“Don’t you dare make me feel better!” I snap. “What kind of message are we sending? Swastikas are bad—but only till you run out of paper to fight against them? And now that we’re broke, they’re okay? How’s that something to be proud of?”
“Well, I don’t think Mr. Brademas meant it that way—” he offers.
I stomp away from him. I refuse to spend my time with anybody who doesn’t think this is the end of the world. If I have to listen to a guy putting a positive spin on this, my head is probably going to explode. At this moment, I want nothing but gloom, despair, negativity, and complaining.
But where am I going to find that?
From the YouTube channel of Adam Tok
Interview with Caroline McNutt
REELTOK: A special treat, TokNation—we welcome Caroline McNutt to the little slice of Chokecherry I haven’t been kicked out of yet. It was Caroline’s Instagram that first introduced me to the paper chain.
CAROLINE: I can’t talk to you. Mr. Brademas told us all to stay away from ReelTok.
REELTOK: So why are you here?
CAROLINE: Because Mr. Brademas is a—sorry. I’m seventh-grade president. I should set an example.
REELTOK: I think you have something to say.
CAROLINE: No. Yes. The paper chain … it’s canceled.
REELTOK: Interesting. So somebody in that school doesn’t think that standing up to racism and anti-Semitism is a good idea.
CAROLINE: That’s not the reason. We just ran out of paper. And the principal says there’s no money in the budget to buy more. I always knew it would be hard to get to six million links, but I never thought the reason would be the school board going cheapo on us!
REELTOK: It’s all about priorities. People call New York a cesspool, but New Yorkers would never knuckle under to intolerance and let some lowlife get away with drawing swastikas.
CAROLINE: Nobody’s letting anybody get away with anything. We just can’t find out who it is.
REELTOK: Who do you think is doing it?
CAROLINE: How should I know? I’m just a kid.
REELTOK: You’re the seventh-grade president. Don’t you know your own school?
CAROLINE: I know the kids in my school never got involved in anything until the paper chain came along. It seems to me that if schools spend money on field trips and football equipment, they should spend just as much on something that’s a million times more important.
REELTOK: You go, girl! Don’t hold back! TokNation wants to hear it!
CAROLINE: Seriously! You see all these TV shows about kids being at their worst. Well, here’s an example of kids at their best. And what do the adults do? They shut us down! It’s so unfair!
REELTOK: Yeah! Especially when you consider the adults we’re talking about.
CAROLINE: Wait—what?
REELTOK: The mayor and his police force, who should be finding whoever’s behind the swastikas instead of hassling an innocent blogger. This guy Rowley from the chamber of commerce, who wants to sue me. Your own principal, who’s shutting down the paper chain—and that’s after doing everything in his power to keep me from telling your story to TokNation and the world. There’s nothing wrong with you, Caroline. You have every right to be ticked off at the adults of Chokecherry. Just like they moved heaven and Earth to keep a lid on the Night of a Thousand Flames, they’re silencing you.
CAROLINE: You came here all the way from New York. Do you even like our town?
I think Link Rowley having a bar mitzvah is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.
Then again, I think most things are stupid, so you probably shouldn’t go by me.
The guy’s about as Jewish as I am. Not that I’m a big expert. I don’t know anybody Jewish except Dana Levinson, and she’s annoying. That has nothing to do with her being Jewish. All the egglets are annoying. They show up here in their electric cars with their kale salad and complain about how our town is too backward to ban plastic bags. If their folks are such geniuses, how come they spend their days rooting around in the mud? I did that when I was three. Mud is mud, regardless of whether there are dinosaur bones underneath it.
That’s kind of the rule with me. Things are stupid. People are annoying.
Anyway, I get the whole sob story with Link’s grandmother. I’ve met her a bunch of times. She’s nice. Once, when we were little, she took Link, Jordie, and me to meet Santa at the Shadbush County Mall. If Link is doing this to please her, then he’s barking up the wrong tree.
