The Candy Smash (14 page)

Jessie marched up to him and said, "Give me back my newspapers!"

"You're not handing these out," he said.

"Yes, I am!"

"No. You're. Not."

"You're not the boss of me, Evan Treski!" Jessie reached for the bag, but Evan grabbed it and pivoted, just like he did on the basketball court, and avoided her attack.

"Yeah, but I'm bigger and taller and OLDER. So too bad for you."

Jessie lunged at her brother. "They're mine, and I want them back!" Evan stiff-armed her and held the bag and the paper higher so that she couldn't get it.

"Quit it!" he said. "Let me
read!"

Suddenly Jessie realized that Evan was her first reader. She stopped grabbing for the papers and instead watched him. This is what she had wanted all along: to write something that people couldn't put down.

Evan placed the bag of papers on the ground between his feet. He was a slow reader, and it took him a long time to get all the way to the end of the frontpage article. Jessie watched as he flipped the paper over to the back page and read the answer to the mystery of the candy hearts. Then he looked at her, and the look on his face was one she knew well. He was about to explain something to her.

"Look, Jess," he said. "I should be really mad at you, and I am, but I know you just don't ... get this. Here's the thing: You can't hand this paper out." He shuffled his feet together so that the grocery bag of newspapers was more safely wedged between his legs.

"Why?" she asked. She had the sinking feeling that she had done something that wasn't right. Something that other kids would have understood, but somehow she didn't. "Isn't it good?"

"Well, yeah, it's good," said Evan. "You did a great job writing up the mystery with all the clues." Evan nodded his head. "It's
really
good."

"So why can't I hand it out? I bet the other kids will want to read it, too."

"But you're going to
embarrass
Megan and probably get her in a lot of trouble. I mean, you tell everyone that she wrote on the bathroom door and that she handed out candy in school. She'll get sent to the principal for sure and maybe even suspended."

"Well, she should have thought about that before she did those things!" said Jessie. Jessie believed in following rules. Then again, here she was on the kindergarten playground.
And
she'd been planning to hand out her newspapers before Mrs. Overton had a chance to look at them. Which was not breaking a rule, really, but she knew she wasn't supposed to do it.

Jessie looked around quickly to see whether anyone had noticed that she was on the playground. Or whether Mrs. Overton was hunting for her.

"But do you really want to be the one who gets Megan in trouble? I mean, come on. It's Megan. She's the nicest person in the whole fourth grade."

It was true. Megan was always doing nice things for other people. She never excluded anyone or teased. She was the best friend Jessie had ever had besides Evan.

"And, Jess, in the survey results, you list names. You write in all the names of the kids that other kids have crushes on."

"But I don't tell who has a crush on who! I don't even know. The surveys were all anonymous."

"Yeah, but think how a kid might feel whose name isn't listed even once. Pretty lousy."

"Why?" asked Jessie. She really didn't get it. Why would anyone care if someone had a crush on them? It didn't make any sense to her. Then she thought about the missing survey and the name listed at the bottom of it: hers. She didn't know how she felt about
that,
but it was definitely a strange feeling.

"And, Jess!" Now Evan's voice did get angry—the same tone as when she'd gone into his room without his permission. "What about my poem? Huh? Where did you even
get
that?"

Jessie's voice came out very small. "From the trash."

"You took something out of my
trash can?"
Jessie could hear the heat in Evan's voice. She didn't want him to be angry. She had wanted to make him happy and proud.

"It looked like a turtle," she said. "And then I opened it up." She shook her head in confusion. "I thought you'd be happy to have your poem published. You should be proud that you write such good poetry. Mom said the poem you wrote for Grandma is one of the best poems she's ever read."

"But it's
private,
Jess," said Evan. "Don't you get it? I don't want anyone knowing that I write poetry. It's embarrassing."

Jessie didn't get it. Why would you want to hide a talent? Why wouldn't you want everyone to know how great you were? Jessie always wanted people to notice when she was the best.

"And besides," said Evan, "it's mine.
Mine.
Get it? And if I never want to show that poem to a single person my whole life, then that's what I'll do."

That was something Jessie could understand. You weren't allowed to print something if the author didn't want you to. It was called copyright, and it was the law.

"So what about...?" Jessie pointed to the bag at Evan's feet. He stared back at her. "Can I hand out just a few?" Jessie's voice crumpled.

"Over my dead body," said Evan.

Jessie felt like the whole world was collapsing around her—the trees, the school building, the swing set, even Evan—shrinking and disappearing so that she was standing in emptiness. This is how it was for her when she just couldn't—
couldn't
—make sense of what was going on around her. The world became white and muffled and strange. That's when she liked to climb into her own bed and read one of her familiar books, where the story always turned out exactly the same way, so that Jessie knew what was coming next.

She looked at the paper in Evan's hands. Her beautiful paper. Everyone would want to read it. But she would have to kill it.

"You do it," she said. "I can't."

Evan put a hand on her shoulder. "Come on," he said. "We'll do it together."

juxtaposition
(n) the placement of two very different words or ideas side by side to create a strong sense of contrast (but also connection) between the two

 

The hallway after recess was a tangle of kids and coats and boots and scarves as everyone hurried to put things away before going back into the classroom. Evan took his time, arranging and rearranging his things in his cubby. As usual, Megan was one of the last to come in.

When just a few students were left in the hall, Evan signaled Megan to wait by her cubby. Finally, they were alone.

Evan walked up to Megan, knowing that his face was getting redder by the second. He hoped she would think it was because it was so cold outside.

