Six Thousand Doughnuts

by Thomas Tosi

  I guess I was a little louder than I meant to be because everyone stopped squabbling over doughnuts and turned to listen.

  Sure, now they’re paying attention.

  “It was me.”

  “Exactly what was you?” Judge Sally asked.

  “The whole doughnut thing. I’m the one who thought I was being so smart by twisting those rules around like a puzzle.”

  Marlene’s face peeked out from her mother’s side. That kind of gave me the courage to go on.

  “Just once, I wanted to know what it felt like to have something that was mine.”

  Marlene did a wonderful thing then. She sniffled and gave me a smile.

  “You’re telling me that you’re the negligent party,” the judge said to me.

  ‘I don’t know what that means.”

  “Means it’s your fault,” Celia said. “Don’t say it.”

  “Yeah, I guess it was.”

  “Oh lord, I’m ‘bout to lose my first case,” Celia said.

  “Then, I have no other choice,” the judge said. “judgment for the Sweetly Crisp Corporation. They are entitled to receive compensation for damages to the shop equivalent to five hundred dollars.”

  “Five hundred dollars! I don’t have five hundred dollars.”

  “The Sweetly Crisp Corporation is not seeking five hundred dollars in compensation.”

  Whew.

  “They are seeking compensation equivalent to five hundred dollars. You see, the Sweetly Crisp Corporation wishes to be paid…in doughnuts. By your reckoning, twenty doughnuts to a penny, two hundred doughnuts to a dime, two thousand doughnuts to a dollar, etcetera, etcetera, yadda, yadda, yadda, which means that five hundred dollars equals…one…million…doughnuts.”

  “One million doughnuts! That’s being way mean.”

  “They’re entitled to it by the rules. Isn’t that what you cared about?”

  “Yeah, but I wasn’t trying to do something mean to them.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  My hands were shaking again, and I was sweating. I bet I looked like Bernard back on the playground when he almost got clocked by the demented first graders on swings.

  The camera with the red light glowing moved in closer to me.

  “Of course not. I couldn’t do something mean to Marlene and her dad because I…”

  “You what?”

  The camera moved in for the kill.

  “Because I like…”

  “You like what?” said the judge.

  “Don’t say it!” said Celia in the courtroom.

  Don’t say it! said Dewey in my head.

  Wait and you’re lost, said Bernard in my heart.

  “Because I like…” and the next word came out in the same super‐slow, low‐pitched, growly voice as Celia’s scream on the doughnut face video “…MAARLEEENE.”

  Ooooooooh.

  Judge Sally leaned forward over her desk to stare at me.

  “You like her?” she said. “Or you like her, like her?”

  The big glass eye of the camera lens whirled and twirled again. Somewhere on the other side of that eye were Dewey, Peachy, Bernard, Bridget, Miss Sorenson, Mr. Richards, Mrs. Stonebottom—Dolores—all the kids from the playground, and all the people in the world. Watching.

  And I didn’t care.

  “Yes! I like her, like her! Okay? Okay? Happy now?”

  Psycho meltdown.

  “Holy crap!” shouted Brian and James from the back of the courtroom with their mouths chock full of doughnuts.

  “Well, okay then,” Judge Sally said as if I’d just told her what time it was—as if I hadn’t just reached down my own throat, pulled out my still‐beating heart, and handed it to the bailiff to hold up in front of everyone while the woman with the headset flapped her arms all the way to the moon.

  “The court, therefore, orders all studio doughnuts to be returned,” Judge Sally said, tapping her gavel delicately.

  “judgment for the Sweetly Crisp Corporation in the amount of one million doughnuts.”

  Case Closed: An Epilogue in Three Chapters

  A Side of String Bean

  When I got back to school, I wondered how long it would take before things were normal again—well, as normal as anything ever gets around here. How long before they stopped calling me dough‐NUT, asking if I got Judge Sally’s autograph, and stopped singing, Abe and Marlene, sittin’ in a tree, K‐I‐S‐S‐I‐N‐G?

