The Perfect Score

by Rob Buyea

  I gotta say, reading with Woods had been different so far, though. She didn’t have us in any groups. We mostly read to ourselves, and then we’d go over it as a class, but she also gave us time to read whatever we wanted. I usually faked the silent reading, but I liked the whole-class stuff, ’cause even though I wasn’t great at making out the words, once I knew what they said, I was pretty good at understanding what it was all about. My journal was full of different sketches that came to me while listening. I never raised my hand to read, but every once in a while I raised my hand to answer a question.

  Our newest read-aloud was my favorite so far. Shiloh was an older book, but it had me doing a lot of thinking. The story takes place in the olden days out in the West Virginia hills. Being old herself, Woods knew how to make those backwoods words sound. I liked that it was a boy character, Marty, who had to deal with his twerp little sisters, but it was Marty’s struggle with right versus wrong that was really tricky and interesting. I felt for him. I know that was ’cause the author did a good job writing it, but it was also ’cause of the way Woods read those pages. Her reading was about the only thing that could make Scott sit still.

  “What’s on your mind, Mr. Davids?” Woods asked.

  I swallowed. “I guess I was wondering what I’d do if I was in Marty’s shoes,” I said.

  “You’ve got a smart brain in that head of yours, Mr. Davids. The world could use more people asking themselves questions like that.

  “I want all of you to think about Mr. Davids’s question,” Woods said. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

  I knew what she wanted, but all I could think about was how that was the first time any teacher had ever told me I was smart. I wouldn’t forget that.

  After Scott got back from the office with Kurtsman, we were finally able to get going to the library. Magenta had us leave our things behind, ’cause we’d be coming back before getting picked up. I tossed my backpack in the corner, but I carried my lucky football with me. I never left that behind.

  It wasn’t a long walk to the library, so we made it in only a few minutes, but sure enough, once we got there, things started going downhill pretty fast.

  “Okay, my eager helpers, I need you to arrange yourselves into groups of four,” Mrs. Magenta announced when she had us gathered in the library lobby.

  That was all we needed to hear, and suddenly we turned into a bunch of owls. Heads spun in all directions as we tried to find the right people.

  “Who do you want in our group?” Gav asked.

  Maybe I was feeling sorry for Scott, I don’t know, but for some reason he’s who I suggested. It was better Scott than Trevor or Mark. You didn’t need to be a geologist to know those two had rocks in their heads. Gav shrugged. Maybe part of Gav was feeling sorry for Scott, too. Being best friends, we often had the same thoughts.

  “Scott, you can come with us,” I said.

  “Really?! Awesome!” he squealed, throwing his arms around me in a hug. It was like he’d just nailed a high-flying vault at the national championships. Gav and I should’ve tried to settle him down, but we didn’t, and then Scott lost his head. He went and picked our fourth person before we even realized what was happening.

  “Natalie, c’mon,” he said. “You can join our team.”

  I wasn’t expecting that, and by the look on her face, I’d say Natalie had been caught off guard, too. Gavin was fuming. The last thing he wanted was for this girl to be in our group, but it was too late. Once Scott opened his mouth, Mrs. Magenta stuck Natalie with us and that was that. She had to put her somewhere. It wasn’t like anyone else was asking her. If Natalie was one of those cliquey girls, then she was in a clique of one. I wasn’t thrilled with her addition. If Gavin didn’t like her, that was reason enough for me.

  After Mrs. Magenta had us organized in groups, she sent us to different areas in the library. Trevor and Mark went upstairs to the study center with their bunch, another group went to the lounge, and a third went to the young adult section. We were assigned to the children’s room. It reminded me of gymnastics, with girls going to the bars, vault, beams, and floor. I wondered if we’d rotate stations, like at practice, or if we’d spend our entire time in the children’s room. At gymnastics I would’ve spent my entire practice on the bars if given the chance. I loved everything about the bars, except when it came time for my dismount. If I didn’t stick my landing, Jane got mad at me.

