Smart Cookies

by Adriana Brad Schanen

  “I think the chicken in charge will probably be the mean orange one,” says Hopper.

  “Or the polar-bear chicken, because it’s huge,” I say. “Or maybe even Walter, since he’s the only one who’s a cat.”

  “It’s not always size that matters—it’s personality,” says Mrs. Porridge.

  “Girls, we really need to go,” says Daddy. “Remember, homework? Piper, you have worksheets to finish from yesterday, still.”

  “Daddy, why does Piper even have homework? I never had any in kindergarten.”

  “You went to a different school for kindergarten, Quinny. Whisper Valley Elementary has its own rules, and they want kids to start reading and writing sooner.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  Daddy shrugs. “That’s an excellent question. We can discuss it on the way home.”

  “But we’ve got three new chickens to name! And Crescent hasn’t even met them yet—”

  “Quinny—”

  “Plus, they look hungry, so I really think we need to feed them a snack. Luckily, I didn’t eat any of the healthy stuff in my lunch box today, so they can have it all right now!”

  “Quinny, I’m taking off, too, just as soon as I get these separation pens up,” says Grandpa Gooley. “The chickens could use a little quiet time. Promise me you’ll all help Mrs. Porridge keep things running smoothly around here, and I bet they’ll settle down very soon.”

  “Of course we will!” I inform him. “Look how calm those chickens are now. I think they used up all their bad behavior.”

  “Doubt it,” says Mrs. Porridge. “It usually takes a flock of chickens a few days to settle in and establish a pecking order. And that’s with normal chickens. With this bottom-of-the-barrel bunch of hopeless misfits, who knows how bad it’ll get?”

  Well, I don’t care if these are bottom-of-the-barrel, not-normal, misfit chickens. I just know they’re going to live cluckily-ever-after in the Chalet des Poulets, with Cha-Cha and Walter, and make a spectacular four-chicken/one-cat family.

  Normal = boring, if you ask me.

  “Mrs. Porridge, I promise you, these interesting and gorgeous chickens will figure it out. And don’t forget the best part.”

  “Which part is that, Quinny? The part where I’m stuck with a chicken the size of a bear lurking through my garden? Or a vicious little beauty who pecks me to a bloody pulp?”

  “No, Mrs. Porridge, the best part is these are all grown-up chickens already! And you know what big grown-up chickens make?”

  “Grown-up chicken poop.”

  “Eggs!! We’ll finally have some fresh eggs around here!”

  After Quinny leaves, and the chickens are safe in their separation pens, I explain my big idea to Mrs. Porridge.

  “Interesting,” she says. “Help yourself, Hopper—you’ll be doing me a favor.”

  Then I go home and explain my big idea to Mom.

  “That old wagon? I don’t see why not—it’s just sitting there in the garage,” she says. “I think it’s a great idea, Hopper, but you should get permission from Principal Ramsey first.”

  I know that.

  I ask permission to go onto Mom’s computer so I can ask permission from the principal.

  Because sometimes it’s easier for me to type a question than to say it out loud.

  Mom says okay, and logs me onto her e-mail. (This fall she changed her password from PASSWORD to REPPOH. It took me four seconds to figure it out, but she doesn’t know I did.)

  The great thing about typing is that it lets you go back and check what you’re saying, and even change it. When you talk, you only get one chance, and if you don’t say it right or if people aren’t listening, then it’s all a waste.

  I thank Mom for letting me use her computer and I start typing:

  To: sramsey@wves.edu

  From: carolinegrey@zmail.com

  Tuesday, Nov 13; 4:12 p.m.

  Principal Ramsey,

  This is Hopper Grey. I am typing on my mom’s computer.

  I have a question. Can I paint the Friendship Bench a different color, and call it the Books & Buddies Bench? I think this will help more kids use it. It would give them an excuse to sit there, without saying they don’t have any friends. People who like to read can sit there and read, or talk about books, because sometimes playing tag or soccer can get too crazy. It could be another place to go if you don’t want to play with a lot of people, but don’t want to be alone either. Or if you want to be alone, but kind of with other people who want to be alone, too.

