by Matt Fazio
Jeff and Tommy were waiting for Drew at the bottom of the school steps.
“What did Mr. Sawyer say?” Jeff asked.
“Did he yell at you?” Tommy added.
“He just told me to pick someone,” Drew said, rushing past them without breaking his stride.
“Oh, wait up,” said Jeff as he and Tommy caught up.
“Why didn’t you just pick a baseball player like I did?” asked Tommy.
Drew didn’t say anything. His pace was so fast that the walk around the unusable bridge didn’t take much time at all.
“Well,” said Tommy, “at least it’s time for Melia’s. I wonder what I should get today. I got two bucks!”
He and Jeff stopped and turned toward the store, but Drew kept walking.
“Where are you going?” Jeff asked. “It’s Thursday, remember?”
“I don’t have any money,” he lied. “And I have too much homework to do, and we have that science quiz tomorrow. I’m just going home.” It was only week three, and Drew was already missing out on a Melia’s Thursday.
“Um, all right,” said Jeff, shooting Tommy a confused glance.
Tommy shrugged and said, “All right, later, Drew.” Jeff and Tommy went into the store as Drew disappeared down the street.
****
“What are you doing?” Jeff asked as he approached Drew before social studies class the following afternoon.
“Nothin’,” said Drew, leaning against the wall several feet from Mr. Sawyer’s classroom door.
“Well, the bell’s gonna ring in like ten seconds. Why are you just standing out here?”
“Mr. Sawyer’s gonna kill me,” said Drew. “I still didn’t pick anyone for my presentation.”
“Oh. Wait, I forgot to tell you!”
“Tell me what?” asked Drew. The bell rang before Jeff could respond.
“Just c’mon, get in the room,” he said, grabbing Drew’s arm and pulling him through the doorway.
Drew followed closely behind Jeff, his head down, trying to use his friend as a shield from Mr. Sawyer’s vision. Maybe if Mr. Sawyer didn’t see him walk in, he would forget to ask him about his presentation. Drew kept his head down as he slipped into his seat. He didn’t look at Mr. Sawyer. He didn’t even look in the direction of his desk. He slouched down as low as he could without sliding off the chair. Then, to his delight, he heard an unexpected voice.
“Well, there’s good news, and there’s bad news …”
Looking up, Drew saw that Mr. Mayberry, the resident substitute teacher, was standing in the front of the room, reciting his trademark introduction.
“The good news is it’s Friday,” he continued, “the bad news is you have me for a teacher today.”
Most of the students chuckled, aware that Mr. Mayberry was actually friendly and fair. Written on the chalkboard behind him in giant letters was a reminder from Mr. Sawyer: ROLE MODEL PRESENTATIONS ARE MONDAY. BE PREPARED!
Drew looked to Jeff, who was already smiling back at him, and breathed a huge sigh of relief. The good news, Drew thought to himself, is that I have more time to pick my role model.
****
Figuring there was no harm in enjoying his weekend, Drew spent Friday night with his dad. They went to Rizzo’s Pizza for dinner, and later that night they watched a movie. He thought about telling his dad what he found in his science book but wasn’t sure if he’d be interested. Maybe no one will care about it like I do, he thought. He once again decided to keep the secret to himself.
He went to Tommy’s on Saturday for the sleepover. Instead of choosing a role model, organizing his ideas, and rehearsing a presentation, he spent the night eating pizza, telling jokes, and playing Zombie Days with Tommy and Jeff.
He didn’t get home from Tommy’s until Sunday afternoon. As he dragged his feet through the front door, he was hit with the guilt of neglecting his assignment. Tired from a sleepless night, he tried to think of a way to get out of the presentation altogether. Realizing that wasn’t an option, he began to concede to the idea of picking a big sports star or celebrity, just like most of his classmates had done. He picked up the remote and turned on the TV. This was where everyone else seemed to find their answers. But after a few minutes of flipping through the channels, he tossed the remote in frustration.
