“Sorry,” yelled Striker over the loud crashes.
“It’s ok,” shouted back Mr. Larson. “I’ll take care of it!”
Outside on the street, Amy turned to Striker. Now that she wasn’t around Mr. Larson, she was once again her businesslike self. “Ok, good practice,” she said. “I want you to sing some tonight at home, and we’ll come back after school tomorrow, ok?”
“All right,” said Striker with a sigh.
“And one more thing,” added Amy. “Tomorrow, let’s try our best to not knock down the entire store, ok?”
The next morning at school, Striker was once again in music class. He was feeling relatively stress-free, because he knew he wouldn’t be picked to do a solo again so soon.
That day, the students were learning how to sing a round. They started with an easy example, “Row Your Boat.” Right when Striker’s group was getting to “gently down the stream,” a delivery boy slipped in and out of the classroom, leaving behind him a large vase of red roses. Slowly, the round died out as each student looked at the bouquet.
“How pretty!” sighed a girl behind Striker.
Ms. Harper walked over to the vase. “Sorry for the interruption, class,” she said, pulling the accompanying note from among the flowers. As she read the card, pink started to spread across her cheeks. All the girls in the class let out a sigh as Ms. Harper changed colors. Striker and Bill rolled their eyes.
Ms. Harper set the card down on her desk and walked back to the front of the class. “Ok,” she said, “let’s try that round again.”
“But who are the flowers from?” asked a girl in the front row.
“Don’t worry about that,” said Ms. Harper with a smile. “You are here to sing, so that’s what we’re going to do. Ready?”
A general sigh went around the room again, as everyone started their part.
“Row, row, row your boat…”
That day at lunch, everyone was talking about the flowers. More than one head was turned toward the teacher’s table, where Ms. Harper sat with a young art teacher named Mr. Wharton.
“I snuck a peak at the note after class,” whispered Amy to Bill, Striker, and Sheila.
“What!?” they all exclaimed at once, looking at Amy in amazement.
“What did it say?” Sheila added eagerly.
“‘From your secret admirer!’” said Amy with glee. “Isn’t that exciting? I wonder who they could have been from.”
“They must have been from Mr. Wharton,” said Sheila, gesturing towards the teacher’s table. “Look at how he’s leaning in to hear what she’s saying.”
“Maybe it’s just loud in here,” said Bill, taking a spoonful out of his pudding cup. “He probably has to lean over to hear her!”
Sheila shot him a look. “Don’t be silly. Obviously, he loves her.”
“Oooh, look!” interrupted Amy, pointing back to the teacher’s table. Another young male teacher had come to sit on the other side of Ms. Harper. This teacher was Mr. Dasher, a math teacher. “Maybe the flowers were from Mr. Dasher!” said Amy.
“Hmm,” said Sheila, thoughtfully, “he’s leaning towards her, too. I wonder what it all means…”
“Not to repeat myself,” said Bill, “but have I mentioned that it’s loud in here?”
Striker laughed, while Amy gave a loud sigh. “Boys know nothing about romance.”
That afternoon, Striker was back in the piano room with Amy. She would play five notes in a row, which Striker would then have to sing back to her. Slowly, the notes Striker sang were sounding more and more like the notes that were coming out of the piano.
“That’s good, Striker,” said Amy. “After a few more lessons, I think you won’t be too bad.”
“Wow,” said Striker, “with encouragement like that, how could I go wrong?”
Amy only smiled and kept playing notes for Striker to repeat. After a few more minutes, Striker stopped her.
“I have got to get some water,” he said. “All this singing is making my throat sore.”
“Ok,” said Amy, “but hurry back. You never know when a paying customer is going to walk in.”
“I will,” he said, walking out the door of the practice room. Once outside though, he slowed down, secretly thinking that he wouldn’t mind calling it a day.
“No need to hurry,” he thought. “I can only take so much singing.”
Striker ambled toward the front of the store where the water fountain was, but as he neared the fountain, he stopped abruptly. There in the entryway was sitting Ms. Harper, his music teacher, chatting with Mr. Larson.
“They’ll be done soon,” Mr. Larson was saying. “I let them have the practice room for an hour at a time, so they’ve got a little longer left.”
“Oh, I don’t mind waiting,” said Ms. Harper.
“Waiting?” thought Striker. Suddenly, he felt very much like he was intruding. Slowly, he crept backwards, trying hard not to be noticed. Unfortunately, on his way backwards, he managed to crash into a display of music stands. As they fell, they made a terrible racket, prompting Striker to turn tail and run in the direction of the piano room. The ringing noises followed him around the corner as he bolted for the practice room door.
He threw himself inside the room and came face to face with a surprised Amy.
“What in the world are you doing?” she asked. She put her hands on her hips. “Mr. Larson’s going to throw us out if you keep knocking things over.”
“Sorry,” he breathed, panting from his sprint. “It’s just that Ms. Harper was up front.”
“Oh really?” asked Amy. “We should say hi. Maybe we’ll get a hint as to who sent her those flowers.”
“Amy,” said Striker. “Didn’t you hear me? Ms. Harper’s waiting for the piano room.”
