Smart Cookies

by Adriana Brad Schanen

  Is Victoria serious? She looks serious.

  “You’d be in the club, of course,” she says. “I mean, anybody could join, it’s not a club to leave people out. I wouldn’t do that.”

  I look at Victoria. Yeah, right. This is the girl who made the Smart List talking.

  “When it’s nice out, the club can meet by the Books & Buddies Bench and Little Free Library,” she says. “When it’s yucky out, we can meet in the school library, or maybe one of the teachers will let us meet in a classroom. We can take turns picking books to talk about.”

  I’m not saying it to Victoria, but that is not the worst idea in the world. I wouldn’t mind talking as much if I could talk about books. And maybe other people would use the Little Free Library and Books & Buddies Bench more if there were a club to go with it.

  “Also, I can bake bookies for every time the club meets,” she says.

  “Bake what?”

  “Bookies—they’re cookies in the shape of a book.”

  “What about Principal Ramsey’s food rules?”

  “He made a compromise for Quinny’s petition. I bet I can convince him for a book club, too. Besides, my bookies are vegan—they’re so healthy they’re practically vegetables. But don’t tell anyone that,” she says. “I mean, they’re also delicious.”

  “I won’t.” I try not to smile. I don’t want Victoria to think I like talking to her.

  But she looks at me now, and it is actually kind of a nice look. A hopeful look. I have to admit, she’s creative. She took my Little Free Library idea and made it better, bigger. I was holding on to it so tight, but now it feels good to relax my grip a little. To share the idea.

  Suddenly I understand what Victoria is standing here waiting for.

  “Thank you for getting us that Little Free Library,” I say to her.

  “Thank you for thinking of it in the first place,” she says to me. Then she bops up and down, like Quinny, but not as fast. “So you’ll join the book club?”

  Victoria has the type of personality that, if you don’t say no to her out loud, she thinks it’s a yes. (She and Quinny have that in common. Maybe that’s why they’re friends.)

  I sit there and think about her invitation for a moment.

  And then I don’t say no.

  I can’t believe it—today finally got here!

  It’s the day of our Winter Holiday Assembly, plus our classroom party, which won’t be ruined by the new food rules anymore since Principal Ramsey fell for our compromise.

  After breakfast, Daddy and I wrap up the coconut snowballs we baked last night in wax paper and put them into a big dish. Then we write a list of the ingredients we used (including fresh eggs from our very own flock of chickens), and tape it to the plate. Everybody who’s bringing food to our holiday party has to do that, to prove there are no nuts, and so people with other allergies can stay safe.

  It’s very, very, extra-very hard to not break into these cookies on the schoolbus, let me tell you. Luckily, I got an A-plus in Schoolbus Studies, so I use all my smarts to leave them alone.

  At school, all the learning is canceled this morning! Ms. Bing says we still need a lot of practice before the holiday assembly, so we have an extra double-chorus session instead.

  In chorus, we sing “Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel” so many times in a row that it really should be called “Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel.”

  Then she gives me the wood block and I go up front. I’m so excited because it’s time for “Jingle Bells”—one of my favorite songs ever.

  I try to catch Hopper’s eye to show him my excitement. He’s in the back row staring down at his shoes, and he doesn’t look up. Neither does Juniper, a couple of kids away from him. Her face tilts down so much that all I see is the zigzag part in her wispy brown hair. The two of them must have the most fascinating shoes in the world.

  I don’t know anything about Juniper, except what Hopper once told me—that she only pretends to sing. Can she whistle with two fingers? What’s her favorite cookie? Is that cool zigzag part in her hair on purpose, or does she just not comb her hair in the mornings? I think about all the things I don’t know about that girl.

  “Quinny, pay attention, please,” says Ms. Bing. “You missed your cue to start banging.”

  “Oh, sorry!”

  I start banging, and keep thinking…Ms. Bing doesn’t talk to Hopper or Juniper too much. I think maybe our school has some quiet kids who don’t get noticed just because they don’t bang their personalities out into the world. Hopper is interesting if you know the inside of his personality, but the outside of it is basically just a turtle shell. If I hadn’t met him over the summer, when it was just us on our street, would he and I even be friends?

