The Not-So-Boring Letters of Private Nobody

by Matthew Landis

  DIAL BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS

  Penguin Young Readers Group

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street

  New York, NY 10014

  Copyright © 2018 by Matthew Landis

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Ebook ISBN 9780735228009

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Jacket art © 2018 by João Neves

  Jacket design by Maria Fazio

  Version_1

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One: The Project

  Chapter Two: The Partner

  Chapter Three: The Private

  Chapter Four: Dot-Dot-Dot

  Chapter Five: The First Mistake

  Chapter Six: The Apology (Round One)

  Chapter Seven: The Many Terrifying Confessions of Ella Berry

  Chapter Eight: The Uninvited Lunch Guest

  Chapter Nine: The First Girl to Enter Oliver’s Room Other than His Mom and Sister and Cousin Natalie

  Chapter Ten: The Girl Who Does Magic and Listens to Mozart

  Chapter Eleven: The Friend

  Chapter Twelve: The Ride

  Chapter Thirteen: The Historical Society of Boredom

  Chapter Fourteen: The Problem with Wool Trousers

  Chapter Fifteen: B-Roll

  Chapter Sixteen: The Mom

  Chapter Seventeen: Some Guy

  Chapter Eighteen: The Head Writing Consultant

  Chapter Nineteen: The Deal

  Chapter Twenty: Background

  Chapter Twenty-One: The Substitute

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Sawbones

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Kevin Speaks (about the Problems of Dating People You Work With)

  Chapter Twenty-Four: The Scorecard of Emotions

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Data Collection

  Chapter Twenty-Six: The Love Note

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Venti Chai Tea Latte—Dirty—No Water, Extra Hot, with Five Pumps of Vanilla Syrup

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: The First Email

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Importance of Context

  Chapter Thirty: Tension

  Chapter Thirty-One: Death by Diarrhea

  Chapter Thirty-Two: The Coolest Teacher You Never Knew

  Chapter Thirty-Three: The Reply

  Chapter Thirty-Four: The Society of People Who Think War Is Bad

  Chapter Thirty-Five: Private Stone’s Deathbed Crush

  Chapter Thirty-Six: The Road Trip

  Chapter Thirty-Seven: Little Soldier, Big War

  Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Rebellion of Historical Accuracy

  Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Apology (Round Two)

  Chapter Forty: The Terrible, Horrible, Awful, Embarrassing Truth

  Chapter Forty-One: The Apology (For Real This Time)

  Chapter Forty-Two: Capri Sun (Variety Pack)

  Chapter Forty-Three: The All Day/Nighter

  Chapter Forty-Four: The Descendant

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  TO HISTORY NERDS EVERYWHERE:

  YOU ARE AWESOME.

  —CHAPTER ONE—

  THE PROJECT

  Oliver knew Samantha wouldn’t know.

  He asked anyway.

  “Did you know that Union General Ulysses S. Grant and Confederate General Robert E. Lee both went to West Point?”

  Samantha whipped her dark hair back and copied down the homework posted on Mr. Carrow’s Power- Point slide. Oliver had already done that. He was always the first one to his table in social studies and always had the homework copied down before Mr. Carrow started the welcome music.

  “No,” she said.

  “Grant was an average student, but crazy-good at riding horses. Lee graduated second in his class.”

  “I didn’t know that either.”

  “And they both fought in the Mexican-American War.”

  “Really.”

  “Really. I mean think about that—two guys who went to the same military school and fought the same enemy fighting each other in the Civil War. How crazy is that?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Samantha swiveled around to talk with a girl at the next table. Oliver didn’t really mind. Not everyone got how awesome the Civil War was, and that was okay. Awesome things still needed saying, and so he’d keep saying them.

  “Grab a seat, gang,” Mr. Carrow called over the indie rock music he blared pretty much every day. He was wearing a blazer, which meant they were starting a new unit.

  “Lots to do, lots to do. So much that we probably won’t even get started and you’ll all fail the fourth marking period. Won’t that be sad. Probably get some emails from parents. Not yours, Tara—they gave up on you long ago.”

  Laughter rippled through the class.

  “But seriously, today is a big day. Maybe the biggest in your seventh-grade career. There is a small chance that you’ll look back on this day and say, ‘That was the greatest day of my life: the day we launched our study of the American Civil War.’”

  Oliver pulsed with excitement. Finally. They were going to study the thing he’d dedicated his life to. This was his arena—there was no chance of him not getting a hundred percent on this project. He would dominate and love every second of it.

  “I promise that your Civil War experience will not be the one I had in seventh grade—memorizing endless battles, dates, and generals.” Mr. Carrow’s eyes swept past Oliver, landing for just a second. “Battles are important, and we’ll study some of the big ones. And the generals who conducted the war were very interesting people, and we’ll look at some of them too. But to really understand the impact of the conflict you need to look at the regular people—the soldiers, nurses, and slaves. You have to look at the mothers, daughters, and sons on the home front, and free African Americans in the North. What was the war like for them? The combined answer to that gives us a much better understanding of the war.”

