Kid Power

by Susan Beth Pfeffer

  “That’s pretty stupid,” Lisa said. “If it was in a bank, you’d be getting interest.”

  She said that very strictly, the way she always corrected me. I laughed. I never thought it would feel good to have Lisa correcting me, but it did.

  Lisa looked puzzled for a little bit, and then she laughed, too. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m always scolding you.”

  “I always deserve it,” I said. “Well, not always. But often enough. I’ve been meaning to start a savings account, but I need one of my parents to come with me and sign the forms, and they’ve been so funny lately, I haven’t wanted to ask.”

  “Your mom still doesn’t have a job?” Lisa asked. I started clipping the hedges again.

  “Not yet,” I said. “And I don’t think she ever will. She just sits around all day and reads. She buys every magazine she can find, and she reads them over and over again. Sometimes she even copies down recipes.”

  “That’s terrible,” Lisa said, shaking her head. “Does she at least cook what she copies?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “We’ve had tuna noodle casserole three times this week.”

  Lisa made a face. She hates tuna noodle casserole. I used to like it, but after three times in one week, I’d lost my appetite for it as well. The last time she served it, Dad looked like he wanted to throw it at someone, but instead he just had a couple of bitefuls and left the table. I used to like suppertime, but not anymore.

  “What have you been up to?” I asked.

  “Nothing much,” Lisa said. “I’ve been helping my folks with our garden.” She looked wistfully at Mrs. Townsend’s.

  “Lisa, I’ve just got to ask you,” I said. “Have I wrecked everything here?”

  “Wrecked it?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been so scared I’ve been weeding the flowers and fertilizing the weeds,” I said. “And I know those stupid Japanese beetles have been eating everything. I even dream about them at night.” I did too. I dreamt they ate my money just like they ate the roses, but I didn’t want to tell Lisa that. “Is anything okay?”

  Lisa walked around the garden slowly. I could see her inspecting each plant. My stomach turned over three times while she did.

  “Well,” she said, when she came back from her tour of inspection. “You do have a nice crop of ragweed growing.”

  “Oh, no,” I said.

  Lisa smiled. “Except for that, and the Japanese beetles, everything’s fine,” she said. “And it won’t take more than a minute to pull out the ragweed.” She pointed to where it was growing.

  “I thought they were marigolds,” I said faintly.

  “They look alike,” she said. “But they’re not the same.”

  “Lisa, I hate this job,” I said. “I never know what I’m doing, and it’s a miracle I haven’t destroyed everything.”

  “You’re doing fine,” Lisa said. “Much better than I thought you would.”

  “Would you please take it over for me?” I asked. “You know the difference between ragweed and marigolds. You’d be just perfect for it.”

  “But the Townsends hired you,” Lisa said.

  “They won’t care,” I said. “The important thing is that the garden be taken care of, not who does it.”

  “You sure you don’t mind?” Lisa said. “I’ve really wanted to work on it. I just read about this wonderful way of killing Japanese beetles, and I’ve been dying to try it out.”

  “Oh, please try, Lisa,” I said. “I’d be so grateful.”

  “Give me those pruning shears,” she said. “You’ve been much too shy about cutting.”

  I handed them over to her and watched while she started chopping the branches off.

  “My mother says never be bashful about pruning,” Lisa said. “What’re you doing this afternoon?”

  “Nothing,” I said, feeling shocked at how fast those hedges were losing their branches.

  “Come on over to my place?” she asked. “We could talk.”

  “I’d love to,” I said. “Lookit, I’d better go over to Mrs. Edwards now and check on her. Do you mind if I leave you here?”

  “Of course not,” Lisa said. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Okay,” I said, feeling better than I had in ages. Lisa was my friend again, and I never had to worry about Mrs. Townsend’s flowers. She was even going to kill the Japanese beetles. I decided that that night I’d ask my parents about a savings account. If I was in a good mood, it would help.

