Q:Music is a big part of this book, as it is in your debut hit, Drums, Girls & Dangerous Pie. Being a musician yourself, does writing about music come as naturally as playing it?
A:I find it really hard to write well about the act of playing music, actually. But when I was a teenager, I always wished that someone would write about characters who loved music the way I loved it. So I have struggled to get that love down onto the page — it’s my gift to all the kids out there who hang out in the band room until a grown-up makes them go home.
Q:If readers could only take away one message or idea from Notes what would you want it to be?
A:When you hurt people, suck it up and face what you’ve done. That’s one of the hardest and bitterest lessons in the world, but everybody needs to figure it out at some point.
Q:Do you have anything personally against lawn gnomes?
A:Nah. I just find the entire concept of the lawn gnome good for an automatic laugh. Some things are just, you know, funny.
Here’s a Sneak Peek at Jordan Sonnenblick’s
Zen and the Art of Faking It
That same day, in social studies, I accidentally added a whole new facet to my pretend identity. Santa Dowd was asking questions about the textbook reading assignment from the night before: “The Spread of Buddhism: China and Japan.” Now, admittedly, I hadn’t done the reading the night before, but I already knew this stuff. I had even done a whole poster project on Taoism and Zen Buddhism. I’ve always liked poster projects, mostly because I love the smell of markers.
Even though everyone obviously liked this Dowd guy, of course nobody raised a hand to answer anything he asked. Kids were squirming around, avoiding the dreaded teacher-eye contact, organizing folders, and sharpening pencils that could have already sliced through Kevlar body armor. Woody was looking at me, which caused my big mistake. I wanted to smile at her, but was afraid that would be un-shy of me — so I turned away, right into the twinkly baby-blues of Mr. Dowd. Once he had me in an eye-lock, I knew it was coming. But like a deer in headlights, I was powerless.
“Mister Lee? Can you explain how Buddhism was adopted and adapted in China?”
Huh, I actually did know this. And I was the perfect guy to answer it, since I had been adopted and adapted FROM China. But was I the kind of shy kid who answered teachers’ questions, or the kind who crumbled under the glare of full-class scrutiny? Should I mumble “I don’t know”? Fall off my chair again? Faint, and hope Woody would seize the opportunity to revive me with mouth-to-mouth?
My eyes flashed over to the new love of my life. She was smiling encouragingly, but didn’t necessarily look like she’d be ready to administer CPR if I needed it. So what the heck, I took a stab at answering the question.
“Well, Indian Buddhism was brought to China by traders about, umm, fifteen hundred years ago. The story goes that a man named Bodhidharma was the first Zen master. He and his followers combined the basic ideas of Indian Buddhism with earlier Chinese traditions like Taoism and Confucianism to create Ch’an Buddhism, what the Japanese later called ‘Zen.’ ‘Ch’an’ means ‘meditation,’ by the way.”
Had I really just said all that? I guess I had just decided which kind of shy kid to be. I took a breath, looked around, and saw that everyone was looking at me like I had just sprouted a second head. Except Dowd and Woody, who were both smiling. Hmm . . . maybe acting smart had fringe benefits!
Dowd nodded. “Very good, San. Have you . . . uh . . . studied Zen before?”
Whoa. On the one hand, teachers usually avoided the topic of students’ personal beliefs like the plague. But on the other, I realized that everyone in the room was probably thinking Chinese kid = Buddhist. And Woody was still smiling.
I played it cool.“I guess you could say that.” A mysterious and knowing half smile played across my lips. Wow, I had a mysterious and knowing half smile!
The lesson moved on, and I answered a bunch of other questions. Near the end of the period, the angry kid — the LARGE angry kid, in case I forgot to mention it — next to Woody leaned across her and asked me in a booming voice,“So, Buddha Boy, if a tree falls in the forest, and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a noise?”
Now, a normal teacher might have jumped all over this guy for blatantly attacking the new kid. But Dowd just leaned back against the chalkboard and twinkled. I hoped his back was getting smeared with fluorescent chalk. On the other hand, I was pleased to note, Woody looked irritated with the smirk the kid was now sporting.
Shy or not shy, I wasn’t going to roll over and turn into some steroid case’s whipping boy. I replied quietly, calmly,“If a monkey howls and nobody listens, is he still a monkey?”
There was a beat while everyone processed this.Then an intake of breath, followed by a wave of snickering. Two wimpy-looking guys I recognized from the chess table high-fived in delight. Somebody near the front of the room muttered,“Oh, snap! Jones got told!”
Felt pretty good until I caught the expression on Woody’s face. Now she looked annoyed with me too.
Everyone was looking back and forth between me and the hulking figure of Jones, wondering whether social studies was about to get interesting. But Dowd stepped smoothly into the silence and assigned a chapter to read for homework. Luckily for me, it was more stuff I already knew.This way, if Jones broke all my fingers right after class, I wouldn’t have to try turning the pages with a bulky cast on.
When the bell rang, I took my time packing up my backpack. If I scurried out of the room, I’d look like a coward. Well, I was a coward, but there was no need to advertise it.
A shadow fell over me — a wide shadow. I looked up from my fascinating bag-zipping activities, and Jones was leaning over my desk. His massive, veiny arms bulged with power as he put his weight on them. But his face wasn’t in “kill” mode. In fact, he had a sort of rueful grin going. Woody and Dowd, who were the only two other people still in the room, looked on with interest as Jones’s growl swept over me: “Good one, Buddha Boy.You’re pretty funny.”
I tried to paste the mysterious half smile onto my face, but I suspect it looked a little bit sickly as Jones punched me playfully in the arm and walked out of the room.
With Woody. Dang.
Copyright
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
This book was originally published in hardcover by Scholastic Press in 2006.
Copyright © 2006 by Jordan Sonnenblick. All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
Cover photo © 2006 by Marc Tauss
Cover design by Marijka Kostiw
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E-ISBN: 978-0-545-23189-3
“Sunrise, Sunset” from the musical FIDDLER ON THE ROOF Words by Sheldon Harnick, Music by Jerry Bock Copyright © 1964 (Renewed) Mayerling Productions Ltd. (Administered by R&H Music) and Jerry Bock Enterprises for the United States and Alley Music Corporation, Trio Music Company, and to Jerry Bock Enterprises for the world outside of the United States. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
river
Notes From the Midnight Driver Page 15