And let it out!
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” Harvey Baxter yells.
“Harvey, we will not fight,” Mrs. D. says. “We’ll do another vote.”
Rita raises her hand. “I’m for Lola’s project. Let’s make compost!”
Jessie raises her hand. “Our class will stink if we do Lola’s idea.”
“Compost, compost, compost!” the boys start yelling, and me and Rita.
“No trash, no trash, no trash!” the girls yell back, except me and Rita.
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.
“Okay, people!” Mrs. D. says. “THAT’S ENOUGH.” We quiet down REAL FAST.
Mrs. D. takes a breath. “So think about what you want to vote for. No talking. No sharing with your neighbor. Think about a trash-free lunch day. That would mean packing a lunch without water bottles, throw-away plastic bags, or paper napkins. The purpose would be to produce less trash. Think about creating a compost heap. That would mean bringing in a small container of garbage. The purpose would be to turn our garbage into mulch for the community garden. Lollipops, we’ll vote tomorrow!”
7. A BRILLIANT IDEA
DAD’S SHINY CAR GLIDES INTO THE garage. I run outside. Patches races me.
“Hi, Dad!” I yell. I do that every night.
“How’s my Little Lola Lemon Drop?” Dad drops his briefcase and scoops me up. He always does. Patches sits on his hiney legs and whines, ’cause he wishes Dad would pick him up, too. Dad sets me down, grabs his briefcase, and I take his hand and pull him to the door.
“Dad, Mom made spaghetti and meatballs. I’m going to use the leftovers for a compost pile.”
“Oh yeah?” Dad says. “You think there’ll be leftovers?”
That’s a good point.
I set the table. Mom heaps spaghetti and meatballs on everyone’s plates. Dad washes his hands and sits down, looking at us with a smile.
“Do I get a hello?” Dad asks Jack.
Jack’s at his seat, reading Sports Illustrated for Kids.
“Oh, hi, Dad,” he says with a metal smile. I’m not allowed to call him Brace Face, even if he likes it. He sets down his magazine and starts to eat.
I poke at my meatball. It has little green flecks in it. I take the world’s smallest bite. It tastes good. But I want to save it for my compost pile.
“I’ll eat those if you don’t want ’em,” Jack says.
“Chew with your mouth shut,” Mom tells Jack.
We go around the table and say two things about our day. Everyone else has to guess which one is true and which one is the lie. The winner gets to go next.
Dad goes first tonight. “I met the President of the United States. I finished the drawings for the new City Hall.”
“You didn’t meet the President!” Jack screams, and me too, but not fast enough.
“Right,” Dad says with a big smile.
“My turn!” Jack says. Then he thinks. “I got back my math quiz and I got an A. I got back my math quiz and I got a C.”
“You didn’t get an A!” I say.
“You didn’t get a C,” Mom says.
“UNNNH.” Jack makes a buzzer sound. “Wrong, Lola! I got an A! Mom is right.”
“Oh, fishsticks! You usually get a C,” I say. “So that was a good guess.”
“What do you mean ‘fishsticks’?” Jack asks.
“That’s a nice way of cursing. Grampy Coogan taught me,” I explain.
“It’s not fishsticks,” Jack says, “it’s fiddlesticks.”
“No, sir. Right, Mom? It’s fishsticks.”
Mom shrugs. That’s a cross between shut up and ugh! “My turn. The Kute Kids Clothing Company placed an order for four hundred Lola dresses. I won the lottery.”
“Lottery!” Jack screams.
“Lottery!” I scream.
“You didn’t win the lottery,” Dad says.
Mom takes a deep breath. “I did!” she says. “Mrs. McCracken down the street bought me a ticket to thank me for sewing her a gardening apron. She loves the special pockets for her tools.”
“Are we rich?” Jack asks. “Can I get a new bike?”
Mom shakes her head. “I won twenty-five dollars, and I split it with her.”
“Why?” I say. “She’s a meanie, and she hates Patches. Is it my turn?”
“She doesn’t hate Patches. But she doesn’t like holes in her yard,” Dad says.
“Patches likes ’em,” I say. “Is it my turn?”
Mom smiles. “One more thing, the Kute Kids Clothing Company did place an order for Lola dresses. Thirty-six dresses. Maybe more if they take off.”