  Mrs. Edwards still wasn’t home. I wondered where she might have gone, but decided it was nothing to worry about. I went home and made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. Mom was in the living room copying recipes.

  “What’re you doing?” I asked her, taking my sandwich into the living room.

  “What does it look like?” she asked. “I’m copying recipes.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “So we can eat better balanced diets,” she said. “And have more variety in our meals. That’s why.”

  I thought about mentioning the tuna noodle casseroles, but decided against it.

  “What’re we having for supper?” I asked instead.

  “I don’t know,” Mom said, busy copying the ingredients down. “Tuna noodle casserole maybe. We all like it.”

  “Oh,” I said, and finished my sandwich fast. I went into the kitchen and made myself another one. I knew I wouldn’t be eating much supper that night.

  I ate my second sandwich and then washed the dishes. I decided to go to Lisa’s by way of Mrs. Edwards. I didn’t want her to have any overdue library books.

  I walked over there and rang the bell again. There was still no answer. I thought about leaving and trying again on my way back from Lisa’s, but I decided to check things out first. So I went around back to see if maybe she was in her back yard. She wasn’t. I didn’t think she would be but it seemed worth checking.

  I was sure Mrs. Edwards was just out someplace, but it seemed unlike her not to leave me a note or call me in the morning to say she wouldn’t be home. I decided I’d better check a little more thoroughly.

  Mrs. Edwards had those old-fashioned cellar doors, the kind that are outside the house, like Dorothy tries to open in The Wizard of Oz during the cyclone. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t be locked, and they weren’t. There was a regular door at the end of the stairs, and I opened that, too. Lots of people keep their cellar doors unlocked where I live.

  I ran through the cellar, half-afraid I’d be arrested for breaking and entering, and climbed up the stairs to the kitchen. Once I got upstairs, I called Mrs. Edwards’ name, but she didn’t answer. I checked the kitchen, the dining room, and the living room, and still didn’t see her. So I walked to the staircase, meaning to go upstairs and see if she was there. Except when I got to the hallway, I found her lying at the foot of the steps, her body sort of twisted.

  At first I thought she was dead and I wanted to scream. But I made myself look carefully, and I could see she was still breathing. She was definitely unconscious. I wanted to move her, make her more comfortable, but I remembered you weren’t supposed to move someone who’d been in an accident. Mrs. Edwards had probably fallen down the stairs first thing that morning. She was fully dressed.

  I ran to the living room and took the afghan off the sofa and wrapped it around Mrs. Edwards as best I could without moving her. Then I went to the kitchen and found the phone book. I found the number for Hathaway Hospital, and I dialed it. While the phone was ringing, I took a deep breath.

  “Hathaway Hospital,” a woman’s voice said.

  “My name is Jane Golden,” I said in my most adult voice. I was really scared they’d think I was a kid playing a practical joke. “I’m at 1082 North Thomas Street. There’s been an accident here and I need an ambulance.”

  “What kind of accident?” the woman asked.

  “The woman who lives here fell down the stairs. She’s unconscious,” I said.

  “Don
’t move her,” the woman said. “We’ll send an ambulance right over.”

  I hung up the phone and called my mother. I knew I’d want to go to the hospital, and I doubted they’d let me go in the ambulance. Besides, I needed her. As soon as I told her what happened, she came right over.

  The ambulance came right after her. Two men lifted Mrs. Edwards up very gently, and put her on a stretcher. They took her to the ambulance. The doctor asked me a couple of questions and I told him what I knew and what I’d guessed.

  “You’re a smart girl,” he said when I told him what I’d done. “This woman may very well owe her life to you.” He got into the ambulance and it drove off.

  Mom and I followed it to the hospital. We waited in the emergency room for what seemed like hours. We talked about little things while we waited, and we watched other people coming in and leaving. We talked about everything except Mrs. Edwards.

  After a while, another doctor came out. “Janie Golden?” she asked.

  I stood up. “Yeah?” I said.

