by Matt Fazio
“He’s right, Drew,” said Jeff. “She did that to you in Mr. Sawyer’s class last week.”
Drew seethed at the thought of Abigail’s insult.
“See!” said Tommy. “Exactly my point.” He turned to Jeff. “Didn’t she do something to you once?”
“Yeah,” said Jeff, gritting his teeth and shaking his head. “She bumped into me at recess and was like, ‘Sorry, Jake.’ And when Drew said, ‘Uh, that’s Jeff, not Jake,’ she was just like, ‘Oh, whatever your name is.’”
Drew sat on the edge of the bed and tried to think. Was Tommy right? Did Abigail deserve to be cheated? Or was there more to Abigail? He thought back to Trevor and how wrong they were about him. He remembered one of the lessons it taught him: don’t judge a book by its cover.
Abigail probably doesn’t judge books by their covers, he thought. She probably reads every single word of every book (even the words in parentheses).
“What if someone found out?” Jeff suddenly asked.
Tommy looked confused. “How would they? I closed Abigail’s locker after I took the binder.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I took it and put it in your book bag, then I made sure I closed the locker. So she probably won’t even realize she left it open. The only way someone would find out would be if one of us told somebody. And I definitely wouldn’t tell anyone. Would you?”
“Well, no, of course not,” said Jeff, a bit defensively.
Tommy turned to Drew. “And would you tell anyone if we open the binder?”
Drew paused. A part of him wanted to say he would tell. Maybe then they would just decide not to open it. But he could sense that the three of them were losing trust in each other, and he knew friendship was nothing without trust.
“Look, I know none of us would ever tell anyone, but that’s not the point.”
He thought back again to what his dad had told him about baseball players using steroids, and how victories always felt better when you truly earned them.
“Because here’s the thing,” said Drew, standing back up, “if we look at this binder and then we win, the win wouldn’t be, you know, authentic. I mean it wouldn’t be a real win. Like in baseball, or any sport, you wanna win, but you wanna win on your own.”
He was proud to have connected that idea to the current situation. He looked at Tommy and Jeff, expecting them to finally understand what to do. Instead, Tommy was looking at him like he had been speaking a different language.
“What are you talking about, man? This is about Abigail and the language arts contest. Why are you talking about baseball?”
“I … never mind.”
Tommy didn’t understand, and Jeff still looked confused. Drew realized it was pointless to continue. Apparently he wasn’t able to explain it the way his dad had.
A few moments of frustrated silence passed. Tommy fidgeted with a few quarters on Jeff’s dresser, spinning them on their sides and sliding them around. All three boys periodically glanced at the white binder with yellow polka dots lying on the bed. Drew continued to search his brain for a way to convince his friends that they shouldn’t open the binder. He wished his baseball analogy had worked, but suddenly he had another idea.
“Wait,” he said. “What if Abigail wanted us to take the binder?”
“Huh?”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it. Tommy, you said it’s Abigail’s own fault for leaving her locker open, but does that really sound like something Abigail would do? Since when does she make mistakes?”
“You might be right,” said Jeff. “It does seem like something a girl would do. You know, act like they don’t want you to look when really they do.”
“Okay,” said Tommy, “Drew might be right. But Abigail was in a hurry, remember? So if we can prove that this is her real binder …” He walked over to the bed and grabbed it. A slight chill went down Drew’s spine. “… then don’t you think we should look in it and guarantee you win?”
“Well …” Jeff paused for a moment.
Watching him think, Drew felt bad that he had put him in such an awkward position. Drew and Tommy had been playing tug of war with his allegiance, and the pressure was clearly weighing on him.
“It’s up to you,” Drew said. “It’s your speech, so we’ll go with whatever you say.” He turned to Tommy. “Right?”
“Um, yeah, of course,” said Tommy, setting the binder back down on the bed.
Jeff took a deep breath. “Okay, here’s what we can do. We’ll see if Abigail has a binder in school tomorrow. If she does, then this one is fake. If she doesn’t, then we’ll know this one is real.”
“And if it is real?” Tommy asked eagerly.
