“What I bet you didn’t know,” he said, “was that I didn’t want to go.”
I squinted into the blinding flashlight but didn’t say anything.
“My dad owned a kitchen supply store,” Dad continued. “It was pretty tiny, but it got us by. I worked there every summer from the age of eleven. I actually loved it. I thought for sure he was going to hand the store down to me. And when I was in high school, and he got sick”—my dad stopped for a minute, the way he always did when he talked about his dad getting sick—“I told him I wanted to take over the store right after I graduated. I knew if I didn’t take over, he was going to have to sell it. Which was a big deal, because the store had been his dad’s store, and his dad’s dad’s store before that.”
The flashlight suddenly went out, and my dad started fiddling with it. “Dang battery,” he muttered.
“So what happened with your dad?” I asked him in the dark.
“Well, we got in a pretty big fight, is what happened. My dad told me there was no way I wasn’t going to college. I told him there was no way I was. We screamed at each other all night. We were both incredibly stubborn, I guess. Sounds familiar, right?”
He stopped, like he was actually waiting for an answer, so I said, “Right.”
“I didn’t realize, of course, just how sick he was. On the day after I graduated from high school, I went down to the store just like always. But it was boarded up. There was a big sign on the door that said SOLD.”
Then my dad sat down on the couch next to me.
“He died a year later. My mom told me much later on that the sale of the store paid for the first two years of college, and his life insurance paid for the rest.”
The flashlight suddenly came back on, and I was able to see his face. It was wet. I think with rain.
“I wish I’d gotten to know him,” I said softly. “He sounds pretty awesome.”
“He was,” my dad answered, after a minute. “Even though he used to drive me crazy a lot.”
We sat there for a minute, just listening to the rain slow to a drizzle.
“People are paying attention to me,” I said to my dad. “Kids are noticing. Kids want to go on strike just like me! How awesome is that? How can I go back to the way it was before?”
I waited for his answer, but there was none.
“And besides,” I added, “you still haven’t told me I can quit tennis and karate and stop going to tutors.” I looked up at him, finally. “Sorry, Dad.”
He shined the flashlight up into the sky. “Looks like the rain stopped. Good night.” Five minutes later, my mom called me in for a bathroom break. I changed into my pajamas and got a warm blanket. Then I went back outside, lay back down on the wet couch, and thought about what my dad said until I fell asleep.
* * *
The next morning when I woke up, the couch and me were somehow back in the TV room. My dad was sitting in a chair next to me, watching SportsCenter.
“How did you get me back in here?” I asked.
“You’re a good sleeper” was all he said as he left the room.
28
STRIKE—DAY 6
On Saturday, for the first time since the strike began, I felt like playing the cello. I’d been practicing for about an hour and a half when my cell phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Jack? It’s Lucy Fleck.”
She was whispering for some reason.
“Hey, Lucy. What’s up?”
“I wanted to check in with you to make sure you were well.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” She lowered her voice even further, to a level only dogs could hear. “Are you?”
“I’m good,” I told Lucy.
“I think what you’re doing is extreme,” she said, “but I admire your perseverance.”
“Thanks.”
“I can imagine your father is quite upset with you.”
Now it was my turn to whisper, since he was in the next room. “My dad freaked out when I told him. He’s still freaked out. But you know what? The world didn’t end. I’m still here. Not to mention the fact that Brody Newhouse is coming over on Monday.”
“WHAT?!?” Lucy shouted. “I mean, what?!?” she repeated, returning to a whisper.
“It’s true.”
“I imagine there’s a story behind that bit of news.”
“There is.” And I told her the whole story: about the kids coming over, the toe injury, the touch football game, the phone call from Brody, and sleeping in the rain. Afterward, I waited for her to congratulate me and tell me how awesome it was that I was going to be on a popular TV show about brave kids.
But the only thing she said was “Baxter Billows was at your house? That’s interesting.”
“Why, do you like him?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, but I could almost feel her blushing.
“Okay, sorry.”
“I have to go,” she said. And she hung up.
I guess deep down, girls are all the same.
Even piano-playing, fencing, ice-skating girls.
29
There’s not much to report from the rest of the weekend. I spent most of my time waiting for Monday and the meeting with Brody.
* * *
On Saturday afternoon, Leo came over to play video games. After about fifteen minutes, I told him that video games are a lot less fun when you can play them whenever you want.
“That’s impossible,” Leo said.
“Trust me,” I told him.
We ended up just hanging out and talking about Cathy Billows and her adorable lack of ability at touch football. (Well, I talked, and Leo shook his head and rolled his eyes.)
* * *
On Saturday night, Mom, Dad, and Nana went out to dinner.
“Do you want to come?” Mom asked.
“Can the couch fit in the car?” I answered.
They brought me back a doggie bag.
* * *
On Sunday morning, Nana baked an amazing batch of chocolate chip cookies, maybe her best batch ever, and then proceeded to give me only three of them.
“Are you serious?” I cried. “What are you doing with the rest?”
“Giving them to your principal and your teachers, to thank them for not kicking you out of school,” she said.