  I also think having a Books & Buddies Bench on the playground is a good example of “reading without walls,” which was on a poster I once saw in the library. I liked that poster a lot. Mr. Brolin used to have it up, but it got ripped and I don’t know where it is now.

  If you say yes, my neighbor Mrs. Porridge will let me have her leftover paint and brushes and a lot of books from her basement. Mom said I could have our old wagon, too, since it’s just sitting in our garage. We could fill the wagon with books and roll it back and forth from school to the bench at recess.

  This is just an idea, but I hope you say yes.

  And my last sentence is: thank you for reading my e-mail.

  Your student,

  Hopper Grey

  Instead of doing my boring homework, I decide to work on my exciting petition. I write and write…and write some more. I have a lot to say about cookies.

  When I’m done, the petition is four pages (front and back!), and I sign my name at the end, and staple some extra pages to it, so people who agree with me can write their autographs.

  Principal Ramsey is going to be so impressed. I bring the petition downstairs to show Mom.

  “Wow, Quinny, this is very…long,” she says. “How’s your homework going?”

  Ugh. How can Mom talk about dreary homework when I’m trying to do something really important here, by sticking up for cookies in school?

  “Mom, did I tell you the best part? Hopper is going to decorate the petition with cookie art, to make it extra yummy. When Principal Ramsey reads it, he’ll change the rules for sure.”

  Mom looks a little skeptical, but I get my whole family to sign the petition. Piper’s printing is wobbly and Cleo’s fingerprint is sticky (I dipped her finger in a little paint, since she can’t write yet), and my parents’ autographs look just like messy scribbles. I also want to get Crescent to sign it with her tiny little furry paw print, but Mom says enough is enough and sends me back upstairs to finish my homework. Which I guess means I have to start it in the first place.

  On the bus Wednesday morning, I can’t wait to show Hopper my petition.

  “Hopper Hopper Hopper, guess what? I have some exciting news.”

  “Me, too,” he says.

  Before I can even show him my petition, he tells me his idea for changing the Friendship Bench into a Books & Buddies Bench, and how Principal Ramsey e-mailed back this morning to say yes. He tells me how Kaitlin gave him the idea for it at recess, which I think is funny.

  “Oh, Hopper, you are never going to get Kaitlin to sit and read a book at recess. All she cares about is nail polish and hip-hop dancing and her cat named Selena.”

  “Look what I found in Mrs. Porridge’s basement,” he says.

  He shows me a funny book about cats. I have to admit Kaitlin might like it.

  “Mrs. Porridge said I could take it,” he says. “There were tons of other books down there, and she said I could borrow them all, for good, and we could go to garage sales for more and—”

  “Hopper, breathe!” I laugh. It’s excellent advice—I get it from people all the time.

  “Can you help me paint the bench at recess?” he asks. “Mrs. Porridge will bring some old paint cans from her basement. Mom’s going to drop off our old wagon to hold the books.”

  “Sure, but you have to draw some cookies on my petition first. I finished writing it last night and I need some really professional cookies, because I want people to go WOW.”<
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  I show him the petition. He says the same thing Mom said—it’s kind of long. He starts to give me some advice about making it shorter, but the petition is already finished, so it’s too late.

  “Hopper, thanks for your help, but I already wrote it all down in pen and can’t erase it, so can we just focus on making the petition look delicious?”

  He shrugs and draws a few cookies on it. And they definitely look good enough to eat.

  Then I ask everyone on the bus for their autograph. I even ask Jeanie, our driver, when I get off. Plus Paul, the crossing guard by our school. He laughs, but says okay. That’s fourteen autographs before I even get inside the building.

  When Principal Ramsey sees this petition, he won’t know what hit him!

  At recess on Thursday, Caleb helps me paint. We turn the Friendship Bench into the Books & Buddies Bench.

  Alex would rather play tag than paint. He makes fun of us. But Caleb ignores him, and that makes it easier for me to ignore him, too.

