Room One

by Andrew Clements

  A jar of applesauce would be good. Because if you tipped the jar and gave it a tap, you could sort of drink it. Drinkable fruit. Ted had done that a few times too.

  The bread was on the top shelf, but he couldn’t take a whole loaf. His mom would notice. So Ted peeled off six slices and tucked them into a plastic food bag.

  There was a huge four-pound jar of Jif on the shelf, and Ted thought about loading a bunch of it into a plastic bag. Because that would be a great way to carry peanut butter. When you wanted some, all you’d have to do was poke a hole in a corner of the bag and squeeze. He could also dump some lumps of grape jelly into the bag. Very nutritious. And practical. You could take a bite of bread, then squirt in some PB&J, and mix it all right in your mouth. Bite, squeeze, chew, and swallow. Pretty cool.

  But then Ted imagined the face of that girl as he handed her a plastic sack full of brown and purple goop. He decided to take some cheddar cheese instead.

  Then the burglar remembered: I keep calling her “that girl.” Her name is Alexa.

  Chapter 6

  CONVERSATION

  On Wednesday morning Ted left home right at seven o’clock, a little earlier than usual. He wanted to be sure his mom didn’t see his lumpy newspaper bag. As he rode away, the cans and the other food made it wobble around on his back.

  There was a heavy ground fog, so Ted was extra careful about the trucks and cars he heard coming now and then. He had two of those bright, flashing LED bike lights, front and rear, and both were turned on. Still, with fog like this, the drivers couldn’t see him until they were close.

  But the fog was also good. It gave him a little cover for his secret mission.

  When he was halfway up the hill on the county road, Ted slowed down. A truck was coming from behind, and he let it get well past before he stopped next to the battered mailbox with the name ANDERSON written in faded red letters.

  The drive was overgrown with weeds and long grass, so Ted stayed on the hard-packed tread where he and his bike would leave less of a trail. Once he was well away from the road, he laid his bike down and walked to the back door.

  The whole door frame was covered with a big sheet of plywood, screwed down tight. It seemed silly to knock on a door no one could open, but Ted did it anyway. Tap, tap, tap.

  Ten seconds, then fifteen. Nothing.

  He knocked again, louder, and then put his face near the plywood and called out, “Hey—anybody there? It’s me, from yesterday.”

  And someone on the other side hissed, “Shhh! Go to the cellar door. And be quiet!”

  It was the girl. Alexa. Definitely a Southern voice.

  About ten feet to the left of the back porch there was a slanted stone and concrete bulkhead with steps that went down into the cellar. The bulkhead was covered with doors that opened upward. A length of chain with a rusty lock was looped through the wooden handles, but Ted looked closely and saw that the left handle had been pulled loose. The doors looked locked together, but they weren’t.

  He grabbed the handle on the right and when he lifted, there was the girl, looking up at him from the doorway at the bottom of the stone steps. Ted walked down until he was standing level with her.

  She whispered, “You can’t come in. My mom’s still sleeping. And so’s my little brother. I thought you’d be here early, so I slep’ in the kitchen.”

  Ted took note—three people, a mom and two kids. And the girl was the older one. Alexa.

  He tried a smile and said, “I didn’t get your name yesterday. My name’s Ted, Ted Hammond.”

  She smiled back, but it was faint and wary. “I’m … April. Pleased to meet you.”

  Ted thought, Wrong name. Why’s she lying?

  Going for the bold detective approach, Ted said, “Your name’s not … Alexa?”

  In a blink, the girl grabbed Ted by the front of his shirt and pushed him against the stone wall, her eyes wide with fear. Looking up toward the yard, and then straight into his eyes, she said, “Somebody follow you here? Who put y’up to this? You hear that name on the news or somethin’? Tell me!”

  Ted pushed back until he wasn’t against the wall, just to let her know he could. “It’s right there on your shoe—Alexa T. I saw it yesterday. That’s all. So hands off.”

  Embarrassed, but not apologetic, the girl dropped her hands. “Oh. Right.”

