by Nikki Grimes
Dyamonde handed over both.
“Wait there,” the librarian told her, pointing to a table with chairs. Dyamonde nodded, stepping away from the copier so that the next person could use it. Meanwhile, the librarian disappeared behind a door marked Staff Only.
Dyamonde and Damaris sat at the table whispering, wondering how long they’d have to wait. A few minutes later, the librarian returned holding a big stack of fliers. One look told Dyamonde there were way more than the 56 copies they had enough money to pay for.
The librarian laid the still-warm stack of copies on the table and leaned down to whisper in Dyamonde’s ear.
“I threw in a few extra copies,” she said. “It was for a good cause.”
Dyamonde’s eyes grew wide. She looked from the librarian to Damaris and back to the librarian. Dyamonde hardly knew what to say.
“Thank you,” said Damaris for them both.
“Yes!” said Dyamonde, finding her voice again. “Thank you!”
“Now,” said the librarian, “do you need some help cutting these?”
Dyamonde and Damaris both nodded. The librarian smiled, laid three pairs of scissors on the table, and pulled up a chair to join the girls.
That evening, Dyamonde called Free and told him all about her plans for a clothing drive, and about the flyer, and about how Damaris helped her with it. Free listened carefully, and when Dyamonde was done talking, Free said exactly the right thing.
“So when do I get my stack of flyers to hand out?”
9. Spreading the Word
Dyamonde wasted no time. She passed out flyers all weekend, sliding one underneath the front door of every apartment in her building. Free did the same in his building, and Damaris even handed out a few at the shelter where she lived. The way she figured, if she had five dollars stashed away, maybe somebody else had a dollar or two they’d like to give to help somebody else in need.
“If you never ask, you never know,” said Damaris. “At least, that’s what my mom is always saying.”
On Monday, the three friends stood outside of the school and handed out flyers to students on their way to class. The three T’s took flyers, curious to see what was going on. They stood a few feet away, reading, then Dyamonde watched as Tylisha threw hers on the ground. Her friends Tanya and Tameeka did the same.
“Hey!” snapped Dyamonde. “We worked hard on those. If you don’t want yours, then give them back!”
Tameeka, looking a little embarrassed, bent down to pick them up. She walked over to Dyamonde and held the flyers out to her.
“Sorry,” Tameeka whispered.
Dyamonde snatched the papers from her, keeping her thoughts to herself.
Shouldn’t have wasted our flyers on the three T’s in the first place, thought Dyamonde. It’s not like those fashion plates were about to give up any of their precious clothes.
“Hurry up, Tameeka,” called Tylisha. “We don’t want to be late to class.”
“Oh, puleeze!” said Dyamonde. The three T’s were late all the time. Forget them, thought Dyamonde.
Dyamonde handed out flyers to the next batch of kids passing by.
“Can they use some scarves?” asked one girl. “I’ve got a bunch of them.”
“They need some turtlenecks?” asked another girl.
“Who is Isabel?” asked a boy.
Before Dyamonde could answer, another boy tossed his copy of the flyer in the air. “I ain’t giving nobody the shirt off my back!”
“Nobody wants your ugly old shirt!” Free shot back.
Dyamonde just shook her head. She answered everyone’s questions as best as she could and kept on handing flyers out until the first bell rang. Then she and her friends stuffed the remaining flyers in their backpacks and raced to class.
10. Pulling Together
That evening, a few of Dyamonde’s neighbors stopped by with the first clothing donations. Dyamonde was so excited, she could burst. She called Free to tell him, but he had news of his own.
“Bet you could use a few men’s shirts and shoes. How about clothes for little kids? Yup! I got those too,” said Free.
“It’s working!” said Dyamonde. “My neighbors started bringing stuff too! Now if only the kids in school pitch in, we’ll have plenty.”
“Of course they will,” said Free. “You just watch.”
When Dyamonde left for school the following morning, Free was on the stoop waiting, like always. They started walking toward school, going slow so they’d have time to talk.
“So what are you gonna do with the clothes once you get them?”
Dyamonde looked at Free as if he’d sprouted two heads. “What do you think I’m going to do? Give them to Isabel’s family, of course.”
“I know that,” snapped Free. “I mean, what are you going to put them in? I don’t see you holding any bags.”
“Oh,” said Dyamonde. She’d forgotten about that. “Let me think.”
Bags wouldn’t hold enough. Boxes would be better, but how was she going to lug a bunch of heavy boxes all the way home from school?
“Got it!” said Dyamonde. “Wait for me.”
Before Free could say anything, Dyamonde sprinted back to her building and ran inside. A few minutes later, she reappeared, pulling her mother’s shopping cart behind her.
“Good idea!” said Free, waiting exactly where Dyamonde had left him. Free shrugged off his backpack and grabbed the cart from Dyamonde.
“What are you doing?” asked Dyamonde.
Free plunked his backpack into the cart.
“No sense in wasting this thing,” he said. “I might as well give my back a rest.”
Dyamonde smiled, shrugged off her own backpack and tossed it on top of Free’s.
“You’re right,” said Dyamonde. “This is a good idea.”
Free grunted, pulling the cart that was suddenly a whole lot heavier.
“Oh, quit groaning,” said Dyamonde. “It’s not that heavy.”
Dyamonde felt silly dragging the shopping cart around, but she couldn’t just leave it outside because someone might steal it. Lucky for her, Mr. Samson, the janitor, offered to lock it up in his closet until the end of the day.
