by Matt Fazio
“No,” Drew said firmly. “I’ll finish this. This is my job.”
Mr. Kaminsky put his hands up as if to surrender. “Hey, no argument here.”
Drew returned to the fence and continued to paint in the brush stroke Mr. Kaminsky had taught him. The sun was bright, and as Drew felt its heat on his face, he thought of the warmth he felt while looking at the drawing in his book. It was incredible to him that the little drawing managed to evoke so much emotion.
The air swelled with springtime music: the birds were chirping, the bees were humming, and in the distance a lawnmower was roaring. Even the bristles of the paintbrush passing smoothly along the fence blended into the symphony. Drew still wanted to be at Tia’s party with Skylar and the rest of his friends; but he had to finish the job, and he did so with a smile on his face.
Anything to Win
Abigail Linwood. The mention of the name irked Drew to his core. Abigail was the best student in the fifth grade. She aced every test. She never forgot her homework. She always raised her hand, and she always knew the answer. In math class, she won the flash card competition. In language arts class, she won the spelling bee. And her project won first place at last month’s science fair. Her name had become synonymous with academic success, so, of course, many of the other students referred to her as “the teacher’s pet.”
Drew sat in language arts class on a Friday afternoon in late April, doodling in his notebook as Mr. Frye introduced a new assignment.
“Write this down …” Mr. Frye said as he thoughtfully stroked his brown goatee.
But Drew was hardly listening. Half of his attention was focused on his doodling, the other half on Abigail. He watched as she sat rigidly upright in her chair and drilled into her binder every word Mr. Frye said.
That binder, white with big yellow polka dots, was rather mysterious. She always used her arm to guard whatever she was writing in it. That wasn’t out of the ordinary, though. Abigail always guarded everything, whether it was notes, a test, or even a simple in-class worksheet. What really made Drew curious was this: the binder had a lock on it. After Abigail would finish writing in it, or after she added important handouts to it, she would zip it closed, then pull a tiny silver key from her pocket and turn it in a lock attached to the zipper. After a brief glance around, she would slide the key back into her pocket. Whatever was in that binder, she didn’t want anyone to see it.
“And definitely write this down …” Mr. Frye said.
He was always telling the students to write things down. He rarely handed out papers at all. Instead, he had the students write everything in their notebooks. He said he had two reasons for doing so: it required the students to pay close attention, and it helped them remember the information better. Drew thought it did help a little, but it was a pain to stay so attentive.
It didn’t seem hard at all for Abigail, though. She relentlessly copied Mr. Frye’s words into her binder. How was she never tempted to steal a glance at the clock? And didn’t she notice that Tommy, sitting right next to her, was chewing gum in class again? Didn’t she wonder if Mr. Frye would catch him? Mr. Frye busted kids for chewing gum more than any other teacher and he had already caught Tommy three times in the past two weeks. But, as Tommy continued to chomp, Abigail continued to write. And Drew continued to ponder how a kid could stay so focused on class when there were so many other things to think about – like TV shows. And movies. And who was pitching for the Pirates that night. And the bee stuck in the ceiling light. And ruined swing sets. And broken windows. And Mystery Artists.
Drew sighed and looked down at his notebook. What had begun as a sketch of a zombie baseball player had deformed into a random series of crooked lines. He realized he better pay attention to Mr. Frye. The new assignment he was explaining was a special one. It was a contest he held every year called “If I Were Principal.” The students would work in groups of three throughout the following week. At the end of the week, one student from each group would deliver a speech in front of the class.
“This really is a great assignment,” Mr. Frye continued. “The winning team will receive a special, secret prize.”
Heads perked up, and a wave of excitement rippled through the room. Ambitious looks were exchanged among friends, and silent plans already seemed to be forming.
“Dr. Linus will be here for the speeches. She listens to them every year. She likes to hear new ideas. When all the speeches are complete, Dr. Linus and I will choose the winner, and that team will receive the secret prize.”
