by Greg Pincus
After circling the displays a second time, Gregory found a group of kids playing soccer in a small room just off the main gym. A lot of the kids were better than him, but it was still fun, even if they kept talking polynomials.
Two hours later, exactly on schedule, the judging began.
There were two parts to the process: a walk-by question-and-answer period, and a handful of presentations at the end. In the first part, a dozen judges — math professors, engineers, and a local inventor among them — visited each exhibit, asking questions, looking at research and … well, Gregory couldn’t imagine what else they’d do. Still, he stood among his poems, ready for anything.
A lot of the judges asked him questions about Fibonacci. He did well on the person, less well when they asked about the math. He patiently responded to questions about his inspiration for the project without once giving “desperation” as the answer. The inventor asked about his favorite poets, and Gregory soon found himself in a long conversation about Shel Silverstein, Langston Hughes, Emily Dickinson, and many others. At this point, he wished he’d brought his notes like all the other kids, though it was only so he could add new poets’ names to his “to be read” list.
At one point, his parents stopped by and said hello. As they stood looking at his project, Gregory discovered that every judge knew his dad and made a point of shaking his hand.
“I’m lucky,” his dad said in a brief moment they were alone, “because I won City Math the very first year. Owen’s won more than anyone, but until he invents time travel and goes back and beats me in the first contest, I’m a celebrity.” Lucky or not, Gregory realized, his dad enjoyed the attention.
As the judging went on, Gregory fidgeted, snapped his fingers, jumped back and forth from foot to foot to make squeaky sounds on the wood … anything to keep himself on task. It was difficult work, and he was relieved to see Alex, Kelly, and her mom stop by.
“Do not ask me any questions about math or Fibonacci, please,” Gregory said as the friendly faces arrived. “I can hear my brain frying!”
Kelly put her fingers on Gregory’s head and massaged his scalp. Alex showed him a sketch he’d been working on of Gregory surrounded by judges under a huge City Math banner.
“I wanted to capture it now, G,” Alex said, “because I’m thinking I won’t get another chance. No insult, dude.”
Gregory was not insulted.
Kelly’s mom read all of the poems before walking over to Gregory and giving him a big squeeze. “You write so wonderfully. I hope you never stop, even if all you do is write about math.” Gregory hugged back tightly.
The brief, friendly break was enough to keep Gregory going as other judges, participants, and onlookers came by to talk with him. And before long, it was time for the stage presentations to begin. Gregory sat in the front row with the other main-stage kids, waiting for his chance to speak.
Based on the audience reactions, the presentations were pretty dazzling, though Gregory didn’t understand much in any of them. Finally, it was his turn.
He walked onstage and looked out at the City Math audience. He felt surprisingly calm, though he was really happy to catch Kelly’s eye. She gave him a smile that filled him with confidence. He took a deep breath, concentrating on the air filling his lungs. He was ready.
“My presentation is called ‘The Fibonacci Sequence and Me,’” he began. “But you have to know something before we go beyond the title. You see, math and I don’t really get along. I look around this room here, and I see how excited people get about concepts that make my eyes glaze over like donuts. It’s a different world.”
Although he was pretty sure no one at City Math had ever started a presentation anything like this, Gregory could tell the audience was listening.
“Math never had meaning in my life. Don’t get me wrong, I know why we need to add and subtract. I get that. And I understand that without all this complex math people here are doing, we wouldn’t have computers or lifesaving medical devices or really cool toys.”
There was laughter from the crowd, something Gregory enjoyed … though he couldn’t tell if it was nervous laughter or genuine. He pushed on regardless.
“I’m glad that people love math and do all that great stuff. It’s just not for me. And I figured that when my math teacher mentioned the Fibonacci sequence, it would just be one more weird math thing that meant nothing. But I had said I’d do City Math, like my father and brother before me, so I had to come up with something. And here I am on the main stage, thanks to my brother O, about to read you poetry.”
