100 Days and 99 Nights by Alan Madison

Author:Alan Madison [MADISON, ALAN]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV000000
ISBN: 9780316033558
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2008-04-30T16:00:00+00:00

My hand was already up as Ms. Pitcher turned from the blackboard where she had just pink-chalk-written 4 x 4 = ______.

“Esme?”

“We didn’t finish talking about what we can do to help on our home front.”

“It’s math, not history,” whined Georgina, who paid just as little attention to one as to the other.

“Shhhh,” growled Martina in a way that made Georgina sink deep into her chair, cross her arms, and look down.

Math is my favorite subject, but this was more important than worrying about favorites.

“That is true, Georgina, but this is important,” agreed our teacher as if she were reading my mind. “Let’s take a few minutes to finish. Suggestions?”

Whew, do I like Ms. Pitcher. To make sure the pouting Georgina got the message loud and clear Martina continued to stare at her. Whew, do I like Martina.

Hands shot up, whispered ideas crisscrossed desks, and shouted suggestions bounced off the blackboard, followed by the stern “Wait your turn, children.” There were so many ideas that Ms. Pitcher had to erase 1 x 1 = ______, 2 x 2 = ______, 3 x 3 = ______ and the recently written 4 x 4= ______ to write them all down. The board was chock-full of suggestions that went from the kooky and crazy (“We should fly over there and drop candy.”) to the possible, doable, but not really helpful (“We should draw pictures and write letters.”). After a trillion ideas, the exhausted class went silent.

“We will just be in the way,” barked Richie, eyes narrowed and arms folded, chin stubbornly pasted down on his neck. He looked like one of those flat-headed angry dogs that Dad always told us to stay clear of. Martina moved her head slightly right so Richie could just barely see the whites of her eyes. He choked on his next sentence, not letting it fully leave his mouth. It sounded like a turkey gobble. Everyone laughed.

“Class,” called Ms. Pitcher to quiet us.

The thought of not doing anything made my body feel like a pirate’s spyglass collapsing down, until it was small enough to fit in a pocket. “We’ll vote. That’s the democratic thing to do,” decided Ms. Pitcher.

“Yes, the democratic thing,” repeated Martina, her eyeballs still cruelly shifted toward Richie.

“Absolutely demm-ooo-crat-tic,” I drawled slowly. I wasn’t exactly sure what it meant we would do but knew that it was better than big Richie’s and little Georgina’s bitter frowns.

“Raise your hands if you want to do something to help.”

I held my breath, raised my hand, and closed my eyes. As if in a deep sleep I could barely hear Ms. Pitcher’s voice counting, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. . . . I couldn’t keep my eyes closed and my breath held any longer — breathe — open — so many hands were raised!

We voted (which was “the democratic thing to do”), and decided 23–2 (you can guess who the two were) that we would, just like the children of World War II, do many things on the home front over here to help our fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, and friends over there.

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