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Colored people from all over, who knows from where they came. Seekinga little more pay, certainly seeking escape from the Klan which was once morerising throughout the South. Mostly they lived north of Broadway and west of30 th Street. Right up against and intermingled amongstthe cotton compresses and break-bulk warehouses that lined the Strand alongthe piers and in between the sidings and switchyards of the five railroadsthat abutted the docks. Packed into ramshackle two story wooden tenements,often with less than three feet of space between houses. Wide-eyed kids peeringout from windows, women working as cooks and domestics, "Yaz Mam, No Mam, ThankyeMam". Tired, broken men shuffling home from twelve hour days on the docks.There but not really there. Heard only for mumbled courtesies. What they didat night nobody knew because nobody who was anybody ever visited those partsof town after dark. No streetlights, no street signs, no curbs, no sidewalks,no one home. Oh yes there was an. "They need you up at the main office. Miss Glover needs to see you,"stated Mr. Peterson.Miss Glover was Brian's guidance councilor. He had talked to her theprevious week about college applications for the following year.Mr. Peterson wrote out the pass, and Brian headed out to the frontoffice. He should have suspected something, but he didn't think thatMiss Glover would be a part of it. She was a pretty brunette who hadjust moved back to Grantville. She had graduated from Grantville Highand had attended Iowa on a full scholarship.Halfway to her office, he was grabbed and pulled into an emptyclassroom by four members of the cheerleading squad."We've got you!" squealed Kim Jones, the captain of the squad.Brian might have been able to pull away, but he was too surprised to doso. Miss Glover was sitting on the desk at the front of the room."I'm sorry, Brian, but I'm the advisor for the cheerleaders, and theywanted you badly. They begged me to help them get you," she said with asmile. "Now,.
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