Jack Strong Takes a Stand

by Tommy Greenwald

  “Cool,” I said. “Well, if you’re as good at sports as you are on the piano, you must be awesome.”

  “Thank you,” Lucy said. “I have to go.”

  I watched Lucy put her tray away and walk out of the cafeteria. She didn’t seem to mind being overscheduled. Why couldn’t I be more like her?

  Because I couldn’t, that’s why.

  15

  Then came Monday afternoon, June 13.

  When I got home, I threw my backpack down by the front door, got myself a giant bowl of cereal, grabbed the remote, and dove onto the couch.

  It was more comfy than usual.

  Maddie joined me about five seconds later and started fighting me for the cereal. I won, as usual, but she got her fair share.

  I turned on the TV. So much was on. I finally narrowed it down to two of my favorites: Pencilneck, a cartoon about a kid who was half human and half pencil, and Now What?!?, a reality show where four really good-looking teenagers have to live without their smartphones for a week.

  I couldn’t decide, so I flipped between the two for about twenty minutes. Then I fell asleep. It was awesome!

  Then it wasn’t awesome.

  I felt a tap on my toe. Then the tap got a little harder. Then someone was shaking my whole foot. Then I was awake.

  “Jack? Jack? Come on honey, time to go.”

  I opened my eyes unwillingly.

  “Go where?”

  My mom and Nana were looking down at me, and mom was holding my soccer cleats. I guess that was my answer.

  “We don’t want to be late.”

  I looked at her. “YOU don’t want to be late. I want to be extremely late.” I closed my eyes again.

  “Jack, seriously.”

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “Mom, I’m really tired. Really, REALLY tired. Can’t I skip soccer just this once? We don’t even have to tell Dad.”

  “I think that’s a fine idea,” said Nana. “Jack and I will sit here and watch a little television. It’s too rainy for soccer anyway.”

  “It’s barely drizzling,” said my mom, but she kind of looked like she didn’t have the heart to fight about it. For a minute, I allowed myself to think that I might actually get to spend an entire afternoon just hanging out on the couch!

  Then my mom’s cell phone rang.

  As usual, she couldn’t find it. While she was running around looking for it, it rang two more times.

  Looking back on it, it’s funny to think that if my mom hadn’t found her phone, this whole crazy thing might not have happened.

  But she found it.

  “It’s Dad,” she said.

  Nana and I sighed.

  “Hi, honey,” my mom chirped into the phone. She had a really cheerful phone manner. “What’s up?” She listened for a second, then glanced at me. “We’re about to,” she said into the phone. “He’s tired.” Another beat, then she said, “He doesn’t.” Nana and I watched as Mom nodded at something my dad said, then added, “It was a very busy weekend, Richard, busier than usual!” After two more seconds of nodding, she held the phone out to me. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “Poor kiddo,” Nana said, shaking her head.

  I took the phone as though it were a plate of asparagus. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Mom tells me you don’t want to go to soccer?” As usual, not a lot of intro chitchat from Dad.

  “I’m really tired, and I just want to watch a little TV with Nana today.”

  My dad’s sigh into the phone sounded like a hurricane. “I get that, Jack, I really do. And you can watch a little TV tonight before homework, I promise. But right now you have to go to soccer. Remember, while you’re sitting around, all the other kids are out there, getting better.”

  It was my turn to sigh. “Dad, do you really want to know what the other kids are doing? I’ll tell you. They’re at the party you didn’t let me go to because I had to get better at the cello. And they’re getting the free ice cream sundaes that I missed because I had to get better at Chinese. And they’re celebrating winning the World Series, but they’re celebrating without me, because I had to get better at tennis. So don’t tell me about the other kids.”

  “And you don’t talk to me that way,” my dad said, in his watch it voice. “I let you scream in the parking lot after the baseball game because I knew you were feeling upset that you couldn’t go celebrate with the team, and I got that. But that’s enough. I mean it.”

  Whenever Dad talked to me like that, I usually responded by not responding. But this time—maybe because I was tired, or maybe because I was fed up, or maybe because of the expression on Cathy Billows’s face when I yelled at the baseball field—I did respond.

  “Whatever, Dad. I’m not going to soccer practice today, and that’s final.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mom shaking her head, and my nana smiling just a tiny bit.

  My dad was silent for minute. I think he was trying to decide whether he was going to blow up at me or try to play it cool.

  “So what you’re saying,” he finally said, playing it cool, “is that you’d rather be one of those kids who just sits on the couch all day long, watching TV, playing video games, doing nothing? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  I didn’t answer.

  My dad asked again. “Is it?”

  I stared at the phone, thinking about his question. Then I thought about all the times Leo and I would be just starting a video game when I got interrupted because I had to go, and I thought about telling Cathy I couldn’t go to her party, and about Lucy Fleck’s crazy mother making me drop my bow, and about Lucy Fleck herself, who seemed like she didn’t really know how to smile, and I thought about all the things I did every day that I didn’t really want to do, and most of all I thought about lying on the couch, relaxing. Just relaxing. It sounded so simple, and yet I’d never really done it. Because even when I was just hanging out, I always had one ear out, listening for the footsteps, the jingle of the car keys, the loud voice I knew was coming, which meant it was time to go to some other activity I really didn’t want to go to.