  I hated that song—partly because it was embarrassing, but mostly because Miss Sorenson was so tired of hearing it that she broke Marlene and me up. We weren’t desk buddies anymore. She juggled us all around. In the end, it was Bridget who got paired with Marlene, and I got Bernard.

  Ever since I said that about Marlene on the TV show, I felt like I had a worm squirming around in my guts—like the one in the ceramic apple on Miss Sorenson’s desk. I didn’t know if Marlene was mad about what I said or not. Or if it was possible that maybe she felt, you know, kind of the same way.

  “So, did you have to hand over a million doughnuts?” Bernard asked.

  I realized that I’d been whispering small fractions of the whole story to my new desk buddy all day.

  “No. Turns out that the whales never did expect me to pay,” I said. “I think they only agreed to go to court in the first place so they could get publicity on national TV for free. ‘Cause after the trial was all over, they agreed to drop their case if I dropped mine. Fine by me.”

  “So, you’re free and clear as far as the doughnuts go?”

  “Not exactly. Since Celia didn’t win us any doughnuts, she doesn’t get her contingency thing. But I still owed doughnuts to Mr. Richards for parents’ night…and to you, of course.”

  “Uh‐huh. That’s why you have to stay after? Because of Mr. Richards?”

  “No, my mom and dad made my brothers pay for the parents’ night doughnuts from their MyVids money. I have to stay after to make up my essay.”

  Bridget turned then. She must have thought she was being so sly.

  Geez, girls.

  She pretended like she was checking the wall clock, seeing if the bell would ring. But I saw what she really did.

  Dropping her gaze a little lower, she snuck a glance at Bernard. Bernard saw it, too. She didn’t smile, she didn’t wink, and she didn’t pucker up and blow him a smooch, if that’s what you were thinking—no, nothing like that.

  But she also didn’t do her patented eye roll or giggle this time. It was just a normal glance. And maybe a glance was enough. Bernard seemed to think so, anyway. He did a cartoon gulp, and his eyes were sparkling—they were really shooting off stars.

  I thought I was going to have to slap him to break the Bridget trance. Instead, I just said, “My essay. I have to write my essay.”

  “Oh. Ah, you want some help with it?”

  At that moment, he looked like he was so over‐the‐moon thrilled that he would have helped anyone with anything.

  But the last thing I wanted was a goofy‐happy essay when I…well…when I just wasn’t.

  “No thanks. I’ll be okay. Besides, I don’t have any doughnuts to pay you with.”

  The bell rang. Miss Sorenson frantically tried to give out the homework assignment over the scuffing, scraping sound of everyone pushing their chairs back and getting up to leave.

  Everyone but me.

  Bernard hauled himself up to his full height, towering.

  “I don’t need any of your doughnuts, kid,” he said, sounding like an adult again and puffing out that skinny chest of his. He nodded toward Bridget. “I have to go.”

  “I thought you needed to fatten up? I thought you were upset about being a string bean?”

  “String bean?” Bernard shrugged. “Turns out that maybe some people like string beans. You never know.”

  He went to join the crush of kids funneling out the classroom door. About halfway down our aisle, he turned back to me.

  “Hey, good luck.”

  I
waved at him with the blue‐lined piece of paper I had out for my essay.

  “Yeah, it won’t be bad.”

  “No. I mean good luck—you know, on everything.” Bernard thumped his palm on his chest like a heartbeat and gave me a wink.

  As I watched Bernard leave with his crazy old man shoes and bushy hair, I thought about how most people might worry when the one person in the world who knew exactly how they felt was also the goofiest kid in their grade. Me? I didn’t mind so much.

  I watched him catch up with Bridget. It wasn’t hard. She kind of hung back on the outer edge of the group and went way slow. She thought she was slick, but she was so obvious.

