— CHAPTER 5 —
Chocolate Water
Deon Gibson felt distracted for the rest of the day. He took the bus home, did his homework, ate dinner (tacos, yes!), and played video games for half an hour. That’s all his parents allowed, half an hour of screen time. But all the while, his mind kept flashing back to that boy by the tree. Deon pictured him in his mind. The neat brown pants, the tucked-in, buttoned-down, perfectly pressed shirt. The way the boy stood so stiffly still, ramrod straight, hands at his sides. Deon saw his light-brown skin and short, jet-black hair. He didn’t know the boy’s name.
There was something else that stuck with Deon. He puzzled over it, wondering. And then Deon realized what he sensed that afternoon on the playground. The boy might be very unhappy. No one explained it to Deon—he had no way of being sure—but he knew in his heart it was true. The boy was sad. And the thought of it nagged at Deon like a loose tooth his tongue couldn’t leave alone.
Strange as it may seem, Deon didn’t have much experience with sadness. He was simply one of those happy kids. “Deon is naturally happy,” his mother often explained. Deon had more friends than he could count, including one best friend, Connor O’Malley. The two of them were often together. If Deon ever felt alone—maybe Connor was away or something—Deon didn’t really mind. He could always shoot baskets out on the driveway. Or knock on someone else’s door. Or climb a tree. Or spy on his cats. Or practice cross-eyed faces in the mirror. Or lie on the grass watching the clouds drift overhead and feel the warm sun on his face, and smile.
Wasn’t life wonderful?
But why would anyone ever feel sad at recess? Deon honestly wasn’t sure. It seemed wrong to Deon, like a crime against nature.
The next morning at school, Deon saw the boy in the hall. Deon was on his way to the bathroom, humming lightly to himself. No one was around. And then, poof, a door opened and the boy appeared. They walked toward each other, heading in different directions. The boy looked down, as if counting the floor tiles. Deon tried to make eye contact. It was impossible.
Deon stopped at the water fountain. He took a loud, extra-slurpy gulp.
“Mmmm, wow, that’s good stuff!” Deon exclaimed to the boy. “Temperature’s just right, too!”
The boy paused a moment, a little startled, as if a live chicken had suddenly raced across the hallway. No, it was only Deon Gibson, trying to be nice.
“Want some?” Deon asked, hand still on the knob. “It’s chocolate flavored.”
Now the boy really looked confused. The fingers of his right hand squeezed the knob of his left elbow. He stood there, perplexed, not daring to pass.
“I’m kidding.” Deon flashed a big toothy smile. “But it is nice and cold!”
Not knowing what else to do, the boy ducked his head to the fountain. He took a quick sip and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yes, very good,” the boy said, stringing the words together in a sprint, as if in a hurry to finish speaking.
Yesverygood.
His crisp white shirt was tucked into his pants, which Deon noticed were belted a little too tight. Skinny ankles peeked out from the bottom of his pant legs.
He wore purple socks.
He steered past Deon and headed away, moving swiftly, arms still at his sides.
“Hey,” Deon called. “Hold up a minute.”
The boy stopped. He turned his head to look back over his shoulder. Every hair on his head was perfectly in place, parted on the side. His eyes were brown and round and full of questions.
Why me? What now?
Deon lifted a hand, let it drop. “What’s your name?”
“Dinesh Barazani,” the boy replied. Again he spoke quickly, without pausing between words, and to Deon’s ears the name came out as one long musical sound: dineshbarazani.
“Cool,” Deon said. And after a moment, he added, “I’m Deon. Or D, or whatever.”
Dinesh nodded sharply, one time, a quick downward stab of the chin. Then he walked away.
All Deon could think was: Step one, mission accomplished. He had made first contact with the new boy. And just as suddenly, a new thought pushed forward in Deon’s brain: Dinesh needs a buddy!
— CHAPTER 6 —
Meeting of the Big Idea Gang
Lizzy sat on a lawn chair in the crisp afternoon air, her knees close together, toes pressed against the ground. Connor and Kym sat to her right on an old wooden bench. Kym had a notebook on her lap, pen poised in the air. Deon leaned on an elbow, sprawled on the green lawn, sucking on a blade of grass.