Jeff thought for a moment then slightly nodded a few times, as if he had convinced himself he found an answer. “Then we’ll bust it open.”
Drew sighed, Tommy smiled, and Jeff buried the potential treasure under his bed.
****
The next morning, Abigail did not have her binder with her. The boys figured she could be keeping it in her locker until language arts class, so they waited until then to be sure. Mr. Frye told the class to work on their speeches, which were now just two days away. Drew, Jeff, and Tommy watched as Abigail, Lexi, and Brooke pushed their desks together. Abigail did not have her binder. In fact, she looked very distressed.
Mr. Frye walked over to Abigail and asked her what was wrong. A moment later he made an announcement.
“Listen up, everyone. Abigail’s folder is missing. If anyone –”
“No,” said Abigail. “It is not a folder, it is a binder. It is white with yellow polka dots, and it has a black zipper. And it has my name written on the outside.”
“Okay,” said Mr. Frye. “If anyone finds that, return it to her right away.”
Eventually, Mr. Frye made his way over to Drew, Jeff, and Tommy.
“So how are things going in this group?” he asked. “You’re going to talk about getting local businesses involved with the school, right, Jeff?”
“Um, yeah, we –” Jeff’s words were halted as Tommy nudged at him under his desk.
“Actually,” Tommy interjected, “we’re thinking about going in a different direction. We just have some newer ideas we’re trying to figure out. That’s okay, right?”
“Well, yes, that’s okay, but I think you guys were on the right track before. Are you sure you want to change?”
“We just wanna change a couple things, that’s all,” said Tommy.
“All right, I do want you to keep improving on your ideas. But remember, the speeches are on Friday. You have to be ready.”
“We’ll be ready,” said Tommy. “I mean Jeff will be ready. Right, Jeff?”
Jeff nodded. Mr. Frye eyed the boys somewhat suspiciously before turning his attention to a different group. Drew leaned over toward Tommy.
“What was that?” he asked in an angry whisper.
“That was us getting ready to win the contest.”
****
Hundreds of emotions flowed through the boys as they walked home.
“This is perfect,” said Tommy, hopping in front of Drew and Jeff to walk backwards while he talked. “We got Abigail’s binder. Her actual, stupid, polka-dotted, girly binder. And she has no idea! All we gotta do is take all her ideas and say them before she does. The order for the speeches is already set. Abigail goes last, right?”
“Yeah,” said Jeff. “Mr. Frye probably thinks he’s saving the best for last.”
“Then he’s gonna be in for a surprise,” said Tommy. “I wonder what our prize is gonna be. Maybe Pirate tickets … or Kennywood tickets … or free ice cream in the cafeteria for the rest of the year …” He pulled out his phone as he continued to speculate.
How did all this happen? Drew wondered. All he wanted to do was defeat Abigail and win the contest. But everything had spiraled out of control – certainly out of his control.
As the boys made their way home, Drew tr
ied to get a read on Jeff’s thoughts, and he began to understand why it meant so much to gain the recognition that would come with winning the contest. Jeff often went unnoticed by people. He was a solid baseball player, but he never made the All-Star team. In school, he got B’s on almost every test, whether he studied or not. He didn’t raise his hand enough to reach “teacher’s pet” status, but he wasn’t quiet enough or “bad” enough to warrant any real concern from the teachers. In fact, a few weeks ago Mr. Frye forgot Jeff’s name and replaced it with a hesitant point of his finger that must have poked at Jeff’s self-esteem. But if Jeff’s speech won first place, even Dr. Linus would be forced to know his name. And, perhaps most impressive, Jeff would be the kid who finally handed Abigail her first taste of academic defeat. Doing so would lift him from the shadows and transform him from average kid to legendary champion at Emerson Elementary. Still, Drew didn’t think he had to resort to cheating.
“Anyways,” said Tommy as he put his phone back in his pocket, “you guys ready to go open that binder?” The boys had reached the end of Jeff’s street.
“Now?” asked Jeff.
“Yeah.”