With this announcement, most of the students sunk back down in their seats. It was already likely that Abigail would win the contest – everyone knew that. But now that the principal herself would help choose the winner, it was a guarantee Abigail would win. Abigail was the student Dr. Linus wanted everyone to be like. There was one major way the other students knew this: Dr. Linus knew Abigail’s name. Dr. Linus didn’t know the names of many students. The ones she did know were of the kids who were sent to her office regularly for bad behavior, or the ones like Abigail, who were so exceptional that they demanded to be noticed. It was as if the principal was only familiar with the very best and the very worst students.
When Mr. Frye finished speaking, Abigail gently placed her pencil on her desk. She leaned back slightly with a barely hidden smile on her face, as if she were already plotting the defeat of her classmates. Or perhaps she was already preparing her victory speech and trying to figure out what her newest prize would be. Regardless, it was a foregone conclusion that she would win the contest, and it was likely that everyone in the class had silently accepted it – everyone except Drew. He was tired of Abigail being the best. Although he rarely talked to her and knew little about her beyond her academic success, he simply did not like her.
Perhaps the root of Drew’s friction with Abigail arose last year when he was having a tough time with math class. He and his dad had spent hours studying for everything that could have possibly been on the upcoming test. When the students got their tests back, Drew turned his over and saw an 89%, his best grade in math all year. But the elation of success was snatched away when he turned and caught a glimpse of Abigail’s 103% (she even got the bonus question right!). Seeing Drew’s score, Abigail had said, “That’s good, Drew. B’s are really good for some people.”
Now Abigail’s mere existence taunted Drew. Every trifle of her being – from the freckles on her nose to the way she held her pencil to the way she protected that polka dotted binder – attracted his disdain. Fed up with feeling inferior, Drew decided it was finally time to knock Abigail off her pedestal.
Mr. Frye allowed the students to pick their own groups. As Drew, Jeff, and Tommy got together, Drew told them how much he wanted to beat Abigail and win the contest.
“I dunno, man,” said Tommy. “Seems like a lot of work for nothing, ‘cause Abigail will probably win no matter what.”
He was staring down at his phone, which he had snuck out of his pocket and was hiding under his desk. He didn’t appear to be texting or looking anything up, but rather mindlessly opening and closing apps.
Drew turned to Jeff. “What about you?”
Jeff shrugged. “I dunno.”
“I’m telling you, we can do this,” said Drew. “Abigail is always winning, always trying to prove how smart she is. This can be our chance. We can do this.” He scanned his friends’ faces, hoping to have uplifted their spirits, but Tommy continued to play with his phone, and Jeff was staring down at a blank piece of notebook paper. Drew knew he’d have to find a better way to entice his friends.
“Tommy, you always wanna win prizes. Well, this could be huge! What if it’s tickets to a Pirate game? Huh? What if the winner gets to meet some of the players, and instead of us going, it’s Abigail?”
“Wait!” Tommy shot up, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Do you really think we could meet the players?”
“Sure,” said Drew. “It could be anything.”
“That would be so swe
et. What if we got to take batting practice at PNC Park?”
“So are you in?”
“Yeah, I wanna win. Can we, though? We don’t got an idea, and anyways, I can’t be the one to do the speech. Mr. Frye hates me for no reason. He’d never pick me as the winner.”
“Well, it probably shouldn’t be me,” said Drew. “Teachers usually say I go off topic too much.”
Drew and Tommy looked at the non-committal Jeff.
“Me?” he asked.
“It’s gotta be you! You never go off topic like me, and Mr. Frye never yells at you. You’re our best chance to win.”
“Yeah, Drew’s right. And we have to beat Abigail,” said Tommy.
“And everyone would see me beat Abigail,” Jeff said aloud but intended for himself. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
So Jeff wanted the glory, Tommy wanted the prize, and Drew wanted to beat Abigail. But all three agreed on one common goal: win the contest.
****
On Monday, Mr. Frye gave everyone the entire class period to begin working. After the boys had brainstormed for a while, a gleam of light seemed to flash across Jeff’s mind.
