“Depends on what you think it is, kid.”
He wheels the crate over to the Books & Buddies Bench.
A crowd comes around. A bunch of teachers and kids watch the man open the crate.
It’s the Little Free Library that Victoria got us from her father.
It’s carved from wood, and fancy, and huge.
Principal Ramsey stands in between the Little Free Library and the Books & Buddies Bench, which I just finished painting yesterday. He talks and gestures to the bench, and then the Little Free Library, but I can’t tell what he is saying. Victoria is right there by him, smiling out at everyone around them. She’s wearing a complicated dress. The bottom part of the dress swishes as she walks around and hands out bookmarks. She almost twirls from person to person. I hide farther behind the slide so she can’t see me.
Victoria is the center of attention.
I am not the center of attention, even though the Little Free Library was my idea, and so was the Books & Buddies Bench.
I feel like raising my hand to point this out. But we’re on the playground, where people don’t really raise their hands. And I don’t want to go anywhere near Victoria.
“Hopper.”
The voice saying my name makes me jump a little. It’s Juniper, behind me, staring.
I stare back at her.
“Why are you hiding?” she asks.
“Why don’t you ever sing in chorus?” I ask.
She’s been pretending to sing all year. Sometimes I’m tempted to tell Ms. Bing.
Juniper doesn’t answer my question, and I don’t answer hers.
But she stays with me, under the slide, for the rest of recess, and that feels okay.
At dismissal, Victoria comes up to me by the lockers.
“Hopper, you didn’t take a bookmark at recess.”
It’s almost time to get in the bussers line. I’m really not in the mood for this.
“I have some extras.” She holds out a bookmark.
When I don’t take it, her hand shakes a little.
Fine. I take the bookmark. I put it in my backpack without looking at it.
“So, what do you think of the Little Free Library?” she asks.
I shrug. I didn’t like all the hoopla at recess. It didn’t have much to do with reading. It was more about Victoria, so I stayed away.
“It’s fine.”
I can tell Victoria wants me to say more. But I’m not in the mood to tell her how great she is. Besides, it’s almost December. Soon it’ll be too cold to sit outside and read at recess, anyway. Then I won’t have to think about Victoria’s Little Free Library until spring.
It was a stupid idea in the first place.
In the bussers line, I try to talk to Hopper. But he says he forgot something in his locker and runs back to get it, and then he goes to the end of the line instead of coming back to me.
And hey, I think that is called blowing me off.
On the bus, he sits next to Darla, the bus aide, up front, instead of walking back to our seat.
I just had the best day ever, but Hopper looks like he had the worst. And I don’t really know why, so I get up and walk to the front of the bus to see what’s going on.
Darla says, “Keep your distance, Quinny, he could hurl at any moment.”
Oh, that’s not good. I didn’t know Hopper was sick. He won’t even look at me.
“Piper has extra saltines in her backpack,” I tell him, but he doesn’t answer.
I go back to my seat, by myself. By myself is never my favorite way to do anything.
To cheer Hopper up, I talk to the kids around me about what a great day it’s been, in my biggest voice, so that he can hear, too. I talk about the fancy Little Free Library we got at recess. And the almost-a-B I got on my math quiz. And the fabulous petition that changed Principal Ramsey’s mind about cookies. And how I’ll get to bake coconut snowballs for the holiday party.
But Hopper doesn’t turn around or look cheered up by my words. He leans against the bus window and slumps there the whole ride home. By the time we get to our stop, his shaggy head is slumped practically sideways and I can see all of his soggy-foggy breath on that window.
The truth is, I don’t really feel like throwing up. But letting Darla think so means I get to sit up front. And, it makes people keep their distance.
But I can still hear Quinny talking from our usual seat farther back—talking and talking about why today was so great. I wish I agreed with her.