  The doctor smiled. “Mrs. Edwards has a broken hip,” she said. “She’s in pain, but no danger, and she’s regained consciousness. She said for me to come out and thank you.”

  “Can I see her?” I asked.

  “Not now,” the doctor said. “We have to get her to a room and start taking care of her. But she wants you to know how very grateful she is for your rescuing her.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and watched as the doctor went back into Mrs. Edwards’ cubicle.

  “You can be proud,” Mom said, getting up. “Well honey, I think we should go back now. There’s nothing more we can do here.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Oh my gosh.”

  “What is it?” Mom asked.

  “I was supposed to see Lisa this afternoon,” I said. “You don’t think she’ll get mad at me again for forgetting about her, do you?”

  “I don’t think so,” Mom said and smiled. “I’m sure she’ll understand when you explain you had something more important to do today.”

  Chapter Nine

  I biked over to the hospital the next day to visit with Mrs. Edwards, but they wouldn’t let me see her.

  “What do you mean I can’t see her?” I asked the nurse. “I rescued her.”

  “I understand that,” the nurse said. “But rules are rules. No visitors allowed under the age of fifteen.”

  I might pass for fifteen on the telephone in an emergency, but there was no way I could claim to be that old in person. I started walking away dejectedly when a woman stopped me. She’d been in the corridor when the nurse and I were having our discussion.

  “What do you mean you rescued her?” the woman asked. “What woman did you rescue?”

  “Mrs. Edwards,” I said. “And I didn’t rescue her really. But I helped and it’s not fair I can’t see her. I’m sure she’d want to see me.”

  “My name is Liz Davis and I work for the Hathaway Gazette,” she said, taking out her press card to show me. “I’d like to hear your story.”

  “Okay,” I said, and soon we were sitting in the hospital lobby, while I explained to her about checking on Mrs. Edwards and finding her and calling the hospital. And that led to an explanation of why I was checking on Mrs. Edwards, and that led to my telling Ms. Davis all about Kid Power. She seemed very interested and took a lot of notes. I’d never been interviewed before for a real newspaper and hoped I was doing it right.

  “That’s a very interesting story,” she said, once I’d finished. “Would you mind if I took a couple of pictures of you?”

  “For the paper?” I asked.

  “Absolutely,” she said. “You’re a heroine. People in this town would be interested in reading about you.”

  So we went to the parking lot and Ms. Davis took her camera out of her car, and I posed in front of the hospital for a few minutes. The sun was shining in my eyes and I tried not to squint.

  “Well,” Ms. Davis said when she finished taking pictures. “Don’t be surprised if you see a story about yourself in the Gazette tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” I said, surprised.

  “Maybe the day after,” Ms. Davis said. “But be on the lookout. You’re going to be a celebrity pretty soon.”

  I thanked her and biked home. I was pretty excited about being a celebrity, but I decided not to tell my family until the story actually appeared. We got the Gazette because that was. the paper Carol delivered. She made us get a subscription.

  I was in everybody’s good graces anyway because of how I found Mrs. Edwards. Dad and Mom were both proud of me, and Carol admitted I’d done well. I’d even brought up the subject of a savings account, and I was surprised at how agreeable Mom and Dad were about it.

  “Of course you should have a savings account,” Dad had said after supper. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask for one earlier.”

  I didn’t mention how risky it had been for weeks to bring up anything in that household, and as a result, I remained in everyone’s good graces. Mom agreed to go with me to the bank just as soon as I wanted. I’d decided to go on Thursday because I wanted to have my books up to date before I went, and I hadn’t been writing anything down in ages. I had a lot of catching up to do. Besides, I’d thought I’d have a chance to visit with Mrs. Edwards. Instead, I biked over to the five-and-ten and bought her a get-well card. I biked home by way of the Townsends’ garden and found Lisa hard at work weeding.

  “You missed some,” she told me as I stopped to visit. “I’m making sure everything’s perfect.”

  “I appreciate it,” I said. “You know the garden doesn’t look half-bad.”