“How about this …” he started but then backed away.
“Go ahead,” said Drew.
“Well, okay, what if the idea was to get the businesses around here to give us gift cards? Like, give us donations, ya know?”
“What would be the point of that?” asked Tommy.
“I mean,” Jeff continued, “the school could get gift cards from all the places we go to. You know, restaurants like Rizzo’s, and maybe Melia’s, and places like that. And those could be rewards for kids for perfect attendance and things like that …”
“Yeah,” said Drew, “Mr. Melia is the best. He’d definitely do it.”
“And getting free stuff is sweet,” Tommy added.
“Yeah, and maybe for the places that donate stuff there could be a program where students volunteer at that place,” Drew suggested. “Just to help clean up and stuff. You know, stuff kids can do.”
“Exactly!” said Jeff. “See, it’ll be good for the school because kids will work harder to get the gift cards. And if the school gets better, then all of Emerson gets better. And then more people would want to move here so their kids can go here. And that would mean more customers for the businesses here.”
The boys noticed that Mr. Frye was standing next to them with an impressed smile on his face.
“I like what I hear,” he said, tapping notes into his tablet. “It looks like this might be one of the best contests in a long time.”
After he walked away, the boys noticed that Abigail and her partners, Lexi and Brooke, were looking at them. Tommy quickly guarded the paper on Jeff’s desk and said, “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing –” Abigail began, but Tommy cut her off.
“Just mind your own business, Abby.”
“My name is Abigail, not Abby.”
“Really? I thought your name was Teacher’s Pet,” Tommy shot back.
Abigail sneered and shook her head. The two groups spent the rest of the period glaring at each other out of the corners of their eyes and discussing their ideas in whispers. It was war.
****
The next day, Mr. Frye gave everyone the second half of class to continue working on their ideas and begin preparing their speeches. At the end of the day, while everyone was getting ready to go home, Abigail was at her locker across the hall from Drew, Jeff, and Tommy.
“Time to go home and study for ten hours, right, Abby?” said Tommy.
“My name is not Abby. And it’s not Teacher’s Pet, either. It’s Abigail.”
“You sure?” said Tommy. “Maybe it’s Suck-Up. Or is it Try-Hard?”
Drew and Jeff felt a bit awkward but laughed along nonetheless.
“That’s not even clever,” said Abigail. “You guys are so dumb.”
“Yeah, well –” Tommy was interrupted as Lexi and Brooke came running down the hall.
“Abigail!” yelled Lexi. “We have to go or we’ll be late!”
“Yeah, c’mon.”
“All right, all right,” said Abigail. She slid two books into her book bag and hurried up the hall behind Lexi and Brooke.
“That was weird,” said Drew. “I wonder where they’re going.”
“Who knows,” said Tommy, “and really, who cares?”
Drew and Jeff shrugged. The hallway was just about empty. A boy and a girl had been casually chatting about 20 feet down the hall, but they were slowly making their way to the door. The boys were also about to leave when something caught their eyes. It was as if all three of them saw it at the same time. A strange silence set on the hallway, as if the next move the boys made was of tremendous consequence. They glanced around; not a teacher was in sight. They looked at each other with widened eyes, and there was little question about what would happen next.
****
“Go go go go!”
“No one followed us, right?”
“I don’t think so.”
“And no one saw us back there, right?”
“No – I dunno – just keep going, man!”
The three boys hurried through Jeff’s front door, up the stairs, and into Jeff’s room as if a swarm of zombies were in hungry pursuit. Jeff locked the door and removed from his book bag the item they were so desperately trying to conceal. He examined it intensely, as if he still didn’t believe such a valuable thing could be in his possession. Then he dropped it on his bed, as if he suddenly realized it could be dangerous. Drew and Tommy stood guard at the door.
“Are you sure no one can open this door?” Drew asked.
“Yeah,” said Jeff, trying to catch his breath, “it’s locked.”