  It makes me shiver to imagine not being Hopper’s friend.

  I think of the report card he made for me.

  I remember my A-plus in One-of-a-Kindness.

  I look down at my wood block. It’s shiny and hard, and it makes a wonderful popping crackle every time I hit it, like a horse clomping along the road.

  “Ms. Bing, wait.” I rush over to her and whisper, “Can I switch with Juniper?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Juniper Dunne, in the back. You know, she’s been in chorus with me this whole time. I have a feeling she’d be amazing at wood block. Let’s give her a chance, shall we?”

  Ms. Bing gives me the weirdest look.

  “Quinny, we’re performing this afternoon—it’s too late to change anything.”

  “Ms. Bing, it’s not too late. You’re the teacher, it’s up to you, but personally I think it’s a great idea, because Juniper never gets a turn very much and doesn’t even look up from her shoes, and getting picked to bang the wood block could give her a little boost, you know?”

  Ms. Bing keeps looking at me like I am a very strange puzzle, and then a sad little smile creeps across her mouth. “Quinny, you’re right. It’s a lovely idea. Wish I’d thought of it myself.”

  “That’s okay, Ms. Bing, you can still use it even if you didn’t think of it, because ideas should belong to everyone.”

  Ms. Bing calls Juniper down to the front and asks her if she’d like to play the wood block for “Jingle Bells.” Juniper looks at me, like this is some kind of joke, so I say, “It’s no joke, Juniper, we were just chatting about how you’d be awesome at the wood block. Here, take it.”

  Juniper shakes her head.

  But I nod my head. I use my Keep Trying muscles to convince her, and finally she gives up saying no and lets me hand her the wood block.

  Except, it’s harder handing that wood block over to Juniper than I thought it would be.

  I really do love banging on it.

  So now I have to use my Keep Trying muscles on myself. And they get kind of sore.

  But the look on Juniper’s face as she accepts the wood block from me is totally worth it.

  In chorus, we sing “Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel” so many times that I lose count. Then Ms. Bing makes us practice “Jingle Bells” over and over, too. And I am not laughing all the way, ha ha ha.

  Then there’s some problem with the wood block, so Quinny switches places with Juniper, and we have to sing it three more times, ugh.

  “Jingle Bells” sounds the same when Juniper plays the wood block as when Quinny did.

  But it looks a lot different.

  It’s weird seeing Juniper up front. Weird, but kind of great. Ms. Bing is a pretty good music teacher, but I wonder how chorus would feel if she didn’t play favorites so much.

  I don’t talk at lunch, because I know the rest of the afternoon will be noisy. I need to store up some quiet to get through all the holiday assembly hoopla that’s coming up.

  At recess, I go over to the Books & Buddies Bench. Jayson is there, reading a comic book. Buck sits on the ground nearby, drawing in the dirt with a stick. Behind the bench, leaning on it, are Juniper and Quinny, reading something about zombies. And nearby, Victoria is alphabe
tizing the books in the Little Free Library. She also tapes up a flyer to the side of it.

  It’s the best kind of recess. Nobody bugs me, but I don’t feel alone.

  At the end, when the bell rings, I see Kaitlin peeking inside that Little Free Library.

  She takes a book out and walks away, fast.

  I can’t see the title of that book, but I see part of the picture on the cover.

  And it’s of a lady dancing with a cat.

  After recess, it’s time for the Winter Holiday Assembly.

  I head to the gym with everyone, and brace myself for all the noise and all the people and all the screechy chairs. Principal Ramsey gets up and welcomes us and thanks us for coming to this assembly, like we had any choice. Then Ms. Bing gets up to welcome us, again. Then all the grades take turns doing their chorus songs.

  When it’s time for the third grade to get up and sing, I’m relieved that I get to stand in the back row. No one ever looks at me back here. All I have to do is wait for the songs to finish, and then I can get off this stage.

