Things Seen from Above

by Shelley Pearsall

  Joey found it was harder to hide his mistakes. When he messed up, he couldn’t smooth away the extra footprints in the snow. He made a couple of mistakes. And a lot of his lines were really crooked because of the stupid boots.

  Mr. Ulysses said that was okay, because nothing in nature was perfect. Not even snowflakes.

  I suppose it was inevitable that there would be problems for Joey. And for us. Things couldn’t be perfect one hundred percent of the time. People weren’t perfect. Life wasn’t perfect.

  Eventually, a bunch of the Pokémon boys quit the soccer team and went back to their cards…they said soccer was boring but they were still going to be friends with everyone.

  Then the girl with the stuffed unicorn got mad at the bracelet group and returned to her old spot.

  I didn’t get any more notes from my mystery admirer either. I began to think that maybe it was a joke after all. Finally, I shoved the note into the back of my locker and vowed to stop stressing about it.

  Problems started to crop up with Joey too.

  One recess—I think it was a week or so after the snowstorm—Veena and I were sitting on the Buddy Bench when Joey wandered outside, looking upset. I noticed that his coat pockets seemed to be stuffed with something. What was he bringing outside? I wondered.

  As he walked closer, a few scraps of paper fell out of his pockets and scattered behind him like bread crumbs. Joey didn’t seem to realize anything was wrong.

  “Joey, hey, wait up! You’re dropping stuff all over the place.” I jumped up from the bench and tried to get his attention. Veena followed me.

  Stopping in his tracks, Joey looked over his shoulder blankly. Veena and I scurried to pick up the scraps that were within reach. Then I caught the writing on one of them. It said: PLEASE, Joey! Make a picture of a football and a soccer ball for my birthday! Another had hearts and rainbows around the edges. It said: You are my BEST best friend! Can you draw a picture for me with my name on it? Another folded message had a dollar bill taped to it.

  My heart sunk. We should have realized this would happen, right? It was inevitable that things would start to spin out of control eventually. The more Joey did for people, the more requests he got. And I was probably as guilty of encouraging it as anyone else.

  I caught Veena’s worried look as she returned with more notes in her hands. Clearly, she’d figured out what was going on as quickly as I did.

  “What should we do?” she whispered.

  “I’m not sure.”

  I tried to read Joey’s expression. Was he upset by all the requests? Or confused by them? Or was he just feeling overwhelmed?

  As usual, his face gave nothing away.

  “Are these notes from kids in your class?” I finally asked, trying not to sound concerned or panicked.

  “Yes,” he mumbled, staring at his feet—which were in sneakers today. “And other kids too,” he added softly.

  “From other grades?”

  Joey kept looking down. “Everyone.”

  I didn’t want to wreck Joey’s popularity or make him mad at us, but it was obvious that something needed to be done.

  “Okay,” I said, trying to make eye contact with him. “I know you want to be nice, but you don’t have to make tracings for anyone else unless you want to. If you don’t want to make something, you just tell people that you do your own designs. It is your art. Or you can send them over to us and we’ll tell them for you.”

  Veena nodded, but Joey was silent. He stared at his shoes. I couldn’t tell if he was listening or not.

  “Seriously, Joey”—I made my voice more firm—“you are the artist and you get to make your own decisions. Nobody can force you to do their ideas. Repeat after me: I’m the artist and no one can tell me what art to make.”

  Very reluctantly, Joey repeated the words. “I’m the artist and no one can tell me what art to make.”

  I gave him an encouraging smile. “Good. I know you can do it.”

  “Do you want me to take all of your notes and throw them away for you?” Veena asked.

  Finally, Joey’s face broke into a smile. “Okay,” he said.

  Then he began pulling fistfuls of paper—notebook paper, colored construction paper, crayon hearts, folded paper footballs—out of his pockets and pushing them into Veena’s hands. She shoved them into her own coat pockets as fast as he emptied his. More scraps drifted to the ground, and I picked them up.

  From what I could tell, most of them had never been opened.

  Once his pockets were totally empty, Joey’s face relaxed. His shoulders rose as if we’d just taken a big weight off of them.

  “Any more?” I asked, just to be sure.

  “Nope.” Joey smiled. “I’m good.”

  “Remember: you are the artist and nobody can tell you what to make,” I called out again as Joey shuffled away from us in his usual way.

  The next day, he did a beautiful unicorn galloping across the playground.

  Margaret, the stringy-haired girl who was obsessed with unicorns, loved it so much that Ms. Getzhammer had to come outside to coax her off the playground at the end of recess.

  The following day, Joey did a giant Pikachu.

  President Lincoln also appeared on our playground one afternoon. It took everyone a while to figure that one out. Joey drew him in profile like he is pictured on the penny. Wally Rensbacher talked about it for days afterward.

  Was it a coincidence that Joey’s new creations matched the interests of some of the outcast kids? Was he taking my advice and doing what he wanted to do now?

  It was impossible to tell for sure, although Veena and I both thought he seemed a lot happier.

  But then, Joey received the biggest request of his life, and my advice would definitely play a part in what happened next.

  At the end of October, there were two big nights in Marshallville. Halloween was always popular—like it is everywhere else. Homecoming was the other major event.

