Only it didn’t turn out the way she’d hoped. Instead of the other kids raising her up on their shoulders, they feared her. They avoided her even more than before. At the same time, Edie had become addicted to information. The more the other kids refused to interact with her, the harder she worked to find out everything about them. If anyone treated her badly, she’d leak what she’d learned, leaving her target a blubbering mess of shame and humiliation.
Things went from bad to worse after that. Nobody was safe, not even adults. Edie knew she was out of control. She only pretended to be proud of what she’d accomplished—splitting up friendships, getting people fired, and the like. In fact, she sorely regretted it. The problem was, she couldn’t stop; she had become too good at gossiping. It was now second nature; she could do it in her sleep. And so Edie had become exactly the thing she hated most of all: a malicious monster.
But at Kaboom Academy, despite her overt spying, she’d actually made … were they friends? Yes, they were. They might not have started out that way, but somewhere in all the craziness the kids in the journalism class had bonded. Not only that, they had changed. Edie looked at her computer screen, where she had yet to type in a single word. She decided to phone a friend.
• • •
Victoria arrived with Margo and Jory. When Edie had called Victoria, Margo was at her house; they both decided to call Jory because he was the editor in chief. Jory showed up with Leo and Ruben and one of the dodgeballs (the other three balls had something else to do that day), and since everyone else was there, Edie called Aliya and Taliya. Fortunately, the twins lived just down the block, so it didn’t take long for them to arrive. Mr. and Mrs. Evermint were thrilled that so many young people were at their house and that none of them seemed to be upset with Edie. Mrs. Evermint quickly whipped up a batch of brownies to celebrate the occasion.
“I just can’t write this article knowing that it’s going to destroy the school,” Edie explained to the others. They were all sitting on the back porch, looking out at the Evermints’ lovely garden, munching on brownies and sipping lemonade. “I thought I wanted to expose Sam Ackerbloom because I feel what he did was wrong, but … I mean, do you guys want to go back to the way things were? Can you even imagine?”
Victoria pushed the rocker back and forth with her heels. “Well, I probably wouldn’t go back to being homeschooled; my mom is still working. To tell you the truth, the reason I wasn’t enrolled at Horsemouth Middle was because … I had this sort of problem controlling my emotions. But that seems to be gone now. So I’m pretty sure I would be okay.”
“And I think I could turn my reputation around,” Margo said, delicately trying to sit in the hammock. “I don’t say nearly as many boneheaded things as I used to.… WHOA!”
She flipped out of the swinging seat, landing on her rear end.
“I still want to fly,” Jory admitted, diving into the now-empty hammock with ease. “In fact, I had an awesome flying dream last night. It was weird, though. I was flying over these fields, and then I noticed that beneath me was the school bus. The windows to the bus opened and all the students, including you guys, climbed onto the roof. The bus was still moving! And then you lifted your arms and everyone started to rise, and then we were all flying together. And when we got to the school, everyone was zooming around it, in and out windows … like some crazy sort of hive.”
“That’s … pretty cool, actually. But I still can’t write the story,” said Edie, throwing up her hands.
“I think this is what they call a conflict of interest,” Victoria said between bites of brownie. “You’re tempted to hold back the truth because the possible outcome would affect you negatively.”
“Not just me, everyone,” Edie corrected her. “I just don’t want to destroy Kaboom Academy. I don’t care about Ackerbloom; I care about us. That school is the best thing that’s ever happened to us!”
“You know, I think I see the problem,” Ruben said. “The reason you can’t write the story is because you’re missing something. Let’s go back to the basics: who, what, when, where, why.”
“Who is Sam Ackerbloom,” Edie said.
“What is that he created a school under false pretenses,” Victoria said.
“When is last summer, leading up to right now,” Aliya said.
“Where is here in Horsemouth,” Taliya said.
“Why …” Margo stopped. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Usually somebody runs a scam to make money. But this school is free.”
“Sam said he created the school to redeem his father’s name,” Leo said helpfully.
Jory frowned. “Redeem?” Then he smiled. And laughed. “I know why Sam’s doing it. He said it right at the beginning of the school year, or rather the fake Dr. Kaboom did. Edie, the reason you can’t write the story is your claim is all wrong. The school isn’t a scam; it is doing exactly what he said it would. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to scrap everything you’ve done so far. You have a whole new story to write.”
“I already deleted my first attempt,” Edie admitted. “And for this second version, the only thing I’ve written is the headline, ‘Private School Scam Astounds Community.’ Consider it scrapped. What’s the new story?”
Jory rolled out of the hammock deftly and sat next to Edie. “Who is us, the students of Kaboom Academy. What is the creation of a new school with the strangest teaching methods, staff, and curriculum known to mankind. Where is Horsemouth, New Hampshire, but hopefully it will spread. When is now. Why? To redeem us. But more importantly, to make us vigorous citizens of the world, madly in love with learning!”
