All the kids and even some of the teachers used the new word. At first it was on purpose. Then it became a habit, and by the middle of February, frindle was just a word, like door or tree or hat. People in Westfield barely noticed it anymore.
But in the rest of the country, things were hopping. Frindle was on the move. In hundreds of little towns and big cities from coast to coast, kids were using the new word, and parents and teachers were trying to stop it. What had happened in Westfield happened over and over and over again.
Bud Lawrence couldn’t have been happier. There were frindle shirts and sunglasses and erasers and notebooks and paper and dozens of other items. The new line of frindles imported from Japan were a big hit, and now there was talk of selling them in Japan and Europe, as well. The checks that went into Nick’s trust fund got bigger and bigger.
Bud opened his own factory in Westfield to make frindle baseball caps, which created jobs for twenty-two people. And in March the town council voted to put up a little sign on the post below the town’s name along Route 302. It said, “Home of the Original Frindle.”
And Mrs. Granger? She seemed to have given up, or perhaps she had been ordered to. No one knew. Her poster about the forbidden word had quietly disappeared from the bulletin board, and kids were not staying after school writing sentences anymore. It was business as usual.
Except for one thing.
Everyone in fifth grade got at least one word wrong on his or her spelling test each week. Every week, the first word at the top of Mrs. Granger’s list was pen. And each Friday during the spelling test, every kid spelled it f-r-i-n-d-l-e.
Nick was sort of a celebrity for a while. Everyone had seen him on The Late Show, and on Good Morning, America and two or three other TV shows. John and Chris and all his friends kept asking about what it was like to ride in a limousine. After a week or two, though, it was old news, and everyone seemed to forget it and move on.
The only person who couldn’t quite forget about everything was Nick.
Chapter Fourteen - Inside Nick
ON THE OUTSIDE, Nick was still Nick. But inside, it was different. Oh sure, he still had a lot of great ideas, but now they scared him a little.
For instance, Nick learned in social studies class that people who buy stuff are called consumers. If consumers stop buying, stores and shops and restaurants go out of business.
Then—boom—a new idea hit him.
All the kids loved lunchtime. But the awful part about lunch was the eating part—school food. And the food was never a surprise—you had to smell it all morning and then go eat it. The food was always bad.
Well, thought Nick, the school cafeteria is sort of a restaurant, isn’t it? And the students are the consumers, right? And we don’t really have to buy our lunches there, do we?
Nick could see it all: He would get all the kids to bring their lunches from home every day until the ladies who made the lunches cooked better food. He was sure those women didn’t cook food like that for their own families. The kids were the consumers with $1.35 in their pockets, and until the food was better, that’s where their money would stay.
Great idea! Nick was sure it would work, and he got all excited about it.
But then Nick remembered what had happened with frindle. It stopped him cold. He was sure that if all the kids stopped buying lunch, sooner or later someone would figure out that it was all Nick Allen’s idea. He would get in trouble. People would write about it in the newspaper. The principal would call his parents—anything could happen.
So for the first time in his life, Nick kept a good idea to himself. He never even told John or Chris.
And that changed Nick.
His mom was the first to notice. “Are things okay at school, honey?” she asked one day in early March. He had seemed kind of down, a little sad. It worried her.
“Sure,” said Nick. “Everything’s fine.”
“Everything’s okay with your friends? They haven’t been hanging around here very much.”
“Mom, honest. Everything’s fine. It’s winter. Everyone’s really busy with hockey and basketball—that’s all.” And Nick went to his room and shut the door.
Mrs. Granger noticed the change, too. The clever little rascal who had looked her in the eye and said, “But I really didn’t have a frindle with me—” that boy wasn’t in her class anymore. Now a quieter, more careful Nicholas Allen came into class every day. He did all his work perfectly, didn’t speak unless she called on him, and didn’t laugh and joke with his friends like he used to. School would be over in a few months, and it seemed like there was nothing she could do to help him.
Toward the end of the year, Nick remembered the letter that Mrs. Granger had asked him to sign on the back when the frindle business was just getting started. The chess game was over, so he was expecting to get that letter from Mrs. Granger any day. But all spring it didn’t come, so he thought she must have forgotten about it. Nick was afraid to bring it all up again, but he was dying of curiosity.
So on the last day of school, Nick knocked on Mrs. Granger’s classroom door. She was straightening up the textbooks on the bookcases below the windows. Without turning around she sang out, “Come in.”
Nick said, “Hi, Mrs. Granger.”
Mrs. Granger stood up and turned to face him. “Oh, it’s you, Nicholas. I’m so glad you stopped by. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, and this will save me having to send you a letter this summer.”
Nick gulped and said, “That’s what I came for—the letter.”
Mrs. Granger looked puzzled for half a second, and then she said, “Oh! That letter.” Then she paused. “You will recall, Nicholas, that I said I would send you that letter when all this was over … and it’s not over.”