  Xander comes over to watch us paint. He looks like he can’t decide whether to make fun of me, like Alex, or help me paint, like Caleb. I pull out another paintbrush and offer it to him. Mrs. Porridge gave me lots of brushes, along with these cans of green paint from her basement.

  The person I really wish would help me paint is Quinny. But she’s been running around at recess for the past couple of days getting signatures on her cookie petition. I signed it, too. Even though she didn’t use any of my advice. Her petition is still very long and sloppy. I don’t think Principal Ramsey will like it. But Quinny is getting a lot of kids to sign it.

  Not Victoria, though. I watch Victoria and Quinny talking by the monkey bars.

  It does not look like a happy conversation. Then they walk in separate directions. Some of the girls follow Quinny. Some follow Victoria. Some stand there, looking confused.

  I try to focus on painting this bench. And on Xander and Caleb, who are helping me.

  We’re making the new words Books and Buddies big and easy to see.

  Quinny comes by a few moments later.

  “Wow, that new bench looks great, Hopper. Did you know green is my favorite color? But you should add some orange, too, because that’s my other favorite color. Plus, add some polka dots, because they make people happy.”

  I’m not a big fan of polka dots. But I add a few inside the two Os in Books, just for her.

  “Want to help?” I offer Quinny my last spare brush.

  “Thanks, Hopper. But I still have to get more people to autograph my cookie petition. Look how many I got so far, even though Victoria is enemies with my petition for some reason.”

  Some of the signatures are hard to read. Some are just first names. Some I don’t even recognize from school. I have more advice for her, but I don’t give it. She won’t listen anyway.

  “By the way, I love your wagon,” she says. “A red wagon full of books is the best. That’s so great your mom brought it to school for you.”

  Mom used to pull me and my brothers around in this wagon when we were little. Now I’ll use it to bring books from inside school out to the Books & Buddies Bench at recess every day.

  “But you know what? You should keep these books out here all the time,” says Quinny. “That way people would get used to them. And if you’re absent they’d still be out here.”

  “The books will get ruined if I leave them outside all the time.”

  “Oh, oh, I know!” Quinny hops. “We could build a chicken coop for those books! Bock bock books! Bock bock books!” She cracks herself up so much she loses her balance.

  Caleb and Xander smirk at each other. I know what they’re thinking.

  But a chicken coop for books makes sense, in a Quinny kind of way.

  A little wooden house to keep the books safe and dry on the playground.

  And then I remember my friend Owen. His cousin had something like that in front of his house. It was called…it was called something….I try to remember the name.

  It was called a Little Free Library.

  A long time ago, back in first grade, we went to visit Owen’s cousin and the Little Free Library was sitting there on their grass. It was bigger than a birdhouse, smaller than a stove, and filled with books. Books you could borrow and return anytime, without paying a fine. Books you could even keep. That was the wildest part. There was no way to get in trouble with those books.

  “A chicken coop for books is called a Little Free Library. Owen’s cousin had one.”

  “Who?” Quinny asks.

  I remind her about Owen, who moved away before she moved to town. He liked to read as much as I do. He liked science and making things, like I do. It hurts to think about how Owen left, but now that I have Quinny, it hurts less than it used to.

  I tell her about the Little Free Library that I saw at Owen’s cousin’s house.

  And the more I talk, the more Quinny bops around, all excited.

  “You’re right, Hopper, that sounds just like a chicken coop for books. We definitely need to get a Little Free Library for the playground.”

  “I’ll make one,” I say. “I’ll see if Grandpa Gooley has any extra wood from when he built the Chalet des Poulets.”

  “You will? Hopper, you’re a genius!”

  I know how to hammer a nail, but I don’t know how to make an entire Little Free Library. But since I just told Quinny I would, I guess I’ll have to find a way.

  After school Quinny and I go to Mrs. Porridge’s house, and see her out getting her mail.

  “Mrs. Porridge! How are the chickens doing? Plus, would you sign my cookie petition?”

  Quinny whips out her petition. Mrs. Porridge takes a moment to look it over.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” she finally says.

