself.” Thank goodness for Mom. I snuck into her phone last night and sent myself Trey’s number.

At the same time, Emily calls Mom, who, according to her calendar, is in the same meeting.

Five minutes later, Trey and Mom are in the lobby with us. Trey’s features are arranged in a mask of composure. Mom smiles at us, but the set of her jaw tells me that she is not happy to see us.

“Hi, there, CJ. How can I help you and your friends today?” Trey asks, though I’m pretty sure he has no intention of helping any of us. Nikki starts the camera on her phone.