Gregory cleared his throat. “The poems I’m going to read are based on the Fibonacci sequence and are each only twenty syllables long. Each line follows the sequence: one, one, two, three, five, and eight. So they’re six-line poems that I call Fibs. This first one is called ‘The First Fib,’” he said. “Words / Flow, / Tumble, / Fill the page. / They tell my story. / I promise every word is true.”
From there, Gregory launched forward with gusto. He mixed facts about Fibonacci’s math and life with his poems and his own story. He figured everyone in this crowd knew Fibonacci well … but none of them, he was sure, knew his poetry. He tromped across the stage as he talked, and he could feel the eyes of the audience following him.
The speech was quite personal, showing how both he and Fibonacci found something interesting while looking for something completely different. And the Fibs themselves — “The First Fib,” “Family Geometry,” “The Correct Equation Is …,” “Simple Addition,” “Writing About Math Won’t Be Easy As Pi,” “I Learned the Commutative Property Backward,” “How Much Do I Love Math Right Now?,” “Solve for X,” “A Sequence of Events,” “Another Fib,” “How Much Do I Hate Math Class Right Now?,” “That Isn’t What I Was Expecting…. ,” and “Me + Caring = Not” — told a story within a story, he felt. And for him, at least, that was enough.
When he’d read the thirteenth Fib and reached what seemed to be a logical ending to the speech, he paused … looked at the crowd and his family … and took a final, deep breath.
“I had written thirteen poems, because that’s a Fibonacci number. But I realized I needed one more to complete the story,” Gregory said, and he held up and read his final Fib.
Where’s This Going to Take Me?
All
Done.
Finished.
You can see
No more math for me:
A new sequence is beginning.
When he was done, the audience applauded. Quite a bit, actually, even if you took away the hooting and stomping of feet from Kelly, Alex, and Kay. His parents were clapping too, and even O put his hands together a few times.
Gregory had to admit, it felt great.
The award ceremony was always the highlight of City Math, at least in Gregory’s family, and he sat with them as prizes were handed out. The excited energy in the audience was electric and contagious, and when it came to his age group, despite everything that had led up to this moment … he was a little nervous.
But he didn’t win.
First prize went to a presentation called “Mathematical Proof Why Warp Speed Travel Will Happen in Our Lifetime” that his father and O dubbed brilliant. Even honorable mentions escaped Gregory’s grasp.
Still, he got high fives from Alex and a few of the participants, a great group hug from Kelly and her mom, and even a smiling “you did well” from his father and mother. Perhaps most important, Mr. Davis told him he’d be getting a B+ in math class based on his hard work and the extra credit he’d just gotten. All in all, it was a very good day.
The school year finished in a hurry. And then came a very bad day — the day Kelly was leaving. Moving. Disappearing.
“It could be worse,” Gregory said as he watched Kelly’s mom load the last few items into her car. “At least we’ll have three weeks of Author’s Camp together.” He and his parents had reached a compromise that they could all live with … and one that made him very hap
py.
“I know. That’s stupendous and fantastic. And we’ll call and text and send emails and we’ll visit each other on long weekends,” Kelly said as her mom adjusted a final box in their car trunk and closed it up.
Gregory really didn’t know what would happen when Kelly moved. He didn’t know if they’d stay in touch or drift apart or a little of each. But one thing he did know: If he was going to get through the next few minutes without totally flipping out, he couldn’t think about it.
“Oh,” Kelly said. “I almost forgot. I’ve got something for you!”
Kelly zoomed into the house and came back with an apple pie, perfectly boxed up. The smell reached Gregory before she did, and he salivated with anticipation.
“I cooked this one myself,” Kelly said. “Though I used a special family recipe.”
Taking one final whiff of joy, Gregory put the box on the ground next to his backpack. “I’ve got something for you too,” he said as he pulled an aluminum-foil-wrapped object out of his backpack.
“Awww,” Kelly almost whimpered. “You wrapped it and everything.” He held the present out for Kelly. She grabbed it quickly.