  But it wasn’t Jane or gymnastics that I had to worry about in the children’s room that afternoon. Scott was far from done for the day. He still had an unforgettable floor routine up his sleeve.

  NATALIE KURTSMAN

  ASPIRING LAWYER

  Kurtsman Law Offices

  BRIEF #9

  October: The Public Library

  The four of us walked down the stairs leading to the children’s room. At this juncture, it’s safe to say I was feeling slightly unsure about my chosen after-school program, but at least we got assigned to the children’s room, a familiar spot for me—a place where I was comfortable, even in my uncomfortable group. Honestly, why did Scott have to choose me? Just because I went to the office with him, that didn’t suddenly make me his friend. Gross.

  “Now what?” Gavin asked after we arrived at our destination.

  The room was dark and no one seemed to be around.

  “Welcome to the children’s room,” Mrs. Magenta said, flipping the lights on.

  “There’s no one down here,” Randi said.

  “I know. The longtime librarian, Mrs. Kylie, passed away several months ago, and they haven’t found a replacement for her yet, though I have heard that her ghost likes to visit from time to time.”

  “Really? Her ghost?” Scott croaked.

  “That’s what I hear, but don’t be scared. Mrs. Kylie was an angel even before she died. She loved this place, which is why it’s sad to see it being neglected. It’s beginning to feel like a dungeon down here. Well, I say this room has been left to the spiders and cobwebs long enough. It’s time we give it a makeover.”

  “A makeover?” Gavin repeated.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Magenta answered. “I’ve volunteered to get this room back in shape and fill in as librarian while they search for a replacement. This place needs to be bright and inviting, not dark and dreary.”

  “Mrs. Magenta, you do it all!” Scott exclaimed. “You teach math and science, you’re doing an art program, and you’re a librarian. That’s a lot.”

  For once, I agreed with the boy. It was a lot, especially for a hippie lady.

  “That’s why I have the four of you to help me,” Mrs. Magenta said. “You’re my special recruits. I have all the paint and supplies you’ll need sitting right over there.” She pointed to the reading nook. “There are two gallons of a happy yellow for the walls. After you get them painted, we’ll talk about what to do next, but that will be for another day.”

  “Had I known we’d be painting, I would’ve worn different clothes,” I said.

  “Don’t worry, Natalie. I have smocks with the rest of the materials. Let me show you.” Mrs. Magenta led us over to the supplies and went through our instructions, taking time to give us a few pointers. Then she stopped to see if we had any questions. Of course, Scott did.

  “What’s our team name?” he asked her.

  “I don’t know, Scott. You’ll have to come up with one.”

  “What’s our team called?” he asked us.

  “We’re not a team,” Gavin snapped.

  “Yes, we are. We’re the Recruits.” The name just popped out of Scott’s mouth, like things sometimes do. I saw Randi crack a smile. And so did Mrs. Magenta.

  “So how about it, Recruits, any other questions?” she asked us.

  My smile masked the thoughts swirling in my head. Mrs. Magenta has everything we could possibly need, except someone to keep an eye on Scott. I should’ve said something, but I bit my tongue.

  “Great. I’m going to check on the other groups while you get st
arted. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  By the time I donned my smock and commenced with the paint, Scott was already distracted. He’d found a picture book on the shelf and started reading. I let him be. What harm could come if he was out of the way?

  I was good with this job. We’d finally been given a school-related project that didn’t have anything to do with book smarts. We were doing some manual labor, and I was no rookie when it came to that. When your old man is a laborer, you might not spend your afternoons discussing poetry, but you definitely learn a thing or two about swinging a hammer and changing the oil in a machine. If there was one thing Dad wasn’t gonna let me become, it was one of those ignorant educated people, which was exactly what I was dealing with right now. I had two people in my group with only book smarts, and asking them to do manual labor was just another way of asking for trouble.