“That’s great, honey,” Dad says. He reaches over and gives her a big ol’ kiss and a squeezy hug.
Finally, it’s my turn.
“I found a black kitten in the backyard. Actually two kittens, one black and one white,” I say. “I am tied for first place with Amanda Anderson for …”
Jack screams over me, “Tied for first place!”
“Jack, let her finish,” Dad says.
“Tied for first place in the Going Green contest, and our class is voting tomorrow,” I say in one big breath.
“That one,” Jack says. “That’s the truth. You are?”
“That’s right!” I say. “Amanda says we have to bring our lunch in reusable containers. I say we bring garbage to school, and make compost like Granny Coogan.”
“Your idea sounds dumb,” Jack says. “To win that Going Green contest you have to do something great. Like me. I invented unplug day. Our class unplugged six hundred and fifty-four energy-sucking plugs.” He rips out a huge belch.
“That’s ONE,” Mom says to Jack. On three he has to go to his room. Then she says to me, “It sounds like a wonderful idea, Lola.”
“What do you think, Dad?” I wait. Dad won’t say he loves the idea just because he loves me.
Dad looks right at me. “Lola, I think it’s brilliant.”
“And could I bring the composter that Granny Coogan gave us?” I ask. “Since we never use it.”
Mom looks pink. “I’m not much of a gardener.”
“You are much of a cook,” Jack says, spearing a meatball.
“What’s that composter bin called?” Dad asks.
“The stinker,” Jack says.
“Uncle Ken’s Kitchen Composter,” I say. “And guess what? You have to buy red wiggly worms to help make the compost. They eat the garbage and then poop it out. Then you have yourself some real nice compost. Granny Coogan said so.”
“We’re proud of you,” Mom says.
Jack pretends that he’s throwing up when Mom and Dad aren’t looking.
We clean up and then Dad sets the timer. It’s Quiet Reading Time In Your Room. After, it’s Brownie Night.
I read, read, read. Then I come downstairs and Jack is already at the table, waiting for his brownie. And what is he wearing? His green vest! It is teensy-weensy on him. He looks like a not-Jolly-Green-Giant. I look a little closer. The gold medal pinned to it says “Green Captain,” not “Captain Green.” Shucks. Harvey Baxter was right.
Jack’s wearing that old green vest on purpose: to get me mad, and it’s working.
“Mom! Jack’s wearing his green vest just so he can brag. And it’s not polite to brag. You always say so.”
Jack says, “I’m not bragging. I wear this first-prize, biodegradable, recyclable, felt vest all the time. It brings back great memories: winning the Going Green contest, getting a solid gold medal, having lunch in the teacher’s lounge.”
I stamp my foot and Patches jumps in the air. “You do not EVER wear that vest. And you’re a ball-face liar for saying that you do, ’cause you don’t!”
“Lola,” Mom says. “That’s ONE.”
Jack smiles with his metal teeth. “Yes, I do,” he says all soft and sweet like an alien took him over.
I grab at Jack’s green vest. “No you don’t, BRACE FACE!”
He pretends to choke. “Aaaagh!” he yells.
“Lola!” Dad hollers.
“LOLA KATHERINE ZUCKERMAN!” Mom yells.
Uh-oh, three names. She pulls me off Jack. “That’s TWO.”
“That’s not fair!” I say. “He’s being a trouble-maker. Not me!”
“Poor little Lola,” says Jack. “Wait a second.”
Jack runs upstairs. He comes back down with a teeny-tiny swimming trophy. “Here, Lola. Here’s a nice shiny trophy to start your collection.”
Dad raises his eyebrow. “That’s thoughtful of you, but I’m sure Lola can win her own prizes.”
“Maybe,” Jack says, “maybe not.”
“Of course she can,” Mom says. “And that’s TWO.”
“But …”
“Let’s not go to three,” Dad says, “both of you.”
I help myself to another brownie. And give Jack a smile, sweet as pie. Sour apple pie.
8. BEFORE THE BELL
IT’S THIS LOUD IN THE CLASSROOM. Harvey Baxter and Sam Noonan are testing how far they can lean back in their chairs before crashing to the ground. Jamal is working on a BIG math problem on the blackboard. Dilly Chang is shrieking, “It’s Going Green Day! It’s Going Green Day!” Mrs. D. is standing at the door, greeting all the kids.