Feeling defeated, he walked outside and began throwing a tennis ball against the garage door. With his glove on one hand and the ball in the other, he flung the ball against the door and positioned his body, with knees bent, to catch the ground ball each time it bounced back to him. As he threw the ball, he continued to try to think of someone else he could choose for his presentation. Drew liked baseball just as much as his friends did, probably even more, but he didn’t feel that his favorite athletes were his role models. Rather, they were just really fun to watch. He didn’t admire them the same way he admired his dad for his creativity, his mom for her ability to help people with their problems, or Mr. Melia for the kindness he showed to everyone who walked into his store.
He threw the ball harder. How was it that he had spent more time thinking about this assignment than anyone but had made less progress than everyone?
After a few minutes, Drew realized he had missed the bouncing ball quite a few times, which was unlike him. He noticed how windy it had become, and that the tennis ball was being pulled to the right each time he chucked it against the garage. But even after picking up on the wind pattern, he continued to misplay the erratic ball. It snuck past him again and rolled into the street.
As he went to grab it, he looked across the street and saw Mr. Johnston’s flower arrangement proudly hung on his porch. Though he helped with the project, Drew had not understood the concept of the flower holder. However, upon seeing the finished product, he was taken aback by its beauty. The Johnstons’ house was on the corner of the street, and each time a car turned onto Ernest Way, people would see what looked like a hundred flowers filling the wooden base. He thought back to the story of Mr. Johnston’s wedding flowers and how surprised and excited his wife would be.
Drew smiled to himself and walked back over toward his garage to resume throwing the tennis ball. He decided that he would play his game for about five more minutes. If he was still unable to think of something in that time, he would go to his room, defeated, and begin putting together what he knew would be a below-average presentation on an athlete he didn’t truly feel inspired him.
Each time the ball connected with the old wooden door, it made a loud thunk, which Drew was used to after years of practice. But after he threw the ball one last time, the thunk was followed by an enormous crash behind him.
He looked all around but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then he did a more thorough investigation by squinting his eyes. With his eyes peeled, he saw the cause of the crash and shuddered at the implications: Mr. Johnston’s leaning flower bed had fallen to the ground. The wind must have unhooked one of the hinges connecting the crisscrossed wood to the house. Drew froze. He knew he couldn’t fix the flower bed. And, seeing that Mr. Johnston’s car wasn’t in its usual spot in the driveway, Drew knew the old man was likely on his way home with his wife. He recalled that today was their anniversary, and now the big unveiling of countless hours of hard work would be ruined.
Drew figured he should go tell his mom what happened, even though he doubted she would be able to do anything about it. But as he turned around, something caught his eye. There was movement near the Johnstons’ porch. Drew stepped back beside his garage so he couldn’t be seen. He didn’t know why, but he felt like hiding. For the next several minutes, he peered across the street and watched something amazing happen.
A wizard hadn’t appeared and fixed the flower bed with a wave of his wand. And a superhero hadn’t swooped down from the sky to save the day. But what Drew saw was just as impressive – in a way, more impressive.
And at that moment, Drew finally knew what to do for his role model presentation.
****
&n
bsp; It was Monday afternoon, and Drew was sitting quietly in his seat. Caleb stood in the front of the classroom concluding his presentation, which sounded suspiciously like someone else had written it for him (especially considering he read the entire speech from notecards, not looking away from them once).
“All right, thank you, Caleb,” said Mr. Sawyer, in a tone that sounded to Drew much less enthusiastic than when Caleb had originally chosen Mr. Melia. “Let’s see, next is Drew.”
Drew got up and walked to the front of the room.
“Who will you be telling us about today?” Mr. Sawyer asked. Despite the disappointments from last week, Mr. Sawyer looked at Drew with confidence, as if he meant to show Drew that he still believed in him.
“Well, I’m not exactly sure.”
“Drew …”
“I mean, I just don’t know his name,” Drew continued.
Several students looked around at each other in confusion. A few giggled, anticipating another “50 States” disaster.