  I can’t wait for this assembly to be over. I can’t wait to get home. I want to read with Piper and the chickens, and play chess by myself, and start my new anatomy model. (I used some of my birthday money to buy myself a lung. The cool thing about human lungs is that they’re made up of even more parts than ears, including thousands of these tiny air sacs called alveoli that swoosh around the swampy, spongy insides of a lung.)

  But once all the grades are done doing their singing, we don’t get to leave, because Principal Ramsey gets up and starts talking again.

  “Hold up, everyone,” he says. “I know we’re all excited to get to our classroom parties, but before we dismiss from this incredible Winter Holiday Assembly, we have one last special announcement. Normally I do this kind of thing over the loudspeaker, but this time it felt right to do it here, in front of our entire school community. I’m talking about the STOMP award…the Student of the Month Prize. December’s award goes to a student who has positively impacted the lives of all of us at WVES, someone whose generosity and thoughtfulness are undeniable.”

  I shift in my seat. Usually the STOMP winner is an older kid, or someone with a big personality who’s on student council or peer leadership, or something like that.

  But today is unusual.

  Mr. Ramsey looks over to where my class is sitting.

  “Today, I’d like to present the Whisper Valley Elementary School STOMP award to Hopper Grey.”

  Wow! Principal Ramsey just called out Hopper’s name for STOMP, so I whistle with two fingers to celebrate, which makes the kids next to me jump. I can’t believe it, this is the first time I’ve ever heard Hopper’s name come out of an official school microphone.

  I’m excited, but the truth is, I’m not too shocked. Hopper really deserves that STOMP award. Everybody’s clapping for him now, but he isn’t moving. He just sits there, two rows behind me, looking startled. I guess he needs a little boost to go up and get that award.

  So I leave my seat.

  A few excuse me’s and pardon me’s later, I’m standing right by him, close enough to poke his shoulder hello.

  Only it’s not Hopper I’m poking; this must be the wax-museum version of Hopper. Because that boy is scared stiff.

  My name makes no sense coming out of Principal Ramsey’s mouth.

  People are staring and murmuring and clapping.

  But I just want to run and hide. I don’t belong up there on the stage.

  “Hi!”

  Quinny’s in my row, in front of me, all of a sudden. “Hopper, guess what? You just won STOMP, so let’s go get that award, shall we?” She pulls me down the row and up the aisle and onto the stage. My body feels numb except for my wrist, which hurts because she’s squeezing it. But I’m glad Quinny grabbed my wrist, not my hand. I don’t want to hold hands with her, especially not in front of the whole school.

  We get to Principal Ramsey, who looks down at me as he keeps talking to the crowd. He says I helped change the food rules by proposing a smart compromise. He says I made the Friendship Bench a more interesting place to be at recess, and “planted the seed” for the Little Free Library. He says I’m helping a classmate improve at math, and a kindergartner learn to read, by reading to chickens.

  Everyone laughs at that. I feel my face burn.

  Principal Ramsey says I do a lot, but never toot my own horn. He says my creativity, generosity, and humility are a powerful combination.

  This is so weird. No one ever notices me. But now everyone does, all at once.

  And it’s too much. The sound of everybody clapping crashes into my ears.

  Principal Ramsey puts the STOMP medal around my neck. He hands me a paper.

  I stare down at it, because anything is better than looking out at all those people.

  Piper is terrible at drawing. And she spelled my name wrong, with just one p: Hoper.

  But still, I know I’m never going to throw this picture away, ever.

  So the other exciting thing that happened today, besides Hopper almost fainting when he got the STOMP award, was that Juniper did a great job on the wood block. (I would have done it a tiny bit better, since I had more practice, but still, she was great.)

  And now we are all celebrating at our classroom party!

  Cecily brought crunch-in-your-mouth benne wafers and melt-in-your-mouth banana cake for Kwanzaa.

  Izzy and Caleb brought sweet latkes, chocolate marshmallow dreidels, and rugelach cookies for Hanukkah.

