Everybody Needs a Buddy

by James Preller

  Contents

  * * *

  Title Page

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  The Best Part of the Day

  The Rumor

  The Boy by the Tree

  What’s the Buzz?

  Chocolate Water

  Meeting of the Big Idea Gang

  The Big Idea

  Glitter and Gossip

  The Art of Persuasion

  The New Librarian

  Deon and Dinesh

  The Best Part

  Miss Zips’s “Wow Me” Tips

  Sample Chapter from WORST MASCOT EVER

  Buy the Book

  Read More from the Big Idea Gang Series

  About the Author

  Connect with HMH on Social Media

  Text copyright © 2019 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company

  Illustrations copyright © 2019 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to trade.permissions@hmhco.com or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

  hmhbooks.com

  Cover illustration © 2019 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

  Cover illustration by Stephen Gilpin

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

  Names: Preller, James, author. | Gilpin, Stephen, illustrator.

  Title: Everybody needs a buddy / by James Preller.

  Description: Boston ; New York : Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, [2019] | Series: The Big Idea Gang ; [2] | Summary: Third-graders Deon, Kym, Lizzy, and Connor, armed with Miss Zips’ persuasive tips, set out to convince the PTA to use their cash surplus to put a “buddy bench” on the playground.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018032031| ISBN 9781328857194 (hardback) | ISBN 9781328973405 (paperback)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Schools—Fiction. | Persuasion (Psychology)—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Playgrounds—Fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / School & Education. | JUVENILE FICTION / Readers / Chapter Books. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Friendship. | JUVENILE FICTION / Humorous Stories.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.P915 Eve 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018032031

  eISBN 978-1-328-53064-6

  v1.0119

  My thanks to Lorraine Preziosi, a classroom teacher who patiently answered my questions. Your perceptions and insights helped guide parts of this book.

  — CHAPTER 1 —

  The Best Part of the Day

  For Deon Gibson, there was no debate. Only one answer could be correct. Recess was absolutely, positively, 100 percent, totally the best part of the school day. No one could convince him otherwise.

  Sure, some kids liked PE best.

  They were wrong.

  Others kids loved math.

  But again, according to Deon, those people were nuts. Sure, those math-loving students might go on to become scientists or computer wizards, but Deon didn’t care.

  “Recess is the best part of the school day,” Deon claimed to anyone who’d listen at his Clay Elementary cafeteria table.

  “That’s just your opinion,” Kym replied.

  “Not opinion, fact!” Deon stated.

  “Well, personally, in my opinion, I like reading better.” Kym Park closed her eyes and smiled. “Silent, independent reading. And I love it when Miss Zips reads out loud to us. Ah, pure heaven. I could listen to her read books all day.”

  “Reading is okay,” Deon countered. “But you have to sit still and be quiet. That’s so not me. I’m the opposite. At recess, I get to run around and scream my head off. I get to see all my friends. We laugh and joke around. We play ball. Plus”—​he tapped the left side of his chest—​“it’s good for the old ticker.”

  Connor O’Malley shoved a fistful of chips into his mouth. He said, “Lunschhh.”

  Kym swiveled her head in Connor’s direction. Then she turned to Connor’s twin sister, Lizzy. “What did he say?”

  Lizzy O’Malley shook her head. “My brother is trying to say ‘lunch,’ Kym, but Connor’s face is too stuffed with food—​as usual. Connor, could you please swallow your chips before speaking?”

  “Shhhorry,” Connor apologized, still chewing.

  Deon leaned forward. “I know a guy who tried this trick where he ate ten crackers crazy fast and tried to whistle. You have like thirty seconds to do it. And I’m telling you, it’s impossible—​and it’s hysterical. Crackers were flying everywhere. It was raining Saltines!”

  Kym made an ew face.

  “Sounds disgusting,” Lizzy said.

  “No, trust me, it’s funny,” Deon said. “The crackers absorb all the water in your mouth. Then you can’t whistle.”