“I hereby call to order today’s meeting of the Big Idea Gang,” Lizzy stated in a formal voice. “BIG, for short.”
“B-I-G,” Deon mused. “What else could those letters stand for? Butt—in—”
“Glass!” Connor chirped. “The Butt in Glass Club. I like it.”
“Seriously, guys?” Lizzy sighed. “Butt jokes?”
“Boys—Ick—Gross!” Kym groaned. “B-I-G.”
Lizzy laughed. She couldn’t help herself.
“Guilty as charged!” Connor replied, raising a hand to the sky. “I’m a boy and I’m proud.”
“Do you think we should call ourselves a gang?” Kym wondered. “Aren’t gangs supposed to be bad?”
“Club might have been a better word,” Lizzy admitted. “But BIC doesn’t make sense. I thought we needed a G word to make a better acronym.”
“The Big—Idea—Grapefruit?” Connor offered. He stared at three dumbstruck faces and shrugged. “Okay, another bad idea. Sorry for living.”
“So what’s the big idea for this week?” Kym asked, trying to get the meeting back on track.
“Well,” Lizzy said. “I’ve been thinking about the PTA’s extra money. Maybe we could come up with a terrific, fabulous, snazzy idea of our own.”
“Maybe,” Deon said.
“I still want a rocket ship,” Connor insisted. Like a bulldog with a bone, Connor wasn’t letting go of his big idea.
“Connor,” Lizzy said. “You heard Miss Zips. I highly doubt the PTA has that kind of money.”
Kym spoke up, “Actually, I was talking with Melanie Cobain—her stepfather’s on the PTA—and she says they are thinking about small, inexpensive ideas that can help improve the school.”
“Small ideas? Rats! That stinks,” Connor blurted.
“Oh, calm down, Connor,” Deon said, a little impatiently “The rocket ship is not going to happen.”
“I am calm,” Connor snapped back, not altogether calmly. He looked down, grumbling to himself.
“Deon is right,” Lizzy said, trying to be helpful. “Connor, you don’t need a giant hunk of metal when you have your imagination. I’ve seen you spend three days playing in a big cardboard box.”
“I guess,” Connor said, sounding unconvinced.
“Besides, I like the idea of little things,” Lizzy said. “We could, oh, I don’t know, plant a tree!”
“Or expand our community garden!” Kym suggested. She wrote it down in her notebook. “We could grow more vegetables.”
“More vegetables, oh joy, that sounds like a blast,” Connor groaned.
Kym ignored him. Then she asked, “What about you, Deon? Do you have any ideas?”
Deon sat up. There was a tingling sensation in his belly. For some reason, he felt nervous, uncertain about what he wanted to say. “Well, it’s half an idea,” he explained.
Deon told them about Dinesh, the new boy he met in school. He asked, “I wonder if there’s something we could do to, you know, make it easier for him?”
“Hmmm,” Lizzy said.
“I’ve seen that boy,” Kym said. “He’s the new kid in Mrs. Delgado’s class. Do you know him?”
Deon lifted his shoulders and let them drop. “Not really,” he said. “It’s just that he seems, I don’t know, lonely or sad. He’s new, you know. He just stands there in the playground, not even doing anything. Recess is supposed to be the best time of th
e day. And for him it’s like . . . a big nothing.”
“Maybe he likes being alone,” Connor countered. “His idea of fun might be different than yours. Did you ever think of that?”
“It’s possible, I suppose,” Kym offered.
“Maybe he needs a buddy,” Deon said.
“That’s your big idea?” Connor frowned. He stood and rubbed his belly. “I’m seriously starving. Anybody want some Doritos?”
Of course, everyone wanted Doritos. They needed Doritos. Because that’s the way the world works. Human beings need food, air, water, shelter, and Doritos to survive. Everybody knows that.
So Connor went inside the house, leaving Kym alone on one side of the empty bench.
Which prompted Lizzy to say “Hmmm” again.
That was two times.
When Lizzy went “Hmmm” twice, it usually meant the wheels in her head were going round and round.