“Hold on,” said Drew. He yet again found himself trying to slow things down. Then he realized he actually had a reason to stall. “I can’t do it now. I have to get home because my mom is taking me over to my dad’s.”
“Is your dad taking you to our game tonight?” asked Jeff.
“Yeah,” said Drew, “so I have to get all the homework done early, ‘cause my dad wants to catch for a little before we leave. And we all wanna open the binder together, right?”
“Yeah,” Jeff nodded.
Tommy paused for just a second before agreeing. The boys would wait until tomorrow, after Melia’s, to open the binder. Once they viewed its contents, Jeff would spend the evening memorizing all of Abigail’s plans for his speech.
The ball game was a nice distraction for Drew. His team won, he had three hits, and, while playing catcher during the second half of the game, he threw out two runners trying to steal second base. But as soon as the final out was called, his attention shifted back to the binder.
Normally, Drew spent the night at his dad’s after a baseball game. He loved reliving the game, inning by inning, with him. But he decided to stay with his mom so he could stop at Jeff’s house in the morning. He would swing by early and take the binder. He didn’t know what he would do with it – maybe he could find a way to get it back to Abigail without her knowing who had taken it. He also didn’t know how he would explain its absence to Jeff and Tommy, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
****
Drew got up early Thursday morning. When he got to Jeff’s, he knocked twice, but there was no answer. This was not uncommon for the Gray family. The door had been unlocked, as it was every morning. He opened the screen door and waltzed in through the living room and into the kitchen.
“Hey, it’s me,” he announced.
Mrs. Gray was facing the counter, assembling the lunches for the day.
“Kelsey!” she yelled. “Do you want ham, turkey, or both?”
She turned to Drew and nodded toward the table with a smile. “Hi, Drew. Did you eat yet? There’s fruit on the table.”
“Turkey with spinach and no cheese!” The request came as a muffled shout from Kelsey’s room upstairs.
Mrs. Gray listened to the response then nodded her head toward the cupboard next to the fridge.
“And I think there are Pop Tarts in the cabinet there,” she said as she threw down slices of turkey and a handful of spinach leaves onto a piece of bread, then neatly arranged the items into a tidy sandwich.
A small football rolled into the kitchen past Drew’s feet and wobbled to a stop. Zane came running in after it, wearing pajama pants and draped in Jeff’s baseball jersey from last year.
“Hi, Drew,” the little six-year-old said as he brushed past Drew and headed to the fridge, abandoning whatever game he was playing with the football. He reached in and pulled out a can of pop.
“Hey, Zane,” said Drew.
“Milk or orange juice, Zane,” Mrs. Gray said at the sound of the fridge opening.
He reluctantly put the pop back in the fridge and reached in with both hands to get the big jug of orange juice. He turned and, with all his might, hoisted it up onto the table. Mrs. Gray grabbed a cup from the cabinet above her head.
“Here. Don’t spill,” she said, extending the cup behind her.
Zane took the cup from her hand to the table and set it down. His eyes switched back and forth from the cup to the full gallon of orange juice. Just as he was about to attempt to pour it, Mr. Gray came into the kitchen.
“Careful there, big guy,” he said, steadying the jug and helping Zane pour the juice.
Zane picked up the glass and chugged. Then he darted over to the cupboard, stood on his toes, reached up with an outstretched arm, and removed a pack of Pop Tarts.
“Hi there, Drew. I bet mornings are a lot calmer at your house, huh?” Mr. Gray said with a smile. Then, to Mrs. Gray he said, “All right, hon, I’m leaving.” After the two exchanged a quick kiss, Mr. Gray told Zane to “be good” and headed out the door.
“Jeff!” Mrs. Gray yelled. “Five minutes! Let’s go!”
Jeff came running down the stairs, and Zane zipped up them, bumping into Jeff on his way.
“Watch it.”
“Sorry, Jeff!”
“You need to get dressed, too, Zane!” Mrs. Gray shouted to the little boy scrambling up the stairs.
“What’s up?” Jeff greeted Drew.
“Just stopping by. Got up early this morning for some reason.”
“Oh, cool. Hey, Mom, did you make –”
“It’s right here,” she said as she handed Jeff a brown paper bag.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You have all your homework done, right?” she asked.