Come to think of it, what tree is he barking up? Why’s he doing this? Because of the swastikas? Everybody has to look at those, and no one else decided to have a bar mitzvah. Because he suddenly got religion? He’s not the type. He’s a goofball, like Jordie and me. A troublemaker and proud of it. And even if he did see the light—or whatever you call it—why not stick with the religion he already has?
This is what happens when you let yourself get too mixed up with family. Link hears one sad story about a grandparent, and he’s lost his mind. We Pounceys have grandparent stories too. I don’t remember much about Grandpa, but the word is he wore a white sheet with a hood—and supposedly that wasn’t even the nastiest thing about him. When I find myself focusing on him, I change my focus to something else ASAP. Sunflower seeds, usually, because I love sunflower seeds. But anything works—video games, my locker combination, bait. Anything but the fact that one of my best friends has developed a whole new life without me.
I barely recognize the kid anymore. Used to be that Link, Jordie, and I could kill a whole afternoon lying around, planning our next big gag. The details we’d go into—you’d think we were planning to take over the White House and kick out the president. That doesn’t happen anymore. Every spare minute is filled with bar mitzvah stuff. We go to Dairy Queen, and while they’re making our cones, Link pulls out his phone for a few extra minutes of Rabbi Gold chanting in Hebrew. You know how in languages like Spanish and French, you can pick out a word here or there because it sounds kind of like English? Not Hebrew. Everybody looks at us like we’re nuts. We’re not. It’s just Link.
“What does all that mean?” I ask him.
“It’s the blessing over a goblet of wine,” Link tells us.
“Really?” Jordie’s amazed. “What’s the drinking age for Jewish?”
“You don’t actually get any,” Link informs him with a grin. “It’s just part of the ceremony.”
“And afterward you get to stomp on the glass,” Jordie adds. “I saw that in movie once.”
“That’s for weddings, not bar mitzvahs,” Link explains.
I googled bar mitzvah back when I first found out Link was having one. There was a lot of stuff about becoming a man. I don’t see how putting on a suit and singing in a foreign language makes you that, but whatever. In the Pouncey family, becoming a man usually involves shooting something. For all I know, in Grandpa’s time, it might even have meant shooting someone. You never knew with Grandpa.
Sunflower seeds … love those sunflower seeds …
“When you do the thing—you know, the mitzvah,” I ask, “are they going to make you wear that little beanie hat?”
“It’s called a kippah. Rabbi Gold says it’s optional at Temple Judea,” Link replies, “but I think I might wear it.”
Jordie nods. “Go big or go home.”
The lady hands us our cones, and we sit at a table.
“To be honest, guys,” Link says between slurps, “if you ask me why I’m doing this, I don’t know if I can explain it, even to myself. My mom’s weird about it. My dad’s rolling with it, but I’m pretty sure he’d throw me a parade if I’d give it up.”
I’m no one to talk, but Link’s old man is kind of a piece of work. If the point of all this is to get Mr. Rowley to loosen the reins, maybe it isn’t as stupid as I thought.
“Wouldn’t you know it?” I complain. “They put all the sprinkles on one side of my cone. But I can’t go up and demand more because they’ll say
I already licked it.”
“You already did,” Jordie reminds me.
“You know what?” Link puts in. “This is why I’m having a bar mitzvah.”
Jordie frowns. “Because Pouncey got ripped off on sprinkles?”
“Because our whole lives are based on dumb stuff,” Link insists. “Like who didn’t get enough sprinkles, or what girl just checked us out.”
“Checked you out,” I grumble.
“Seriously—those things are fine, but they’re not, you know, important. So when I found out that stuff about my grandmother, I wasn’t sure what to do. But I couldn’t just do nothing.”
“If sprinkles aren’t important,” I tell him, “how about we swap cones?”
“No way! You already licked yours,” Link snaps. Then he grabs his phone and turns on Rabbi Gold again.
It’s enough to turn the ice cream to poison in my stomach.
