by Brian Lies
Then, there she was—Malcolm’s Amelia—standing between Kiera and Jovahn, and wearing her favorite green hooded sweatshirt over a blue dress and black tights. The sweatshirt didn’t match at all, and Malcolm Knew that it was worn for him. He had spent so many wonderful hours in that hood! Honey Bunny nudged Malcolm and wiggled his pink nose at him. “You okay, Malcolm?” he whispered.
Malcolm nodded.
Kiera stepped to the microphone. “Our teacher, Mr. Mark Binney at McKenna Elementary School, always says that a school is more than a building. We think so too. But we’re not here tonight to simply tell you why you should keep our school open. We’re here tonight to tell you a story.” Jovahn and Skylar pulled out the portrait of Walton McKenna. “If you’ve been watching the news at all the last few weeks, you probably know this man. And what he did with his money. He’s Walton McKenna. A generous man who donated money to build many things in our community, including an addition to our school in the 1930s.”
And she went on, telling about the time capsule and reading McKenna’s letter and how he had helped the hobo man. She told about how that man—Randall Carson—had stayed on in Clearwater, working as a handyman at the new high school. How he continued to make art his whole life—including, even, this portrait of Walton McKenna and his dog, Ernie.
Kiera didn’t go into the Midnight Academy’s role, and the story really wasn’t all that different from what had been in the news lately. But that’s the power of telling a good story, Malcolm had learned. It never hurts to repeat it—because you don’t know when people are really, truly listening.
“You’ve probably heard, too, that there was money found in the walls of our auditorium,” Kiera finished up. “Not from Walton McKenna, like you might expect, but from Randall Carson. It wasn’t a lot—seven hundred dollars. Mrs. Rivera, our principal, says that’ll help us get a few new desks for next year. But it was a lot for Randall Carson. And more important, he left a note with that money. I’d like to end by reading it to you now.”
She cleared her throat and took hold of the microphone. With a gulp of panic, Malcolm thought she might belt out “Rocky Top.” But instead, she read out in a clear voice.
January 17, 1952
To whoever finds this money:
Our Clearwater community lost Mr. Walton McKenna today. You can look him up and see all the good things he’s done, but I guarantee they won’t all be listed there. You see, once, a long time ago, he gave me money I needed when I didn’t deserve it. It made all the difference in my life.
In honor of this man, I’ve taken that money he originally gave me (plus a little gift of my own) and tucked it in this Mason jar. I feel sure that he would be tickled at the thought of it being discovered sometime in the future—hopefully, in someone else’s time of need.
For you see, sometimes it is not the grand things you do in life, but the small ones that make the biggest difference.
Mr. Randall Carson
Former traveler of the road
Current McKenna High School handyman
Malcolm pictured the note in his head. What Kiera hadn’t shared was the Mark drawn at the bottom. Two circles next to each other: “Never give up.”
After Kiera spoke, others came forward to tell a story about McKenna Elementary School. Students. Former students. Teachers. Former teachers. Even Ms. Brumble spoke about visiting with her kitten when her mom was working as a principal.
Finally, they came to the end. Not one person had spoken about money or budgets or repairs or busing.
The members of the school board looked at one another. Finally, a red-haired lady shook her head. She turned on her microphone and spoke. “We hear you, we really do,” she said to the crowd. “But money’s money. And we don’t have it. Are we willing to keep this aging school open if it means cutting a middle school music class? Or dropping the all-school track-and-field meet for the fifth-graders in May? Is keeping one school open more important than these things? Couldn’t this . . . this sense of community occur in the other buildings? Doesn’t it? I’ll bet we could have representatives from Fairfax and Parkview here, and they could tell us stories just as wonderful. Maybe not quite as amazing as a lost fortune, but still. Wouldn’t our students also find a home and community in those schools?”
Suddenly, Malcolm’s insides twisted. Because she was right. For as much as he loved McKenna, did he love it at the expense of and cost to other schools and other nutters? Surely, the other students felt the same about their schools too. Had he been wrong in being so one-sided in his view? Was it like how he had seen Snip? So evil that he couldn’t even believe that she had wants and needs and hurts that caused her to be who she was?
Malcolm lowered his head on his paws. Why couldn’t things be more straightforward? Why wasn’t right always right and wrong always wrong? It didn’t seem fair. After all that Malcolm had done, maybe saving the school wasn’t even really the right thing to do.
The meeting dragged on. Finally, the mustached man stood. “I’d like to say one more thing. And then it’s time to call for a vote.”
He looked out over the crowd for a moment. He even stared for a second directly into the Midnight Academy web camera and slid a thumb under his green suspenders. The McKenna Midnight Academy gasped.
“Do you think . . .” started Pete.
“He couldn’t be—” Harriet said.
“Shhh!” Polly flapped. “He’s speaking!”
“I’d like to propose a third option,” the man said. “Perhaps we need more time. More time for this community support to show itself in a financial way. I move we add a third choice to the agenda tonight: keeping McKenna open for one more year, while we explore financing options. And then next year, we revote. I believe the district reserves can fund this for one more year.” His eyes glinted as he raised his white eyebrows. “Perhaps after all these stories tonight, we have another Walton McKenna or Randall Carson in our midst.”