  I glanced at that stuck-up brat Natalie Kurtsman and snickered. She was all high and mighty. I bet she’d never done anything like this. I hoped our next community service project had us using rakes and shovels so her princess hands would end up raw with blisters.

  Me and Randi covered the floor as best we could with Magenta’s tarp while Kurtsman managed to drape a couple bedsheets over the nearby bookcases. Scott was busy reading, so Kurtsman was on her own. Me and Randi got started on one side while Stuck-Up Girl worked on the wall behind us. Magenta wasn’t kidding, that yellow paint was super bright, but I liked it. It was a heckuva lot better than the original puke green.

  After a while I saw we were making pretty good progress. Stuck-Up Girl was holding her own. I couldn’t decide if it was beginner’s luck or dumb luck. Either way, I knew it wouldn’t last—and it didn’t.

  First came the funny noises. Then books started falling off shelves. And then “Boo!”

  “Ahh!” Scott screamed. “It’s Mrs. Kylie’s ghost!” He dropped his book and took off running.

  “Watch out!” I shouted. But it was too late.

  Two strides later Scott’s left foot came down smack-dab in the center of Kurtsman’s paint tray.

  “Oh no!” he cried.

  He started hopping around with his bright yellow foot in the air. If there’s one thing Scott’s not, it’s coordinated. The doofus lost his balance and collided with the bookcase—the same one that had my gallon of paint resting on it, where I thought it was safely out of the way. I tried to catch it, but I make a better quarterback than I do a wide receiver. The paint can flipped and crashed to the ground. Some of the paint fell on our tarp—but not all of it. We stood there with our mouths hung open, gaping at the massive yellow splat that had landed in middle of the carpet.

  Trevor and Mark came out of hiding. They took one look at us and busted out laughing.

  “Mrs. Kylie’s ghost, huh?” Trevor teased. “You sissy.”

  “This isn’t funny,” Kurtsman said. “Look at this mess.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll get it cleaned up,” Mrs. Magenta said, coming back into the room.

  “Mrs. Magenta, I’m so sorry,” Scott said. “I didn’t mean it.”

  “I know you didn’t, honey. It’s okay. Accidents happen. Besides, I have just the thing to fix that. Follow me.

  “The rest of you can take the paper towels and get started soaking up the spill. Trevor and Mark will help. Many hands make light work.”

  We were supposed to make the place look better, but thanks to Trevor and Mark, Scott had just made it worse by ruining the carpet—and Magenta wasn’t mad. How was that possible?

  I can tell you this: after two minutes of crawling around on my hands and knees sopping up Scott’s mess with paper towels, I wasn’t too happy.

  “There’s never a dull moment with that kid around,” Randi joked.

  “You can say that again,” me and Kurtsman said together.

  Sometimes me and Randi say the same thing at the same time, and then we always go, “Great minds think alike.” That sorta stuff happens with your best friend, but it’s not supposed to happen with your worst enemy. What was Kurtsman playing at? Was she trying to get under my skin? I’da paid money to line up across from her on the football field. Randi knew it, too. She could see my veins popping. That’s why she went ahead and started telling that story about Scott in the pool. She was hoping I’d calm down.

  “A couple summers ago, on a scorching-hot day, I was at swim lessons,” she began. “As destiny would have it, Scott was in my class.”

  “You shoulda drowned him,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Trevor agreed.

  “Believe me, I wanted to after what happened. We were just finishing up our lesson and had a little bit of free time when Scott swam over to me. He got right next to me—right next to me!—and he whispered, ‘There’s no red stuff like the legend says.’

  “I said, ‘What’re you talking about?’

  “Then he goes, ‘Legend says there’s a mysterious red substance that will surround you if you pee in the pool. I’m peeing right now—and look! There’s no red! You can pee, too, and no one will ever know! We can all pee!’ ”

  “Eww! That’s disgusting!” Kurtsman cried.

  Randi started laughing and then Kurtsman was laughing with her.

  “Gross,” Trevor said. Mark and him were laughing now, too.