School’s messed up too. Part of that’s the swastikas, obviously. But most of the fuss is about the paper chain project, which is off because we ran out of paper. Everybody’s going ape because who could have predicted that you need paper to make a paper chain?
I personally think the paper chain is stupid and most of the people who are losing their minds over it are annoying. But it was something to do—and it was kind of cool at the end of the day when Michael announced how many links we were up to. That’s assuming he did a real count, instead of just saying any old number. That kid’s even more annoying than the rest of them.
The only part I’m going to miss is my guillotine. I freaked when I found out that it’s called that. I always wanted my own guillotine. I was an executioner … of paper anyway. But as I mentioned, that’s all in the past.
The project may be in the past, but the chain itself is very much in the present, all 61,472 links of it. It’s draped over everything in the gym, even spiraling up and down the climbing ropes. PE classes have to be held outside, rain or shine. At some point, the school is going to have to throw it out, or recycle it, or something that makes it go away. But if Brademas and the teachers are planning to do that, they haven’t mentioned it to us kids yet. I think they’re afraid that if they try it, the cry of outrage is going to echo off the mountains. Caroline is passing around a petition to protect the links we’ve already got. I signed. Why not?
Even if you’re not near the gym, where you can see the miles of paper links, your phone is always blowing up with notifications that ReelTok has posted another video about it. I can’t believe I used to be a fan of that guy. He’s always funny and cool when you watch him on YouTube. But when he’s on a folding chair across from your school, sucking on a Slurpee and talking to himself, he’s kind of annoying.
Then comes the day that Mr. Brademas gets the idea that the paper chain isn’t such a big deal anymore, and he can finally get it out of his school.
The first I hear of it, I’m heading for my locker at lunch when a half-crazed female voice shrieks, “What are you doing?”
I peer in the gym door in time to see Caroline grabbing a scissors away from Mr. Kennedy’s reach a split second before he was about to cut a length of paper chain off the climbing apparatus. Mr. Kennedy is too shocked to react, but there are a couple of other custodians with him, also with scissors. A strand of links is already lying on the floor.
“No-o-o-o-o-o!!!”
I have to flatten myself to my locker to avoid being trampled. Kids are coming from all directions, stampeding through the hall, to investigate the source of the disturbance. Seeing the paper chain in danger galvanizes them into action.
Nobody actually pushes the custodians out of the gym. But so many people rush to protect the paper chain at the same time that the mass of kids bubbles through the door, carrying the three men with it. Mr. Kennedy is already shouting into his walkie-talkie as the wave carries him by me.
“We’ve got a situation here—”
By the time the first few teachers make it onto the scene, they find total chaos. The hallway is packed with kids, all frantic, all babbling at the same time. A wall of bodies blocks both gym entrances.
Mr. Slobodkin is outraged. “You have classes to go to!”
Nobody moves because nobody hears him. Or if they do, they don’t care. It’s nothing new for me; I never care what teachers say. But for everyone else it’s pretty different. This is turning into an interesting day.
Mrs. Babbitt claps her hands. “Let’s move, people!”
No response. Arms are folded over chests. The message is clear. It’s like they say on Monty Python: None shall pass.
Hustling through the throng comes the big enchilada himself: Brademas. On the ticked-off scale from one to ten, he’s at least an eleven.
“Break it up!” he bellows.
I’m not a Caroline fan, but give her props. She doesn’t back down a millimeter. “First you have to promise not to throw away the paper chain!”
The principal is so shocked at being challenged by his own seventh-grade president that he backs away from her, stepping on my foot. Spying me, he seems amazed that disobedience is happening and I’m not a part of it. “Good for you, Clayton,” he tells me. “I’m happy to see that you have the sense to stay out of this.”
It’s the wrong thing to say to a guy like me. No one accuses a Pouncey of staying out of trouble. So I step forward and join Caroline at the human wall.
Now Brademas is bright red. “The paper chain project is over. This is a school. We can’t sacrifice our gym indefinitely because a few people are disappointed.”
