No Talking

by Andrew Clements

  CHAPTER 5

  THE CONTEST

  Lynsey narrowed her eyes and hissed, “You take that back!”

  Dave shrugged. “Take what back? That girls are big blabberheads all the time? No way—because they are! Everybody knows that.”

  It’s a shame to have to report this, but Dave actually believed what he was saying.And in his ignorant but creative young mind, an idea sparked to life.

  Before Lynsey or any of her friends could say something back, Dave said,“And there’s a way to prove that girls talk way more than boys. Unless you’re afraid of some competition, you and your noisy friends.”

  “Afraid?” Lynsey said, looking around at the girls. “We’re not afraid of anything—except catching whatever made you so stupid.”

  The girls giggled, but Dave ignored the insult, completely caught up by his new idea. He waved his

  hands to quiet them down. “Okay, here’s the deal: a whole day of no talking at school. Not in class, not in the halls, not on the playground, nowhere. No talking at all. And it’s a contest—boys against girls. Whichever side talks less, wins.”

  Lynsey made a face. “No talking? At school? That’s impossible.”

  Dave had an advantage here. He had just spent almost four hours without saying a word. At school. So he had some experience, and he felt like he knew what he was talking about.

  He grinned and said,“Maybe it’s impossible for a girl to be quiet. But I bet the boys can do it. Or at least, we can do it better than the girls.”

  Lynsey said, “But, like, what if a teacher looked right at you and asked a question, then what?”

  Dave grinned and said, “You could always . . . cough.”

  Lynsey’s mouth dropped open, and then she glared at him.“You did that coughing in social studies on purpose? You are so immature!”

  Dave shrugged.“It was sort of a test.And it worked. But if every kid in fifth grade coughed every time a teacher asked a question? That would not work.”

  Lynsey sniffed. “Well, I say that this whole idea is ...childish.Silly and childish.”

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Dave said. “It was just an idea. I mean, I can see why you’d be afraid, since you’re a girl and all.And since you have to talk every other second. No problem. Sorry I interrupted you. Just keep talking to your friends there.You were talking about something important, weren’t you? That special sweater, right? Go ahead, talk.You girls go on and talk and talk and talk all you want to.”

  Lynsey pressed her lips together and glared at Dave, her eyes narrowed to slits. “You are the most annoying little—” She stopped mid-insult and folded her arms. “All right,” she said. “Let’s work out the rules. Right now. If a teacher talks to you, what then?”

  “You answer,” Dave said. “How many words can you use?” she asked. Dave smiled.“Let’s make it . . . ten words—in case you and your friends need to tell a teacher about some new clothes you got.”

  “Stop trying to be funny. Because you’re not,” Lynsey said.“Make the limit four words. If you answer with more than four words in a row, the extras count.”

  Dave shook his head. “Four’s still too easy. Let’s make it a three-word limit.And every illegal word is one point—against your team.”

  “Duh,” said Lynsey. “Like I needed you to explain that!”

  “So it’s a three-word limit?” Dave said. “Three,” said Lynsey,“and you can answer teachers, or the principal . . .”

  “. . . or any grown-up at school,” said Dave.“Like the custodian.”

  “Or the nurse,” added Lynsey. Because she wasn’t about to let Dave Packer have the last word about anything.

  “What about contractions?” she asked. “What about ’em?” Dave said. “Does a contraction count as one word or two?” Dave didn’t let it show in his face, but he was impressed by Lynsey’s question—that she was able to think so far ahead and figure out that words like “won’t” or “isn’t” could cause a scorekeeping problem. And right away, Dave was just as impressed with himself, because he understood how to answer her question with a question of his own.

  He said,“If you go find a dictionary, can you look up the word ‘won’t’?”

  Lynsey nodded.“Of course you can.” “Then it’s a word—one word,” said Dave. “Any other questions?”

  And now it was Lynsey’s turn to hide her

  thoughts, because she was impressed with Dave’s answer. He was still very annoying, but his answer seemed right, plus he’d explained his reasoning clearly. But she didn’t get carried away with good feelings about Dave. He was still a miserable, unpleasant boy who was forcing her to get involved in a pointless contest.