“It’s not?” Nick tilted his head to one side, and asked, “When will it be over?”
Mrs. Granger smiled and said, “Oh, believe me, Nicholas. You’ll know when it’s over. I wanted to talk to you about something else.”
She walked across the room and stood about two feet from him. Nick had grown during the year, and their eyes were almost on the same level. Nick noticed that the eyes were softer, but just as powerful. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been very quiet for the past few months. You know, Nicholas, you didn’t do anything wrong this year. I know a lot of things happened, and a lot of things were said, and you must have had some difficult days here and there. But your idea was a good idea, and I have been very proud of the way you behaved—most of the time.”
Nick was embarrassed, but Mrs. Granger kept on talking. “And Nicholas, you have great things to do in this life. I’m absolutely sure you do, and you mustn’t let a few hard days trick you into clamming up.”
Then Mrs. Granger reached out and shook Nick’s hand, and looked him in the face. Her eyes were turned up brighter than Nick had ever seen them before. She said, “Nicholas Allen, I have enjoyed having you as a student. Now you go out there and have a wonderful summer. And I expect to hear remarkable things about you, young man.”
Mrs. Granger watched Nick start to leave. But before he got to the door, he turned and said, “Thanks, Mrs. Granger. You have a great summer, too.” Then he grinned and said, “And don’t forget to buy some new frindles for next year.”
Thanks to his little talk with Mrs. Granger—along with a healthy dose of summer vacation—Nick made a full recovery. He was proud that he had made up a new word, and he enjoyed thinking about all the commotion it had stirred up. That one little word had made fifth grade a year to remember.
Before he started sixth grade Nick was Nick again, and all through junior high and high school and college, he proved it.
For example, two years later, all the school cafeterias in town were serving delicious food at least four days a week, all because of Nick the Consumer. And the state superintendent of schools had made a special trip to Westfield to learn why this little town had the most successful school lunch program in the state.
And in
high school, well, the stories about Nick’s other adventures could go on and on and on. But that would delay the end of this story, the one that started when Nick was in fifth grade.
Because the end of this story came later—ten years later.
And what was happening to Nick’s word during those ten years? Nothing fancy, nothing exciting. Words don’t work that way. Words either get used, or they don’t. And frindle was being used more and more. It was becoming a real word.
Chapter Fifteen - And the Winner Is …
TEN YEARS LATER, Nick Allen was a junior in college. And during November of his junior year, two important things happened.
First, Nick turned twenty-one years old, and the frindle trust fund set up by his father became legally Nick’s.
Nick was rich. Nick was very rich. Nick was so rich he couldn’t even begin to imagine how rich he really was.
Nick wanted to give his parents some of the money, which they said they did not need and would not accept. But Nick reminded them that they had always wanted to travel, and they should just think of this as a big birthday present or something. So they accepted.
And Nick also wanted to give some money to his big brother, James—who said he did not need it and would not accept it. But Nick reminded James that his two-year-old daughter would grow up and go to college someday—and besides, hadn’t James once given Nick his whole baseball card collection? So James accepted the gift.
After that Nick went out and bought himself a fast new computer. And about ten new games. And a mountain bike. Then he tried to forget about the money which is a hard thing to do. But he managed pretty well and kept working on his college degree as hard as ever.
The second important thing that fall was the arrival of a package at the door of Nick’s apartment one day—a large, heavy package. It was from Mrs. Granger.
There were three things in the package: 1) a brand-new eighth-edition Webster’s College Dictionary; 2) a short handwritten note taped to the cover of the dictionary; and 3) a fat white envelope. Turning the white envelope over, Nick saw the name—his name. He had written it there one September afternoon in Mrs. Granger’s room after school. Ten years ago.
Nick set the envelope down and gently peeled the note off the front of the dictionary.
My dear Nicholas:
Please turn to page 541 of this book.
Nick grabbed the dictionary and leafed to page 541, his heart pounding. And there between Friml and fringe he read:
frin•dle (frin’ dl) n. a device used to write or make marks with ink [arbitrary coinage; originated by Nicholas Allen, American, 1987- (see pen)]
Nick went back to the note from Mrs. Granger.
This is a brand-new dictionary, the one I recommend that my students use for their homework. And now when I teach them how new words are added to the dictionary, I tell each and every one of them to look up the word frindle.
And, of course, I have sent along that letter I promised to give you when our little battle was over.
And now it’s over.
Your teacher,
Mrs. Lorelei Granger
Nick’s head was spinning. With shaking hands, he opened the fat white envelope. He pulled out the ten-year-old letter and began to read.
Dear Nicholas:
If you are reading this letter, it means that the word frindle has been added to the dictionary. Congratulations.
A person can watch the sunrise, but he cannot slow it down or stop it or make it go backward. And that is what I was trying to do with your word.