  “You shoulda drowned him,” I said again. Then I went back to sopping up the paint.

  Magenta came trudging back with Scott right about that time. She had a tray of cookies in one hand and some sort of throw rug in her other. Scott was carrying the juice.

  “I’ve been waiting to find the right place for this thing,” Magenta said. “Guess I know where it belongs now.” She laid the rug down, and it completely covered the paint splat. “Perfect,” she said. “The only ones who will ever know that spot is even under there are you—the Recruits.”

  Great! Now she was calling us that. We weren’t a team!

  “Before we cover it, I think you should add your names next to the spot,” Magenta said. “Artists always put their name next to their work.”

  “That’s a great idea!” Scott exclaimed. “Then we’ll be immortal, like all the people who wrote these books.”

  Scott Mason and Natalie Kurtsman were the last people I wanted my name tied to for eternity. My name wasn’t going under some rug but in Canton, Ohio, in the Pro Football Hall of Fame. I grabbed my roller and went back to the wall. Randi hesitated, but she followed me.

  Me and Randi finished the section we’d been working on and got our stuff cleaned up while Scott signed his autograph and enjoyed his juice and cookies. Trevor and Mark got to stick around for snack, but then Magenta sent them back upstairs. I wasn’t sure if they signed the splat or if Kurtsman added her name—and I didn’t care.

  Everything worked out fine and dandy for Scott that afternoon, but we’d find out soon enough that not all messes could be so easily covered up.

  NATALIE KURTSMAN

  ASPIRING LAWYER

  Kurtsman Law Offices

  BRIEF #10

  October: Dirtbags and Cheats

  We returned to school to find many parents already parked along the front curb, waiting. We were running late. This, of course, was no surprise to me. Free spirits often have carefree attitudes about time. Unfortunately, the same was not true for all the parents.

  Our organized bunch quickly disintegrated into kids on mad dashes to get their belongings before hurrying out to their cars. Scott was among them, and with good reason. His mother was likely to be upset when she saw his paint-splattered sneakers and pants, so making her wait was not advisable—even Scott recognized that. Unfortunately, in his haste, he completely forgot the new permission slip that Mrs. Magenta had given him. I saw it sitting in plain sight the moment I walked into the art room. Add that goof to his ruined clothes and his mother probably wasn’t going to be very pleased.

  “Oh boy. Scott’s going to need a lawyer if he’s going to have any chance with his mother today,” I said, picking up the piece of pa
per. I was talking out loud but to myself. I do that sometimes when I’m all alone. I certainly didn’t think anyone was listening.

  “Lawyers are dirtbags!” Gavin exploded. “Dirtbags and cheats!”

  My mouth fell open. For the first time in my life, I was rendered speechless. Astonished, actually. But once the initial shock subsided, I rallied and became royally ticked off! “You have no basis for that accusation. Take it back!” I demanded.

  “I’ve got every right,” he said. “Ask your mother.”

  He stormed away, leaving me red hot and with no opportunity for a rebuttal. I was beyond mad at this point. I was ready to take him to court for defamation of character, but more than that, I was determined to prove that lawyers are, in fact, decent people. And not just decent people but great people who uphold justice and make our world a better place. I didn’t need to ask my mother anything. I took off after Scott. If I hurried, I might still catch him.

  “What is all over your pants? And look at your sneakers!” Mom cried when she saw me. I wasn’t even in the car yet.

  “Ello. Ello!” Mickey shouted from the backseat.

  “Sorry, Mom. It was an accident,” I said.

  “I can see that. A big one!” she exclaimed.

  “Ello!” Mickey yelled.

  “Excuse me…Mrs. Mason?”

  I spun around. It was Natalie.

  “Hi, I’m Natalie Kurtsman. Mrs. Magenta asked me to bring this out to you.”

  It was my permission slip. The one Mrs. Magenta had given to me. I’d forgotten it in the art room.

  “Thank you, Natalie,” Mom said, taking the paper. “Scott often needs help keeping track of his things.”