ever it is, it’s all covered in blankets. We watch as
they disappear behind the tarp.
“I wonder what that was,” Chad says.
“Maybe it was a dead body,” Dee Dee whispers.
“If we stand around yakking about what
JEFFERSON’s doing, we’ll never finish OUR
sculpture!” Francis says.
Reality check: We’ve only got six hours. If we want
to create a masterpiece by 3:00 this afternoon . . .
So we do. Once
we stop worrying
about that giant
tarp, we start
humming along
like a well-oiled
machine. Some
kids toss snow
on the pile,
others pack it
down, and those
of us with actual
artistic talent do the rest. Our sculpture starts to
take shape. And (I’m not just saying this because it
was my idea) it looks AWESOME.
I think it’ll be
good enough . . .
if my theory about
Jefferson’s weak spot
is right. But we’re
not going to find out
for sure until . . .
“Let’s start with Jefferson’s entry,” Mr. Rosa says.
A couple of kids from the C.I.C. start to lower
the tarp. I hold my breath. This is it: almighty
Jefferson’s moment of truth.
The cheers from Jefferson almost blow my ears
off. Our side looks stunned. There’s no doubt: It’s
a pretty amazing sculpture.
But I’m not looking at the cavalier. I’m looking at
Mr. Rosa and Mrs. Everett. And you know what?
The two of them inspect
the sculpture from every
angle. Then they put their
heads together, talking in
whispers. Finally . . .
“There’s a real suit of armor under here,”
Mr. Rosa says.
It gets deadly quiet. I sneak a peek at Nolan.
He looks . . . NERVOUS.
“That explains the impressive degree of realism,”
Mrs. Everett says. She turns to Nolan. “Did you
use the old suit of armor from the storage room?”
She nods. “That’s true. Technically, no rules were
broken. But just covering something with snow
instead of sculpting it yourselves . . .”
“I KNEW it!” I whisper.
Chad looks puzzled. “You knew they were going to
swipe that suit of armor?”
I shake my head. “No, but I knew they’re not as
CREATIVE as we are!”
We wade through the snow toward our sculpture.
Mr. Rosa taps me on the shoulder. “Nate, tell us
about P.S. 38’s entry.”
“Sure!” I answer. “It’s called . . .”
“What a dynamic pose!” Mrs. Everett exclaims.
“And I love the expression on his face!”
“How did you make the arrow?” Mr. Rosa asks,
glancing at the Jefferson kids. “Did you pack snow
around a REAL arrow?”
Mrs. Everett studies the blotch of red on Achilles’
heel. “This isn’t actual blood, I hope?”
“Well, you SUCCEEDED!”
Mrs. Everett laughs. Then
she nods at Mr. Rosa. He
nods back. Here it comes.
“The judges are in agreement!” she announces.
“The winners of the Ultimate Snowdown ARE . . .”
We explode. Everyone goes
crazy. I mean, CRAZY.
Teddy’s throwing hand-
fuls of snow, Chad’s doing
snow angels, and Dee
Dee’s hugging anything
that moves. Me? I just
keep pinching myself. We
finally did it. WE BEAT
JEFFERSON!!!
Mrs. Everett finds me in the crowd. “Nate, con-
gratulations! You and your classmates did a
wonderful job!”
“Thanks,” I say, ducking out of the way of a bear
hug from Dee Dee.
“I’m curious, though,” she says. “Why did you
choose Achilles as a subject?”
“We just think it’s a good story,” I tell her. “Achilles
thought he was indestructible. But the truth is . . .”
P.S. 38 finally reopened on Monday. I never thought
I’d say this, but . . .
“Nate and Dee Dee, you won third prize in the
‘Story Spinners’ kids’ writing competition!”
“That means we beat Jefferson AGAIN!” I crow.
“Yes,” Mr. Rosa says with a smile. “You’ve got a
winning streak going!”
“Wow!” I exclaim. “It turned out . . . GREAT!”
“Yeah, it’s UNIQUE! I bet that’s why you got a
prize!” Francis says. “If you hadn’t teamed up, you
might not have won ANYTHING!”
Hm. Maybe that’s true. Maybe without this cast
on my wrist, none of this would have happened.
And it all started with my swan dive off that table
in the Jefferson food court. Pretty funny, right? It
was a total accident.
(pronounced “purse”) is a cartoonist/writer and author
of the New York Times bestselling Big Nate series,
now published in twenty-two countries. He is also the
creator of the comic strip Big Nate, which appears in
more than 250 U.S. newspapers and online daily at
www.bignate.com.
Lincoln loves comics, ice hockey, and Cheez Doodles
(and dislikes cats, figure skating, and egg salad). Just
like Nate.
Check out Big Nate Island at www.poptropica.com.
And link to www.bignatebooks.com for more infor-
mation about the author and the Big Nate series, app,
audio, and ebooks. Lincoln Peirce lives with his wife
and two children in Portland, Maine.
For exclusive information
on your favorite authors and artists,
visit www.authortracker.com.
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