"I'm sorry," he said, "for acting like a jerk the last couple of days. The guys have all been giving me a hard time, and I just wanted them to leave me alone. I wasn't trying to be mean to you."

Megan nodded her head. "I've been getting teased a lot, too." She looked miserable. "I guess I've done some pretty dumb things lately. And I don't even know why I did them. Everything has felt so weird."

"I know what you mean." Evan's heart was beating a mile a minute. His right hand was hooked into his back pocket, and he could feel the folded-up paper he had tucked away there.

"It's just that..." Megan stopped and took a deep breath, then closed her eyes. "I like you, Evan."

Evan felt his heart leap in his chest and a sudden warm glow spread through his body and radiate out the tips of his fingers. For a moment, he wondered if he was floating above the ground. It was as if the happiness inside of him was a jet pack, lifting him gently into the air.

"But I
don't
want to go out with you!" Megan blurted out.

Whomp.
The feeling of lightness vanished. Evan took half a step back, surprised. He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. There was a strange ringing in his ears, and he could feel his stomach starting to spin.

"It's no fun!" Megan stared at him, looking worried and upset. The spinning in his stomach kept going and going. The ringing in his ears was louder now, and he felt like his vision was being squeezed through a thin tube. He was looking down a long tunnel at her face, which was getting farther and farther away by the second. Everything was pulling away from him.

This was what he'd been waiting for. Dreading. This out-of-control feeling.

"Are you okay?" asked Megan.

Evan managed to nod his head.

"Are you mad?"

"No." The word came out so sad and lonely that Evan wished he could come up with a few more, just to keep it company.

"Then ... can we be friends?"

Friends. Evan felt the spinning slow down a little.

"Sure. Friends," he croaked.

Megan smiled. "Good. That'll be way more fun." Her face rippled into smoothness, the way the surface of a pond settles back into itself after a stone is dropped.

Was it over? Evan wondered. He felt he should check his arms, his legs, his ribs, to see if he was still in one piece. Megan turned to go into the classroom.

"Wait!" he said. "I have something ... there's this thing ... I want to show you." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out
The 4-O Forum,
the only copy that hadn't been destroyed when he and Jessie had ripped up all the rest and thrown them in the Dumpster behind the school. "It's this thing ... I wrote." He handed her the newspaper, folded so that his poem was in front.

 

Megan read the poem silently. Evan concentrated on her ponytail. The ringing in his ears was quieter now, and his vision had gone back to normal.

Finally, Megan looked up at Evan. "Can I keep this?"

Evan nodded. "But only if you swear you'll never show it to anyone, your whole life."

"I swear," said Megan. She smiled.

Evan and Megan stood still. He wasn't sure what to do next. They heard Mrs. Overton's voice floating out of the classroom—"Take out your science notebooks"—reminding them that it was time to get back to the business of school. Down the hall, Evan heard the bathroom door swing open, then bang shut. He didn't think much about it—until Scott Spencer flashed past them, and tore the newspaper out of Megan's hand.

"Sweet!" he shouted. "I've got the first copy!"

"All the News That's Fit to Print"
is the motto of the
New York Times
newspaper, printed on the front page of every issue; it means the paper won't print a story that is inaccurate, irresponsible, or harmful without a reason

 

"Quiet!" shouted Mrs. Overton.

Pandemonium had erupted in the classroom. Scott was waving the newspaper over his head, running circles around the bookcase that housed the gerbils, while Evan chased after him, shouting, "You'd better give it back, or else!"

Mrs. Overton clapped her hands once. "Scott, give me that paper, now!"

"He stole it from me!" yelled Megan.

"It's mine!" shouted Evan.

"Technically," said Jessie, "it's mine."

"Scott Spencer! This instant!"

Scott slowly walked over to Mrs. Overton, with the paper held open in front of him, greedily reading all the words he could before handing it to his teacher. Jessie could tell he wanted nothing more than to read the articles—
her
articles—and couldn't help feeling a little thrill to know that her paper was that good.

Jessie watched as Evan followed Scott and stood in front of their teacher. "Please, Mrs. Overton. Don't read it. It's private."

Mrs. Overton glanced up from the front page and looked straight at Jessie. "Jessie? What's going on here?"

Jessie raised both her hands and let them flop at her side. "I wanted to write a blockbuster. I wanted to write something everyone would want to read." Jessie still didn't understand what was so wrong with that. But the kids in 4-O were like a pack of wolves closing in for the kill.

"Well, it looks like you've achieved your goal." Mrs. Overton's face did not look happy. Was she going to punish Jessie? Send her to the principal's office?

"Jessie
promised
she would tell us the results of the survey," said Tessa. "A promise is a promise."

"That's true," said Mrs. Overton. "And we all know what Langston says about promises." She pointed to the picture of Langston spitting out the words
NEVER MAKE A PROMISE YOU CAN'T KEEP. ALWAYS KEEP THE PROMISES YOU MAKE.

"Mrs. Overton?" said Megan. "May I please read one of the letters from my advice column to the class?"

"Not right now, Megan."

"It's kind of important," she said.

"We don't want to hear your advice column!" shouted Jack. "We want to find out who's in love!" The class started making all kinds of noise, but Mrs. Overton silenced them with one swoosh of her raised hand.

"Please?" said Megan. "It doesn't have anything to do with love."

Mrs. Overton allowed Megan to show her the letter she wanted to read and then gave her permission to read it out loud.