“What are you thinking?” Kym asked.
Lizzy cleared her throat. “Have either of you guys ever heard of a buddy bench?”
— CHAPTER 7 —
The Big Idea
Inside the O’Malleys’ house, Kym tapped away at the computer keyboard. She began the search by typing in “buddy bench.”
Deon and Lizzy stood at her shoulders like human bookends. Connor was nowhere to be seen, probably still foraging in the kitchen like a pig rooting for scraps.
“Cool, check this out.” Kym leaned into the screen. She had found an article titled “Kids Don’t Have to Be Lonely at Recess Anymore.” “This article talks about an ordinary kid who helped spread the idea.” She read silently, eyes swiftly scanning the words. Kym turned to Deon. “This boy gave a presentation to the school board. He even spoke before the whole school.”
“But back up,” Deon said. “What exactly is a buddy bench, anyway?”
“Look, here’s a picture of one,” Kym said.
It was a photograph of a bench, painted bright blue. Across the back read the words BUDDY BENCH.
Kym reached for her notebook and started writing. She scribbled down key words from the article: tolerance, kindness, respect. Kym slid over to another seat so she had more room to write. “Take over at the computer for me, Deon. See what else pops up.”
“So if a kid feels lonely or left out, he can sit on the bench and someone will come over,” Deon said.
“He or she,” Kym corrected.
“The bench acts like a signal,” Lizzy said. “Everybody needs a buddy.”
“Not bad,” Deon said. “Write that down, Kym. Everybody needs a buddy. That could be our slogan.”
At that moment Connor walked past carrying a small stack of Oreos. He paused to glance at the screen, and proceeded to the glass door that opened to the backyard.
“Hey, Con?” Lizzy said. “You should check out what we—”
He stepped out and pulled the door closed without a word.
Meanwhile, Kym and Deon talked excitedly about the buddy benches. “Click on images,” Kym suggested.
Deon dragged the mouse and clicked.
“Whoa, look at all of them!” Deon exclaimed. Dozens of photos of brightly painted benches popped up. “Awesome! The PTA should totally do this!”
Lizzy walked to the window. She saw Connor sitting by himself, carefully pulling apart his cookie to get at the creamy filling. “Back in a sec,” she said to Deon and Kym.
She went outside to join her twin.
“Mind if I sit with you?” she asked.
Connor shrugged. He was sitting at one end of the long bench.
“So what’s up?” Lizzy asked.
“Just bored, I guess,” Connor replied.
Lizzy looked up. A cloud drifted in front of the sun. It felt colder. In a month, autumn would turn to winter. Lizzy shivered.
And she waited.
Finally, Connor half mumbled, “Nobody listens to me. You guys all think I’m dumb.”
“What are you talking about?” Lizzy asked.
“You know, my rocket ship idea,” he replied.
Lizzy suppressed a smile. “Not dumb. But maybe a little unrealistic. Don’t you think?”
Connor handed Lizzy his last Oreo. “If I eat all of these, I might hurl,” he confessed.
Lizzy took the cookie and, unlike her twin, bit into it without even separating the black exteriors.
Connor shook his head. “You’re an animal.”
Lizzy grinned and swallowed the rest of the cookie. “Doesn’t matter how you eat it, it all goes to the same place.”
Connor nodded. “I guess a rocket ship was a pretty bad idea. But you guys didn’t even take me seriously.”
Lizzy didn’t answer. She knew her brother. And she also knew the value of silence.
Connor continued, “I mean, I guess I knew they weren’t going to build a rocket ship in the playground. That’s got to cost a lot of money. But I’ve seen them in other places. Like that playground when we were on vacation in Cape Cod. It was awesome! And I thought it would be cool if—”
“It would be cool,” Lizzy said kindly. “No one’s arguing that.” She paused before asking, “So what do you think of the buddy bench?”
Connor looked at his sister. “A bench is a good idea,” he admitted. “It’s kind, too. I wish I thought of it. And besides, just look at us. I was here alone and you came to join me. It works!”