I know I don’t make any sense to Quinny. I don’t even make sense to myself, sometimes. My head is a jumble of sore, confusing thoughts. I want to run the Turkey Trot race, even though it’s already over and I wasn’t old enough. I want to raise money to build a Little Free Library, because it was my idea (not Victoria’s). I want people to know I worked hard on the sweets petition to save our holiday party.
I don’t want to be a superstar like Quinny. I don’t want tons of attention.
I just wish I mattered a little.
There’s no way I’m saying any of that out loud, of course.
I’m not the kind of person that people notice. And that’s fine with me, usually.
But today, it stings.
When the bus pulls up at our stop, I get off first, before Quinny, before Piper even, because I was sitting way up front.
“Mom, can we go for a run?” I say, the second I see her.
I drag Mom away and she stumbles to keep up. “Hopper, wait…hold your horses.”
“Mrs. Grey, why do people always say that?” Quinny follows us. “It’s impossible to hold a horse! A chicken, maybe. And Hopper, didn’t you have a stomachache on the bus?”
“What?” says Mom, all confused now.
I want to run away from Quinny’s curiosity. I want to put on my sneakers and go pound out all my confusion. I pull Mom away from Quinny. “I’m feeling better. Let’s go for a run.”
“But honey, Grandpa Gooley stopped by with the lumber for your library project.”
“He can take it back. Victoria already did it, so nobody needs me anymore.”
“What?”
“I said, I don’t want the wood. Because Victoria took the Little Free Library idea and did it all by herself. She had her dad buy one.”
“Oh, wow, that was generous of them—”
“So nobody needs me.”
“Sweetie, I wouldn’t put it that way,” Mom says. “Slow down. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
It’s too complicated to explain, and I don’t want to try with Quinny nearby. She’s still following me home, even though I didn’t invite her.
“Bye,” I say to her, as loudly as I can.
“Hopper, don’t you want to play?” Quinny asks. “And feed the chickens?”
“You don’t need me to feed the chickens.”
“What?”
“You don’t need me for anything. Congratulations on your quiz, and your petition.”
“Hopper, wait—”
But I don’t.
I see a lump bump up in Hopper’s throat before he turns away and leaves. I see his shiny eyes. Of course I need him. Why would he say that? Why would he even think that?
I need his kind, quiet heart every day.
He’s one of the biggest reasons my life is good.
But would he say the same about me? I don’t know.
I go home and show Daddy my spectacular almost-a-B and tell him about Principal Ramsey’s compromise on the petition. We bake a special snack to celebrate—hot, flaky crescent rolls filled with strawberry jam. But they don’t taste as great without Hopper here.
Then Daddy reminds me that I forgot to feed the real live Crescent this morning, so I go over to his cage. Crescent loves munching timothy hay. He loves nibbling baby carrots. But Piper and Cleo are bothering us, and I can tell Crescent wants some privacy, so I take him upstairs in his little pouch. We go to my room and I shut the door. I cuddle him while he chews, and fill him i
n on life, and ask for some advice about Hopper.
Crescent doesn’t answer, but he’s an extremely good listener. I can tell he’s thinking about it. Then I show him my wonderful, special, funny, very, very, extra-very unique report card–card that Hopper made just for me. I flip through it and show off every page.
Crescent spends a really long time sniffing my A-plus grades in Friendship Muscles and One-of-a-Kindness.
I think I have some studying to do.
After trying and trying to make me talk about my feelings—no, thank you—Mom finally lets me go up to my room.
It’s so much easier to just be by myself.
I read three chapters of Astrophysics for People in a Hurry, even though I am not in a rush.
I finish my ear model, carefully. There are so many moving parts; if just one part is out of whack, the whole thing won’t click into place.
I draw another sketch of the Little Free Library. My version, not Victoria’s, and with even more detail. It will never come true, but it’s nice to have a drawing of it, at least.
Piper knocks on my door. As usual, I can tell it’s her.
When I open it, she shows me a picture book with a chicken on the cover.