  Kym frowned. “I can’t whistle at all. Even without crackers.”

  “It’s easy,” Connor said. “Just put your lips together and blow.” He let out a whistle that would have made a sparrow proud.

  Kym furrowed her brows in concentration. She pushed out her lips to form a tight circle. She puffed out her cheeks.

  And nothing happened.

  Not a peep.

  Not a chirp.

  Not a tweet.

  “Sad!” Deon snorted.

  Kym’s cheeks flushed pink.

  “Hey, don’t laugh, Deon,” Lizzy said. “I bet there’s lots of things that Kym can do that you can’t.”

  “Yeah, like math,” Connor joked.

  “I can do math,” Deon claimed. “I just don’t see the point. Two and two makes four. What more do I need to know?”

  Lizzy rose to take her things to the recycling bin. She checked the wall clock. “Well, in one hundred and eighty seconds it will become your favorite time of day.”

  Deon looked puzzled.

  “Three minutes,” Lizzy said. “Sixty seconds is a minute. Sixty times three is one eighty. That’s when we go outside for recess.” She grinned. “See, Deon. Math isn’t so bad after all. It’s just a question of how you look at it.”

  — CHAPTER 2 —

  The Rumor

  Suri Brewster started the rumor out on the playground. Small and wiry with a wild mass of black hair, Suri joined Lizzy and Kym on the swinging footbridge. The girls held on to chain railings while the bridge rattled and swayed. Connor and Deon circled underneath, groaning and moaning, pretending to be zombies . . . or killer sharks . . . or gruesome trolls . . . or something like that. The girls didn’t pay much attention. They were more interested in Suri’s news.

  “So, like, you know my mom is treasurer for the PTA,” Suri began.

  Kym and Lizzy nodded. Suri had mentioned it a few dozen times already.

  “Well, Mama says there’s a big surplus of money,” Suri claimed. She pushed her purple, pointy glasses closer to her face.

  “A big surplus?” Kym asked, unsure of exactly what that meant.

  “Extra money,” Suri said. “Tons of it. When we changed our mascot to the Clay Elementary Dragons, we sold, like, easily a bazillion T-shirts, hats, coffee mugs, and sweatshirts with the new logo.”

  “A bazillion,” Lizzy murmured. “That’s a lot of T-shirts.”

  The moaning from underneath the bridge got louder. “Better run,” Connor and Deon warned in ghoulish voices. Four hands reached up and rattled the bridge. “The zombies are coming for you!”

  “Connor, stop!” Lizzy shushed. “We can’t play zombie apocalypse every single day. It gets boring. We’re trying to talk.”

  Deon popped up beside the bridge. “We’re not boring. You’re boring.”

  “Yeah, what he s
aid,” Connor grumbled.

  Kym ignored the boys. She asked Suri, “So what are they going to do with all that money?”

  “That’s the amazing thing,” Suri said, bouncing on her toes with excitement. “They want to buy something cool for the school!”

  Connor and Deon—​forgetting they were zombies, at least for the moment—​climbed up on the bridge. They were interested.

  “How much money does the PTA have?” Connor asked.

  “I think it’s easily like a thousand dollars,” Suri said. “Maybe more.”

  “Whoa, that’s a lot of George Washingtons,” Deon exclaimed.

  “Yeah, a thousand of them,” Kym deadpanned.

  “Maybe they should buy, like . . . oh, I don’t know,” Connor said, somewhat pitifully.

  “Genius idea,” Deon kidded.

  “Give me a minute, I’ll think of something,” Connor retorted. “I know! A rocket ship for the playground!”

  “They could buy an author,” Kym suggested.

  “An author?” Deon asked. “I didn’t know authors were for sale. Where do you get them? Aisle six at Walmart?”

  Kym frowned. “I mean a visit from an author. That would be good for the whole school.”

  “Slow down, everybody,” Lizzy said. “We really don’t know any details yet.”

  Milo Pitts, in shorts and a mustard-stained T-shirt, raced over. He paused, half listening, and yelled up. “Connor, Deon! We need two more guys to play full-court basketball!”

