The School Story

by Andrew Clements

  “Yup—just left. Tell me about this office, Ms. Clayton.”

  Laura Clayton couldn’t tell much from his voice. He didn’t sound mad, but it wasn’t really a friendly tone either. She gulped again and said, “Well, it’s one of those instant office places on upper Broadway. It’s near where I live, so I stop in to pick up the mail. And they have a beeper service so that we . . . I mean, so that Zoe can return phone calls.”

  “Zoe talked on the phone with these people?”

  “Well, yes,” said Ms. Clayton, “but . . . but not a lot. Just when she had to.”

  “How about the rent on this office, Ms. Clayton?”

  “I . . . I was going to explain that to you. When Zoe got the idea to rent the office—”

  Mr. Reisman broke in, “Renting the office was Zoe’s idea?”

  “Oh, yes. I . . . I was just her . . . well, her helper.”

  “Okay,” he said, “go on.”

  “Well, Zoe brought me an envelope of money.”

  “How much money?”

  Ms. Clayton winced and said, “Well . . . it was five hundred dollars.”

  “Did you say five hundred?”

  “Yes, five hundred dollars.”

  “In cash?”

  “Yes, all in cash.” Laura Clayton did not feel this conversation was going well.

  Robert Reisman was silent, so Ms. Clayton continued. “Zoe said it was her money, and I didn’t doubt it, but . . . but I didn’t want to spend that money without . . . well, without permission. So I paid for the office with my own credit card.”

  “And what about the cash?”

  “I . . . I opened a new savings account at my bank. It’s all there.”

  The lawyer was quiet for a few moments. Then he said, “Ms. Clayton, I’m going to say something, and I hope you are listening very carefully.”

  Ms. Clayton was having a hard time hearing anything except the thumping of her runaway heartbeat. Weakly she said, “Yes?”

  Robert Reisman continued, “Ms. Clayton, I don’t know if helping the girls to do all this was wise on your part. However, I do know this. You have been very courageous, and I can’t thank you enough. I wish you could have been here to listen to these two kids tell me about this deal. This is real learning here, you know what I mean? Real stuff in the real world? I can tell you one thing—I will never again groan when I pay Zoe’s tuition bill. If it helps to pay your salary, Ms. Clayton, then it is money well spent.”

  Ms. Clayton was stunned, and a silly grin crept over her face. She managed to say, “Thank you, sir.”

  “And Ms. Clayton, send me a bill for that rent right away, here at my office. Zoe’ll give you the address, all right?”

  “Yes . . . yes, of course, Mr. Reisman.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Ms. Clayton, but I hope you stay a teacher for a long, long time. Kids need teachers who aren’t afraid of life, don’t you think?”

  “Yes . . . yes, and thank you.”

  “No, Ms. Clayton,” said the lawyer, “thank you!”

  CHAPTER 19

  The Red Pencil Blues

  Six days after the contract had been signed and returned to Shipley Junior Books, Ms. Clayton stopped at Offices Unlimited on her way home. Today the office manager handed her a large brown envelope addressed to Cassandra Day, care of the Sherry Clutch Literary Agency.

  In English class the next afternoon Ms. Clayton passed a note to Natalie and Zoe asking them to come to a meeting.

  When they were sitting at the small, round table after school, Natalie opened the envelope. It was a five-page letter from her editor, along with a copy of her story. The manuscript was littered with dozens of Post-it notes—the yellow ones were editorial suggestions, and the pink ones flagged grammar questions. It looked like Hannah Nelson had worn out at least three red pencils.

  The letter began, “Dear Cassandra: Thank you for this wonderful first draft. Now that your contract is all squared away, we can get down to work.”

  Natalie’s heart sank. She thumbed through the manuscript, flipping from note to note. “Look at all these—this is going take forever! I thought the book was done, and I thought it was good, too. And . . . look.”

  Ms. Clayton took the letter from Natalie. As she read through the first two pages the teacher began to nod and smile. She was impressed. She said, “So now we know what real editors do. This is a wonderful letter, Natalie. She’s telling you how to make a good book into a great book, that’s all. Your mom really knows what she’s doing.”