“I second the motion,” said a woman quickly at the end of the school board table.
The red-haired woman frowned. “I still say . . .”
The mustached man nodded. “We know. You’ve got very good points. But how about we vote on it?”
The secretary at the head of the table read the first choice. “Those who vote to keep the school open indefinitely.” The table was silent. She paused and wrote something down. “Okay, and the new proposal: To keep McKenna open for the next school year, using district financial reserves. With a revote on this date next spring.” The lights next to the school board microphones lit up green. Every single one, save one. The red-haired lady’s. Finally, she said, “Oh, okay.” And pressed her button too.
Both the board room and McKenna’s library erupted, but in a much different way than the last time. There was no water, no power outage, no critters running through the crowd. Just celebration. No one in the board room could even hear the secretary read the final choice. It was unanimous. McKenna would be open. For another school year, at least.
Chapter 32
Outside and Inside
The Midnight Academy hooted and hollered. Jesse and Billy pulled out a bag of corn chips and baby carrots to celebrate. “We’ve been saving these for a special occasion. Hoping it was tonight!”
Pete danced with Aggy. Harriet got up on the table and did a funny little jig she called the hokey pokey. Polly swooped about the room in crazy circles. Tank pulled his head and legs in his shell and gave rides on his back to Billy and Jesse as Honey Bunny spun them around. Oscar did flip turns in his aquarium.
Malcolm took a turn on Tank’s back and was flung off near the window. When the dizziness subsided, he realized that there was a face outside it, looking in.
Acer. Or the Striped Shadow. What was he doing here? Malcolm ran down the row of windows. The last one was still open.35 “Acer?” Malcolm called.
“Hey, Malcolm,” he said, as Malcolm climbed out onto the sill. “Just watching your party. Sounds like you got everything
you wanted.”
“Yeah,” Malcolm said. “Yeah, we did. Even what we needed.”
“So your nutters won’t leave now?”
“The current ones will still move up, but there will be different ones next year. Aggy says that’s the way it works. My nutters will move up to the middle school, and Pete’s fourth-graders will be my fifth-graders next year.”
“And what about your nutter—Amelia?”
“She came back to visit,” Malcolm said quietly. “We got to say goodbye. And it’s not all-the-way goodbye. I’m going to visit her new apartment on the weekends. And I’ll be there for the summer. Mr. Binney will be busy with his wedding, so Amelia’s going to take me.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
Malcolm shrugged. “I guess I have to be. It’s not going to change it if I’m not. And maybe it’ll be great. As a good friend put it, I have to be open to the possibilities of kale. I mean, I want my nutters to grow up. They can’t stay fifth-graders forever. And liking kale doesn’t mean I don’t still love butternut squash.”
“Huh?” Acer tilted his head.
Malcolm smiled. “Never mind. It makes sense to me.”
“Well, anyway, I was stopping by to say thank you for what you did for Snip. I saw her leave with that girl the other day—the sparkly one. She looked very content. I think you saved her, Malcolm.”
Saved her. Huh. Funny how saving someone—you’d think it would be big and heroic, like the superheroes in Skylar’s comics, but really, when it came down to it, Randall Carson was right. Saving someone could be done with something quite small. You just needed to pay attention. To notice, as McKenna put it.
Malcolm nodded, filing that away in his hero brain for next time. “Hey,” he said. “What about Sylvia? Is she okay? Her squirrelings?”
The Striped Shadow gestured with his good front paw. “Oh, I found them a new place in a maple across the way. She got it acorn-cheap, if you know what I mean. I’m sure you’ll see them around. Those little ones are still asking about something called corn dogs.”
Malcolm’s stomach rumbled, reminding him of the party behind them. “You want to come in and help us celebrate? There’s all sorts of food.”
“Naw. You know . . .”
“I know,” Malcolm said, with a fake groan. “Outside and Inside critters don’t mix.”
Acer laughed. “Yeah.” Then he grew serious. “Except when they do.” He stuck his left front paw out and shook Malcolm’s. “And I’m glad we did. It’s been a delight working with you, Malcolm. Your Inside critters—the two-legged ones, too—are lucky to have you.”
Malcolm stood up straight. “Thanks,” he said, trying to fill his voice with Midnight Academy–appropriate dignity and decorum. “And don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
Acer snorted. “Yeah, whatever that puffy-chest act is, it’s still not working for you, Malcolm.”
“Okay, then.” Malcolm snapped Acer with his tail. “How’s this: I won’t even tell anyone what a big softy you really are.”
Acer laughed again and slipped back into the darkness. He called over his shoulder in his deep Striped Shadow whisper: “You’d better not! The Shadow knows. The Shadow always knows . . .”
Malcolm shook his head and smiled.
Then he went back through the open window and joined in the Academy’s festivities. He couldn’t always know what was going to happen. No one could. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that stop him from enjoying all this delicious kale around him.
There was a splash, and Malcolm was suddenly drenched. “Hey!”