THE STORY OF THE CENTURY
On November 4, the very first issue of the Kaboom Academy Daily Dynamite was distributed around the school. The few kids who read it enjoyed the articles, which explained the idea behind all of the strange things they had been experiencing in their classrooms. They laughed at the poll about the dress code, snickered at the comic, worked out the crosswords, and puzzled over the photographs. When they got to the final page and read the article about the founder of the school, however, many of them were stunned. They quickly gathered their friends who hadn’t seen the paper and prompted them to read it. By lunchtime, classrooms were abuzz with the news; nobody got any work done, and every student took a copy of the paper home.
It took only a day for all of Horsemouth to find out about the article. Horsemouth was a small town where gossip spread quickly, especially when nobody’s cat had birthed a litter of kittens recently. Men and women flocked to their favorite community establishments. Bars had big business. The hair salons and barbershops were packed too. Office watercooler bottles were drained as quickly as they were replaced, as workers crowded around them to chew on the juiciest piece of information they’d heard in years. And the phone lines were busier than ever before.
The following morning Sam sat in his office, staring out the window at all the students, their noses buried deep in the newspaper. Every once in a while somebody would look up and point in his direction, and he would look away. It wasn’t so much because he was ashamed; he wasn’t. It was just that he felt naked now that he wasn’t wearing a costume. He thought about putting on a jester’s cap and bells, just for old times’ sake, but decided against it. No matter what costume he put on, it would make no difference. The Daily Dynamite had taken care of that.
There was a light knock at the door. His mother poked her head in.
“Sam, did you read the newspaper today?”
“No, Mom.”
“Really? Because there’s a story about you in it. You wouldn’t believe it!”
“Yes, Mom, I know. It’s on the last page.”
“Of course it’s on the last page. It wouldn’t make sense on the front page.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you can’t read it out of order. Didn’t you read the articles in the front? Have you not read the editorial?”
“No … I didn’t read any of the articles. I a
lready know what they say.”
“How can you know what they say if you didn’t read them?”
“I just know.”
Marianne Marblecook, previously Ann-Marie Ackerbloom, snorted. “Hmph! And they call me crazy!” She tossed a copy of the newspaper onto Sam’s desk. “Read the editorial,” she said. “Oh, and there’s a crowd outside who all want to speak to you.”
“A crowd? What kind of crowd?” Sam said, bolting to his feet, alarmed.
“Noisy. Angry. The first ones got here about an hour ago, and it’s just been growing and growing since then.”
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“I wanted to give them all appointments, but my book seems to have turned into a box filled with empty brown wrappers that smell like chocolate.”
Sam groaned. It felt like he was reliving his nightmare—an angry mob ready to rip him apart and tear down everything he had built. In another era they would have been waving pitchforks and torches. These days they waved their lawyers’ phone numbers. Sam covered his face with his hands. He wished he could escape in his Invisiblimp, but somehow the balls had disabled it. Those balls really did have a bad attitude. There wasn’t anything he could do but try to reason with these people. Maybe if he apologized, they wouldn’t kill him. He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh, like a deflating balloon.
“Let them in.”
“Let the first one in?”
“No, let them all in. I might as well get this over with.”
Sam girded himself, grabbing the fire extinguisher for good measure. The door opened and a swarm of people entered, yelling and waving copies of the Daily Dynamite as Sam stood up behind his desk.
“Please! Please stop shouting! I can’t understand you if you all bellow at once. Now, I’m sorry if you are offended by my secrecy, but I stand behind my school and—”
“How dare you!” a woman shouted, the wattle beneath her neck jiggling furiously. “How dare you create such a wonderful, creative learning experience and not make it available to all students?”
“What … what was that?” Sam wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. It almost sounded like she had given him a compliment.
“My daughter is a straight-A student at Horsemouth Middle School. All of her teachers love her. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t come home every night, crying her eyes out about how bored she is and how she wishes there were some way she could enjoy learning instead of hating it. Why can’t she come to this school? Why are you leaving her out?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but everybody got a flyer over the summer. Perhaps you were out of town.”
“Oh, I got the flyer, all right, but it didn’t say the school was going to be amazing.”
“I’ll try to remember to mention that in any subsequent advertising,” Sam promised, satisfying the woman, who moved back to make room for the next person.
“You big idiot!” blustered the mayor of Horsemouth, pushing his way to the front. “A school like this could put our town on the map! We won’t have to live in Bravington’s shadow anymore! How can you hide something like this? Take that, Bravington!” he spat.
“I’m a teacher,” a young woman said. “I would love to work at an exciting, cutting-edge place like this. We teachers are tired of the boring old methods too. Now, as far as my credentials are concerned, I’m not technically mentally disturbed, but many people consider me to be decidedly odd.”