  Natalie said, “Yeah, she knows what she’s doing, but what about me?”

  Zoe wasn’t sympathetic. “Quit whining, Natalie. You wanted to be an author, and now you are one. So your editor gives you a bunch of good ideas to make the book better—so what? You’re an author now, so you have to do the work.”

  “Well, you’re a big help, Miss Know-it-all!” snapped Natalie.

  “Girls!” said Ms. Clayton. “We don’t need any sarcasm—and we don’t need criticism, either.” Then in a gentler tone she said, “Natalie, just take this home this weekend and see how it goes—maybe spend only half an hour on it. It doesn’t all have to be done at once. If you get stuck, well, that’s why you have an editor. It’s her job to help you do your best work.”

  Natalie and Zoe went down the front steps of the school. Ms. Clayton had sent them on their way together, but neither had said a word on the walk through the halls.

  Natalie got to the bottom of the steps and turned left as if she was just going to walk to her bus, but Zoe took her by the arm.

  “Wait, Natalie.” Natalie stopped and turned to face her. Zoe said, “Listen . . . I’m sorry I called you a whiner. It’s just that . . . well, I feel like my part in all this is over, and I . . . and I don’t know what to do.”

  “So how do you think I feel?” snapped Natalie. “I wish we hadn’t started this. I mean, my mom almost got fired, and she still could, for all I know. And now I’ve got all this extra work to do, and I’m still not sure the book is going to turn out right. And then it gets published, and then what if the book reviewers hate it and no one buys it—then what?”

  Zoe looked into Natalie’s eyes. The fear and the worry was so intense it made Natalie look feverish. Instantly Zoe was furious with herself for being so stupid . . . so . . . so selfish.

  “Then what?” asked Zoe. “If some reviewer doesn’t like it? So what? It just means he’s an idiot. How could anyone not like this book, Natalie? This book is so good that even Lethal Letha the Grumphead liked it, remember? And all those little changes your mom—I mean, your editor wants you to make? I know you can figure them out. You’re good at this. And your book? It’s only gonna get better and better, honest.”

  Natalie smiled a little and said, “Do you think so?”

  Zoe nodded and said, “I know so!”

  Already Zoe could see Natalie’s eyes changing. She could see her smart, talented, confident friend coming back to life. And with a surge of fierce joy Zoe could see that her part in all this wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

  • • • • •

  Natalie discovered that the editing process wasn’t glamorous, and it wasn’t a lot of fun, but at least it was creative. It was work—slow, steady work. It was a careful look at every word, every sentence, paragraph, and chapter. It was a methodical tracing of each character, each storyline, each rise and fall of the action, each of the points along the path that led to the end of the book. And always, everything had to be judged to see if it supported the overall theme and the deeper ideas that made her book more than just a story.

  During four weeks of revisions the book got steadily better. Every day, and especially during their bus rides home, Natalie was tempted to ask her mom about the book she was editing. But she didn’t. Natalie felt like that would have been unfair . . . like cheating.

  She also learned that the editing process was when an author and an editor got to know each other. When one said, “Let’s cut
this out of the book,” and the other said, “No, I really think it should stay,” each learned something new about the other. It was like a very long conversation about . . . about life. Natalie felt she was getting to know her mom in a way she never had before. When a note from her mom asked Cassandra Day, “Does Sean really have to seem so mean at this part of the story?”—Natalie could hear her mom and dad telling her how important it was to be kind.

  And when Cassandra Day wrote back and said, “Sean’s not really being mean here, it’s just that his feelings are hurt, and the narrator hasn’t figured it out yet,” Hannah read the note and smiled, and suggested a way to make that clearer to the reader without giving too much away too soon.

  And during the editing process the author and the editor came to respect each other’s ideas and insights more and more.

  Near the end of the manuscript there was a note from the editor about Angela’s father. Of all the notes, it was the one that meant the most to Natalie.

  Cassandra-

  There are only a few small changes I’d suggest here. This part of the story is so strong, so tender. I think you’ve caught the essence of the way daughters feel about their dads, and the way dads will do anything for their daughters. Every time I read this, I think about my own life, and my father, and my own daughter’s life too. And each time I read it, I weep – it’s that good.