  If the weather was nice, half the town would show up for Marshallville’s Homecoming game. The high school went all out for it. There would be floats and fireworks. The high school marching band always did a special pregame show. Often the mayor and his family dressed up in rented tiger costumes and handed out candy to the crowd. Most of the stores and restaurants in town offered special discounts for the weekend. Sometimes there were carnival rides in the high school parking lot.

  Despite the popularity of Homecoming, it never occurred to me that Joey Byrd would be asked to be part of the festivities. Like I said, it was a high school event. It had its own longstanding traditions and routines. Younger kids generally weren’t part of the show—unless you were one of the mayor’s three blond-haired kids.

  When Mr. Mac called Veena and me to his office during Friday’s recess (a week before Homecoming), we had no idea why. All Mrs. Zeff told us was that he wanted to talk to us about something.

  After we sat down, the counselor told us he had good news to share—which was a relief since we thought something was wrong.

  “I just got off the phone with the principal of the high school,” Mr. Mac said with a big grin. “And it’s really fantastic news”—he paused for dramatic effect. “The high school has invited Joey to be part of the big Homecoming game against the Kenston Eagles next week. They want him to draw a giant tiger on the football field as a surprise during the pregame show.” Leaning back in his chair, Mr. Mac looked at us. “So what do you think?”

  It took me a minute to absorb what the counselor was actually saying.

  They wanted Joey to make a tiger for Homecoming? On the huge football field at the high school? With his feet?

  Veena glanced uncertainly at me. I could tell she was totally confused by the whole conversation. I’m guessing they probably didn’t have anything like Homecoming in India.

 
“How exactly would he draw on the field?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from sounding as if I thought Mr. Mac was completely nuts.

  The counselor smiled. “You know, I had the exact same question. How would Joey draw on a football field? But the high school grounds crew had a fantastic idea. They thought Joey could use a chalk spreader—you know, the kind of thing they use for lining baseball diamonds—and he could make a giant tiger on the grass right before the start of the game. You know—with chalk instead of his feet.” Mr. Mac squiggled an invisible line on the table in front of us to demonstrate.

  He continued, “Of course, the picture wouldn’t last very long. Only a couple of minutes probably. Once the football players ran onto the field, that’s it”—he swept his hands through the air. “The art would be gone. But imagine how cool it would be! Marshallville would have something at its Homecoming that no other high school in history has ever done—well, as far as we know.”

  He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Also, we could use a little extra luck this year because the Eagles have a much better team than us. So…what do you think of the idea, ladies?”

  I was still having trouble grasping the whole concept. “You mean…he would draw the chalk tiger in front of the crowd at Homecoming?”

  “Yep.” The counselor nodded and smiled. “Pretty neat, huh?” Then his face grew more serious. “So, you both know Joey best—do you think he’d do it?”

  No, I thought, there was no way he’d do it.

  The truth was I wouldn’t do it. Not for a million dollars. Perform in front of hundreds of screaming high schoolers? At the biggest game of the year? Against our biggest rivals? Just the thought of it made my stomach churn.

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t think he would.”

  Although Joey had changed a lot since he’d become famous, he hadn’t completely transformed into a regular kid. Every recess, he still went straight to the most deserted spots on the playground to work by himself. We still had to keep an eye on him to make sure other kids didn’t overwhelm him. And even though he didn’t lie down in the hallways anymore, his body still jerked back whenever people got too close or too loud.

  Next to me, Veena agreed. “He is very shy.”

  But Mr. Mac ignored us completely. “Well, I think there’s no harm in asking Joey about it,” he continued. “Let’s see what he says.” Spinning around in his chair, the counselor reached for the phone on his desk. “Who knows? Maybe he’ll surprise us.” He called the front office and asked them to send Joey in from recess.

  About five minutes later, there was an almost inaudible tap on the counselor’s door.

  “Come in!” Mr. Mac called out.

  Joey opened the door just a crack and squeezed through the narrow opening in his usual way. His cheeks were scarlet from the cold. His hair stuck up in weedy, windblown clumps. He sat down tentatively, as if the chair might explode beneath him.

  “Good gracious, you look like a block of ice, Joey,” Mr. Mac remarked.

  “I’m fine,” Joey insisted. His eyes strayed to the window behind Mr. Mac. I could tell he wanted to be back outside. He never liked to be interrupted when he was working.

  “Okay, well, this won’t take long. You’re not in trouble or anything, so you can relax.” Mr. Mac smiled one of his goofy smiles. “We just called you here to my office because we have an interesting proposal for you to consider….”

  At that point, I figured that Joey had probably tuned out altogether. An interesting proposal? Who did the counselor think he was talking to?

  But as Mr. Mac continued, I noticed how Joey’s eyes suddenly shifted to the counselor’s face. When Mr. Mac started explaining about the football field and about drawing a big tiger in chalk for the game against the Eagles, Joey seemed to be hanging on to every word.

  “So what do you think, kiddo?” Mr. Mac sat back and folded his arms over the Mickey Mouse tie he was wearing. “You want to give this a try or not?”