Dyamonde, Damaris and Free took their places in front of the school after the last bell. They handed out flyers like they’d been doing for days, but this time Dyamonde stood next to the shopping cart, which had a sign on it reading “Clothing for Isabel.”
Dyamonde was so busy handing out flyers, she didn’t notice the first person drop something into the cart. It was a red vest—her favorite color! Dyamonde was almost tempted to grab it for herself, but she didn’t. The vest was quickly followed by an assortment of T-shirts, jeans, pajamas—Why didn’t I think of pajamas? Dyamonde wondered.
“Psst!” said Damaris. “Look who’s coming!”
Dyamonde raised her eyes just in time to see her teacher approaching.
“Good afternoon, Dyamonde,” said Mrs. Cordell.
Dyamonde froze. Was she in trouble? Was Mrs. Cordell going to take her to the principal’s office for breaking school policy? Dyamonde felt herself starting to sweat.
“You know,” said Mrs. Cordell, “it’s a little too hot today for a jacket. Don’t you think?”
Dyamonde’s jaw dropped when the teacher slipped off her pretty blue jacket, folded it neatly and placed it in the shopping cart.
“That’s better,” said Mrs. Cordell.
“Thank you!” said Dyamonde, finding her voice.
“See you tomorrow,” said Mrs. Cordell, walking away.
“Whew!” said Dyamonde, breathing again. “That was scary.”
The three T’s hurried past without so much as glancing at the cart. When they reached the street corner, though, Tameeka turned around for a minute. She seemed to be staring at the cart, but Dyamonde couldn’t figure out why.
Whatever, thought Dyamonde.
“I think that’s it for today,” said Free.
“Okay,” said Dyamonde. “Let’s
get this stuff home.”
11. Brwon Bag Surprise
Dyamonde was amazed at how her idea had caught on. People from the neighborhood pitched in, offering stuff Dyamonde hadn’t even asked for: dishes, pots and pans, towels—all sorts of things. She’d had to make a special trip to the supermarket just to get enough boxes to hold it all.
The stacks of boxes with all the collected clothing, school supplies and household goods were piling up in Dyamonde’s living room. But her mother didn’t even complain about the mess. In fact, each evening after she got home from work, she helped Dyamonde sort the donations.
Dyamonde couldn’t wait to turn it all over to Isabel and her family. One thing they’ll know for sure, thought Dyamonde. They’ll know people care.
Damaris was right. She said there was love in those boxes. And there was.
Dyamonde pulled the shopping cart to school one last time. She was still hoping for a few pairs of shoes, and she told Free and Damaris to spread the word.
They set up the cart outside of school, as they had every day, and waited as students and teachers piled out. Most people who were interested had already given their donations. But one teacher dropped off some leather loafers that should fit Isabel’s father, and a boy threw in some sneakers.
Dyamonde bent down to remove the “Clothing for Isabel” sign from the cart, ready to call it a day.
“Am I too late?” asked a familiar voice. Dyamonde stood up to find Tameeka.
“Too late for what?” asked Dyamonde.
“The clothing drive.”
“No,” said Dyamonde, wondering what Tameeka was up to. “We’re still here, aren’t we?”
“Good,” said Tameeka. “Then here.” She handed Dyamonde a brown paper sack and took off down the street before Dyamonde could say anything.
“What’s that?” asked Free, pointing to the paper bag.
“Beats me,” said Dyamonde. “Probably some old junk Tameeka doesn’t need anymore.”
Dyamonde placed the sack into the cart without bothering to look inside. Later, when she got home and had unloaded the cart, she sat on the sofa, opened the paper bag and reached inside. She pulled out a pair of nearly new pink high-top sneakers.
“I don’t believe it,” said Dyamonde.
She stared at the sneakers, shaking her head, thinking back to the day she first saw them on Tameeka’s feet, how badly she’d wanted a pair, how much trouble she’d gotten herself into trying to force her mom to buy her a pair (in red, of course!). It seemed so silly now. She didn’t really need those sneakers, and neither did Tameeka. But Isabel did, and now she’d have them.
Dyamonde fell against the sofa cushions, sighing. She didn’t need to switch on the television, or lose herself in a book, or even call anyone. She just closed her eyes and let the warm feeling inside wrap its arms around her.
Dyamonde had heard that it was better to give than to receive. She’d never believed it, though. Until now.
Born and raised in New York City, Nikki Grimes began composing verse at the age of six and has been writing ever since. She is the critically acclaimed author of numerous award-winning books for children and young adults, including Coretta Scott King Award winner Bronx Masquerade, Coretta Scott King Honor winner The Road to Paris and New York Times bestseller Barack Obama: Son of Promise, Child of Hope (illustrated by Bryan Collier). In addition to a Coretta Scott King Award and four Coretta Scott King Honors, her work has received accolades such as the NCTE Award for Excellence in Poetry for Children, Booklist Editors’ Choice, ALA Notable, Bank Street College Book of the Year, Horn Book Fanfare, American Bookseller Pick of the List, Notable Social Studies Trade Book, NAACP Image Award Finalist, and the Golden Dolphin Award, an award given by the Southern California Children’s Booksellers Association in recognition of an author’s body of work. She lives in Corona, California.
Visit her at www.nikkigrimes.com.
Click here for more titles by this author
Also by Nikki Grimes
Jazmin’s Notebook
Bronx Masquerade
The Road to Paris
Make Way for Dyamonde Daniel
Rich: A Dyamonde Daniel Book