  The girl seemed a little flustered, and Ted thought it would be a good moment to get more information. He said, “So if your name’s April, who’s Alexa?”

  “That’s my mama, Alexa Thayer. These’re her old shoes.”

  “And your little brother’s here? How old’s he?”

  “He’s ten. Artie.”

  Another mental note: Alexa, April, Artie. Somebody liked the letter A.

  Ted said, “Did you tell your mom I was here yesterday?”

  April shook her head. “She’s too scared. If she knew someone’d come, we’d have left by now. But our food’s about gone. So I took a chance.”

  Ted started pulling the supplies out of his shoulder bag, and she held the food in her arms. She was still wearing the same blue T-shirt with the frowning smiley face. He said, “It’s not much.”

  “No,” she said, “this is great. Thanks. ’Cept I’m not sure we can get these cans open. But there might be an opener, maybe on the wall somewhere in the kitchen. I’ll figure it out.”

  Ted gave himself some detective demerits for not thinking of a can opener.

  “Anything special you need?” he asked. “You warm enough at night? It still gets pretty cold.”

  “We’ve got sleepin’ bags. We’re okay. Just need food, mostly. And maybe some Sterno, those little cans for heatin’ things up? My mom misses her coffee. And a gallon jug of water. But I don’t want to be a bother.” Then the girl’s face reddened. “Some bathroom tissue would be good.”

  Ted nodded and looked away. “No problem. And it’s not a bother. I come right by here. And I won’t tell anybody. Like I promised.”

  Ted had another dozen questions he wanted to ask, but it wasn’t the right time.

  “Well, I’ve got to go get my newspapers. But I’ll come back tomorrow—maybe this afternoon if I can.” He held out his hand.

  She hesitated but then shook it, and almost dropped a can of stew. Ted said, “Good to meet you, April.”

  “You too. Ted, right?”

  He nodded. “Ted Hammond. See ya later.”

  He walked to his bike, and he heard the bulkhead doors close behind him, heard the chain rattle as the girl put the loose handle back in place.

  As Ted got to the road and started pedaling, he tried to imagine April picking her way through the dark basement with the food in her arms. He imagined her finding the stairs and then going up into the Andersons’ kitchen.

  And he wondered if much daylight got in through the boarded-up windows. And he wondered where the mom and the little brother were sleeping. And then he wondered what the three of them were going to do in that empty house all day long.

  Because Ted knew exactly what he was going to do today. He was going to go deliver his papers. And then he was going to school.

  Chapter 7

  SIXTH-GRADE ISLAND

  Mrs. Mitchell looked up from her social studies book. She was in a corner of the room talking about the end of the Civil War with the eighth graders. In the opposite corner of the room, the fourth graders were arguing. It looked like things had reached the boiling point.

  “Carla, please read the fourth question out loud and then lead the discussion. I’ll be right back.”

  Walking toward the fourth-grade corner, Mrs. Mitchell knew what the problem was. She always knew what the problem was with her fourth graders.

  “Kevin, didn’t I ask you all to read silently?” She stood over him with her hands on her hips.

  Kevin said, “Shh—we’re right in the middle of the best part. It’s better this way. Hannah’s gonna act out the part where the kid climbs out of the volcano.”


  Hannah lifted her nose and said, “I am not going to do that. I was never going to do that. It’s stupid.”

  Mrs. Mitchell said, “That’s enough, Hannah. Kevin, when I ask everyone to read silently, that’s what has to happen. All right?”

  Kevin shook his head. “No—really, because Hannah’s got to act out that part, so she can fall, and then I get to come and rescue her. It’s all worked out. We’ve only got six minutes before recess, and if everybody just keeps doing what I said, we can finish the story. It’s almost over. Really. It’s almost over. I know we can finish. Because it’s all worked out. We’re doing it as a play. Everything’s perfect. Except we don’t have costumes or anything. But that’s okay. We’re just imagining. And it’s almost over.”

  Hannah, Lizzie, and Keith stood where Kevin had placed them on the reading rug. They knew Mrs. Mitchell was going to win this little battle, but they also knew they’d better wait until Kevin gave them permission to leave.