  Several times during the editing Hannah Nelson invited Cassandra Day to drop by the office if she was in the area, or just pick up the phone anytime something wasn’t clear. Each invitation to visit was politely refused, and the author continued to communicate only by mail.

  Hannah also found Cassandra’s handwriting hard to read. Cassandra’s notes were written with a thin pencil in tiny letters, and the writing had an unusual slant. They looked like that because Zoe was a lefty. After Natalie wrote each note and comment, Zoe copied it out again in her cramped little scrawl. Natalie was sure it was driving her mom nuts, but she didn’t want to risk having her handwriting recognized.

  Finally, on the fourth pass, the manuscript came back in a new form. The words had all been set into type and laid out in pages. It was called a galley proof, and now each page looked like two side-by-side pages from a book—a real book! Best of all, there were only two Post-it notes on the whole thing, two small errors that were a snap to fix. The book was done.

  Two weeks later Ms. Clayton brought Natalie a puffy mailing envelope. It was heavy, and when Natalie pulled the strip to open it, out tumbled two paperback books. Natalie gasped. “The book! It’s done!”

  But it wasn’t the book. It was a paperback printed on flimsy paper, and the cover looked like it had been made from a cheap color Xerox of the jacket. On a black rectangle at the bottom of the cover white letters spelled out this announcement:

  ADVANCE READER’S COPY

  NOT FOR SALE

  Ms. Clayton picked up a handwritten note that had slid onto the table with the books. She glanced at it and then began reading aloud.

  Dear Cassandra:

  Our marketing department is excited about your book, so we’ve printed up five hundred of these advance reader’s copies. So far, our salespeople have been using our catalog to tell booksellers about your book, and now they will send these ARCs to all their key bookstore accounts. The subsidiary rights department will be sending them to the book clubs, the specialty markets, and our overseas agents. Also, the publicity department will be sending out more than two hundred ARCs to the trade, institutional, and consumer review media. I’ll let you know when we start getting reviews. The hardcover is already in production, and we’ll be shipping the advance orders by mid-May. The advance orders aren’t great, but a few good reviews should give the sales a boost. I know we rushed a little on the revisions to meet the deadlines, but the book turned out great. You should be very proud. Yours truly, Hannah.

  Natalie held one of the paperbacks with both hands. She was proud. It wasn’t the real book yet, but it was so close.

  Zoe held the other reading copy. She was proud too, but she was also indignant. “What does she mean, the orders aren’t so great? What’s the matter with these people? They should be selling these books like crazy. Their publicity people must stink, that’s all I can say.”

  Natalie said, “Remember how my mom said that every year there are more than five thousand new children’s books published in the United States? They can’t all be bestsellers, Zoe. It’s amazing to get one published at all.”

  Zoe made a face and shrugged. Actually, Zoe had heard only about half of what Natalie had said. Natalie and Ms. Clayton kept talking, but Zoe was busy. She was having a brainstorm. It took only about thirty seconds for the whole idea to take shape, and when it had, Zoe held up the reading copy and said, “Can I have this one, Natalie?”

  Natalie smiled and said, “Of course you can.” Then Natalie handed her copy to Ms. Clayton and said, “And I want you to have this one. I’ll ask my editor to send another one for me.”

  Ms. Clayton felt choked up, but she swallowed hard and said, “Thank you, Natalie. I’m going to treasure this my whole life.”

  Absentmindedly Zoe said, “Yeah . . . me too, Natalie.” But Zoe’s thoughts were elsewhere. She had just decided it was time for Zee Zee Reisman to develop some new skills. Zoe thought, I mean, being an agent was fun, but now my client needs something else. What she really needs is . . . publicity!

  CHAPTER 20

  Family and Friends

  Most books are published quietly. They don’t get big ads in the newspaper, they don’t get written about in Time magazine, and they don’t get a publication party. If it’s a book by a famous author, or by an author that the publisher wants to impress, then the publisher might send out some invitations and throw a little party. Publishers do this to create some news and, hopefully, sell some books.