I decide to sharpen my watermelon-smelling pencil one more time. Madison Rogers is already there, sharpening a whole pack of pencils. I sigh.
“I like Amanda’s project better,” Madison says. “I’m voting for Amanda.”
“I guess you don’t care about making compost and growing organic vegetables,” I say.
“Yes, I do!”
“I guess all you care about is eating out of reusable containers,” I say, “and starving all the carrots.”
“No, I don’t!” Madison turns back to the sharpener and finishes up her pencils. As she passes by me, she says, “I do so care about vegetables, and fruits.”
I shrug and sharpen my one, watermelon-smelling pencil. Then I spy with my little eye a double-A cheater. Amanda Anderson is handing out chocolates to the kids in the class. She’s wearing her good-luck ribbon and her good-luck dress. It’s a Lola dress that my Mom made for her, with a special pocket for ribbons, ’cause Amanda Anderson loves ribbons. Why did Amanda decide to wear that dress today?
“Hey!” I say loud and clear. “That’s not fair.”
Amanda turns to look at me. “Why not?”
“You’re just giving them candy so they’ll vote for you.”
“That’s mean, Lola Zuckerman! Take that back,” Amanda says. But her face is pink like cotton candy.
“And why are you wearing a Lola dress that my mom made you?”
“Because,” Amanda says.
“Because is not a good answer, young lady,” I tell her.
“Well, I wish I wasn’t!” Amanda says in her warbly old voice.
Jessie Chavez comes up and puts her arm around Amanda. “What’s wrong, Amanda?”
“Nothing,” Amanda says.
“You better be nice to her,” Jessie says.
“You better shut your trap,” I say.
Mrs. D. sings out, “Hello, people!”
Lucky for me, because my mad is about to turn into sad.
“Gummy bears! Seats, please! We have a very exciting day before us. Who can tell us what today is?” Mrs. D. sure has a bad memory.
“It’s Going Green Day!” Sam shouts out.
Mrs. D. sighs and takes a drink from her travel mug. “Hand, Sam!” she reminds him.
He shoots his hand in the air.
“Yes, Sam?”
“It’s Going Green Day.”
I take my seat. Right in front of me, Harvey Baxter is hopping in his seat, as usual. UP, down. UP, down. I wish Mrs. D. would notice, but I don’t want to be a tattletale. Like people who rhyme with Ramanda Randerson.
People who rhyme with Ramanda Randerson know all about tattling.
8½. PEOPLE WHO RHYME WITH RAMANDA RANDERSON, AND TATTLE
LAST YEAR, AT THE END OF FIRST grade, Quick and Easy Moving Company pulled into Amanda’s driveway. It loaded up all her family’s stuff. Amanda was moving. And I was very sad.
But at Share, Amanda told everyone about her new house, and how it was so much better than her old house. Her new house had six bathrooms and a built-in TV in the family room. And she had a new neighbor, too, named Jessie Chavez. She could get to Jessie’s house anytime she wanted through the bushes.
When it was my turn to share, I told everyone that a new family was moving into Amanda’s old house. I said that they had triplets who were exactly my age. I said they were building a tree fort in their backyard for everyone on my street. And I said if you didn’t live on our street, you couldn’t go into the tree fort.
And guess what Jessie did? She raised her hand and said, “Where are they, then? How come they’re not at school?”
I couldn’t think of a good answer.
At recess I didn’t swing Double Dippers with Amanda. At lunch I wouldn’t share my special cookies, even though Mom had baked an “L” for Lola and an “A” for Amanda. I spelled “LA” and sang “la, la, la.” Then I ate both of them.
During Circle Time, Amanda sat right next to me, even though I ate her cookie. I gave her a little pinch. Amanda yelled, “Ow!” and when the teacher came over, Amanda tattled on me.
The teacher said I had to say I was sorry. I really was sorry. But after that, Amanda didn’t want to be my friend anymore. She said I was Jell-O, ’cause she knows I hate Jell-O. So I said she was apple pie, ’cause she told me once it tasted like slime.
We don’t have any triplets on my street. That was a ball-face lie. Somebody moved in with a brand-new baby that can’t play yet. We don’t have Grampy and Granny Coogan anymore to do the Dead Man’s Float or grow a garden.