“Pretty sure,” Jeff answered, reaching into the cupboard. “I thought we had Pop Tarts … Wait a minute … Zane!”
Footsteps rumbled down the stairs, but they weren’t Zane’s.
“Bye, Mom, I’m leaving,” said Kelsey as she headed for the door.
“Don’t forget your lunch,” said Mrs. Gray. She handed it to Drew, who passed it along to Kelsey.
“Thanks,” said Kelsey, smiling.
Drew smiled back. It felt nice to temporarily be a part of the chaotic Gray family assembly line. “You’re welcome.”
“Hey, Jeff,” Kelsey said, walking out the door, “I heard you had a big hit last night. First double of the year, right?”
“Right.”
Drew turned back to the kitchen. Zane had come back down the steps without Drew even noticing. He had changed into jeans and a green t-shirt with a cartoon character on it that Drew didn’t recognize. He stood next to Jeff while Jeff split a Pop Tart in half.
“Which half do you want?” he asked his little brother.
Zane considered his options, pointed, and Jeff handed him the chosen half.
“Zane, do you have your shoes on?” Mrs. Gray asked.
Zane looked down at his feet and frowned.
“No,” he murmured.
Jeff rolled his eyes and shoved the last of his Pop Tart in his mouth. “C’mon, Zane, I’ll help you.”
Zane smiled and ran to get his shoes.
“I gotta help him, then brush my teeth, then we can go,” Jeff said to Drew.
Drew saw his opportunity. “I’ll come up with you guys.”
While Jeff helped Zane tie his shoes, Drew set his book bag on the floor and sat down on the bed, directly above where Jeff had slid Abigail’s binder Tuesday afternoon. When Zane went downstairs and Jeff went across the hall to brush his teeth, Drew reached under the bed for the binder. It wasn’t there. He stuck his head under the bed. All he saw was a pile of action figures. No polka-dotted binder. For a second, Drew felt a sense of relief, as if the binder weren’t there because it never had been – as i
f they had never taken it in the first place, and it had all been a bad dream. But he snapped out of that daydream when Jeff reentered the room and saw him looking under the bed.
“Where’s the binder?”
“Um, Tommy has it,” Jeff murmured.
“What? Why? When did … Why?”
“He said he was worried Zane would find it. He thought it would be safer at his house. I dunno, man. He called me yesterday and asked for a ride to the game. He came over here first and he took it. I didn’t know what – I wasn’t sure if he should take it, but I didn’t wanna make a big deal, ya know?”
“Why didn’t you say no?” asked Drew.
“I dunno. If I said no, he’d think I don’t trust him or something.”
“Do you trust him?” As soon as the question left Drew’s lips, he regretted asking it. He wasn’t even sure what he expected Jeff’s answer to be, because he didn’t know how he would answer the question himself. “Never mind. But, wait, he took the binder before our game? He had it at the field?”
“In his bat bag,” said Jeff.
Drew could only shake his head. He couldn’t believe Tommy would actually take the stolen binder out in public.
“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know what to do,” said Jeff.
“Do you still wanna open the binder?”
“I just want to win. Just this one time, I want to win.”
****
Drew hoped Tommy would mention the binder as soon as they saw each other at school, but he didn’t. Drew figured he would wait until recess. If Tommy hadn’t brought it up by then, he would.
The morning classes flew by without mention of the binder. Out on the playground during recess, Trevor invited Drew, Jeff, and Tommy into a game of rundown. They accepted, but first Drew pulled Tommy aside.
“Hey, why’d you take Abigail’s binder?”
Tommy seemed slightly annoyed. “It’s safer at my house, that’s all. I got my own room, Jeff doesn’t.”
“But taking it to our baseball game where anyone could open up your bat bag and see it? Is that safer than in Jeff’s room under his bed?”
“Yeah,” Tommy said with a simple nod, as if it were actually true. “Nobody goes in my bat bag. Look, rundown’s starting. Caleb’s playing, too. Let’s go,” he added, dashing off before Drew could muster a response.