  Oliver’s grin turned into a flat stare. He couldn’t really disagree with Mr. Carrow; the teacher was a master of history. Literally—he had a degree that said MASTER’S IN HISTORY. But Oliver didn’t really get why he was downplaying battles, dates, and generals. Those things were what the war was made of. Oliver should know.

  “Now: We’ve got a seasoned Civil War buff in our midst—someone to fill us in when the textbook can’t.” Mr. Carrow smiled at Oliver. “Ollie, I hope you can give me some additional info when we dig into the battles.”

  “Uh, yeah.” Oliver nodded. Okay. So all wasn’t lost.

  “Perfect. I want to lay out your unit project first. This is the lens that we’re going to use to view the entire war.” Mr. Carrow rapped his knuckles on a stack of worksheets. “Tab
le captains, come and get ’em.”

  Oliver basically ran up to the front table. He might have shoved Ian out of the way. He handed the worksheets out to his table and speed-read the directions.

  And he loved it all—almost. There was one issue: It was a partner project.

  But Oliver had found ways around that before. He wasn’t worried.

  “Maggie, read the directions for us, would you?” Mr. Carrow asked.

  Maggie’s straight black hair fell into her face as she leaned toward the paper. “With a partner, explore the wartime experience of a Civil War contemporary. Your goal is to answer a two-pr . . .”

  “Two-pronged,” Mr. Carrow rescued.

  “A two-pronged question: How did your character impact the war, and how did the war impact your character?”

  “Thanks Maggie, great job. Max, give us the formats.”

  Max unslouched a bit and started reading. “You may present your findings in one of the following formats: documentary, PowerPoint, trifold, or dramatic presentation. For specifics on each format, consult the rubric on the back side.”

  Oliver had already decided on a trifold. Of course he would do a trifold. Why wouldn’t he do a trifold. He could fill it with tons of information and stand beside it dressed in his Civil War uniform. Maybe he could even bring his bayonet.

  “Do we get to choose our partners?” asked Tommy.

  “Let’s vote on it,” Mr. Carrow said. “Just kidding. This isn’t a democracy—it’s a somewhat benevolent dictatorship. Ian, I will define ‘benevolent’ for you after class. Dictator says, yes, you may choose your partners. But I reserve the right to reject any partnerships that could be harmful to your grade or my own sanity or both. You’ve got two minutes to figure that out. Go.”

  Oliver pretended not to hear the directions. While everyone else ran to a best friend or scavenged the wasteland of leftover partners, he stuck to his seat. He began to sketch the layout of his trifold.

  “Oliver, over here.” Mr. Carrow waved at him from a back table. “Need your help.”

  Yes. His abilities were already in demand.

  Mr. Carrow motioned to the only student at the table. She was Oliver’s height but way skinnier. She was a beanstalk wearing too-big wrinkled jeans, a stained T-shirt, and a facial expression that wasn’t exactly a frown but close enough. Thick brown hair that she never brushed hung in her eyes.

  She was Ella Berry.

  “I want you two to work together,” Mr. Carrow said.

  —CHAPTER TWO—

  THE PARTNER

  “I was going to work alone,” Oliver said.

  “You’ll thank me once you realize how much work is involved. Grab your stuff and sit back here today. We’re going to select our historical persons in a second and then do some brainstorming on formats.”

  Oliver had never talked back to a teacher. It wasn’t in his DNA. He liked authority—it made the world organized and safe.

  But a rebellion was stirring in his gut.

  A secede-from-the-Union type of rebellion.

  It wasn’t really about Ella. Okay, it was kind of about Ella. Teachers always gave her quizzes back facedown—the universal sign of “You just totally and completely bombed this.” There was a rumor she almost failed sixth grade. And that’s what bothered Oliver: She had no dedication. He didn’t care that she never talked and always looked like she’d climbed out of a dumpster. He was scared that she was going to mess up the project he’d been prepping for his entire life.

  “Trust me on this one.” Mr. Carrow clapped Oliver on the shoulder and left.

  Oliver looked over at Ella.

  Ella stared out the window.

  “Behold: voices of the past.” Mr. Carrow changed the PowerPoint to a slide of fifteen names. Oliver scanned them as he got his binder and rejoined Ella. Two big names popped out—Union General George McClellan and Confederate General Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson. Oliver knew all about them. He could give an oral report right now if he had to.

  “Let’s do one of the generals,” he said to Ella. “Maybe Stonewall Jackson. I went to his shrine last summer in Virginia and took a bunch of pictures—”

  “We’re picking at random,” Mr. Carrow announced. He held up the black top hat that he’d used to teach Lincoln’s rise to fame (though technically, as Oliver had pointed out, Lincoln didn’t wear that style hat until he was president). “I’ll come by each partner group and one of you pick. Maggie, put a line through each name as it gets picked from the hat.”