  And then I had a sudden flashback to last summer, when my friend Charlie Joe Jackson took a stand at Camp Rituhbukkee when they wanted to add an extra class, and how brave and awesome that was. Why couldn’t I do something like that?

  I looked at Nana. She nodded her head once. “It’s totally up to you,” she said.

  And I realized she was right. It WAS totally up to me.

  Suddenly I knew what I was going to do. What I HAD to do.

  “You know what, Dad?” I said into the phone. “I think I do want to become one of those kids who just sits on the couch all day long. And you know what else? I want to become one of those kids who sits on the couch all night long, too! In fact, I want to become one of those kids who sits on the couch all the time! How’s that sound?”

  My dad didn’t say anything, but I could hear him breathing.

  “And I’m not getting off the couch ever again, for anything,” I announced, surprising even myself. “EVER,” I repeated, in case he hadn’t quite heard me. “Or at least until you let me quit all the stuff I don’t like doing.”

  I stopped, held my breath, and waited for my dad to say something. It took about eight seconds.

  “Put Mom on the phone,” he said.

  I handed the phone to my mom, who immediately went into the other room and started whispering like crazy.

  Nana looked down at me.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Really,” I answered.

  She shook her head and smiled, as I flipped on the TV and settled in.

  It was official.

  I was on strike.

  PART 2

  DURING

  16

  STRIKE—DAY 1

  It took a while for my parents to realize I was serious.

  I spent the rest of that first day on the couch, hanging out with Nana, reading, and watching Columbo. When Dad got home, Maddie got
off the couch to greet him. I didn’t.

  He didn’t bring up our earlier conversation. All he said was, “Whatcha watching?”

  “A bunch of stuff,” I answered.

  “Great,” said Dad, heading back into the kitchen for dinner. Nana joined him, as usual. But my parents didn’t come in to watch TV and rub each other’s feet, which was unusual.

  About an hour later, Nana came back in. “I’m heading to bed,” she announced, looking at me. “Are you coming?”

  “Nope.”

  She smiled. “What are you up to, Jack Strong?”

  I looked up at her. “I don’t know exactly. But I’m staying here.”

  I expected her to tell me I was being silly. Instead, she said, “Let me get you a blanket.”

  After another half hour, my parents came in.

  “Are you planning on sleeping here tonight?” my mom asked.

  “Yup.”

  “You’re a stubborn one,” said my dad, rubbing my head.

  “Wonder where he gets that from,” my mom said, laughing.

  “We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” my dad said, not laughing.

  Mom kissed my cheek. “Sleep well, honey.”

  I did.

  17

  STRIKE—DAY 2

  The next morning, I was still on the couch when my mom came in to wake me up for school.

  “I’m not going.”

  My mom looked around for help, but there was none. Nana was still asleep, and Dad was long gone. He usually left for work at like 5:45.

  It was just the two of us, unless you count Maddie, who had wandered in to see what was going on.

  “What do you mean, you’re not going?”

  I rolled over and dug my head into the pillow. “I mean, I’m not going to school.”

  “Are you sick?”

  “Sure.”

  “Let me get a thermometer.” As she left the room, I sat up and considered my options: Stop the madness and get up and go to school, stall and pretend to be sick, or take a stand.

  I looked at Maddie, who was wagging her tail. She looked like she was ready for a little excitement in her life. And you know something? So was I.

  When my mom came back with the thermometer, I said, “Actually, I’m not sick, Mom. I’m just not going to school.”

  “And why not?” she asked, even though I think she knew the answer.

  “Because I’m not getting up from the couch. Like I told you guys last night, I’m not getting up until you guys let me quit some of my stupid activities.”

  “I’m going to call your father.”

  “Fine. Go ahead.”

  The lack of fear at the mention of my dad’s name made her stop in her tracks. She came back and sat down next to me on the couch. “What is up with you?”

  “Nothing.” I sat up next to her. “It’s just that you always want Dad to do the dirty work, to be the bad guy and yell at me, or something. Well, he can’t make me change my mind this time, and neither can you. I’m staying on the couch. I’ll have Leo bring my homework, and I’ll keep up with my schoolwork, but I’m staying here. And that’s final.”

  I waited to see what my mom would do. It was true that she was way too nice to ever get really angry at me, so she left all the unpleasant stuff to my dad (and then of course she got mad at him if he yelled at me too loudly). But this time I thought she might actually get mad at me, since I called her out on it.

  Instead, she just sighed heavily, realizing she wasn’t going to change my mind.

  “Well, I guess it’s okay, just for today. But what about when you’re hungry? How are you going to get food? And what about when you have to go to the bathroom?”

  “I’ve already decided—there are some things I can get off the couch for,” I said. “Like, to get food from the kitchen, and to go to the bathroom, and to charge my phone. And Nana and I talked about doing some exercises to the TV, while standing next to the couch, but that’s it. Otherwise, I’m staying right here.” And I patted the cushion.