“It’s so romantic,” said Amy, paying little attention to Striker. “Which teacher do you think they were from?”
Striker shook his head. “You’re not listening to me.” He looked at Amy. “Obviously, they were from Mr. Larson.”
How can Striker be so sure?
Solution
When someone owns a business, they have to charge for at least some of their services. That helps them stay in business. So, even though Mr. Larson was very nice and let Striker and Amy use his practice room for free, whenever someone came along who was willing to pay, Mr. Larson would let the paying customer use the room.
But when Ms. Harper came in to use the piano, Mr. Larson didn’t kick the kids out of the room. Instead, he told Ms. Harper that the kids would use the practice room for an hour. This made Striker wonder why Mr. Larson wouldn’t let Ms. Harper into the room right away like with he did all of his other customers.
Then he got an idea. If Ms. Harper had to wait to use the piano, she would probably wait at the front of the store. And if she were at the front of the store, Mr. Larson would be able to talk to her. And that meant that maybe, just maybe, Mr. Larson liked Ms. Harper.
Striker never did find out if Mr. Larson had sent the flowers or not. However, when Ms. Harper and Mr. Larson got married six months later, he figured that he had probably been right.
At the wedding, Amy shed lots of tears for Mr. Larson. Luckily, though, Mr. Larson’s much younger brother was also at the wedding.
It didn’t take long for Amy to move on.
Chapter 5: Election Day
One morning, Striker’s teacher, Ms. Peters, started out class with an announcement.
“Good morning, students,” she said. “Today, we’ve got something special on our agenda. Each classroom in the entire school is going to send one student to serve on the school’s student council.”
As a buzz of excited whispers began, Ms. Peters continued. “Now, remember that our student council member will be in charge of coordinating our class’s participation in the school fall festival. This means that he or she will be taking on extra responsibilities in addition to class work, so students who aren’t serious about the position shouldn’t
run.”
Ms. Peters looked around the classroom. “The election will be held after lunch, but for now, would anyone like to make a nomination?”
Immediately, a girl in the back row shot her hand up.
“Yes, Susan?”
“I nominate Andrew Shoemaker.”
Striker silently nodded in agreement. Andrew Shoemaker was studious, responsible, and serious, but was universally liked because of his friendly manner. He was also very humble, which made everyone like him even more. He’d be perfect to represent the class.
“Andrew would be a great choice,” thought Striker, and, by the amount of nodding going on around him, he could tell that most of the class was thinking the same thing.
Ms. Peters smiled. “Andrew, do you accept the nomination?”
Andrew nodded, looking a little embarrassed.
“Are there any other nominations?” asked Ms. Peters.
Somehow, Striker didn’t think any one else would volunteer. They’d almost definitely lose.
Bill leaned over to Striker. “Only an idiot would run against Andrew,” he whispered.
Just then, Ralph raised his hand. “Ms. Peters, I’d like to nominate myself.”
Striker looked back at Bill. “Yep. An idiot.”
At lunch, Striker sat watching Andrew Shoemaker at a nearby table. Andrew was normally relaxed and friendly, but today he was nervously shredding his napkin instead of eating and laughing as usual. Ralph, on the other hand, looked downright cocky. Striker watched him walking from table to table, speaking to different students.
“He’s probably campaigning,” thought Striker, before turning his attention back to his table.
“Man, that math test was tough,” Bill was saying.
“I didn’t think it was too bad,” said Amy.
“Did you study for it?” asked Bill.
“Of course,” replied Amy.
“Well, that’s explains it,” he said with a shrug. “You studied. That’s like cheating.”
Amy rolled her eyes.
“Speaking of cheating,” said Sheila, “has anyone else noticed Ralph? He’s been very busy talking to students—he hasn’t even eaten his lunch.”
“Yeah,” said Striker. “I was wondering about that myself.”
“You don’t think he’s cheating somehow, do you?” asked Sheila.
“How could he?” asked Amy. “He can’t control how people vote.”
“That’s true,” said Striker, “but he could influence them.”
Striker noticed that Andrew’s eyes had also been following Ralph’s movements.
“I think Andrew’s wondering the same thing we are,” he said out loud.
“Well,” said Bill after a moment, “at least Ralph’s got enough sense to not come over to our table.”
Back in the classroom after lunch, Amy stopped by Striker’s seat on the way back to her desk.
“Striker, listen to what I just found out in the girls’ bathroom.”
Bill leaned in from across the aisle so that he could also hear Amy’s whisper.
“Ralph’s been promising everyone that if they vote for him, they can go swimming in his pool whenever they want,” she said.
“Oh, great” said Striker with a frown. “I hope that doesn’t influence too many people.”
“Don’t worry,” said Amy. “The girls I overheard all said they still wouldn’t vote for him. No one wants Ralph to represent the class.”
“I bet lots of people feel that way,” said Bill. “Ralph might have a pool, but that’s not enough for people to elect him. Besides, if he was in charge of our class’s contribution to the fall festival, we’d probably all end up being the designated gum scrapers or something.”
Striker was about to respond when Ms. Peters again stood up at the front of the class. Amy hurried to her seat.