  Oliver bounced his foot nervously as the first group reached into the hat. “I really hope we get a general,” he said to Ella.

  “Stonewall Jackson,” Tommy shouted. “Sweet.”

  “Crap.” Oliver glanced sideways at Ella. Still staring out the window. “There’s one more general left. Don’t give up hope.”

  Ella turned and looked at him. Her eyes reminded him of the water in those Caribbean getaway commercials. Green? Blue? It was hard to tell behind the wall of hair. She turned back to the window.

  “Clara Barton to Sarah and Emily,” Mr. Carrow proclaimed. Maggie ran a red digital pen through the famous nurse. Oliver could have done her too, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun since nurses didn’t fight.

  Mr. Carrow and the hat were getting closer to Oliver and Ella’s table. About half the names were gone, with only one general left. Oliver prayed.

  “Choose . . . wisely,” Mr. Carrow said dramatically. Oliver bounced his foot harder. Mr. Carrow shook the hat, and the slips of paper rustled against one another. “Seriously—just pick one.”

  So Ella did.

  —CHAPTER THREE—

  THE PRIVATE

  “Private Raymond Stone,” Mr. Carrow read. “Oooo. That’s a good one. Maggie, cross off Raymond Stone.”

  Oliver stared at the slip of paper in Ella’s hand. She’d just reached in and grabbed it. Just like that.

  “Who?” Oliver asked.

  Ella looked closer at the slip of paper. She handed it to him.

  “Private Raymond Stone,” Oliver read.

  He tried to remain calm. He breathed in and out. But facts were facts: He’d been partnered with Ella for two minutes and she was already screwing things up.

  “George Mc-McClellan?” Samantha stuttered as she read her slip. She and her partner both giggled. “Who’s he?”

  “He was the Union Army’s commanding general for some of the war,” Oliver answered automatically. Samantha looked blank. He looked down at his slip. He looked at Ella. She peered back through her hair.

  This was all falling apart quickly.

  Oliver pulled out his phone and quickly googled “Private Raymond Stone.”

  He felt tricked. The Civil War was his thing, and in less than five minutes 1) he was forced into a partnership and 2) his partner picked a soldier that even Google had never heard of instead of a heroic general he already knew so much about.

  Oliver put his phone away. Ella still hadn’t said anything. It was getting awkward.

  “Each of your historical persons—let’s just call them ‘HPs’—was an actual person who lived during the Civil War,” Mr. Carrow explained. “Some survived, others didn’t. I chose them specifically because they left behind a lot of information about their experience—military reports, letters, and diaries. Historians way more nerdy than me have digitized and transcribed them. These primary sources are all gathered on my website. They’ll be your main focus.”

  Groans all around.

  “Did it take me hours before and after school? Yes. I like Starbucks gift cards and cash. Don’t underestimate end-of-the-year gifts. They can really help your project grade. Just kidding. But seriously: Tara, consider this a huge, obvious hint to get me something. You moving on to eighth grade depends on it.”

  Oliver shot up his hand. “Can w
e use other sources?”

  “Such as?”

  “Other books about the war we already own.”

  “Only to support your HP’s account.”

  The rebellion was back in Oliver’s gut. What about everything he already knew? Sure, some of it would come in handy—the basic stuff. But not the really interesting stuff that nobody but him knew about.

  “Other questions? No? Okay. I want you to brainstorm with your partner about format. Choose one that’s best for both of you. You got five minutes.” Mr. Carrow plugged his iPhone back into the overhead speakers and turned the volume way down on his indie rock. “And I’d suggest exchanging phone numbers so you can coordinate who’s doing what over the next three weeks.”

  —CHAPTER FOUR—

  DOT-DOT-DOT

  Ella’s iPhone looked like one of the brand-new ones that cost six hundred dollars. It also had a big crack right down the screen. Oliver wondered why she didn’t have a case on it, and if she realized the connection between the crack and the not having a case.

  “Got it,” he said when her cat emoji text came through on the ancient iPhone he’d inherited from his dad. Or maybe his dad’s dad.

  Oliver wasn’t sure what to say next. He didn’t have a whole lot of conversation experience. Mostly he just shared information with people, and most of that was about the Civil War.

  “I don’t get many texts, so I’ll know right away if you message me. Mostly I just get texts from my mom. She always uses a lot of dot-dot-dots. I think she thinks you’re supposed to text like you talk in real life, you know, like in big long sentences. Like this.” He tilted the screen toward her. “Oliver dot-dot-dot I am picking you up today at 9:30 for your dentist appointment dot-dot-dot please make sure to show Mrs. Mason your note so that she dismisses you to the office dot-dot-dot I will see you then dot-dot-dot please respond and let me know you got this dot-dot-dot.”

  “Ellipsis,” Ella said.

  “What?”

  “The dot-dot-dot thing. It’s called an ellipsis.”