Tommy ran his left hand along the surface of the door and wiggled the knob with his right hand. “You sure? How strong is this lock? Your brother isn’t gonna come barging in, is he?”
“No, this morning my mom said they were going to the store or something after school. And I’m pretty sure a six-year-old can’t break down a locked door.”
Tommy nodded. He and Drew stepped away from the door and stood on each side of Jeff. Jeff hadn’t taken his eyes off the item on the bed. The three of them huddled next to each other in silence, staring down at the brightly-colored binder that seemed to stare right back. In bold, black letters on the front of the binder were these words: PROPERTY OF ABIGAIL LINWOOD. DO NOT OPEN.
****
“What the heck are we waiting for?” said Tommy. “Let’s open it.”
But as Tommy reached for the binder, Drew grabbed his arm.
“Wait,” he said, “are we sure we wanna do this?”
Tommy switched his eyes from the binder to Drew and stared at him in disbelief.
“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t we?”
“Because it’s cheating, isn’t it?”
“Oh, come on,” Tommy scoffed. “It’s not like we stole the binder. We just, you know, saw it sitting there. It’s not our fault stupid Abigail left her locker hanging open.”
“But how can we open it anyway?” Jeff asked. “It has that lock on it.”
“That lock is nothing,” said Tommy. “We can just bust it open with a hammer. Your dad probably has one in the garage, right?” He began scanning around the room. “Unless there’s something in here we can use …”
“Hold on,” said Drew. Everything had happened so fast that he barely realized where he was. The last several minutes were a blur. “I don’t think we should open it. We wouldn’t want them to look at our notes if they found them, right?”
“Right,” said Tommy, “but they would look.”
“I dunno,” said Drew.
“I guarantee they’d look,” Tommy quickly added. “You saw how jealous they got when Mr. Frye said he liked our idea.”
“Then why do we even need to look? We already have a good idea – Jeff’s idea.”
“Dude, why are you scared to open it?” Tommy aske
d.
“I’m not scared,” said Drew. “I just don’t think we should.”
“You’re thinking about this too much,” said Tommy. “We got Abigail’s binder right here in front of us. You’re the one who wanted to beat Abigail so bad in the first place, right? All we gotta do is open the binder and steal – um, I mean use her ideas.”
Drew looked from Tommy, to Jeff, to the binder, and then back to Jeff and asked what he thought.
“I dunno, I mean, I guess Tommy’s right. It’s not like we planned on taking the binder. It was just … there.”
“Exactly!” Tommy burst, his hands flailing in the air. “Sorry, Drew, but that’s two versus one.”
“Wait,” said Drew, turning to Jeff. “We don’t need to open it. We already spent so much time preparing. The idea you came up with is good. I think you’re gonna win, and we don’t have to cheat to do it. But if we do break that lock and look in the binder … well, we will be cheating.”
“But no one will even know! So what difference does it make?” Tommy said, almost yelling.
“Well,” said Jeff, “Drew might have a point. I don’t wanna be a cheater.”
“Whoa,” said Tommy, his voice taking on a defensive tone and his eyes darting back and forth between the two other boys. “We’re not cheaters. Why would you say that?”
“We would be cheaters if we look in the binder,” said Drew.
“No, this is different. Cheaters are people who are unfair and, like, do bad things on purpose. This is different. We just … look, this is Abigail we’re talking about. You were the one who wanted to win so bad anyways, Drew. You wanted to beat Abigail, remember? Why should we care about her? Do you think she feels bad for us when we get in trouble, or get a bad grade, or get called on when we don’t know the answer?”
“Maybe he’s right,” said Jeff, gazing at the yellow polka-dotted binder with wistful yet cautious eyes.
“Yeah, Drew,” Tommy continued. “Think about how many times Abigail has done stuff to us. Like when she tells on me for chewing gum in Language Arts. Or when a teacher calls on somebody to read and they aren’t paying attention, her arm shoots up and she’s all like, ‘Oh, I can read, I know exactly where we are.’”