“But you do have something prepared for us,” Mr. Sawyer said, nodding.
“Oh, yeah, I do. I just don’t know this guy’s name. See, my neighbor across the street, Mr. Johnston, built this big wooden flower holder thing for his wife for their anniversary …”
Mr. Sawyer leaned back in his chair and listened.
“And he filled it with these blue flowers, I forget what they’re called, they had a weird name, but they’re the flowers he gave her on their wedding day. The same kind of flowers, I mean. He was showing Tommy and me the other day when he was still working on it. And he put a lot of work into it and you could tell he was so excited for his wife to see it. Oh yeah, this was for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. But anyway, last night the wind blew it over. I was outside and one minute it was hanging up, and the next minute it was on the ground and a bunch of the flowers had spilled out. I felt so bad, but I didn’t know what to do. And then this guy came jogging by. I have no idea who he was. The sun was going down, and he was wearing a hat, so I couldn’t get a good look at him. But he stopped and took out his headphones and looked at what happened.
“Then he walked right up to the Johnstons’ porch. Some of Mr. Johnston’s tools were still there, and so was a little ladder. Then, I couldn’t believe it, the guy set the ladder next to the flower bed, grabbed one of the tools, and climbed the ladder. He sort of fiddled with pegs on the house – that’s where the flower holder connected to the house. I think the wind unhooked it from the pegs. Then he climbed down the ladder and switched the tool for a different one and did something to the flower bed. Finally, he picked up the flower bed and walked it up the ladder. He sort of struggled – the thing is pretty heavy – but he hung it back up.
“Then he climbed down the ladder, he fixed the flowers, and he even swept the dirt off the driveway so everything looked nice again. Then he put his headphones back in his ears and jogged down the street. And like ten seconds later, the Johnstons came pulling into their driveway. They got out of the car, and Mrs. Johnston was so surprised she started to cry – but in a good way.
“And I just figure, that’s what I want to be like. Because even though no one was watching – except for me, but he didn’t see me – even though no one was watching, this guy did the right thing and helped someone out. It wasn’t to impress anyone. It wasn’t, like, an act. Mr. and Mrs. Johnston didn’t even know what happened. They came home and everything was okay.”
Drew stopped, realizing that he might have been rambling, and looked at Mr. Sawyer to see if he understood. The rest of the students looked at their teacher as well. After a number of predictable speeches, they relied on Mr. Sawyer’s reaction to show them the verdict of Drew’s speech. They knew it was different, but they weren’t sure if it was good or bad.
Mr. Sawyer smiled and said, “The deed is everything, the glory is naught.”
A state of confusion momentarily consumed the class.
“Not what?” asked Abigail.
“Let me rephrase,” said Mr. Sawyer. “The deed is everything, the glory is nothing.”
The class was silent again until Drew said, “Yeah, I get it. You shouldn’t do a good deed just to get credit for it. You should just do it because it’s right.”
“Exactly,” said Mr. Sawyer. He looked to the rest of the class. “That’s the lesson Drew’s presentation has taught us. You should never forget that your true character is determined by what you do when no one is watching, when no reward is at stake, when there’s a chance no one else will ever know what you did.” He turned to Drew and nodded. “Very good work, Drew.”
Drew smiled and returned to his seat. At the end of class, Mr. Sawyer handed each student a half-sheet of paper with his or her grade for the presentation. When the bell rang and the room emptied, he had given a sheet to everyone except Drew. Thinking he had done well, but now second-guessing himself, Drew fidgeted in his seat as Mr. Sawyer walked toward him. With the sheet facing the floor so Drew couldn’t see the grade, Mr. Sawyer said, “Before I commented on your presentation, did you think there was a chance you would get a bad grade because your presentation was unlike everyone else’s?”
Drew simply nodded.
“And did you care about your grade, or were you more excited to talk about this mysterious runner?”
“Well, my parents want me to get good grades, and I know that’s important. But it wasn’t all I cared about. I wanted to give a presentation that really meant something to me. You said we should pick someone who inspires us, so that’s what I did. I don’t know who that guy was, but I know he inspired me to be a good person.”