One after another everyone pleaded his or her case, that all children should have access to the school, that it was the most exciting thing to have ever come to Horsemouth, and that they would even be willing to donate money if it would help the school accommodate a larger student body. Sam couldn’t believe it. The people in the mob were all shouting ideas and suggestions, not criticisms and curses. Two things became instantly clear: they all liked the school, and in some way they all wanted to be a part of it. Sam buzzed his mother on the intercom.
“Mom! I mean, Mrs. Marblecook! Do you have a pad of paper out there?”
“You know very well I have a thousand,” the voice said over the speaker.
“Well, bring one in here! We’re signing people up!”
By the end of the day, the crowd had finally thinned out. Sam had twenty pages of names, addresses, and telephone numbers. There were 822 signatures of people interested in enrolling their children at Kaboom Academy the following year, as well as the names of people who had special skills—contractors, architects, artists, and educators—who wanted to join him in his enterprise. The most surprising name on the list was that of Mr. Leonard Gravestone, the principal at Horsemouth Middle School.
“I’m bored too,” Leonard explained after signing his name. “I know nobody’s happy at Horsemouth Middle School, not the students, not the teachers, not me. But you see, Mr. Ackerbloom, I never wanted to be an educator.”
“No? It’s a noble profession.…”
“I’m sure it is, but I don’t have the feel for it. I’m not good at it. The truth is I’ve been unhappy for a long time. I always pictured myself in a much more exciting career, but somewhere along the way my plans got derailed and I ended up a principal.”
“May I ask what it was you wanted to be?” Sam asked.
“A prison guard.”
“Ah. That explains a lot,” Sam said.
“I hope you will consider taking over Horsemouth Middle,” Leonard continued. “It can become a charter school for more autonomy. Or perhaps you can use the campus for your high school. I’m not sure what the legalities are, but we can bring it up with the Horsemouth School Board and the superintendent. I’m sure everyone can come to some sort of agreement. Especially since if things don’t change, they won’t have a student body. No student body, no school, right?”
“Right,” Sam agreed. After a few more pleasant exchanges, Leonard handed Sam his card and left. As Sam quickly scanned the list of names and occupations on his list, what he discovered was that the unremarkable town of Horsemouth was in fact remarkably filled with visionaries like himself, imaginative people with unusual ideas. They had kept their thoughts to themselves, though, fearful that they would be laughed at or, worse, ostracized. All it took was one person to encourage them to come forward, throw off the mantle of conformity, and bare their true selves to the world.
“Ahem.”
Sam looked up. It was Winston Leroux, otherwise known as the Great Gumballini. “I’d like a real job at the school, if possible,” Winston said. “I’m not doing very well as a musician … magician.”
“All right, what are you good at?” Sam said. He felt he owed Winston something; after all, he’d included the poor man in his deception and had left him exposed to the wrath of the journalism students.
“Well, I’m actually a very talented magician … musician,” Winston said eagerly. “Just listen as I play my foot … flute.” Winston pulled the instrument from his coat and immediately launched into a beautiful and complex classical piece. Sam was impressed by the purity of his tone and the emotion that infused every phrase and each note.
“You’re amazing,” Sam said once Winston had finished. “Why didn’t you work as a musician?”
“My mother always wanted a magician in the family,” Winston said sadly. “My feather—father—was a magician, and so was his father before him. I much prefer music, though. You don’t have to leak as much … speak as much.”
“I’m sure I can find something for you,” Sam assured him. “But I really have a lot to think about right now.”
Winston gave Sam a little bow, then turned to leave, passing the group of journalism students who had just entered.
“Oh, hi!” Sam said, surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Are you mad at us?” Jory asked, pointing at the Daily Dynamite sitting on Sam’s desk.
“Mad? Mad? Of course not! You guys did what you had to do and did it really well. I’m not mad, I’m proud. I mean, you put out a newspaper pretty much
on your own! You uncovered a huge scandal! You got people in this town talking … and strangely enough, acting. I would never have thought it possible!”
“Yes, we heard it all from the reception area,” Edie said. “It sounded as if more people liked the school than cared about its shady beginnings.”
“Which is kind of weird, since people from Horsemouth are usually quick to criticize,” Ruben pointed out.
“I wonder how public opinion could have been manipulated like that,” Victoria said slyly. “It’s almost like somebody planned it that way.”
Sam looked from one grinning face to another. Then it dawned on him what they had done. “That’s why you put the article on the back page!” He turned to Jory. “I thought you were trying to bury it.”
“Actually, the placement of the story was Edie’s idea,” Jory admitted.
“Simple psychology,” Edie explained. “I knew that once people read Jory’s fantastic editorial and the other articles first, they would find out how great the school was and how lucky the students were to be here. More importantly, they would find out that the students were handpicked. That information would arouse emotions in them that were stronger than mistrust and suspicion: jealousy and desire. I’ve seen it happen over and over again. Once people decide they want something, they’re a lot more forgiving about its flaws.”
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