Adam Canfield of the Slash (26 page)

Mrs. Boland explained that homeowners who had been red-tagged could now safely go about their business without fear of prosecution.

“This is a minor blip,” Mrs. Boland bubbled on. “Our board will be undertaking several exciting new projects in the new year. We are committed to eliminating every last pocket of blight in Tremble. Big changes are coming.”

To end the report, Peter Friendly said, “Mrs. Boland, I understand you have a consumer tip for removing an unwanted red tag.”

“That’s right, Peter.” Mrs. Boland smiled. “I suggest a bucket of soap and warm water mixed with two capfuls of ammonia.”

“And a little elbow grease?” Peter Friendly winked. “This has been another exclusive Cable 12 Eyewitness report.”

As Christmas approached, there were holiday concerts to rehearse for, holiday basketball tournaments to practice for, holiday shopping trips to plan for. Some days, Adam’s To Do list was three feet long. In room 306 unanswered questions kept piling up. Who would be the next principal? Where would Spring Boland strike next? Had they really heard the last of Marris?

Adam and Jennifer found the better the
Slash
became, the more people expected. Big kids Phoebe didn’t even know spotted her in the hallway and shouted, “Yo, Front-Page, whatchya got cooking?”

Every day Phoebe raced into 306 with another hot tip. By the week before Christmas, she had eight front-page stories working, none that she could finish in the next six months.

Finally, Jennifer had to throw up her hands and scream, “Enough!” It was time, she told her staff, to stop and smell the roses. They’d all been so crazy with the Marris story, they were going to take a break and wait until after vacation to do a combined December/January issue. Jennifer said she had researched it, and there was no disgrace in a combined issue; even the
New Yorker
did it sometimes.

The cheering was so loud, Eddie heard it in the boiler room.

The
Slash
’s annual holiday party that week was the best in memory. Everyone was in a great mood; just three days of school left. They drank punch bowls full of jungle juice, danced on the couches, and wolfed down several cartons of Sugar Booger Dips and Brown Sugar Wallops.

There were joke gifts for everyone. Adam and Jennifer got tiny toilet bowls spray-painted gold. The typist who had been so scared that night at the boathouse got a rubber mouse. Phoebe was presented with a CD they’d burned specially for her of Phyllis’s screaming voice turned into a rap song:

It was dark by the time the party ended. Jennifer and Adam stayed after to clean up so Eddie wouldn’t have a fit. As they headed out, Adam nearly tripped against something that had been left leaning against the door to 306.

He stepped back into the room and tore off the wrapping paper. It was a plaque. At the top it said
Excelsior!
And then:

T
O
A
DAM AND
J
ENNIFER, COEDITORS EXTRAORDINAIRE, WHO DEMONSTRATED COURAGE OF MYTHIC PROPORTIONS, MARCHING BELOW THE EARTH’S SURFACE, ENGAGING IN MORTAL COMBAT, SLAYING THE BEAST, AND EMERGING FROM THE
B
UNKER INTO THE DAYLIGHT, THEIR PERMANENT RECORDS UNTARNISHED.
W
ITH FONDEST ADMIRATION
, P
RESCOTT
B
ROOKS

Adam read it twice. He was so moved, he was afraid Jennifer might see, so he looked out the window. That’s when he noticed. The first snow of the winter was really coming down.

The windows were steamy, and Jennifer used her hand to wipe clear a spot. “Perfect night for Adam Canfield’s one-hundred-percent-foolproof wake-up system,” she said softly. Her head was so close, Adam could smell fruity apricot shampoo. She leaned toward him — then punched him on the arm and raced out of the room, yelling, “Too fast to be last!”

Adam shook his head in disgust and turned off the lights, but he was smiling in the dark.

Michael Winerip
is the author of Adam
Canfield
of the Slash and a Pulitzer Prize – winning reporter for the
New York
Times. He says, “After I finished writing the first Adam Canfield novel, I thought,
Well, that’s that.
But then Adam, Jennifer, and Phoebe were still staring at me, and I could see immediately that they were not done with their work. They were hungry to report more news stories, anxious to right more wrongs, desperate to tell the truth as they saw it, dying to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. I knew they needed to get busy doing what they do best, putting out the
Slash
, the world’s greatest middle-school newspaper.” Michael Winerip lives on Long Island, New York, with his wife and children.