  TJ brought fruit leather that she made herself, just because.

  And a bunch of people brought all kinds of magnificent Christmas treats, like strawberry santas, iced gingerbread trees, peppermint bark, muddy reindeer and supermarket sugar cookies. Not to mention my famous coconut snowballs!

  There is so much to celebrate I don’t even know where to start.

  Of course there’s a table of strictly healthy, noncookie stuff, too. Like fruit, and veggies and hummus, and blah blah blah. I’ll save those veggies for dessert, I think. If I have any room left.

  “Sweet.” Alex loads his plate with cookies. “Thanks for saving our holiday party, Big Foot.”

  “Quinny’s name isn’t Big Foot, so stop calling her that,” says Victoria.

  “Actually, Hopper is the one who saved this party,” I tell everyone. “He invented that new and improved petition for Principal Ramsey, not me.”

  Hopper turns red, again. He doesn’t want to take credit for anything, so I have to shove that credit down his throat. Along with a coconut snowball or two. We walk around the room, making plates for ourselves. I don’t want to leave out any of the treats. Every winter holiday deserves respect.

  Hmmmm…I wonder if anyone is going to eat all that leftover powdered sugar on this empty platter. It’s not right to waste food. I swipe a finger along the platter and make a smiley face. Then I dip that sugary finger into my mouth, where it tastes so happy.

  The powdered sugar on this platter reminds me of the powdered sugar falling from the sky. Out the window, I watch it float down onto the sidewalk now.

  And then I realize—I AM WATCHING SNOW FALL ON THE SIDEWALK!

  I suck in my breath. I go and grab Hopper’s arm.

  “Hopper Hopper Hopper, look!”

  I drag him closer to the window and we stare outside.

  Snow changes everything.

  “Hopper, do you realize what this means? We’ll get a snow day tomorrow and go sledding! Do you have snow pants? I have the best sled—I can’t wait to show you—it’s orange and green and it goes superfast. Daddy got it from the thrift store back in New York. Do you want to sit in the front or the back?”

  Hopper looks confused. “I have snow pants,” he says.

  “Where do you love to go sledding around here? Tell me right this minute!”

  “Quinny, it’s barely snowing.”

  “Ooh, there’s going to be a blizzard, I just know it!”

  “The
snow’s not even sticking.”

  “A blizzard and a snow day. There’s a really steep hill by Victoria’s house, I saw it once, what’s that thing called?”

  “Mount Roar,” roars Alex.

  “Are you kidding me? That’s a perfect name for a sledding hill!”

  I picture it: me and Hopper on my sled, zooming down Mount Roar.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty lame, except for the Death Drop and Barf Bumps,” says Alex.

  Is he serious? Death Drop? Barf Bumps? This all sounds too good to be true.

  “Hey, Hopper, let’s go sledding right after school!”

  “Slow down,” says Hopper. “Remember, you got hurt skating and swimming.”

  “But my sprain from skating is all healed and my belly flop from the pool stopped stinging ages ago, so I’m fine to go sledding, I really am! Besides, Hopper, I’m sure it’ll only take a few seconds to zoom down that hill—what could go wrong?”

  Everything. That’s what could go wrong.

  It’s amazing how Quinny never thinks about that. She’s getting carried away now with all her sledding talk. Only a few snowflakes are falling. Yesterday it was so warm that half the kids weren’t wearing coats at recess. Last week Alex was still wearing shorts.

  “Quinny, don’t get your hopes up, it’s barely snowing.”

  “I bet a blizzard is coming. And a snow day. Let’s celebrate that blizzard right now!”

  She raises her cup of water. (Principal Ramsey said no sugary drinks at the party.)

  “Cheers to sledding down Mount Roar, which is the best name for a mountain ever.”

  “Quinny, it’s really just a hill—”

  “And cheers to your STOMP award, and to Juniper’s wood block—Juniper, get over here, we are doing a cheers! Also, cheers to my almost-a-B in math last week, and the cookies in our tummies, and friends in our hearts, and all the chickens popping out eggs!”