* * *
On Sunday afternoon, I texted Charlie Joe Jackson and told him everything. He texted me back a one-word answer: JEALOUS.
Two minutes later, he texted me again: I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT.
* * *
On Sunday night, Cathy Billows instant-messaged me for the first time ever.
HAVE FUN TOMORROW! she wrote. TELL BRODY I SAY HI!
I printed it out and had Nana put it in my desk.
* * *
I should probably mention one other thing that happened that weekend. Me and my dad went back to not talking to each other.
30
STRIKE—DAY 8
Early Monday morning, my dad came in and woke me up.
“I’m going out of town for two days. Business trip,” he told me. “Been scheduled for a while.”
I rubbed my eyes but didn’t look at him. “Okay.”
“Mom told me about this TV guy who’s coming to talk to you today.”
“Brody Newhouse. He has a show everyone watches. He might want to put me on Wednesday night.”
My dad stared down at me. “Why would you assume I would let this happen?”
So here it was, finally. My dad waited and waited—after I told everyone I knew about the TV show—and now, at the last minute, he was going to cancel the whole thing.
“I have no idea,” I said, waiting for the ax to fall.
Finally my dad let out a big sigh.
“You can meet the guy,” he said. “We’ll talk later about the rest of it.” He took a deep breath. “You have your assignments for this week?”
“Mrs. Bender sent me everything,” I said, still not quite beli
eving that my dad was going to maybe let me go on TV and talk about the strike.
My dad picked up his briefcase. “Just make sure that whatever you tell him, you don’t say anything bad about our family,” he said. “Never say anything bad about your family. We stick together through thick and thin.”
“Okay,” I said.
My dad closed his eyes tight for a second, then opened them. “I know I haven’t dealt with this in the best way. I know the easy thing to do is just to say fine, go do what you want to do, but I’m not prepared to do that just yet. I don’t want you to think you can just pull this stunt and then suddenly get your way about everything. What kind of message would that send?”
He sat down on the couch next to me. “But I’ve been thinking about things, Jack, and I know we’ll be able to figure all this out on Wednesday when I get back.” He actually tried to smile a little. “And I’m pretty sure I know where to find you.”
Then he kissed me on the top of my head and was gone.
* * *
Later that morning, I asked my mom how she got my dad to go along with the whole TV show thing.
“Well, because I told him we should be proud of your bravery and your ability to stand up for something you believe in, and everyone should know it,” she said.
I looked at her. “No, really.”
My mom winked.
“I told him it would be good for college,” she said.
31
Brody Newhouse was an hour late.
“Those show-business types are all the same,” Nana said, as we killed time by playing gin rummy. “They only think of themselves. No respect for other people.”
“I beg to differ,” said a familiar voice, and Nana and I turned around to see the one and only Brody Newhouse walking into the room. Right behind him was my mom, who had a star-struck expression on her face.
Nana and I stared, both of us unable to speak. I’m not even sure I was breathing. It was the first time I’d seen a famous person up close, and I wasn’t handling it well.
Brody went straight up to my grandmother. “Who is this gorgeous lady?” he said, kissing her hand.
Suddenly Nana wasn’t so mad about the whole Brody-being-late thing.
“Rose Kellerman,” she said, doing a little bow, as if Brody were the king of England. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine, truly,” said Brody. Nana sat down, a little wobbly. For a second it literally looked as if she were going to faint. I think she thought Brody was more famous than he actually was.
“Are you okay, Mom?” asked my mom, concerned.
“I’m fine,” said Nana, fanning herself with a magazine. “Absolutely fine. Just overcome with a bad case of celebrity-itis.”
Brody laughed, then turned to me. “The man of the hour.”
“Hey,” I said, extending my hand. He waited for a second as if he thought I wasn’t finished, until he realized I wasn’t able to come up with anything else to say.
“Hey, yourself,” Brody said finally. “It’s a real honor to meet you. Seriously, kid, I love what you’re doing.”
“Don’t let his father hear you say that,” said my mom. Brody laughed again. The man had unbelievably white teeth.
“So listen, everyone, I brought a few people that I want you to meet. Is it okay if they come in?”
“Sure,” my mom said. Brody whipped out his cell phone. “It’s a go,” he said, then hung up abruptly. “Just some folks that will help us make this story fly,” he explained to us. “Always good to build a little momentum before the show airs.”
A few seconds later, two men and a woman came in. One of the guys had a video camera, and the other was carrying a massive light. The woman had a microphone, a mirror, and the most well-brushed hair I’d ever seen.
“Hi, Jack!” she said, smiling and showing off her perfect dimples. “I’m Shaina Townsend. I do pieces for the network’s website, and I’d love to do a piece on you.”
I looked at this really pretty person who was interested in me. “What’s ‘a piece’?”
She laughed. “A video feature.”
Nana marched up to Shaina. “I don’t like the news coverage on your channel,” she scolded. “It’s sensationalist and inflammatory.” Then she examined Shaina’s face carefully. “But your lipstick is wonderful.”
As the two of them became best pals, Brody came and sat next to me on the couch.