  Ahead of them were Marlene and her friends—lots of friends, giggling friends. I’d never get the chance to ask her.

  And ahead of Marlene were Peachy and Dewey, pushing, shoving, and laughing their way out together.

  Miss Sorenson, who had made her way into the crowded hallway, was talking with Mr. Richards and a couple of other teachers.

  Everybody had somebody.

  When the door closed, it got quiet.

  I guess I finally had something to myself—something I didn’t have to share—the whole empty room.

  I sat there, alone.

  Heart and Soul

  The whole thing started with a doughnut.

  My new essay began the same way it did the last time, but the rest of it wasn’t exactly what I had originally planned.

  For one, I put in the part about blackmailing Peg for the three dollars. I also didn’t try to make the doughnut fight…or the flying parfait…or the slug…sound like they were Marlene’s fault so much. Brian and James still came off pretty bad but not totally. I also wrote about going to the TV studio for the Judge Sally Rules show, but I didn’t write anything about Marlene being in court before with her parents. That was her private stuff and not mine to poke at.

  It was when I was writing the last part that the music started.

  Miss Sorenson hadn’t come back yet. As far as I could see from my seat, looking through the classroom door window, the hallway was empty.

  That quiet building was the only reason I could hear the soft and faint melody. I would never have been able to hear it if there had been a lot of footsteps, locker doors slamming, and shouting.

  I guess it’s easy to miss the important stuff in life when everything is noisy.

  I got up from my desk and crossed the room.

  The old, dented round metal knob on the door to the hallway felt cool in my hand. I turned it carefully and, when it wouldn’t go any further, I eased the door open. I didn’t want the hinges to screech too badly.

  Someone was playing the piano.

  There was only one place that sound could be coming from.

  Off to one side of the band room, where I now stood after following the echoing music down the hallway, there was an even smaller room with a piano in it—the practice room.

  I stood looking through the super thick glass window. I saw the fancy braids on the back of Marlene’s head. I watched her arms sway back and forth. She made her hands glide over the keyboard—almost like she didn’t have to think about it. Holy moly, she wasn’t even looking down at her fingers.

  How can she do that? How can she make sure she hits the right spots?

  All the kids knew that you weren’t supposed to bug anybody when they were in the practice room, but I slipped in anyway. Marlene didn’t hear me.

  The music from a real piano in that little space was something that you sort of felt more than heard. I don’t mean like too loud or anything—I just mean like you absorbed it through your whole body and not just your ears.

  I closed my eyes and let it sink in.

  I still had them closed tight—probably too long—when the music stopped.

  I opened my eyes. Marlene had swiveled on the piano bench and was looking right at me. I didn’t know for how long.

  “I’m glad your hand wasn’t wrecked,” I said. “You’re really good.”

  “Thanks. Want to try?”

  Apparently, she had never heard me play the triangle…or the tambourine…or the cymbals…or the stick and block…or anything else they dared give me in music class.

  I was going to shove my hands into my pockets, tell her that I didn’t know anything about music, that I couldn’t play the piano, that I was afraid of messing up in front of anyone—especially her. But I didn’t.

  Wait and you’re lost.

  Marlene slid over, and I sat down. She showed me where to put my hands on the keyboard. She actually took my hands and placed them on the keyboard.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “We can play this one together. It’s fun.”

  She began to teach me something she called Heart and Soul.

  “Here, like this.” She showed me which keys to hit. They had a satisfying weight to them when you plunked them with your fingertips.

  “This is your part,” Marlene said. “I play my part down here. They’re different, but they go together.”

  It was pretty simple. As soon as we started, I recognized it and caught on. But sometimes, I got stuck. When I did, Marlene slowed down and let me catch up. It was funny, she was the one that kept getting us back on track, and I was the one that was supposed to be so clever.

  “I’m sorry about busting in on your time in here,” I said. “I know they don’t like people doing that.”

  “That’s okay.”

