Adam Canfield of the Slash (12 page)

There was nothing like that. Marris was careful about saying the gift was for “general improvements.” That could be anything.

“I smell a rat,” said Jennifer.

Adam nodded. But what should they do? The deadline for the
Slash
October issue was a week away. They still hadn’t nailed down the basketball hoop story. Half the articles weren’t even typed into the computer. No way they were going to get to the bottom of the Miss Bloch investigation in a week.

Adam and Jennifer figured they had three options.

They could print the Miss Bloch story just the way Mrs. Marris had told it to them in the Bunker interview. Then they could do a second story in the next issue when they had figured out how Marris had really used the money. The problem with that option: they’d be publishing a lie. How could they write that Minnie Bloch was a rich lady who had a happy life and donated her money for “general improvements”?

Or a second possibility was printing a story that included everything the Willows lady told Adam. But that would tip off Marris about their investigation when it was only half done. Marris would have time to destroy any incriminating evidence — and Adam and Jennifer, too.

The third possibility was holding the story. Say nothing about Adam’s visit to the Willows. Do more reporting and hopefully figure it all out for the November issue. But that could be a disaster, too. Marris wanted her version of the story in the paper now. Apparently, she needed to publicize the gift to satisfy Miss Bloch’s will. Marris must have decided a story in the
Slash
would be the easiest — and least noticed — way to give Minnie Bloch credit. If Adam and Jennifer told Marris the story wasn’t finished, she could go ballistic.

“What a mess,” said Adam. “We are definitely not getting out of this alive.” Worse yet, the Miss Bloch story was supposed to go on the front page. How would they fill the space?

“I’ve got something,” Jennifer said. “You’re going to love this. You know the big, old beautiful houses out on Breckenridge?”

Adam did. They had once been farmhouses, and while the farms were long gone, the rolling green hills and white picket fences were a reminder that Tremble used to be country.

“You know that wooden cow in the front yard of the house where the road bends?” said Jennifer. Adam smiled. Boy, did he. It was a life-size black-and-white plywood cow, and while it wasn’t the kind of thing you talked about much, that wooden cow was one of those special things about Tremble. When Adam was little, his father made up a story about the cow. Adam couldn’t remember the details — something about a wizard turning a real cow into wood to punish a greedy farmer. But every time they drove by in those days, little Adam would yell, “Daddy, tell the cow story, tell it, Daddy.”

“It’s stolen,” said Jennifer. “Someone stole the wooden cow.”

“No,” said Adam. “Really? Great story.”

“It gets better,” said Jennifer. “The owner knows my mom.” Jennifer’s mother and the woman belonged to the same garden club. The woman mentioned the missing cow at their last meeting, and afterward Jennifer called for more details. The woman was delighted to talk, figured a story might help get the cow back.

“It gets better,” said Jennifer. “She’s offering a hundred-dollar reward for the return of her cow. No questions asked.”

“No questions asked?” said Adam. “I love it. It’s like the war on terrorism. Wanted dead or alive, no questions asked! I can’t wait to write the headline.”

“Whoa,” said Jennifer. “My story, my headline.”

At the start of Wednesday’s class, Mr. Brooks said, “Boys and girls, I have a curriculum-related announcement.” He paused. “There will be no World Domination game this year.”

They were absolutely shocked, too stunned to say a word at first. Then all the hands shot up at once. What had they done? There had to be some mistake. They’d try harder, they promised. They’d memorize the
Aeneid
in Latin. This just wasn’t possible.

“
Excelsior
’s our motto, too,” said a girl, “from the Latin, Mr. Brooks, to excel.”

“Please,” Mr. Brooks said. “It’s not your fault. You’re as fine a class as any I’ve had in my forty years of teaching. Or at least you have the potential to reach the summit — from the Latin, as you probably guessed,
summum.
” He coughed, seemed to be stalling. They were hanging on every word, knew that he wouldn’t lie to them, not Mr. Brooks.

But what finally came out sounded so lame, Adam felt it might as well be a lie. Mr. Brooks said if he was going to cover all the subject matter for the state history test this year, there wasn’t time to play World Domination. In the month that they would have taken to play the game, Mr. Brooks said he could teach them a couple of centuries worth of world history facts that would likely turn up on the state test.

Their hands shot up again, but Mr. Brooks shook his head. “Sorry, it’s not up for debate,” he said. “This is school policy. We have lots to do. Today we’re journeying back to Plato’s Academy.”

“Please, Mr. Brooks,” Adam called out. “Could we just see the game board? Franky Cutty says it’s bigger than the tallest guy in the NBA. It isn’t really, is it?”

Like the rest of his class, Adam was heartbroken. But unlike the others, he felt he had the power to do something. After school that same day, he went straight to Mr. Brooks’s room. His knock seemed to startle the teacher, who was stacking the day’s homework into his worn leather briefcase.

Adam explained he was ready to do a story for the
Slash
about the end of World Domination. “You don’t know how much kids love that game,” Adam said. “How we’ve been looking forward to it. Even Franky Cutty — he was like the most with-it kid in the history of Harris Middle — Franky says it is the most he ever learned in a class.”

Mr. Brooks said nothing.

“We’d all stand behind you, Mr. Brooks,” Adam said. “We’ll start petitions; we’ll picket. This is worse than that Justinian I guy you told us about this morning, shutting down Plato’s Academy. We’ll get the policy changed. Does Mrs. Marris know? We’ll get her to help.”