“That’s it!” Mr. Sawyer exclaimed, pumping his fist in excitement. “That’s what this assignment was all about.” He smiled and handed Drew the sheet of paper with the grade still facing down. “And do me a favor. If you do happen to see this mysterious runner again, thank him. Far too often good things go unnoticed.”
Drew nodded. He slid the sheet of paper into his folder and went straight to his locker. He removed his science book, opened it to page 139, and stared down at a pencil-drawn picture of a sunset over an ocean shore. The drawing covered no more than a quarter of page 139, but he could see that tremendous effort had gone into it. Whoever drew the picture had been deliberate with every detail. It was as though each shimmer in the sky, each ripple in the water, each grain of sand, was carefully accounted for. There was even a small sandcastle in the bottom left corner of the drawing.
Drew wasn’t sure if he would ever see the runner again. And even if he did, he might not recognize him, because he never got a good look at the man’s face. But there was someone he could find: the person who drew the picture. The picture had brought him so much comfort over the hectic last few days, and whoever had drawn it deserved to be thanked. Drew flipped to the front cover. He scanned the names of the book’s previous owners to give himself a head start. He was now on a mission: find the Mystery Artist.
Nobody Gets Hurt
“Your mouths should be silent. You have two more minutes to study, and I suggest you use your time wisely,” said Mrs. Steinbeck.
As the fifth-grade science teacher for over 30 years, as well as the most difficult teacher at Emerson Elementary, Mrs. Steinbeck commanded the respect of her class in a seemingly effortless manner. Her voice was tender and smooth; it might have been soothing had it not come from such an intimidating source. Her attire was reserved yet fashionable, and always perfectly coordinated. Her short, silver hair looked as if she stopped at a salon every morning, as each strand lay in the exact same place every single day (this prompted rumors that she wore a wig, but there was certainly no one brave enough to try and find out). And she always smelled of perfume – a powdery fragrance that occupied her classroom and left a trace of itself wherever she went.
But no matter how angelic her voice sounded or how stylish her wardrobe was, Mrs. Steinbeck was seen simply as the old, mean teacher. She demanded absolute focus from her students, bell to bel
l, day after day. She was strict, consistent, and thorough, and she expected the same kind of perfection from everyone around her. Although she had been due for retirement a few years back, Mrs. Steinbeck returned year after year, continuing to be a nightmare for her students.
As soon as she spoke, the talkative mouths fell silent and the students tried to cram in a few extra bits of information before their weekly science quiz.
Unlike his classmates, Drew was not studying. Instead, he was fixated on the drawing of a sunset over an ocean shore in his textbook. How do the waves look so real? He ran his fingers across the textured wave ripples, hoping to feel the water. Since he first discovered the drawing a couple of weeks ago, he had marveled at it as though he were walking into an art exhibit every time he opened his book.
“One minute left,” said Mrs. Steinbeck.
But rather than review his notes, Drew flipped to the front of the book to once again remind himself of his mission: find the Mystery Artist. Five kids had owned the book before him: Jason Porter, Stacey Janofsky, Alexus Ballentine, Mike Hudock, and Skylar Jansen. Which of these five people had drawn the amazing picture?
Two names on the list stood out. Jason Porter was Tommy’s older brother. Although Tommy and Drew were good friends, Drew never thought of Jason as very approachable. Jason, now in tenth grade, was kind of a tough guy, and Drew figured it unlikely that he was the Mystery Artist.
The other name he recognized was Skylar Jansen. She was the yellow-haired girl he had seen on his new way home from school – the girl Tommy had referred to as “the most popular girl in sixth grade.” Drew knew he would get a chance to ask her sooner or later. Although Skylar was in middle school, Drew would still have an opportunity to see her at lunch. The elementary school and the middle school were attached by a common cafeteria, and fifth-graders and sixth-graders had lunch at the same time. Also, he passed her house on his new route to and from school every day.