  It’s also a shame to have to report this, but Lynsey was just as proud and stubborn as Dave.And since he had pushed her into this fight, she felt it was her duty to push back—and she saw the perfect way to do it.

  She turned away and whispered something to the girls at her lunch table, and when they all nodded their heads, she turned back to Dave. She gestured toward her friends and said, “We want to make this contest harder. How about this: no talking at home, either. Or on the school bus, or anywhere else. No talking at all—except for what we already decided. Not even to parents. And let’s make the contest last for two days instead of one—two twenty-four-hour days in a row. Unless you think that’s too hard.”

  Dave shrugged. “Fine, no problem. Except . . . how do we keep track of all the mess-ups when you and your friends start gabbing at home?”

  “You mean, when the boys cheat?” said Lynsey.

  “Simple. We’ll have to use the honor system when we’re not at school. It’s the only way. We all keep track of our own mistakes. And report them. Honestly. Except I don’t know if the boys can be trusted. Have any boys even heard of the honor system? I know you can trust the girls.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Dave said.

  Lynsey tossed her head.“So when does the contest start? The girls can be ready by tomorrow. At lunchtime. Unless that’s too soon for the boys. Do you need more time to get organized? Like a week? Or two weeks?”

  “Very funny,” said Dave. “We’ll start Tuesday, tomorrow. At the beginning of lunch. And it’s not over until Thursday ...how about at twelve fifteen? That’ll be the middle of lunch period.” Lynsey nodded, and Dave went on. “I’ll be the official score-keeper for our side, and you keep track for the girls. And no cheating. Okay?”

  Lynsey nodded again.“Agreed.” She held out her hand.

  Dave looked at it like it was covered with slime. “What?” he said.

  Lynsey wrinkled her nose. “It’s revolting, but we have to shake on it—so you won’t try to back out.”

  Dave shook, and then made a show of wiping his

  hand on his pants, which got a big laugh from the five or six other boys who had witnessed the ceremony.

  And as Dave turned and went into a huddle with the guys at his lunch table, Lynsey did the same with the girls at her table.

  The contest was on.

  CHAPTER 6

  TEAMWORK

  The boys Dave ate lunch with were his best friends. He looked around at them and grinned after he’d explained the rules. “Cool contest, huh?”

  Todd shook his head. “I’m not doing this—it’s dumb.Who wants to not talk? Besides, it’s impossible, like she said.”

  “You think girls can stop talking, but boys can’t?” Dave asked. “So you’re just giving up without a fight? Is that it?”

  Todd said,“Well, no ...but it’s still a stupid idea.” “So what?” said Dave. “It’s a contest, and the boys are gonna win it, okay? So listen. First, we’ve got to tell every guy. Everybody has to be with us on this. Tim Flanagan was absent in homeroom this morning. I’ll call him, in case he’s coming back tomorrow.And you all have to do that too, figure out who else isn’t here.And if you don’t have a number, call me at home tonight, ’cause my mom has a school directory. And every fifth-grade boy wh
o’s here at school has to be told.Today. Okay?”

  Jason said,“But really, not talking? For two days? Like . . . how?”

  Dave pulled an index card from his pocket. On the back of his India report he wrote the word “Easy.” He held it up, showing it to all the boys.

  Then he said,“Did I just talk?” “No,” said Jason.

  Dave said,“Keep watching.” He shook his head. Then he nodded at them.

  Then he smiled. Then he frowned and showed his teeth and growled like a dog.

  “I didn’t talk, right? But you got what I said. Not talking just means . . . not talking. It’ll probably be fun—but even if it’s not, it’s a contest.Against the girls. And we’re gonna win it, right? And tell all the guys to practice short sentences.Three words or less.”

  Jim said,“You bug me!”

  Jason said,“Your breath smells!”

  Richard said,“Look, it’s Batman!—hey, is Batman one word or two?”

  And the sentences kept coming, each boy trying to be the goofiest.