“Here’s the thing,” Gregory said. “I don’t want you to open it until you get to your new place. Okay?”
“So, by place, do you mean the kinda place I’m in, like, mentally, because that’s changing every second, G, and I really think …”
Before Kelly could go on, Gregory did something he’d wanted to do for years, but had never had a good reason to do.
He kicked Kelly in the calf.
“Ow!!!! That hurts!” she said.
But she was laughing. And so was he. And they laughed until she got into the car. And as the car pulled out of the driveway, he could see her rip the foil off the present. She rolled down her window.
“I love it, G!” she said as the car took her away.
And that’s how he saw Kelly leave town — smiling out the window and holding up a book with a hand-lettered cover page:
That night, Gregory ate Kelly’s homemade apple pie for dinner.
It was delicious.
I want to start by thanking Leonardo Fibonacci because, really, how often does he get thanked today?
Beyond Leonardo, I also want to tip my hat to all the GottaBook readers and the folks at Slashdot who helped spread Fibs worldwide during April of 2006. Thanks, y’all — this book wouldn’t exist without you! And let me just note that Slashdotters write some fantastic poetry.
The 14 Fibs of Gregory K. started life with a phone call, not a manuscript, and I appreciate the freedom Arthur Levine gave me to write what I wanted to write. That said, the book is richer and stronger thanks to Arthur’s ideas and guidance, and I’m exceedingly grateful for that too.
Much appreciation goes to Rachel Griffiths for her early encouragement and for reading all my letters in the spirit they were intended. Emily Clement and Kait Feldmann made The 14 Fibs better with their thoughts and notes, and I’m much obliged. In fact, I’m grateful to everyone I’ve worked with at Scholastic and Arthur A. Levine Books for the care they’ve taken to turn my manuscript into a book that I am thrilled to launch into the world.
My love of math, science, and writing has been fostered by many, including the real-life Mr. Davis as well as many others, including Ms. Harris, Mr. Blackmer, Mr. Roberson, Ms. Jeffers, and Mr. Horning. I’m thankful for all the teachers whose influence and presence are somewhere in this book and in me.
Finally, to my friends and my family — Mom, Dad, Jon, Myles, Evan, and Nancy — the advice, brainstorming, patience, and support from you all through the years have allowed this book to come to life. I’m lucky to have such great folks around me, and that, indeed, is no fib.
Greg Pincus is a children’s poet and novelist, a screenwriter, a volunteer elementary school librarian, and a social media strategist. He is also an active member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. He lives in Los Angeles, California, and can be found online at www.gregpincus.com, and on Twitter as @GregPincus.
Copyright © 2013 by Greg Pincus
All rights reserved. Published by Arthur A. Levine Books, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC and the LANTERN LOGO are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Pincus, Gregory K.
The 14 fibs of Gregory K. / Greg Pincus. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Gregory Korenstein-Jasperton is an eleven-year-old boy who likes to write stories and poems and is not excited by math, but he has a problem — he is the middle child in a family of math geniuses and his father expects him to participate in the City Math contest.
ISBN 978-0-439-91299-0 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Middle-born children — Juvenile fiction. 2. Brothers and sisters — Juvenile fiction. 3. Fathers and sons — Juvenile fiction. 4. Truthfulness and falsehood — Juvenile fiction. 5. Middle schools — Juvenile fiction. 6. Mathematics — Juvenile fiction. 7. Creative writing — Juvenile fiction. [1. Middle-born children — Fiction. 2. Brothers and sisters — Fiction. 3. Fathers and sons — Fiction. 4. Honesty — Fiction. 5. Middle schools — Fiction. 6. Schools — Fiction. 7. Mathematics — Fiction. 8. Creative writing — Fiction.] I. Title. II. Title: Fourteen fibs of Gregory K.
PZ7.P63228Aaf 2013
813.6 — dc23
2012044117
First edition, October 2013
e-ISBN 978-0-545-58440-1
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.