Oscar had flipped something out of the aquarium. The first hobo coin, with Ernie on it. How had Oscar gotten it? Malcolm touched the dog’s face. Saw up close the scratches that the hobo man had made so many years ago to carve Ernie into the nickel.
“Good work, Ernie and the hobo man,” Malcolm whispered. He looked up at the critters dancing around the library. “Blue and Thomas Jefferson, too. You started something good here.”
Dear Readers,
As sometimes happens with even the best of stories, they don’t always end at the end. This one kept going, even after the writers (McKenna All-Stars, indeed!) finished writing it.
Because it turns out, not only do commas matter, but comics matter too.
Enjoy,
Mr. Mark Binney
5th Grade Teacher
Honorary Member of the
Elastic Order of Suspenders
On a warm day at the end of May, the PA system suddenly squawked alive. “Good morning, boys and girls,” Mrs. Rivera’s voice greeted everyone. “I’d like to invite you to an all-school assembly in the semi-refurbished auditorium at nine o’clock. Teachers, please line up your classes and have them sit in their assigned seats promptly. See you then.”
Room 11 burbled. As you know, Mr. Binney, at this point in the school year, fifth-graders long to be done with fifth grade, so anything to get out of the classroom was welcome. Kiera asked, “What’s it about, Mr. Binney?”
You shrugged. “How about we go down to the assembly and see?” But you also hummed as you took attendance.
Jovahn poked Skylar, who was watching a family of squirrels play in the trees. “What do you think it is?”
“What?” Skylar said. “Oh, you mean the assembly? I don’t know, but my Gram gave Amelia a ride to McKenna again this morning. She’s waiting in the auditorium for us. She said Mr. Binney called her at home last night.”
What?! Both Jovahn and Malcolm sat up like they had been zapped with one of Michael’s hand buzzers. “This would have been good to know,” Jovahn whispered at Skylar as the class lined up.
“Sorry,” said Skylar, craning his neck toward the window. “Do you think that’s a mom and her babies? I wonder what baby squirrels are called?”
Jovahn shook his head, catching Kiera’s attention. She asked, “Do you think this is . . . you know?” Only Kiera could get away with asking a question like that and expect anyone to understand it.
“No idea,” Jovahn said, and Malcolm wondered if he was answering her question or commenting on her statement.
On their way out the door, you stopped Jovahn. “I think there’s someone else who should be at this assembly.” You nodded at the back of the room, where Malcolm was watching with his paws up on the wire of his cage. You pressed a small travel cage into Jovahn’s hand. “Hang on to him. This is going to be a busy assembly. And we can’t have him running around again.”
When the class entered the auditorium, the room was already full of people milling about: kids finding their seats, teachers shushing them, and Mrs. Rivera waiting near the front of the room, chatting with several other adults. Skylar was right—Amelia was there too. Skylar’s Gram had also stayed for the assembly. They filed in, past the newly repaired portrait at the back of the hall. Next to it were the hobo’s drawings, each framed as well.
“Did Mr. Binney say anything?” Jovahn asked Amelia.
“No, he just asked if I could miss one more day of school.”
“Well, Mr. Binney sure seems happy,” Jovahn pointed out. And, in fact, you did. You were already in a seat next to Ms. Brumble, and—you were holding hands. In public. Something was definitely up.
Amelia raised her eyebrows. “What’s Ms. Brumble doing here? She works nights.” She took the cage from Jovahn.
“What are you doing here? You go to another school,” Kiera pointed out.
In fact, there were a lot of people in the room who didn’t necessarily belong. The school board. Retired teachers. The local news crew that had filmed the last school board meeting. And an elderly lady sat in the front, next to a guy in a ponytail and slouchy jeans.
Finally, the room settled down, and Mrs. Rivera walked to the podium on the stage. The cameras were aimed in her direction. “Thank you all for coming,” she said. “Welcome back to our auditorium. It’s not quite put together yet, but it seemed important that we meet here. As you know, it’s been a
n exciting year at McKenna. First we’re closed, then we’re not. Well, we’re not quite done yet.”
Kids looked nervously around and Mrs. Rivera laughed. “I apologize. I said that poorly. I’d like to assure you all that our school will be open again next year. But there’s something more.” She cleared her throat and continued: “Back in March, we opened a time capsule from 1938, when this very room was built. I think we were all hoping for treasure. Something to save our school. And we found it, but not in money or riches. In a story that reminded us all about what’s really important.”
She pulled out something in a plastic sleeve, and Jovahn kicked Amelia, who tightened her grip on Malcolm’s cage. Malcolm let out a little squeak.
“Hey, that’s—” started Skylar before Kiera shushed him.
“We’ve found a lot of things in strange places this year. And sometimes, in our rush to figure out how to save our school, we didn’t notice them right away. One was this comic book. According to the note shared with the school board, I like to think it’s part of that larger story I just mentioned. When Mr. McKenna gave his money to the man who was trying to steal it from him, he said that man bought a boy a comic book. We’ll never know who that boy was. Or what he did with his comic. But I like to think that he stashed it in our school—and it has been waiting for us all these years.”