“So, here’s how it works,” he said. “We’d like to do the show Wednesday night. Now as I think you know, we always broadcast live, from the kid’s house. So we’ll be talking to you on camera in front of a lot of people. I’m not going to lie; it can be pretty intense. Are you sure you can handle that?”
“Honey, I don’t know about this,” my mom said.
I tried not to let them see me gulp. “No, it’s totally fine.”
“You’ll do great,” Brody reassured me. “But it’s not all live. That’s why we’re here today, to do a taped interview with you. There’s no big intro here, no big set-up, just some questions. Should be nice and easy.” He pointed at the guys with the camera and light, setting up their equipment. “Don’t pay any attention to them. Just look right at me.”
I looked around the room, trying to convince myself to relax. This was going to be great. I was a hero to kids everywhere! Cathy Billows was my new best friend! Who wouldn’t want to trade places with me?
Then the bright lights turned on, the camera’s red light flashed, and Brody smiled the brightest smile I’d ever seen in my life.
“So let me ask you something, Jack,” he said. “We did a little background work over the weekend and talked to some other people in town. A lot of people, especially kids, support what you’re doing. But we found a number of parents, in particular a woman named Missy Fleck, who seem to feel that what you’re doing is extremely dangerous. What do you say to those people?”
A bead of sweat popped out on my forehead. I wasn’t sure I heard him right. Why was he talking to Mrs. Fleck? What did she have to do with this? Wasn’t this about me being a hero?
I didn’t know what to say, so I just said, “What?”
Before Brody could say anything more, Nana came storming over. “I heard that,” she snapped. “What kind of question is that? How dare you put my grandson on the spot like that?”
“Sorry, Mrs…”
“Kellerman.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Kellerman. But it’s important for us to tell all sides of the story. Mrs. Fleck told us point-blank that she’s determined to fight back on this issue, that parents need to do whatever they can to make sure their children succeed.”
I looked at my grandmother. She had always been a fair person, all for free speech, and she loved a good argument. I saw her anger melt away just a little bit.
“So you’ve talked to this woman, Mrs. Fleck?”
“Not me personally,” said Brody.
“Who then?” Nana demanded.
“I did,” Shaina said, walking over to us. “I posted her comments on the website this afternoon.”
“Tell them the rest,” Brody said.
Shaina’s eyes shined with excitement. “When I told Mrs. Fleck that we might do a show about you, she was shocked. She said there’s nothing newsworthy about a kid lying on the couch all day.”
Then Brody jumped in. “She also said that if the show happened, she’d hold a rally right across the street in protest. During the show.”
My stomach did a somersault.
This time it was my mom who stormed over and got in Brody’s face. “Are you kidding me? Can she do that? Is that legal?”
“Completely legal, as long as she has a permit,” said the camera guy, who didn’t want to miss the fun.
My mom threw up her hands. “I’m not sure this is going to work out.”
“Mom!” I protested.
“I’m sorry, I can’t have a circus going on here,” she said. “I’m going to call your father and see what he h
as to say.”
As my mom stormed out of the room—there was a lot of storming going on—everyone started talking at once. For some reason, watching everybody else freak out made me feel calmer.
“I’ll answer the question,” I said to Brody, and suddenly everyone got really quiet.
“You will?” Brody asked.
“Yes.” I shifted in my seat. “I’m sure Mrs. Fleck loves her kids very much. And her daughter, Lucy, is really amazing at a lot of different things.”
“Great,” said Brody. “That’s a cut.” The lighting guy turned off his giant light.
“I’m not finished,” I said. The guy turned the light back on.
“But here’s the thing,” I continued, looking at Brody again. “I think Mrs. Fleck pushes her kids too hard. A lot of parents push their kids too hard, and make their kids do too much. And it’s wrong.”
Then I looked directly into the camera.
“That’s a cut.”
* * *
The rest of the interview was pretty quick. Brody asked me about my parents, and I remembered what my dad said about not saying anything bad. So I told him that basically we were a really happy family, even though we disagreed about some things.
“I’ll say,” Brody said.
“We love each other to death!” Nana shouted from the other room.
Eventually Brody said, “I think I’ve got everything I need for tonight.”
I was confused. “That’s it? You’re not going to ask me anything about the strike, or my daily schedule, stuff like that?”
Brody shook his head. “Nah, we’ll save that stuff for the live broadcast.”
I looked at him. “So we’re on for Wednesday?”
He smiled that TV smile. “As long as your parents don’t shut us down, we’re on for Wednesday.”
I couldn’t believe it. I was actually going to be on TV!
Shaina came over. “Jack, I need to get you on camera to do a teaser for the live show.” She sat down next to me as the equipment guys turned their stuff back on.
“Hi, this is Shaina Townsend. I’m here with Jack Strong, the middle school student who’s taking a stand by taking a seat,” she said. “He’s tired of his overscheduled life, so he’s decided to go on strike. He’s been sitting on this very couch for a week straight.” Then she turned to me. “Jack, tell me something: How long do you think your strike will go on?”
Jack Strong Takes a Stand Page 7