  “I know, isn’t it awful how Principal Ramsey hates cookies?”

  “Quinny, this petition is sloppy and repetitive. And frankly, the last thing you need in school is a sweet. I can imagine those poor teachers having to deal with all you sugared-up kids.”

  “Bite your tongue, Mrs. Porridge! Cookies make school a better place.”

  “We’ll just have to agree to disagree on that. Hopper, how did the painting go today?”

  “Good. Caleb and Xander helped, and we got about half the bench painted. But I was wondering if you have any extra wood? From when Grandpa Gooley built the chicken coop?”

  “Hmm, nope. What are you up to now?”

  I explain our new idea to build a Little Free Library near the Books & Buddies Bench. Mrs. Porridge says it sounds like a “fine” idea, but that we’re on our own tracking down more wood. “Now, are you kids here to help with the chickens, or to just stand around yakking?”

  Poodle, Pumpkin, and Polar Bear (that’s what Quinny named the chickens, and I didn’t argue) are still stuck in their separation pens in the Chalet des Poulets. Mrs. Porridge doesn’t want to put them all together yet, not until they settle down.

  But she lets them out now for a little bit, since Quinny and I are here to supervise. And she gives us jobs. Mine is to spray Pumpkin with the water bottle and yell NO every time she pecks. Eventually she’ll figure out we’re in charge of her, not the other way around. Poodle limps around, free-ranging with Cha-Cha and Walter. Polar Bear is still scared and hides in the henhouse. Quinny’s job is to try and coax her out.

  “Come on out, you big beautiful scaredy-bird,” Quinny calls out. “Life is worth living.”

  Quinny’s dad shows up. “Quinny, time for soccer.”

  “Right now?” She groans. “I’m helping with the chickens. Plus I have a sprained arm, remember?”

  “Your sprained arm was strong enough to be doing handstands this morning, remember? Now you signed up to drill with Trevor and Ty’s league twice a week—Tuesday and Thursday. If you don’t want to go, we should cancel and try to get our money back.”

  I know Quinny loves playing soccer, she just hates leaving for soccer sometimes.

  “No,
no, I’ll go,” she says. “But Daddy, wait, do you have any extra wood we could have? See, Hopper is going to build a chicken coop for all the books at recess and—”

  “Quinny, please. Come change and grab your cleats, we’re running late.”

  After Quinny leaves, it’s quieter. That makes it easier for me to think.

  Maybe we have something in our garage I could use to make a Little Free Library.

  I walk over and look. Bikes. Toys. A wrinkled old tent. Tools, grubby garden stuff.

  I go inside my house and call Grandpa Gooley. He doesn’t have any extra wood, but says he’ll try to track some down. “It’s a worthy idea, Hopper, but lumber’s not cheap.”

  Then I look on Mom’s computer for more ideas.

  It turns out there are all kinds of Little Free Libraries out there. People buy them or make them out of anything, even old mailboxes or microwaves. You can also buy a kit that comes with everything you need to make one (but it costs $125), or buy one already put together ($295). Yikes. I cross my fingers that Grandpa Gooley can help us find some free wood.

  I get out my sketchbook. I draw a very rough sketch.

  Mom comes over to the computer, wearing her exercise clothes and headphones. “Honey, Mrs. Porridge said she’d come over and keep an eye on you. I’m going for a run.”

  I know Mom’s been training for this big running race called the Turkey Trot.

  She turns to leave, but I stop her. “Wait, Mom, can I go with you?”

  “You want to go for a run?” Mom looks amused.

  She’s never seen me play tag at recess. She doesn’t realize I run pretty fast when I try.

  “Can we run past the hardware store?” I ask. “I need to stop in and see if they have some stuff I need for a school project. I want to make a Little Free Library on the school playground.”

  I show Mom my sketch. She looks impressed and says we can stop and check.

  I go get my sneakers on and we leave for a run. I fold up my sketch and take it with me.

  We start slow. Then we speed up—but just a little. Mom says she has to pace herself, or she won’t last until the end of the race, which is five kilometers long.