At first I was angry. I admit that. I was not happy to see the word pen pushed aside as if it did not matter. But I guess that if the Latin word for feather had been frindilus instead of pinna, then you probably would have invented the word pen instead. Like the sunrise, some things just have to happen—and all you can really do is watch.
The word frindle has existed for less than three weeks. I now see that this is the kind of chance that a teacher hopes for and dreams about—a chance to see bright young students take an idea they have learned in a boring old classroom and put it to a real test in their own world. I confess that I am very excited to see how it all turns out. I am mostly here to watch it happen.
But somehow I think I have a small part to play in this drama, and I have chosen to be the villain. Every good story needs a bad guy, don’t you think?
So someday, I will be asking you to forgive me, and I hope you will.
Nick, I know you like to think. Please think about this: When I started teaching, no one had landed on the moon, there were no space shuttles, no CNN, no weather satellites. There were no video cassette recorders, no CDs, no computers.
The world has changed in a million ways. That is why I have always tried to teach children something that would be useful no matter what.
So many things have gone out of date. But after all these years, words are still important. Words are still needed by everyone. Words are used to think with, to write with, to dream with, to hope and pray with. And that is why I love the dictionary. It endures. It works. And as you now know, it also changes and grows.
Again, congratulations. And I’ve enclosed a little present for you.
Yours truly,
Mrs. Granger
Nick remembered Mrs. Granger’s eyes, and now he understood what some of those special looks had meant. The old fox! She had been rooting for frindle the whole time. By fighting against it, she had actually helped it along.
There was a flat, oblong case in the white envelope, the kind of case you get when you buy a watch. Nick pulled it out and opened the lid. Inside was something else Nick had not seen for ten years. It was Mrs. Granger’s favorite pen, her old maroon fountain pen with the blue cap. And under the clip was a little folded piece of paper. It was another note. A very short note. Just one word: Frindle.
About a month later, something happened over in the old part of Westfield, over where the trees are huge and the houses are small. On Christmas morning, Mrs. Granger’s doorbell rang. Mrs. Granger opened the door, but no one was there.
Someone had left a package inside her storm door—a box wrapped in green paper with a red bow and a white envelope taped to one end. She smiled as she stooped down to pick it up.
As she picked up the package she noticed a red, white, and blue Express Mail envelope sticking halfway out of her mailbox next to the doorway. It must have been delivered late on Christmas Eve. She opened the storm door plucked the envelope from the mailbox, and then shut both doors and went inside with a shiver.
Mrs. Granger went across the living room and sat on the couch. The express envelope was from the Westfield School District office. It looked important, so Mrs. Granger opened it right away.
It was a letter from the superintendent of schools, a letter of congratulations. A permanent trust fund for college scholarships had been established with a donation of one million dollars “from one of your former students.”
It would be called The Lorelei Granger Students’ Fund.
Mrs. Granger was sure it was a mistake. Or maybe a prank. A million dollars? Nonsense! She had the urge to pick up the telephone and give the superintendent a call and straighten this out right away.
But this was Christmas morning, and even though the superintendent was one of her former pupils, Mrs. Granger decided to wait a day. Couldn’t hurt.
Besides, the other package was sitting next to her on the couch, waiting impatiently with its red bow. She opened the envelope first.
It was a little Christmas card with a sloppy note—obviously the work of a fifth-grade boy.
Mrs. Granger glared at the spelling mistakes, but then chuckled and shook her head. Kids are always the same, year after year. Here she was in her forty-fifth year of teaching, all set to retire in June. She could hardly remember a Christmas day when she didn’t have a present from one of her students.
Mrs. Granger pulled off the red ribbon and tore off the paper and lifted the lid of the box. She exp
ected to find something made of yarn and popsicle sticks, or maybe curly macaroni and glue.
But instead she found an oblong case covered with blue velvet. She opened the case and inside was a beautiful gold fountain pen. She picked it up, and it was cool and heavy in her hand. Words were engraved along the pen’s shiny barrel, and Mrs. Granger had to slide down to the end of the couch and turn on her reading lamp. Then she could read the three thin lines of type:
This object belongs to Mrs. Lorelei Granger, and
she may call it any name she chooses.
—With love from Nicholas Allen
* * *
Publication Info
SIMON & SCHUSTER BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, New York 10020
Text copyright © 1996 by Andrew Clements
Illustrations copyright © 1996 by Brian Selznick
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction
in whole or in part in any form.
Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers is a trademark of
Simon & Schuster.
Book design by Anahid Hamparian
The text of this book is set in 14-point Revival
The illustrations are rendered in pencil
Printed and bound in the United States of America
20 19 18
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Clements, Andrew, 1949-
Frindle / by Andrew Clements; illustrations by Brian Selznick.
p. cm.
Summary: When he decides to turn his fifth grade teacher’s love of the dictionary around on
Frindle Page 5