In my defense, I only say the thing I say next to stick it to Brademas. But the instant it’s out of my mouth, I’m blown away that it came from me. “Those aren’t just loops of paper in there! Those links represent people who died in the Holocaust. You can’t just chuck that like it’s nothing!”
“Yeah!” Caroline exclaims. It’s the first time she’s ever agreed with me. I must be doing something wrong.
Still, I can feel the wall of kids stiffening around me. There’s even a smattering of applause.
“That’s ridiculous!” The principal is getting louder. “We all knew there was no chance of reaching six million links. And even if we could, the school district would never approve that much money just for paper!”
At that moment, Link and Jordie come sprinting in from outside. They’re a little confused by the mob scene at the gym entrance. But when they spy the principal, the news pours out of them.
“Mr. Brademas, come quick!” Link exclaims. “The guy needs you to sign!”
The principal frowns. “Sign what?”
“There’s a truck outside,” Jordie pants. “And it’s full of construction paper!”
“I didn’t order any construction paper!” Brademas snaps.
“It’s not an order,” Link explains breathlessly. “It’s a donation! This art supply company—they heard about our paper chain on ReelTok! They want to help us finish it!”
The principal makes some comment, but the cheer that goes up in the hallway drowns out everything. If a giant meteor had hit the football field, we wouldn’t have heard that either. Kids are jumping up and down and cheering. Caroline throws her arms around Brademas and hugs him—like she wasn’t just yelling at the guy two seconds ago. I award the principal a booming slap on the back—because, hey, when am I ever going to get another chance to do that?
The best part is that Brademas obviously wants the whole paper chain thing to be over, and now he’s lost his only excuse for killing it. He looks like a guy who took a big bite of something really gross and missed his chance to spit it out. Now everybody’s looking at him, and he has no choice but to swallow it.
Did I say the paper chain is stupid?
Scratch that. It’s starting to grow on me.
The first TV crew comes to Chokecherry on the Saturday my father takes me suit shopping for my bar mitzvah.
We go to Jerome’s on Main Street—as head of the chamber of commerce, Dad never lets us
buy anything at the Shadbush County Mall, which is outside the town limits. I try on a plain navy blue suit. It isn’t as cool as the shiny black one I first picked out, but as my father puts it, “This is a bar mitzvah, not a funeral.”
Every time Dad says bar mitzvah, he looks like he’s just taken a swig of vinegar. But I give him full credit. For the first time ever, he’s going through with something for my sake … or maybe because Mom told him he has to. He’s bringing in floral arrangements to decorate the synagogue on the big day, and he’s paying for the congregational Kiddush, which is like a mini lunch after the service is over. He’s even warming up to Rabbi Gold, now that he’s found out, through our Zoom calls, that the rabbi is a fellow Denver Broncos fan.
Speaking of the Zooms, Rabbi Gold has explained all the parts of the service to me so I’ll know what to expect on December 4. We’ve also spent a lot of time discussing what being Jewish means to him—not just the religion part, but the fight for social justice. Jewish people have been the underdogs so often that they understand what it’s like to be an underdog. I can’t help thinking of the sports connection—like when a team nobody takes seriously comes together for a playoff push. But so many times in Jewish history, what was at stake was a lot more than a trophy or a championship. It was survival.
We’ve talked a lot about what my grandmother’s family must have gone through. Yeah, I learned about the Holocaust in school—both in fifth grade and in tolerance education. But it’s way more real to me now that I have this direct relation. Rabbi Gold says becoming a bar mitzvah is taking some of that history on my shoulders. That scares me a little, because I’m not sure I deserve to be trusted with something so heavy. But the rabbi says I’m practicing ten times as hard as most of his other bar mitzvah students, and that I’m asking ten times as many questions. That has to count for something.
Putting on a suit makes me feel even more out of my element, like I’ve left the world of greasing the parade route and shoving fertilizer through a mail slot and moved on to a place where everything is more serious. I don’t know how I feel about it.
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