  “Guys,” Dave said.“Guys, c’mon.We’ve only got fourteen minutes before next period. All the fifth-grade boys are right here at lunch—it’s the perfect chance to tell everyone. And I hate to tell you, but the girls are already ahead of us.”

  The boys hushed, and looked around.

  Lynsey, Anna, Emily, Taron—all the friends who’d been sitting at the next table were fanning out through the cafeteria, talking to every girl in sight. And Hannah and Karin were heading for the door to the playground.

  Dave said, “Everybody know what you have to say to our team?”

  The boys looked back at him and nodded, each face deadly serious now.

  “All right, then,” Dave said.“Let’s do this.”

  CHAPTER 7

  THE UNSHUSHABLES

  Since Dave and Lynsey had been almost shouting at each other in the middle of the cafeteria, you might think that a lot of the other fifth graders in the room would have tuned in and paid attention to the commotion.You might think that a lot of the kids in the lunchroom already knew about the contest.

  But if you thought that, you’d be wrong. And you’d be wrong because you don’t understand just how loud, how incredibly noisy it was in the cafeteria during fifth-grade lunch. And not just on this one day. It was noisy during fifth-grade lunch every day.

  And it wasn’t noisy only at lunch. Anywhere a bunch of these fifth graders got together, the talking got out of hand.

  That’s why it’s time to tell a little more about this particular set of fifth-grade kids.

  Because there’s more to tell.There’s always more.

  • • •

  A school system really is a little like the army—remember? About how kindergarten is sort of like basic training camp?

  Because kindergarten was where Dave and the other new recruits first learned the rules. They learned when to sit and when to stand, when to talk and when to hush, when to walk and when to run, when to eat, and nap, and play, and sing, and draw, and everything else.

  Because every system needs rules—no rules, no system.

  Most of the rules made perfect sense to Dave and the new recruits, especially rules like this: no fighting, no bullying, no shoving, no spitting, no biting, no stealing, no vandalism, no cutting in line, no snowball throwing, and so on.

  For most kids, the really serious rules like that weren’t hard at all.Those were the easy ones.

  The toughest rules were ones like, “No running in the halls.”

  Hard. “No disorderly behavior on the buses.” Also hard.

  “No candy or chewing gum.”

  Very hard. But nowhere in the forty-four-page Laketon Elementary School Handbook did it actually say, “No whispering, chatting, talking, calling out, yelling, or shouting in classrooms, in the hallways, in the auditorium, or in the lunchroom.”

  True, there was a rule about paying attention in class. And there was a rule about being respectful. And there was a rule about being courteous at all times.

  And Dave and his classmates obeyed those rules—or at least, they thought they did. It’s just that they all seemed to think they could talk and be courteous—at the same time. And they all seemed to think they could talk and pay attention—at the same time.

  Because none of these kids really meant to be disrespectful or disobedient or discourteous. But none of them wanted to stop talking. Ever.

  In fact, this group of kids had been given a nickname by the teachers at Laketon Elementary School, and the name had stuck with them ever since they had all been in first grade together.They were “The Unshushables.”

  If Laketon Elementary School had really been like the army, then sometime—probably during

  second grade—Dave and Lynsey and all the other recruits would have been lined up out on the playground on a cold, rainy morning, and a gruff man with short hair and shiny shoes would have walked up and down in front of them, shouting right into their faces. And he would have shouted something like this:

  “YOU DRIVE ME CRAZY! You call

  yourselves STUDENTS? You are a

  MISERABLE MOB! You are LOUD,

  UNdisciplined, and I WILL not

  tolerate your NOISE! When you walk

  in MY hallways, you do not SHOUT!

  You do not WAVE and YELL and

  HOOT when you see your friends. At

  an assembly in MY school, you do

  NOT whisper and giggle and point

  and wave and laugh at your own silly

  jokes! And when you come to MY

  lunchroom, it is NOT a free-for-all

  festival of flap-jawed jibber-jabber!