  So when Zee Zee Reisman called Hannah in mid-April to suggest that Shipley Junior Books might want to throw a little publication party to launch The Cheater, Hannah’s first reaction was, “It’s a nice idea, but I don’t think it makes sense.”

  But then her curiosity took over. All through the negotiations and the editing Cassandra Day and Hannah Nelson had never sat at a worktable together, never gone out to lunch, never even talked on the phone. She felt close to Cassandra Day and had loved their little exchanges about the manuscript. So she thought, Zee Zee’s right. A little party might be nice—and then I’ll finally get to meet this lady.

  But Hannah had so much to do that she never focused on the idea. Letha had been piling extra work on her ever since the day she’d been appointed as Cassandra Day’s editor.

  Then, three days after Zee Zee’s call, the first review arrived. It was from Kirkus Reviews, and the reviewer gave The Cheater special notice with a “star,” which is like giving a book an A++. Hannah liked the last three sentences best: “The Cheater grabs hold of your heart and never lets go. This writer speaks with a fresh and honest voice, something always welcome in middle-grade fiction. If this first novel is an indication of things to come, then Cassandra Day could emerge as a major new talent.”

  With the review in her hand Hannah went upstairs to talk to Tom Morton. Hannah read him the review, and then she proposed a simple publication party on a Friday afternoon in June. Tom Morton agreed instantly, and that was that.

  Getting back on the elevator, Hannah had second thoughts. Letha would not be happy about this party, and she’d be furious that Hannah had asked Tom instead of coming to her first.

  Hannah almost stepped out of the elevator to go back and call it off. But then she stopped and let the doors glide shut. On the short ride from the sixteenth down to the fourteenth floor, she realized something: Letha was not as scary as she used to be. And then Hannah said to herself, No, that’s not it. Letha is actually scarier than ever. It’s just that I’m not afraid of her anymore.

  Back in her office Hannah called and left a message for Zee Zee. She said there would be a small “pub party
” in honor of Cassandra Day’s first novel. It would be on the sixteenth floor of the Shipley Publishing Company building on the second Friday in June. Zee Zee was free to invite anyone she’d like to be there. And everyone was very excited about actually getting to meet the author.

  When Zoe got the phone message, she was excited, too. But she kept it to herself.

  • • • • •

  Natalie had finally gotten Zoe to shut up. For a solid week Zoe had bugged her and begged her and driven her batty. She wanted Natalie to ask her mom if she could bring Zoe and Ms. Clayton to see Shipley Junior Books—just to have a look around.

  Natalie thought it wasn’t such a good idea, but Zoe wouldn’t let up. “It’ll be like a field trip for the Publishing Club—and besides, school’s almost over. Ms. Clayton probably won’t even be our teacher next year.”

  Finally Natalie agreed to ask her mom if she could bring Zoe and her English teacher to see the publishing office—it wouldn’t be a long visit, just in and out.

  And her mom said, “Of course you may, sweetie. Just bring them with you after school one day. If I’m too busy to show you around, Ella can do the honors.”

  So it was all settled. They had an open invitation, and Zoe stopped pestering Natalie. And the day that looked the best for everyone was a Friday afternoon—the second Friday in June.

  At three thirty on Friday, June 12, the editorial staff of Shipley Junior Books started straggling up to the sixteenth floor for the publication party. The manuscript had floated around a little, and there was a definite buzz about this book—and early in the day the third starred review had arrived. Everyone was excited about meeting Cassandra Day.

  Hannah had already been up to the large conference room twice, once to check on the caterers, and once to be sure that the big banner had been hung up. When Hannah got off the elevator the third time, she could hear that the party had begun. As she walked into the room the first thing she noticed was the camera crew. A woman with a large video camera was taking a shot of the banner while a skinny young man behind her held up a bright light. The young man wore a jacket labeled ABC NEWS. A man with perfect hair, perfect teeth, and a pinstriped suit was talking with Tom Morton. Glancing across the room, Hannah caught the eye of Jody Cross, the publicity director. Jody nodded toward the camera crew, smiled, and gave Hannah a thumbs-up. Hannah smiled and nodded back. She was impressed that Jody had managed to get some news coverage of such a small event.