  “Do they have to be guys?” Lizzy snapped back.

  “Um.” Milo scratched his nose. “No, I guess anybody can play.”

  “Well, we’re busy, thanks for asking,” Lizzy replied.

  Suri spied a group of friends across the field. “Oh, I have to tell Sabrina the big news,” she explained to Lizzy and Kym. “Talk to you later.” Suri leaped off the bridge, sprawling in the grass. She bounced up and hustled away.

  “Well? You guys coming?” Milo asked.

  “Gotta fly,” Connor announced to the girls. “Deon and I can’t turn down a game of hoops.”

  — CHAPTER 3 —

  The Boy by the Tree

  Connor started toward the basketball court with Milo at his side. He stopped to look back. Deon was trailing behind. “Let’s go, Deon. We haven’t got all day.”

  Deon had just noticed something out of the corner of his eye: a thin, small boy standing by a tree. Curious, Deon lingered to take a longer look. He told the boys, “Go on, I’ll be right there.” Deon bent to tie a shoelace that didn’t need tying. The boy with light-brown skin stood still, his hands dangling at his sides. It struck Deon as odd, the way the boy stood so perfectly still—​as if he hoped to disappear. Some animals do that. Chameleons, rabbits, deer. If spotted by a predator, they freeze, motionless, trying to fade into the background. They want to be . . . unseen.

  Deon hadn’t noticed the boy before. His large dark eyes stared in the direction of the basketball court. The expression on the boy’s face was impossible to read. Is he angry? Is he sad? Deon couldn’t tell.

  A scramble of students hooted and jostled on the court. They took practice shots, firing balls in the direction of a round metal hoop. Swish, swish, two in a row shivered through the metal net. A chorus of cheers was followed by an eruption of laughter. Milo and Connor were already on the court. They were waiting impatiently. “Deon! Let’s go. We’re choosing sides now!” Amir Kazemi called.

  Deon glanced again at the solitary boy by the tree. Does he want to play? Is he any good? Deon almost opened his mouth, but just at that instant the boy turned away. He kicked a stone in the dirt and a small puff of dust rose from the ground.

  “Coming!” Deon dashed toward the basketball court. “Let’s do this!”

  As the boys picked sides, Milo told the others that the PTA was buying a new basketball court. “Well, not a court exactly, but new backboards and rims. We deserve real nets, with rope, not these crummy ones with rusty chains,” Milo noted.

  Everyone was glad to hear this piece of good news.

  Watching Milo get all the attention, Connor interjected, “The PTA has, like, ten thousand extra dollars, easy. They might buy a rocket ship for the playground.”

  “A rocket ship!” Bobby Mumford said. “We need one of those!”

  Deon wasn’t listening. It was all just talk. Blah, blah, blah. Instead he kept thinking about that boy by the tree. He had just stood there, watching. “Do you know him?” Deon asked Milo.

  “Who?”

  Deon tilted his head in the direction of the boy. “Him, the kid.”

  Milo gave a disinterested shrug. Then a ball bounded off the rim and bounced into Milo’s hands. He dribbled once, twice, spry and fancy. Milo turned and hurled up a wild shot that missed everything.

  “Air ball, air ball!” Bobby teased, hands cupped around his mouth. “If you keep shooting like that, you’ll have a better chance of hitting a bird than making a basket.”

  Milo gave Bobby a friendly shove. “We’ll see who’s laughing by the end of the game.”

  Deon pounced on a rebound. He dribbled behind his back, then between his legs, and quick as a flash took it to the hole. A flick of the fingers. Nothing but net. Man, he loved playing ball. High fives all around.

  The next time Deon looked up, the boy had disappeared.

  Unseen, again.

  — CHAPTER 4 —

  What’s the Buzz?