And I will never, ever understand why everyone can’t just stay put.
9. AND THE WINNER IS …
HARVEY BAXTER IS LEANING OFF the side of his chair. Mrs. D. claps her hands: clap, clap, clap-clap-clap. “Jujubes! Now we’re going to vote one last time. Please write ‘compost’ or ‘trash-free lunch.’”
I raise my hand. “It’s ‘compost with Uncle Ken’s Kitchen Composter.’”
Mrs. D. looks like she needs a nap. “Let’s just write ‘compost,’” she says.
Sam Noonan raises his hand. “What if I like both ideas? What if I can’t decide which to pick?”
Mrs. D. pauses. “You have to choose one, Sam.”
He nods and writes on his piece of paper.
“Eyes on your paper, Lola,” Mrs. D. says.
I write “compost” in giant letters across the page. “I’m writing ‘compost,’” Harvey Baxter loud whispers.
“Me, too,” Sam says.
I look over at Amanda right between Harvey and Sam. Her eyes shine up. Her cheeks get all rosy, even her ears. Poor Amanda.
I remember one time in kindergarten when I opened my lunchbox and there was nothing in there ’cause Mom forgot to pack it. My eyes loaded up with tears. But before I could let ’em go, Amanda stuck half of her peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich right in my mouth! And Amanda gave me half of everything ELSE she had. We had half of some baby carrots, half of an orange, and half of a Swiss chocolate. We even ripped Mrs. Anderson’s I LOVE YOU note in half. I said, “Why did you share EVERYTHING with me?” And she said, “’Cause you’re Lola, and plus you’re my best friend.” That’s when we invented the secret Peanut Butter and Jelly handshake, which I can’t talk about because it’s secret.
I have a hard time making my hand erase “compost.” But finally it does and I write “trash-free lunch”—small but clear—instead. Mrs. D. goes around the room and collects the scraps of paper.
“Does anyone remember what these papers are called?” she asks.
“Baldos?” Rita says.
“Banjos?” Sam guesses.
“I don’t get it,” Harvey Baxter says.
“Because you like stinky trash,” Jessie Chavez whispe
rs from behind me. Except I hear that mean-o.
Fishsticks! Why did I vote for Amanda Anderson?
“Ballots!” Miss Smarty-Pants Amanda Anderson says.
Mrs. D. says, “That’s right, Amanda! A ballot is your vote. It’s the written form of your vote.”
“It comes from ballotta, the Italian word for ball,” Jamal says, “because people used to vote with colored balls.”
“In Finland, we’re a social democracy. That’s different than America,” says Timo.
“Do you get to vote in Finland?” I ask.
“No, I’m too young,” Timo says.
“Luckily you get to vote here,” I say with my biggest smile. My brother says it makes me look like a hyena, but I think I look like the President.
Amanda makes her eyes really big and she smiles at Timo, too. “That’s right, Timo. Vote for the BEST choice.”
Mrs. D. takes my ballot. It’s too late to take back my vote.
Finally, Mrs. D. has all the ballots. “Uh-oh, we have an even number of kids at school today. If nine kids vote for compost and nine kids vote for trash-free lunch … we could have a tie.”
The door bangs open. It’s Gwendolyn Swanson-Carmichael.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, and then boom! She trips over her own foot and drops all her books.
“Let me help you!” I smack my purple notebook down and run to help Gwendolyn.
“Thanks, Lila,” she says. That Gwendolyn always gets my name wrong. But I’ll remind her that I’m L-O-L-A later on, after she votes.
“Me too, Gwendolyn,” Amanda says and dives to the floor. We both grab Gwendolyn’s Writer’s Workshop notebook.
“Gimme that,” I say. I try to pry off Amanda’s pinky finger. Then I remember that I better not bend back her fingers or Miss Cry Baby will tattle on me AGAIN. “Here you go, Gwendolyn,” I say as sweet as a packet of sugar. I hand over her books.
You can guess what that copycat Amanda does.
“You’re just in time,” Mrs. D. says to Gwendolyn. “We just voted for the Going Green project. Write down your vote on a piece paper.”
Last-But-Not-Least Lola Going Green Page 3