“Bock bock bock,” she says.
“I can’t, Piper, not today.”
“Bock bock BOCK bock bock,” Piper insists.
“Piper, you’re not a chicken, you’re a kid.”
She baaa baaaas like a baby goat.
“Not that kind of kid. The human kind.”
“Bock,” says Piper, in a sad voice, and then switches to English. “The chickens need another story. I’ll say it. You just come listen.”
“What do you mean?” Piper doesn’t know how to read yet.
“I learned the book. For the chickens.”
“Are you serious? You can read this book?”
Piper nods. This I have to see. I walk with her over to the Chalet des Poulets.
And there is a lot going on here today.
Pumpkin is pecking at a bale of hay.
Poodle is climbing monkey bars made of branches and twigs.
Cha-Cha and Polar Bear are chatting while Walter rolls around licking his fur.
But when they spot us, they all stop what they are doing and gather around.
Quinny’s here, too. She’s hiding behind a bush, but not very well. She watches us.
“I can see you,” I say to Quinny.
She walks over, slowly. It’s strange to see Quinny do anything slowly.
“Is it okay if I’m here, too?” she asks.
“It’s a free country,” I answer.
She holds out some crumpled tinfoil. “Daddy and I made jammy crescent rolls. They’re still hot.”
I say no thanks. Even though they smell delicious.
Quinny sits down, but not too close. I appreciate that.
“Hopper, I’m sorry,” she says.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” I say.
“Thank you for helping me with my math on the bus,” she says. “And thank you for making the petition so new and improved. And thank you for living next door to me. And—”
“Quinny—”
“Wait, I’m not done yet. And thank you for thinking of the Little Free Library idea, even though Victoria is the one who actually bought it with her daddy’s money. And thank you for forgiving me when I forgot to say thank you at school for everything you—”
“It’s okay.”
“I thought I said thank you, but then I realized that maybe I didn’t do it out loud—”
“Quinny, shhh—” I point.
Piper has opened her picture book. She clears her throat and starts reading out loud. It takes her a while, but she reads that whole book, every page. She finishes and shuts the book and looks at me, her chin high up in the air.
I’m amazed. So are the chickens.
“Piper, that was really good,” I tell her.
Piper beams. She runs off to play.
“She just memorized it,” says Quinny. “That’s not the same as reading, is it?”
“I think it still counts.”
Memorizing a book seems pretty impressive to me. I’m proud of Piper. I’m proud of myself for helping her. It feels good to help someone. It makes me feel less invisible.
“Juniper never sings in chorus,” I tell Quinny.
“What?”
From the look on Quinny’s face I can tell she means who? I don’t know why I’m telling her this, except it just popped into my head.
“Juniper Dunne, in chorus,” I say. “She’s in the back row with me. She pretends to sing, but she just mouths the words.”
“Oh. And you mean she never gets in trouble?”
“Ms. Bing doesn’t even notice.”
Maybe that’s why Juniper doesn’t sing. Because it makes no difference. No one cares. The sadness of this hits me hard. I’m not sure why I care that she never sings, but I do.
“Look,” says Piper, in front of us again. Her face is bright with joy. In her cupped hands is a speckled, blue-brown egg. “I found it in the nest.”
“Hopper Hopper Hopper, can you believe it?” cries Quinny, almost knocking that egg out of Piper’s hand. “Finally, an egg! But who did it? Who laid that beautiful egg?”
We look around at all the chickens, but none of them take credit.
Mrs. Porridge comes into the Chalet des Poulets now, holding a large mirror.
“Mrs. Porridge, the chickens are laying eggs!” says Quinny. “One of them just laid a spectacular egg!!!”
“Calm down,” says Mrs. Porridge. “I found a few eggs this morning, too. They’re starting to settle in and feel at home.”
“Well, it’s perfect timing! I’m going to need five eggs to make coconut snowballs for our class holiday party,” says Quinny, turning to the chickens. “So get to work, guys, okay?”