  Lunch is a time to SIT and be QUIET

  and EAT. I am going to TEACH you

  little motormouth MONSTERS proper

  school MANNERS if it is THE LAST

  THING I DO! DO I MAKE MYSELF

  CLEAR?”

  “YES, SIR!”

  “QUIETER!”

  “ Yes, sir !”

  But, of course, Laketon Elementary School wasn’t the army.

  However, with Mrs. Abigail Hiatt in charge, sometimes it felt that way. She was a tall woman with a long face, curly gray hair, and bright blue eyes, and she had been the principal at Laketon Elementary School for the past thirteen years.

  She gave careful orders, set precise goals, and she demanded results from her teachers, from her office staff, from her custodians, from her cafeteria workers, and from her students and their parents, too. Her school never went over its budget, never missed its academic targets, and the place never felt loose or sloppy or disorderly.

  Under Mrs. Hiatt’s watchful eye, group after group of children had wandered into Laketon Elementary School as aimless little kindergartners and marched out six years later as perfectly disciplined young students. Under Mrs. Hiatt’s leadership, the place ran like clockwork.

  And then the Unshushables came along. In all her years as principal she had never known a group of kids like this.

  And for the past five years, Mrs. Hiatt had been trying to make these kids obey the simplest school rule of all: no talking—except when it’s allowed.

  Year after year, memos had been sent home to the parents of Dave and his classmates about too much shouting on the school buses.

  Year after year, Dave’s grade had been told how to behave before every assembly.

  Year after year, all their teachers had stood out in the hallways to try to keep the noise down before and after school, and especially at lunchtime.

  This group had even been given a separate lunch period for the past three years in a row: third-grade lunch, fourth-grade lunch, and this year, fifth-grade lunch. Mrs. Hiatt had made that decision. She didn’t want the noisy behavior of this group to infect the other children at her school. Because year after year, the Unshushables lived up to their nickname.

  To be honest, a few of this year’s fifth-grade teachers had already given up.They didn’t have any real ho
pe of changing these kids.They were just trying to cope. Because it was already November, so in

  six short months the Unshushables would be gone forever, moved along to the junior high, and next year Laketon Elementary School would be quieter. Much quieter.

  But Mrs. Hiatt had not given up, not by a long shot. She still had over half a year with these kids, and she intended to use that time.

  Every day the principal stalked the fifth-grade hall.“You there—stop shouting!”

  At every assembly, she glared. “And I don’t want to hear even a whisper from our fifth graders, is that clear?”

  At every fifth-grade lunch, she walked around the cafeteria with a big red plastic bullhorn, and when the noise became unbearable, she pulled the trigger and bellowed, “STUDENTS! YOU ARE TALKING TOO LOUD!”

  Mrs. Hiatt felt sure that this constant reminding had to be having an effect on these kids . . . how could it not? After all, these were good kids . . . right? They had to be making progress . . . didn’t they?

  She knew she was being very stern with them, but it was for their own good. And Mrs. Hiatt felt sure that sooner or later, these kids would grow up a little—and quiet down a lot.

  • • •

  And now it’s time to tell what happened in the middle of the second Tuesday in November during Dave Packer’s final year at Laketon Elementary School.

  It was two minutes before fifth-grade lunch, and the principal was ready, just like always. Mrs. Hiatt had checked to be sure that the other teacher who had fifth-grade lunch duty wasn’t out sick or at a meeting. Because it wasn’t good to try to manage fifth-grade lunch all by yourself.

  And, just like always, she had ordered Mr. Lipton, the custodian, to stay in the cafeteria today until 12:40. Because with this group, the more grown-ups around, the better.

  And Mrs. Hiatt had double-checked the batteries in her red plastic bullhorn. Because it wasn’t good to have a dead bullhorn during fifth-grade lunch.

  Then the bell rang, and as classroom doors along the fifth-grade hall flew open, Mrs. Hiatt could hear them coming, all of them, already calling to each other as locker doors clanged open and banged shut, already talking a mile a minute, already laughing and whooping and shouting, streaming down the hallway toward the cafeteria, an unshushable wave of energy and excitement and noise . . . so much noise!