  “You did a very good job except for the beetles,” she said, shielding her eyes from the sun while she looked up at me. “Oh, speaking of jobs …”

  “Yeah?” I said.

  “I was telling my mother about how I was taking care of the garden …”

  “She didn’t mind, did she?” I asked nervously. There was no reason why Lisa’s mother should mind, but my parents had been so crazy all summer, I was afraid it might be contagious with parents that year.

  “No, of course not,” Lisa said. “But she said I should ask you about money.”

  “Oh,” I said. That sounded right. Lisa wouldn’t ask me on her own and her mother would insist on it. “Gee, I don’t know. I’ve been getting a dollar an hour.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Lisa said. “But I wouldn’t expect all that.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “I don’t deserve it all,” she said. “You found me this job, after all. It’s like you’re an agent.”

  Lisa’s mother is an agent, so she knows about things like that. “How much does your mother get for finding people jobs?” I asked.

  “Ten percent,” Lisa answered.

  I giggled. “Ten percent of a dollar is ten cents,” I said. “I hope your mother’s clients get more than a dollar an hour.”

  “They do,” Lisa said. “Do you want more? Maybe a quarter an hour?”

  “No, ten percent sounds okay,” I said. “After all, I’m not doing any of the work. And besides, I think I’m going to quit Kid Power.”

  “Really?” she asked. “Why?”

  “I’ve run out of jobs,” I said. “Peachy is cured now, and you’re taking care of Mrs. Townsend’s garden. I was thinking about taking my sign down and just spending the rest of the summer loafing. And collecting my ten percent.”

  “But what about your bike?” she asked.

  “I have my old one,” I said. “Maybe I’ll get a new one for my birthday.”

  “Ten percent then,” Lisa said and wiped her hand off on her shorts so we could shake on the deal. We shook hands to make it official, and then we giggled again.

  “Is this how your mother got started?” I asked.

  “Not at ten cents an hour,” she said.

  I would have gone over to the supermarket then to get my sign except that it felt good to know I could go home and not worry too
much, so I left Lisa and biked down to my place. I got a postage stamp, and wrote a note to Mrs. Edwards on the card, and mailed it. Then I brought my books up to date. I’d miss all those gross and nets once Kid Power was finished.

  The next morning, I ran downstairs to get the paper first. Sure enough, there was an article about me on page five. I was squinting a little bit in the picture, but it didn’t matter. The article told all about Kid Power and Mrs. Edwards, and it made me sound like a saint almost. If I hadn’t known it was just me, I would have been very impressed.

  I showed my parents the article (Carol was delivering the paper to other people), and they oohed and aahed, and Dad said he was going to pick up a half-dozen copies to send to my grandparents and for my scrapbook and for him to show off at his office. And then Grandma called, because she’d seen the article and she wanted to congratulate me, so I talked with her for a while. I tried to explain I wasn’t nearly as wonderful as I sounded in the article, but she kept telling me not to be so modest, I was a wonderful girl, so bright not to have lost my head in an emergency, and very enterprising to boot. She sounded like Mrs. Marks talking about Harriet.

  I no sooner hung up from Grandma when the phone started ringing again. My friends called to congratulate me, and Mrs. Marks called to say what a darling girl I was. Mrs. Blake called to say she was very proud of me and Peachy missed me all the time, which I doubted. Even the first lady I yard saled for called to say she’d read the article and was impressed that I’d kept Kid Power going. I didn’t get off the telephone until lunch-time, when I made myself a tuna fish sandwich. As long as it didn’t have noodles in it, I didn’t mind.

  That afternoon I got three more phone calls. Two were from ladies who wanted me to help them with their yard sales (the article said that was my specialty), and one woman wanted me to babysit. I told the yard sale ladies that I’d be delighted to and wrote the dates on the calendar. The babysitting lady I said I’d get back to. I would have liked to accept, but there was that family rule about my babysitting. So I brought it up at supper. I figured it would be safe, since everybody still liked me.