Mr. Brooks turned away. When he finally spoke, his response surprised Adam. In class he was the most powerful, most intimidating, most inspiring teacher Adam had ever known, constantly urging them to be bold in their thinking. Now he looked tired, old, almost fragile. “My dear, dear Adam,” he said. “I can’t stop you from writing a newspaper article. A person doesn’t have to be much of a history buff to know that one of the things that makes our democracy so strong is freedom of the press. But man to man, I’m going to ask you — please don’t write a word of what I’m about to say. I’m in no position to talk openly. Do I have your word?”

For a moment Adam thought about doing the story without Mr. Brooks. Adam knew the facts. He could interview kids about their reaction. And then he could put in that Mr. Brooks had refused to comment. Reporters did it all the time. It was just — Mr. Brooks was such a decent man; Adam hated writing a story that would upset him.

So he nodded, and the moment he did, he had a sick feeling.

“For three years,” Mr. Brooks said, “I’ve fought this battle behind the scenes with Mrs. Marris. Yes, that’s right, Marris. I tried convincing her that in middle school, instead of racing through three thousand years of history facts, there ought to be the freedom to study fewer historical periods closer up. If a class falls in love with Columbus or Magellan, what’s wrong with spending an extra week taking the students onto the decks of those ships through the explorers’ journals?

“Marris knows how much students learn from World Domination. There was a time, years ago, she thought it was so great, she got the local paper to do a story. But principals, they go whichever way the wind blows. And right now, we’ve got a level-five hurricane blowing for state testing.

“I held her off awhile,” he continued. “And then the results from last year’s test came in. My classes did fine, well above average, but not as high as some of the Tri-River districts where teachers follow the state study guide line by line.

“Marris went berserk. The first week of school, she yanked me out of class, summoned me to the Bunker. She kept screaming that state test results ‘damn well do matter,’ to taxpayers, politicians, the school board, the media — well, really, to all five billion people on the planet. She said unless I stuck to the state study guide, she would do her best to haul me before the school board and get me fired.”

The more Adam listened, the more embarrassed he felt, like this was stuff a kid shouldn’t hear. He looked out the window. The afternoon light already had a tinge of orange; the days were getting shorter, all right. He hated that about the fall. He hated how bad all this was making him feel.

“Adam,” Mr. Brooks said softly. “I don’t want to be the center of attention in some big political battle. I don’t want the school board debating whether my students’ scores on the state test mean I’m a good teacher or not. These battles get ugly, personal. The last thing I want is to be pulled through the mud by the likes of Ruth Ellen Marris. She will do anything to win. This may be hard for you to understand, Adam, but I’m a lifelong bachelor and I’ve been fastidious about keeping my life away from the classroom private. Maybe if I was twenty years younger, if I came of age when society was more . . . more . . . broad-minded, I’d feel I could be a more public person. It’s just, I’m near retirement and holding on to my dignity is very dear to me.”

Mr. Brooks took a white folded handkerchief from his inside suit coat pocket, dabbed his forehead and around his neck. When he spoke again, his voice was closer to normal. “Don’t you worry,” he said. “More than anything, it is my job to fuel your curiosity, and we will never stop working at that. Even without World Domination, I will continue to strive to be like those bold Greeks inside the Trojan Horse — full of surprises! All right?”

Adam nodded. He couldn’t wait to get away from this man.

“Adam?” said Mr. Brooks.
“Ave atque vale.”

“Yeah, right,” mumbled Adam, hurrying out of the room.

The meeting with Mr. Brooks had made Adam late for his after-school voluntary/mandatory. He still didn’t know if he could get a detention for being tardy for a class that was “not really optional in reality.” He should have asked Mr. Brooks for a pass, but he didn’t have the heart to bring it up. Voluntary/mandatory was the last class he wanted to mention to Mr. Brooks.

Adam entered 242 with his head down and walked straight to the back. He kept waiting to hear his name, but when he dared look up, he saw the teacher was distracted. There was a huge smile plastered on her face and her speech sounded giddy. He could barely see her; she was hidden behind towering stacks of workbooks.

“You are witnessing history,” the teacher was saying. “You have no idea how lucky you are.” She held up one of the workbooks like she was Moses on the Mount and had just been handed the two stone tablets. “This is the first study guide ever published for our state competency test! Until now there have been study guides for the SAT, the SAT IIs, the ACTs, the ACT Comps, the GEDs, the APs, the MCATs, the QRXs, and the LMNOPs. But the state competency test was too new.

“Now we have it,” she said, her voice a war cry. “Hot off the presses. The first edition ever. Now we can really get down to business!

“You are the first!” she said hoisting the study guide high over her head again. Adam was impressed with how easily she lifted the book and whirled it around. The thing must have weighed a good five or six pounds. This woman definitely works out, Adam thought.

“We think if you master this guide, it will shoot you twos up to threes and you threes up to fours. We think with this by our side, we can push every last child in Tremble up and over the state competency mountain. We are confident there will not be a single incompetent child left in Tremble!

“This guide would normally cost fifteen dollars and ninety-five cents, plus tax, plus four dollars for shipping, if you ordered online. But it is so important to your futures, to our futures, to all the basic quality-of-life issues in Tremble, that we here at school are providing this book free of charge, thanks to a generous grant from the Boland Foundation.”

She had a boy and girl pass out the books. “Write your name on the inside cover,” she said. “Make this book your best friend. Know it like you know your family.

“For homework, I want you to read the first chapter, ‘The ABCs of Understanding Your State Competency Test.’”