  We played Heart and Soul twice more. I could tell it was way too easy for her. It was probably boring compared to what she was playing when I showed up.

  “How long do you have to stay here and practice?” I asked.

  “I don’t. I’m walking over to Bridget’s house after school today. I’m staying with her because her little sister is having a sleepover.”

  “Peg’s going to that! I’m walking over there, too, to meet my Dad.”

  As soon as I mentioned Peg, that worm in my gut did a little dance—he had better rhythm than I did—and somebody turned the thermostat up on my face. I was embarrassed because Marlene knew the crummy deal I had talked my little sister into because of Franny’s sleepover.

  But Marlene was cool about it. She reached down to the far end of the keyboard and played, dum‐dum‐dum, dummm. The sound was so low and scary even the walls vibrated.

  She laughed.

  So did I.

  We took another pass through Heart and Soul, and I didn’t stumble so much. She was right. It was fun.

  I stopped playing.

  Those darn swimming pool eyes. How come she can look at me and keep her part of the song going? If there is ever going to be a time to find out how she feels, this is it.

  “Hey, I was wondering…about that thing I said on the Judge Sally Rules show…”

  “Ha! You said a lot on that show. Which thing?”

  “You know. The thing about you…”

  Marlene froze, her fingers hovering above the keys. This time, her face got steamy. She bit on her lower lip and looked all around the room—even though there wasn’t anything especially interesting to see.

  If I didn’t know better, I would have said that Marlene Paczki was starting to show symptoms of a psycho meltdown.

  “Oh, the thing you said about me.”

  She took one of my mom’s deep cleansing breaths.

  She let it out.

  She opened her mouth to speak.

  And that’s when the rumbling noise came from outside.

  A Sugar‐Glazed Ending

  They’re here!” Marlene shouted. “They made it on time.”

  She shoved open the tall, wooden, double doors at the front of the school and leaped down the worn granite steps two at a time.

  I was worried she’d get hurt taking the stairs like that until I realized she was Wonder Woman. She had to be, the way she burst through those heavy doors. When they were swinging back as I came through, they hit me in the shoulder and almost knocked me on my butt.


  Marlene did a somersault on the school’s front lawn. She ended with a roll down onto the grass. A bright reddish‐yellow oak leaf stuck in her braids.

  She was looking at a truck with an enormous shiny box trailer that had huffed to a stop in front of the school while we were in the practice room.

  Good. She hadn’t seen me struggling with the doors like a weakling.

  The school doors slammed shut behind me as I noticed what was painted on the side of the truck.

  The white trailer had the same design they used on the Sweetly Crisp Doughnut boxes. The words “SWEETLY CRISP DOUGHNUTS” were wrapped around a big picture of a smiling waiter‐like guy who was holding out a pink‐frosted doughnut, with sprinkles and a bite taken out of it, and offering it to you.

  I could never figure out why that guy looked like he was trying to sell me a doughnut that someone else had already bitten. The style of the letters and the painting of the Sweetly Crisp guy and doughnut were really old‐fashioned looking. Maybe that’s why there was a bite taken out of the doughnut he was selling—maybe that’s just how they did things back in the old days.

  What the heck is a Sweetly Crisp Doughnuts delivery truck doing in front of my school?

  I was going to ask Marlene, but she was too busy rolling on the grass and laughing.

  “You Abe Mitchell?”

  “Huh?” I said.

  The driver of the truck—who looked nothing like the doughnut guy—was standing in front of me. He held out an electronic gizmo with a plastic pencil thing attached.

  “That’s him,” Marlene choked out through snorts like she was trying to calm herself down. “You have to sign that thing,” she said to me.

  “Wait. Does this mean…”

  At the back of the truck, the driver guy slid out a silver ramp that scraped and banged and went from the street up to the bumper. We both walked to the top. He bent down and wrestled with a metal lever.

  The door of the trailer rattled up like our garage door back home.