“Ok, class,” said Ms. Peters. “It’s time to vote for our student council member.” She walked down the rows of desks, passing out small pieces of paper. “Write the name of either Andrew or Ralph, fold it up, and then bring it up to my desk.”
As the students began writing, Striker carefully wrote out “Andrew Shoemaker,” and then folded his piece of paper in half. He walked up with the crowd of other students and dropped his vote into a bowl Ms. Peters had set out on her desk.
After all the names had been collected, Ms. Peters instructed the students to read a chapter in their literature textbooks while she counted the votes.
After a few minutes of unfolding the papers and making tally marks in her notebook, Ms. Peters stood up and made the announcement.
“Judging from your votes,” she said, “our new student council representative will be Ralph Johnson.”
Gasps went up all around the room.
When Striker and Bill walked outside to recess that day, they ran into what could only be described as an angry mob. About fifteen students were standing in a group complaining heatedly about the election.
“I can’t believe Ralph won!”
“Who would have voted for him?”
“Did you see that smug look on his face?”
“I still can’t believe it!”
“Andrew should have won!”
“Yeah! Andrew should have won!”
“Whoa,” said Bill. “It looks like people aren’t happy with the way the election turned out.”
“I guess not,” said Striker, looking into the sea of angry faces. He spotted Andrew sitting alone at the swing set.
“Let’s go talk to Andrew,” said Striker. “He doesn’t look so good.”
Bill and Striker walked over to where Andrew was slowly swinging back and forth, staring down into his lap.
“Hey, Andrew,” said Striker and Bill together.
“Hey, guys,” said Andrew, still looking down.
“We’re sorry about the election,” said Bill.
Andrew looked up and sighed. “Oh, that’s ok. I can handle losing.” He dug his heels into the ground, and the swing slowed to a halt. Then Andrew shrugged his shoulders. “I just don’t understand why I lost.” He pointed over to the group of people. “I mean, look at them! That’s almost the whole class, and obviously, none of them wanted Ralph to win. So, what happened?”
“Ralph was promising kids that they could swim in his pool if they voted for him,” Bill told Andrew.
“I knew about that,” said Andrew, “but it seems like people still really didn’t want Ralph to win. I didn’t think the chance to go swimming would be enough to change their minds about that.”
“It wasn’t,” said Striker.
Andrew turned to him. “Then what happened? How did Ralph get elected, when no one wanted him to win?”
“I agree with you that no one wanted Ralph to win,” said Striker, “but that doesn’t change the fact that they all voted for him anyway.”
Why did everyone vote for Ralph?
Solution
Little choices lead to big outcomes. People first make individual choices based on what’s best for themselves, and lots of times, these little decisions then lead to great results. For example, when all the people on a street decide to clean up their own yards, the entire neighborhood looks nice.
However, when lots of people make little choices, it can sometimes lead to one big outcome that no one wants. For instance, someone might decide not to give money to charity, because the little amount they could give wouldn’t really make much of a difference. But if everyone thinks that way, then no one would give to charity, and then suddenly, charities wouldn’t have any money at all!
The same thing happened in the class election. No one wanted Ralph to win. But everybody did want to vote for him so that they could go swimming in his pool. Plus, everyone thought it would be ok to vote for Ralph, because their one vote couldn’t possibly be enough to elect him. But with everyone thinking that, everyone voted for Ralph, and Ralph won.
Striker felt pretty bad explaining to Andrew why he had lost, but Andrew managed to t
ake it in stride. As Andrew walked away, Striker couldn’t but help think again what a good student council member Andrew would have made.
Bill, however, did not take it as well as Andrew. For weeks, he maintained that there should be some way to punish the students who had foolishly voted for Ralph.
Then the fall festival finally rolled around, when it was discovered that Ralph had forgotten to go to all the planning meetings. After a last-minute scramble to find jobs for the class, the principal placed Striker and his classmates in charge of running the coatroom. As they glumly watched kids from other classrooms work the dunking booth and the haunted house, Bill decided everyone had probably received enough punishment.
Chapter 6: Smarts and Crafts
It was the day before Christmas vacation, and the kids in Striker’s class were getting antsy. As they walked back into the classroom from lunch, everyone was chattering.
“I wish it was time to go home,” sighed Sheila.
“I know,” said Striker. “This afternoon’s going to be torture!”
There was general agreement from several students around them, as everyone dropped into their seats. Work was clearly the last thing on anyone’s mind. Bill and Zack began to knock a paper football around while Sheila texted under her desk. Ralph was flipping through a comic book, and even Andrew was passing notes.
Ms. Peters strode to the front of the classroom and knocked on the white board.
“Earth to students,” she said with a smile. “I know we’re all gearing up for vacation, but we’re not there yet! We’ve got a fun project we’re going to work on this afternoon. Everyone is going to make a fleece scarf!”
“A scarf?” Striker heard Ralph mutter. “Why would I want to make one of those?”
Sheila clearly felt differently. “How fun! I love to design clothes. Mine is going to be gorgeous!”
Striker Jones: Elementary Economics for Elementary Detectives Page 3