  “You mean the football field by the big high school?” Joey repeated. “That’s the field where I would draw?”

  Mr. Mac nodded. “Yes, you could use as much—or as little—of the space as you wanted to—”

  “But a ton of people will be there,” I blurted out, trying to make Joey realize that this was an extremely bad idea. “It’s the Kenston Eagles versus the Marshallville Tigers. If you’ve never been to a Homecoming game before, trust me—it’s a huge game.”

  I may not have been a big fan of football, but even I knew about the Kenston rivalry. It had been going on for years and years. Kenston was on the other side of Battle Creek, so they were a cereal town too.

  I tried to get Joey to see how it was one thing to make a tiger on the playground with a bunch of fourth graders watching, but it was another thing entirely to draw on an enormous football field by yourself in front of stands packed with hundreds of rowdy, out-of-control high schoolers. “Everybody will be really loud and crazy,” I said.

  “I’m sure it will be a lot of pressure,” Veena added.

  But our non-subtle hints didn’t seem to get through to Joey.

  I could almost see the little wheels turning in his brain. I could tell that he was only thinking about that gigantic expanse of green stretching from end zone to end zone. I knew he was picturing the biggest tiger he’d ever made—on the biggest, greenest playground around.

  Joey scooted up a little straighter in his chair.

  “Okay,” he agreed with an excited smile. “Yes.”

  Actually, Joey didn’t care at all about the tiger. Or about Marshallville vs. Kenston. Or Homecoming. Or football.

  All he heard was the word “eagle.” All he could picture was Aquila audax. His favorite bird.

  That’s why he said yes.

  I thought Mr. Ulysses would be as concerned as we were about Joey and Homecoming, but he wasn’t.

  After leaving the counselor’s office, Veena and I went in search of the janitor, hoping he’d know what to do next. We found him in the intermediate hallway, fixing a broken locker.

  Once I finished telling him what had happened, he seemed as excited by the idea as Mr. Mac had been.

  His eyes lit up. “I know exactly how to make that chalk machine for Joey,” he said. Plucking a used envelope and a pencil from his shirt pocket, he began to sketch something on the back of the envelope. For a couple of minutes, he seemed to forget we were there.

  After he finished, Mr. Ulysses showed us his drawing. “How’s this?” He pointed at something that looked like a cross between a lawn mower and a kid’s wagon. “See, I’d take the chalk spreader and I’d add some extra parts to make it work better for Joey and give it more style. Special handles. A larger tank. A fancy funnel for pouring in extra chalk if he needs it.” He pointed at more marks I could barely see.

  Finally, I had to point-blank ask, “So do you think it’s okay?”

  Still preoccupied with his design, Mr. Ulysses glanced up. “Is what okay?”

  I held back a sigh. “For Joey to draw a tiger on the field for Homecoming?”

  “Didn’t you already say he’d agree to do it?” Mr. Ulysses’s forehead scrunched with confusion. He glanced back and forth at Veena and me.

  “Yes,” we answered reluctantly.

  The janitor smiled and shrugged. “Then I don’t see what the problem is. I think it’s a wonderful opportunity for Joey. Especially if he’s excited about it. Who knows where it could lead in the future?” he said, echoing what he’d told me weeks before.

  The greatest things often start with a simple line.

  He reached into his back pocket for a phone. “In fact, I’m gonna call up my buddies at the high school right now and tell them I’d be glad to build that chalk machine for Joey. It’ll be my contribution to the cause,” he added.

  * * *

  —<
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  Mr. Ulysses built the entire machine over the weekend.

  On Monday, he pushed it outside during the fourth-grade recess to show it off. I didn’t realize what it was at first.

  It looked like a bizarre musical instrument on wheels.

  Sunlight glinted off a brass funnel from a trumpet (or a trombone?) on the top. Below the funnel, there was a large orange tank where I assumed the chalk was stored. Handlebars were attached to each side of the tank for pushing the machine. The four sturdy wheels below the tank looked as if they might have come from a child’s wagon.

  The chalk machine was an instant attraction. After Mr. Ulysses got it outside, half of the recess kids came running over to see what it was. Joey wandered over too.

  The janitor called it Joey’s Art Machine. “This is what Joey is going to use at the Homecoming football game on Friday to make a big design on the field,” he explained.

  “Joey’s going to be at Homecoming?” someone blurted out because nothing had been announced yet.

  The janitor grinned at Joey. “Yep.”

  The whole group burst into applause. I knew it wouldn’t be long before the news had spread to the rest of the school.

  Mr. Ulysses waved Joey forward. “Okay, come on over here, Joey. Let’s see how well this thing works.”

  The crowd parted to let Joey slip through. He looked both enthralled with the machine—and terrified of it, at the same time.

  “First, the chalk goes into this fancy brass funnel and it’s stored in this big tank below.” Mr. Ulysses tapped the orange tank. “To spread the chalk, you just push the machine like a lawn mower.” He demonstrated pushing the chalk spreader back and forth. “And this handle makes the line start and stop when you press it.” The janitor squeezed a silver handle that looked as if it was an old bicycle brake. The chalk line stopped.

  He pushed the machine toward Joey. “Now, you try it, kiddo.”