Unforgettable by Loretta Ellsworth Page A

know?”
    â€œYou don’t seem the tennis type, either.”
    Brad smirks. “Okay, you’re right. I really want to be on the team, but Dad needs me here. I thought that if we got ahead a bit, he might let me take some time off to play.” He sighs. “Don’t see that happening, though. What’s your sport?”
    â€œWell, I joined the Environmental Club.”
    He nods. “Yeah, you seem that type, too.”
    â€œI’m not, though. Not really,” I confess. “I only joined to hang out with Halle Phillips.”
    â€œThat’s as good a reason as any, I guess. You know, before you go off on the environmental practices of our farm, I have to tell you that we do as much sustainable farming as we can. We use minimum pesticides and we don’t fill our animals with a bunch of hormones. But we can’t go organic and make a living here. Dad’s barely scraping by as it is.” He shakes his head. “You know how many farms are going under in this area? If we disappear, all that will be left are the big industrialized farms. So go tell your environmental club that.” His voice is tight.
    â€œI wasn’t going to say anything about your farm,” I respond. “Our club is protesting the taconite plant in town because of the number of people who’ve died from mesothelioma.”
    â€œI hate to tell you this, Baxter, but if the taconite plant closed down, there wouldn’t be a town.”
    â€œThat doesn’t mean they shouldn’t ensure the safety of the people who work there. All we’re asking for is a study on the effects of the taconite dust on the workers.”
    Brad puts our plates in the dishwasher. “You sound awfully committed for someone who only joined to impress a girl.”
    He’s right. I’m beginning to sound just like Halle and Eddie and the rest of them. Maybe I should take up tennis.
    Brad pats me on the back as we return to work. “You’re not that type, huh?”

The Plan and Halle’s Ex
    The next meeting of the Environmental Club is held in room 201 at 2:36 p.m., exactly one week after the protest. The five of us sit in a circle on top of the desks, passing around a bag of Fritos.
    I hope we’re going to discuss world hunger or global warming or something remote to northern Minnesota. I’m even thinking of bringing up the dragonflies if it will keep us away from the taconite plant.
    But Halle is a broken record. She won’t give up. “We need higher clean air standards in the plant. I mean, no one knows what level of exposure to taconite fibers is safe.”
    Eddie nods. “What we really need is a strategy. A way to make people sit up and notice the problem.”
    â€œIt’s more than that,” Roxie adds. “We want action. My aunt is a nurse and she said that she’s seeing more cases of mesothelioma every year.”
    Gina hugs Eddie’s arm. “I’ve got it. Let’s call Oprah.” Today she has a purple streak down the middle of her short, dark hair. It’s a good match for her landing-strip voice.
    â€œGet real,” Eddie says, pushing his long hair behind his ears. “Oprah isn’t interested in the Iron Range.”
    He has on the shirt with the big red-and-black turtle on the front. This time I read the back of it, which says, “Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa Indians.” All this time I’d thought Eddie was just into turtles.
    â€œGina has a point,” Halle says. “Wouldn’t it be great to have a celebrity get behind us? Someone big?”
    â€œOprah’s big,” Gina insists.
    â€œWe’re not calling Oprah,” Eddie says. “If we’re going to get a celebrity, I’d rather go with someone hot. Someone with big breasts.” He holds out his hands.
    Gina slugs his arm. “Don’t talk about women that way.” But she looks down at her own shirt as she talks, as