“Mrs. Porridge, why are you putting a mirror in a chicken coop?” I ask.
“It’s another way to keep them busy, help keep peace in the flock,” she says. “These happen to be the silliest chickens in town. I thought it’d be highly entertaining if they could see how silly they looked, like watching the chicken channel on TV.”
“Wait, you mean there’s a chicken channel on TV?” Quinny asks.
“No, Quinny, that was my attempt at a joke.”
“Mrs. Porridge, that was an excellent joke and this mirror is fantastic! Now these chickens can do hairstyles. Especially Poodle, who really needs a trim. They can see if they have dried worm bits on their faces, or if they missed a spot during their dust bath. Also, they can work on their dancing!”
“Exactly, Quinny. Just think of the possibilities.”
Poodle shakes her tail feathers and clucks in the new chicken mirror. Pumpkin tries to peck at her reflection. Quinny watches her own silly self as she dances. She laughs. She loses her balance. She laughs even louder, and waves me over. “Hopper, get over here, let’s dance!”
I shake my head and try to hide my smile. No way.
She belongs on a stage, but I’d much rather be sitting in the audience.
The next morning, I see Quinny rushing to the bus stop, covered in white powder. Her dad’s trying to wipe it off her head as he pushes Cleo in the stroller and hollers back for Piper to hurry up. He looks really annoyed.
“But Daddy, how was I supposed to know that bag of flour had a tiny little invisible hole in it?”
“You weren’t supposed to climb up to the top shelf and touch it in the first place.”
“I just wanted to make sure we have enough flour to make coconut snowballs—”
“Well now we don’t, since it’s all over the kitchen floor. Good morning, Hopper.”
I nod good morning. I back up a little, to make room for the Bumbles and all their drama. Piper comes up and leans against my arm, just a little. She’s carrying another book.
“Daddy, I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll fold all the laundry on the di
ning table—”
“Quinny—”
“Even Piper’s underpants.”
“Quinny, please.” Then Mr. Bumble turns to me. “Hopper, before I forget, I’ve been meaning to thank you for helping Piper with her language arts. She’s become a lot more interested in books since you guys started reading to the chickens. How can we ever repay you?”
Mr. Bumble looks at me like I am a superhero. I feel myself standing taller.
Being thanked is the best feeling in the world.
I ride the bus to school and spend the rest of the morning with that best feeling inside me, like a quiet, glowing secret. I don’t say much in class or at lunch. I take a book out to recess and sit on the stairs.
But then Victoria comes over to me. “Hopper, I need your help.”
Great. I just had a conversation with her yesterday, and now she wants another one?
“It’s about the Little Free Library,” she says. “No one’s using it.”
I noticed that. Even I’m not using it. I’d rather just forget about the Little Free Library, and the Books & Buddies Bench. They’re all hers. I’d rather sit on the stairs with my book again.
“Hopper, no one will use the Little Free Library if you’re so far away from it,” says Victoria. “Come sit on the Books & Buddies Bench. You’re my best advertising.”
“What?” No one has ever called me advertising before. I don’t know what she means.
“You’re the biggest reader in our class,” she says. “Everyone knows you’re the book expert. Tell me what’s missing. I mean, the books from Aunt Myrna are great, but what other books should we get? I can ask my dad to order more. He’s in Hong Kong right now, but he can do it long distance, or Masha can.”
It must be nice being Victoria and snapping your fingers to get anything you want from your dad who’s in Hong Kong or Argentina or Iceland, or wherever he went this week.
“I’ll think about it,” I answer, even though I don’t want to. I just want her to go away.
“Maybe books about soccer for some of those boys who don’t read a whole ton?” she says. “And books about horses since a bunch of girls ride horses? And what else? What does Quinny like to read about? I could even take special requests, if someone wants something we don’t have. I just want it to be fun. We could start a book club and talk about books, too.”
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