— CHAPTER 8 —
Glitter and Gossip
Miss Zips glided on her fancy black chair with rolling wheels to the front of the room. “I thought we’d start our day by playing with glitter. Everybody likes glitter, right? It’s shiny and fun.”
The students quickly gathered on the rug. After Miss Zips wisely separated Otis Smick from Bartimus Finkle, she showed the class her personal glitter collection. Miss Zips had a tray with at least a dozen small plastic containers of glitter—gold and blue, bright red and dazzling silver, and more.
“Ooooh,” voices murmured.
Miss Zips nodded to Mr. Sanders, who wrote the word GOSSIP on the board. That was when everyone realized that, despite the glitter, Miss Zips was sharing one of those “teachable moments.”
She loved teachable moments.
Rosa Morales whispered to Kym. “Just watch. It starts with glitter. But she’s trying to teach us something. Just wait and see.” Rosa crossed her arms and sniffed. Hummphff.
Kym’s eyes never left Miss Zips. She didn’t mind a little learning. Kym was not the type of person to speak while Miss Zips was talking. That would be rude. Besides, how was Kym going to become a United States senator if she didn’t pay attention in school?
Miss Zips told the class that she was inspired to try this activity because of all the wild talk about the PTA’s extra money. “There were a lot of stories and rumors going around. All that loose talk reminded me of gossip,” Miss Zips said. She looked around the room. “Would anyone like to tell me what that word means?”
Suri Brewster’s hand shot to the ceiling. “Gossip is when people say things about other people that might be hurtful or untrue.”
“Very good, Suri,” Miss Zips said. “That’s exactly right. Gossip often involves rumors or information that hasn’t been confirmed as true. When we don’t know the facts, it’s often best to keep our mouths shut.”
The class listened quietly. Some of them stared at the rug. Others fiddled with the Velcro on their shoes. They secretly hoped that Miss Zips would get back to the glitter.
“Mr. Sanders,” said Miss Zips. “Do you happen to have any money in your pocket?”
The classroom aide reluctantly lifted a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet.
“Now we’ll play a little game,” Miss Zips said. “I’ll need five volunteers.”
The twenty-dollar bill inspired a lot of class participation. Everyone raised a hand, and some students raised both hands. Miss Zips selected Kym, Hayden, Kaylee, Connor, and Padma Bitar to stand in the front of the room.
Everyone else moaned in disap
pointment.
“Don’t worry, I promise you’ll all get a turn,” Miss Zips said. “For now, I have a simple task for our five volunteers to complete.” She poured glitter into Kym’s hands. “All you have to do is pass it along down the line. When you accomplish that, I’ll gladly give you this twenty dollars.”
“Hey!” Mr. Sanders protested.
Miss Zips held up a finger. “However, not one speck of glitter is allowed to fall to the floor, or stick to your hands. You have to pass it along perfectly. Okay? You have three minutes. Go!”
Well, the students tried. They really did. But it was an impossible task. And it got more impossible, and a bit soggier, after Connor sneezed. Yuck. By the end of three minutes, glitter was spilled everywhere. No matter how careful the students were, pieces stuck to everyone’s hands. Bits sprinkled to the floor. Different groups of five teamed up, but not one succeeded. After everyone tried and failed, Miss Zips asked if the class had learned anything. “Yeah, I’m never going to be a millionaire,” Deon muttered.
Giggles filled the room.
Kym said, “I think you were trying to tell us that gossip is like glitter.”
Miss Zips nodded. “Gossip sticks to people, even when it’s not true. And sometimes our gossip travels to places we never intended for it to go. Gossip seems sparkly and fun in the beginning—but it usually ends up making a mess.”
Mr. Sanders stepped forward to gently pluck the twenty-dollar bill from Miss Zips’s hand. “Let’s hope this money sticks to me,” he chuckled.
Miss Zips smiled. “I’m glad Mr. Sanders is happy. And I have news that I think will make our entire class happy, too.”
“Real news or fake news?” Connor asked.
“The best kind of news, direct from the source,” Miss Zips replied. “According to Principal Tuxbury, the PTA has indeed raised quite a bit of money this year. And they are going to use that money to help the school.”
Everybody Needs a Buddy Page 2