  My mom smiled a little. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” I think she might even have been a little proud of me, in a way. “Okay, fine,” she added. “I’ll call the school. But we need to get all this figured out tonight when Dad gets home.”

  Maddie somehow sensed that the situation was resolved—at least for now—and she jumped up onto the couch next to me.

  “I know one family member who’s happy with your decision, anyway,” my mom said, petting Maddie.

  “Two,” said Nana, plopping down on the other side.

  18

  What a great day!

  First, Nana and I exercised in the morning. (Yoga is incredibly hard, by the way.) Then I watched some TV, checked out some YouTube, played some video games, listened to music, read a little bit, took a nap, played with Maddie, had a delicious lunch, and went to absolutely no organized activities of any kind.

  After lunch, my mom and Nana went shopping, so I had the house to myself for two hours. It was awesome.

  Around dinnertime, I got a text from Leo: WHERE WERE YOU TODAY??

  I texted back: LONG STORY. CALL ME.

  Six seconds later, the phone rang.

  “Dude, what’s up? Are you sick?”

  “Nope,” I answered, playing it cool. “Not sick.”

  “Then what? Why weren’t you in school today?”

  I took a deep breath. “Because I’m staying on the couch and not getting up.”

  “You’re what?”

  “I told my parents I’m not getting up from the couch until they agree to let me give up some of the stuff I’m always signed up for, like karate and Chinese and stuff like that.”

  “Holy moly,” Leo said, getting right to the point as usual. “So you’re on strike? Like that Polish guy?”

  I’d told Leo awhile back about Charlie Joe Jackson, and how he’d been inspired to lead a mini-strike at camp after learning about this famous Polish activist Lech Walesa. Leo had one reaction—he couldn’t believe a kid like Charlie Joe would ever be caught dead at a place like Camp Rituhbukkee.

  “Yup,” I confirmed to Leo. “I’m on strike.”

  He whistled into the phone. “Holy smokes. That is totally awesome!”

  I smiled. “Yeah, thanks.”

  “But, like, what about school?”

  “Well, here’s the thing,” I explained. “I’m actually going to need your help, because I still need to do my schoolwork. So you’re going to have to get kids to take notes for me and bring me my homework and stuff. You can do it by e-mail, too, if you want.”

  Leo was silent for a second. I think he had realized he could be considered a co-conspirator if he helped me, and he was trying to decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  “I can definitely do that,” he said eventually. “Tell me what you need.”

  Good friends always come through in the clutch.

  “Well, the first thing I’m going to need is for you to tell everybody what I’m doing,” I said. I imagined the faces on my teachers, and the kids, when Leo started spreading the news. Alex Mutchnik. Cathy Billows. Lucy Fleck. Wow, this was going to be intense. I almost wished I could be there to see it.

  “Okay, then what?” Leo asked.

  “Then, can you come over after school tomorrow to bring me my homework and stuff?”

  “I can’t,” he sighed. “I have to go to SERVICE.”

  SERVICE stood for Student Encouraging Relief, Volunteering and Cheering up the Elderly. It was started by Lucy Fleck’s older brother Damien—with a lot of help from his mother, I’m sure—as a way for kids to do community work to look good for colleges. It basically consisted of high school kids getting money from their parents to buy food at fancy stores and delivering it to nursing homes and hospitals in the area. Now the middle school kids were starting to do it, too.

  Thank God SERVICE was one activity I didn’t have to do, probably because even my dad thought Mrs. Fleck was crazy. Ever si
nce she tried to establish a gifted program in nursery school, he didn’t want anything to do with her.

  “Okay, cool,” I said to Leo. “Maybe after SERVICE you can e-mail me some of the work, cool?”

  “Totally cool,” he said. “What you’re doing is so awesome. I totally wish I had the guts to do it.”

  I heard the front door open. My heart started thumping.

  Dad.

  “I better go,” I said to Leo. “My dad’s home.”

  “Does he know what you’re up to?”

  “Not really,” I said.

  Leo whistled again. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, if you’re still alive.”

  19

  I heard my dad put his briefcase on the floor. Then I heard his footsteps. He was coming my way.

  Maddie jumped off the couch and left the room. She didn’t want any part of what was about to happen. Neither did I, frankly, but I didn’t have much choice.

  Nana came in first. She always had my back.

  Dad was right behind her.

  “How was your day?” he said, trying to be nice.

  “Awesome.”

  “Great.”

  He loosened his tie and rubbed his eyes. Looking at him, it occurred to me how tired he was, how tired he always was, and how hard he worked. I suddenly felt a little guilty for adding more stress to his life.

  “You need to stop this nonsense,” said my dad.

  “I will,” I said, “as soon as you let me drop some of my activities.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” said my dad.

  “You’re ridiculous.” Something about the last couple of days was making me a little too brave for my own good.

  He looked at me like he didn’t quite recognize me. “You’re not quitting anything.”

  “Who said anything about quitting?” Nana butted in. “It’s not quitting if you stop doing things you never want to do.”

  “Rose, stay out of this please!” my dad snapped. Nana looked shocked. At first I thought she was going to yell back at him, but then I think she remembered she was living in his house and backed off.