  “Kevin?” Mrs. Mitchell kept her voice even. “Kevin, close your book and look at me. Look right in my face. Right here, in my eyes. Good. Now, Kevin, I want you to just read the rest of the story, all right? Silently.”

  “But it’s all worked out, really, and, and there’s only four more pages. Or … or maybe six. But it’s going fast. Hannah, come on. Don’t you want to be in the play with me?”

  Hannah shook her head. She didn’t even want to be in the same universe with Kevin.

  Mrs. Mitchell said, “Kevin? Look at my face. At my face, Kevin. Good. You have to sit down and read. Read the rest of the story. I need everyone to be quiet and read while I finish with the eighth graders. All right?”

  Kevin rubbed a knuckle under his nose and then onto his pants. “All right. But it’s not going to be any fun. It’s just going to be like … like, words.”

  Mrs. Mitchell said, “It’s going to be just fine, because you really are an excellent reader.”

  “Okay,” said Kevin, rolling his eyes. “Everybody can sit back down at your own grubby little desks. Because we’re going to read the end of the story now. We’re going to read, read, read, and read until it’s all over. Reading, reading, and more reading.”

  After Mrs. Mitchell was sure that Kevin was actually going to sit and read for a few minutes, she went back to the other corner, where the eighth graders were now discussing something other than the Civil War.

  Sitting near the middle of the large room, Ted had enjoyed watching that drama. He kept looking at Kevin, then he turned to watch Mrs. Mitchell take charge of the big kids again. And then he went back to his social studies assignment.

  Ted had claimed the middle area of their large classroom. There were plenty of extra desks around, so Ted had pushed five of them together into a pentagon, with just enough room for one chair in the middle—an old swivel chair that he had found at a teacher’s desk during a raid in one of the unused classrooms. Ted had a math desk, a science desk, a social studies desk, a reading desk, and a writing desk. Almost eight feet across, it was his command center, a small sixth-grade island.

  Having five desks gave him plenty of storage space. There was room for his mystery books, his small collection of detective equipment, his newspaper bag, his lunch, and a supply of tools Ted kept in his science desk for emergency bicycle repairs. Plus enough room for anything else he might need to have close at hand. Like schoolbooks.

  Room one was sort of like a big aquarium, and Ted never got tired of watching the other fish. With five desks, he could face any direction he wanted to, depending on where the action was.

  His central location also gave Ted lots of practice at observing people. Reading all the Sherlock Holmes mysteries had taught him that good detective work is mostly watching and listening, and learning to notice important details. And writing things down.

  In room one Ted had learned how to watch people so they didn’t know he was paying attention, an art that detectives always find useful. And sometimes he sat near Carla and Joan and practiced his secret listening skills. He was amazed by some of the things eighth-grade girls talked about. And in a top secret red notebook in his writing desk, Ted kept a file about every person in room one. Even Mrs. Mitchell.

  From things his teacher had said in class, and from careful observation, Ted knew that Mrs. Mitchell’s husband’s name was Robert, and that he worked for the Bureau of Land Management, and that she thought his job made him spend too much time away from home. Mrs. Mitchell’s mom and dad lived in Lincoln now, but she had grown up on a wheat farm in Cherry County, and she had graduated from Chadron State College. Ted knew Mrs. Mitchell had two children, a boy who was a freshman at Wayne State and a girl who was a sophomore at the same regional high school his own brother and sister attended. His teacher was forty-six years old, her birthday was April 12, and she had been teaching school for eighteen years—the last eight years at Red Prairie. Mrs. Mitchell was five feet six inches tall, with brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a nose with a bump on it; and she had a tiny white scar on her forehead, just above her left eyebrow. She drove a dark blue Chevy Cavalier, license plate number PL 7865. Her first name was Barbara. And she wore size eight shoes.

  Ted finished his social studies, and with five minutes before recess, he chewed on the end of his pencil and aimed his mind at his real-life mystery, the one out on County Road 7.

  Because something April had said had been bothering him all morning. When he’d asked her if her name was Alexa, she got mad and asked him if he had heard that name on the news.