  Miss Isadora Bliss Zipsokowski was the teacher assigned to room 312. Few students attempted to say her name out loud, in fear of getting their tongues tangled. Besides, who had time for all those syllables? Instead, she was known as “Miss Zips” or, affectionately, “the Zipster.” Miss Zips was very tall and very tough. She never tried to win her students’ approval by going easy on them. She made her students work hard. If anyone complained, and of course some did, Miss Zips would grin and reply, “Tough cookies. I make you work because I care about you.”

  Bartimus Finkle once famously grumbled, “I wish you’d care less.”

  But he didn’t mean it. Not really. Not deep down.

  When students trickled in each morning, Miss Zips gave them time to settle. The kids went to their cubbies, pulled out books, talked quietly, rubbed sleep from their eyes.

  On this morning, one topic moved like electricity through the room. The PTA was going to buy something terrific for the school! But that was the only thing anyone could agree on. The more people talked, the more excited they became. And the stories grew more and more exaggerated.

  Lizzy overhead a conversation by the cubbies. Amir said, “We’re getting a new swimming pool, built by the same company that did the one in the middle school.”

  Charlie LaCroix said, “I like swimming, but I hate getting my hair wet.” Charlie had a wavy blond mane. He spent long minutes before the mirror each morning carefully arranging each golden strand.

  “Don’t go underwater,” Amir suggested. “Float like a duck. That’ll keep it dry.”

  Lizzy interrupted, “Amir, where did you hear we’re getting a swimming pool?”

  The boy looked at Lizzy and shrugged. “Everybody knows. Suri told Vanessa Knox, who passed it on to Sabrina Green, who told Milo, who told me. Besides, I think I saw a pool truck in the parking lot.”

  Hmmm.

  Next Lizzy moved to a group of kids by the bookshelves. Rosa Morales was in the middle of a story, hands gesturing wildly as she explained to Bobby Mumford, “It’s going to be an entirely new playground—​with all kinds of Ninja Warrior–type stuff, like on the TV show.”

  “I’m not sure about that,” Kaylee Simmons countered. Tall and lanky, she stood with hands on her hips. “Kym told me they were paying a famous author to do writers’ workshops.”

  “Pish, they do that every year anyway,” rosy-cheeked, freckle-speckled Hayden Chipwood said. “I heard the PTA still doesn’t know what to do with the extra money.”

  Head buzzing with rumors, Lizzy retreated to the p
eace and quiet of her desk. There were so many different stories flying around, like honeybees in a flower garden. She wondered which story, if any, was true.

  Miss Zips had been sitting at her desk, chatting with Mr. Sanders, the classroom aide. They were sharing a bowl of grapes. At last she stood and moved to the front center of the room. And in this way Miss Zips signaled that it was time to begin the school day. “My goodness, you are all so chatty this morning. What’s the buzz all about?” A dozen excited voices spoke at once. They talked about ten thousand dollars . . . fifty thousand dollars . . . swimming pools and rocket ships . . . and much more.

  “Whoa, slow down,” Miss Zips said, laughing. “It sounds like there are a lot of wild rumors flying around. Usually when information gets passed from person to person, we get farther and farther away from the truth.”

  “Like in the game telephone,” Connor said.

  “Exactly,” Miss Zips said. “The farther a story is passed down the line, the more it changes. By the end, we don’t know what’s true.”

  “Suri told us the PTA has a surplus of cash,” Kym offered.

  “Ah, yes,” Miss Zips said. “Suri is well informed.”

  “My mother is treasurer of the PTA,” Suri informed the class. She pushed her pointy purple glasses closer to her face. “She’s also co-chairperson of the recycling committee.”

  “Yes,” Miss Zips said. “We’re thankful for the volunteer work that so many parents do for the school.”

  “So what’s the truth?” Amir asked. “Are we getting a swimming pool or what?”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” Miss Zips said, laughing. “I don’t believe the PTA has that kind of money.”

  In the back of the room, Charlie LaCroix felt relieved. He truly didn’t like getting wet. Even warm baths made Charlie feel sorrowful. He wasn’t exactly the cleanest boy in room 312.