  Her mom’s name. On the news.

  A person whose name is on the news could be in trouble, like maybe lost or in an accident. But there’s another kind of trouble that gets a name onto the news—trouble with the law. Because bank robbers get their names on the news. So do kidnappers and burglars. And murderers.

  Ted wasn’t sure he wanted to meet April’s mom. Alexa. And it sounded like she didn’t want to meet him, either. April had said she was scared, said she would have left the Andersons’ if she’d known Ted had been there.

  But Ted set his fears aside and began to think about the problem of getting more supplies for them. Because he’d told April he would.

  He turned to his writing desk, pulled out a clean piece of paper, and started a shopping list. After school he could go to the E&A Market, load up, and then ride out there again.

  April had asked for water. Had to have water.

  And toilet paper. Also a must.

  They’d need bread.

  And more soup, the kind with plenty of meat and vegetables.

  And a can opener.

  Maybe a flashlight. Or some candles.

  And instant coffee. And Sterno.

  Ted knew what Sterno was because his family had gone to the Sunday buffet at the Holiday Inn over in Hulton once, and he had asked the chef about the little flaming cans under the serving trays.

  His shopping list seemed to be getting longer and longer, and all of a sudden Ted understood why: Three people multiplied by breakfast, lunch, and dinner—that’s … nine meals a day! That’s a TON!

  The size of what he’d volunteered to do hit Ted like a sack of grain. And all this was going to take money, too. Not to mention time.

  But he’d said he’d help. He’d shaken hands with April and he’d said, “See ya later.” So it wasn’t like he had a choice.

  Because a Scout is trustworthy.

  And so is a detective. And a paperboy.

  Chapter 8

  BADGES

  Ruby Cantrell tried to mind her own business. She really did. Customers at the E&A Market could buy anything they wanted to, as long as they had the money. And as long as those teenagers weren’t trying to get ahold of things they shouldn’t. Because the E&A Market was a genuine general store that sold everything from pantyhose to shotgun shells, from sugar cubes to antifreeze. Didn’t matter to Ruby what anybody bought. If Mrs. Kellins wanted to buy six jars of face cream at a time, it wasn’t anybody’s business but her o
wn. Probably made Mrs. Kellins feel good to see a whole year’s supply of beauty products stacked up there in her bathroom. And if Mr. Arliss bought seven gallons of chocolate milk every single week, well, so what? The man liked chocolate milk. Ruby tried to pay it no mind. She was just the cashier.

  But when young Teddy Hammond started unloading his shopping cart on Wednesday afternoon, Ruby felt like she had to butt in. “You know, honey, your mom never buys this kind of bathroom tissue. She gets the one with the bluebirds on it. You maybe want to take this back?”

  Ted smiled and said, “No, it’ll be okay.”

  Ruby shook her head, but she punched the price into the keypad, and the cash register went, beep.

  Then she rang up six cans of soup, a hand-cranked can opener, oatmeal raisin granola bars, a gallon of spring water, a loaf of bread, four tins of evaporated milk, a jar of cheddar cheese spread, four apples, three cans of tuna fish, instant coffee, plastic spoons and knives, a stack of paper cups, six Snickers bars—it sure seemed like a strange shopping list.

  Ruby stopped short and looked Ted in the face. “You’re buyin’ matches? And candles?”

  Ted had an answer ready. “Yup, and the Sterno cans, too. I was a Boy Scout—you know, Be Prepared. That’s what I always tell my mom. Gonna be some big storms this spring.”

  Beep … beep, beep.

  Ted paid the bill, and he made a big show of folding the receipt and putting it in the envelope he’d taken the money from, just like his mom did when she shopped.

  That made Ruby feel better.

  Ted carried the two plastic bags out to his bike, pleased that he had earned his Shopping for Strangers merit badge with flying colors. Because that’s how he was thinking about the afternoon’s activities. It was like earning merit badges in Boy Scouts. If you met a certain set of requirements, then you earned a merit badge. In the short time he’d been part of a troop, Ted had earned badges in Crime Prevention, Animal Science, and Weather.