by jeff brown
The tour guide said that when people first came to America, many of them just wanted to be themselves without getting into trouble. They wanted the right to be different, and that was the first thing that the Declaration of Independence declared: that all people are equal and entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
In the same room, Stanley saw the Constitution, which set up how the government worked: The president ran things, Congress made laws, and a Supreme Court made tough decisions. The building also had the Bill of Rights, which were the first laws to get passed and are still the most important ones. Right at the beginning, in the First Amendment, there was freedom of speech, freedom of religion, and the freedom to protest.
“Excuse me,” a small voice said. Stanley turned to see two girls staring at him, holding big, colorful guidebooks. “My name is Sook-ying and this is my sister, Cho. We are from South Korea. Are you Flat Stanley?”
“No,” Stanley lied.
The girl frowned. “Your head is flat,” she said. “Please, we are big fans. May I take a picture with you?”
At least it’s okay to be different in America, Stanley thought. He put a crinkly, newspaper-filled arm around the girl and smiled.
Just as the camera flashed, Stanley saw two men in black suits and sunglasses appear in the doorway to the giant room: the kidnappers!
Stanley turned his back and bent his head close to the girls. “I need your help,” he whispered.
A moment later, Stanley spied the men in black as they kicked a mound of scrunched-up newspaper on the floor next to the Bill of Rights. He watched them as he escaped, sticking out of Sook-ying’s backpack, folded up to look like a guidebook.
5
The Monumental Mistake
Stanley spent the rest of the day hiding in different museums. He visited the National Gallery of Art, where he hid from the police in three different paintings, including a Picasso. At the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, he was admiring the Apollo 11 space capsule, which had landed on the moon, when the men in black appeared again. Stanley gave them the slip by jumping into an astronaut suit whose visor was open. He found it to be very warm and slightly musty.
In the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History, Stanley saw the Hope Diamond, an enormous forty-five-and-one-half-carat jewel. I wish Calamity Jasper could see this, he thought, thinking of his and Arthur’s treasure-hunting friend from Mount Rushmore.
But night eventually fell.
All the museums closed.
And Stanley had nowhere to go.
He saw the Lincoln Memorial shining brightly in the dark, like a lit house on a stormy night. It sat at one end of a large strip of grass called the National Mall. At the other end, exactly one mile away, was the dome of the US Capitol, where the members of Congress worked. And right in the middle, halfway between the Lincoln Memorial and the Capitol, was the tall white pillar of the Washington Monument.
Stanley settled into Abraham Lincoln’s enormous white stone lap and sighed deeply. The statue’s wise eyes looked unblinkingly over him.
“I’ve never run away before,” Stanley admitted. “Everyone must be worried sick.”
Stanley smiled for a moment, thinking of how his mother would correct his grammar. “Stanley,” she would have said, “you mean that everyone is sick with worry.”
“But if I go back,” Stanley continued in a soft voice, “they’ll make me out to be some kind of American hero. But I’m not one. I’m just a kid who got flattened by a falling bulletin board. Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence even though he knew he was going to get in big trouble with the king of England—that’s a hero. Neil Armstrong walked on the moon—that’s a hero. Heroes risk everything for what they believe in. They make tough choices, like you did, President Lincoln. I didn’t choose to be flat. I don’t stand for anything.”
Stanley looked up at Abraham Lincoln’s large, impassive face. And all of a sudden, from a certain angle, the former president looked like the Japanese movie star Oda Nobu, with his big nose and square jaw and beard. Stanley’s mind raced back to a moment on a Japanese bullet train, and he could hear Oda Nobu’s voice in his mind.
“Stanleysan,” Oda Nobu had said, “your flatness is what makes you special. But you must remember this: Being flat is what you are. It is not who you are. Who you are is a very bright, very funny, very curious young boy. It is who you are, flat or round. Always remember that, Stanleysan. Flat or round.”
Somehow, the memory made Stanley feel a bit better. Maybe he wasn’t a hero. But at least he was himself.
Suddenly, a pair of shadows darted across the base of the statue. Before he knew it, he was surrounded by at least a dozen men in black.
“Stanley Lambchop!” one of the men shouted. “Stop—”
Stanley flipped up into the air. He sprang end over end down the grand steps, the men close behind him.
There was a long rectangular pool in front of the Lincoln Memorial. In the darkness, Stanley could see the Washington Monument reflected in and rising above it. Picking up speed, he launched himself over the water and pushed out his stomach.
Stanley skipped on the surface like a stone: one … two … three … four … five times. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see men in black racing alongside the edge of the pool, their ties flapping over their shoulders.
With a final, powerful thrust of his belly against the water’s surface, he soared out of the pool … and landed flat against the side of the Washington Monument.
Because he was damp from the reflecting pool, he stuck to it like a wet washcloth on the side of a bathtub.
“Stanley!” one of the men in black called. “Stop!”
“Why should I listen to a kidnapper like you?!” Stanley shouted back.
Stanley looked toward the sky and began inching his way up the monument as fast as he could. Like an inchworm, he would unpeel his arms from the stone, re-stick them a few inches higher up, unpeel the rest of his body, and pull himself up.
When Stanley finally looked down, his stomach lurched. He was more than five hundred feet high. He reached up again, and the stone tilted. He had reached the pyramid-shaped tip of the Washington Monument.
He had no place left to run.
Suddenly, there was a blinding light and a terrible roaring. Stanley trembled as a helicopter rose into view.
“STANLEY LAMBCHOP!” a voice over a loudspeaker boomed. “STAY WHERE YOU ARE!”
The wind from the helicopter got under Stanley’s skin, and his whole body flipped out to the side. He held on to the Washington Monument in desperation, his body flapping like a flag over the capital.
“STANLEY!” the loudspeaker called. “STOP!”
In his head, Stanley heard the words of Billy Wallaby, the Australian billionaire who had brought him and Arthur to Australia. “If I were you, I’d worry about the wind, mate. That’s the greatest threat to your well-being.”
“Oh no,” Stanley whispered.
His fingers slipped from the stone, and Stanley Lambchop flew through the sky like a shot.
6
The Oval Office
A half mile away, Stanley’s back slammed into the dome of the Capitol with a slap. The wind was knocked out of him. For a moment, he could not even open his eyes.
When he did, there were two men in black crouched over him. Stanley sat up fast, and the side of his head smacked one of them in the nose.
“Ouch!” the man cried.
The other one held up a badge.
“Secret Service. The president wants to see you,” the man panted.
“You mean you’re not kidnappers?” said Stanley.
The men shook their heads.
“You’re the good guys?” Stanley said blankly.
The men nodded.
Stanley flopped back down on his back. “Oops,” he croaked.
Stanley waited nervously in the Oval Office. At the other end of the room was a big, empty wooden desk
, surrounded by windows. A portrait of George Washington looked down at him disapprovingly.
Through a side door, a woman came in carrying a tray.
She turned to face Stanley, and he couldn’t believe his eyes.
It was the president herself!
“Hi there, Stanley,” she said, as if they were neighbors. “You like Mexican food, don’t you?”
She put the tray down on a little table in front of a white couch, sat down, scooped some salsa onto a tortilla chip, and popped it into her mouth. She patted the seat beside her.
Stanley didn’t move.
“Stanley, the president of the United States just invited you to have a nacho with her.”
Stanley quickly sat down. He carefully took a chip and placed it in his mouth.
“Nothing works up the appetite like evading the Secret Service, huh?” the president said.
Stanley swallowed. He looked at his feet awkwardly and shrugged.
“You know, it was I who decided to give you the National Medal of Achievement, Stanley,” said the president. “It’s quite an honor. I thought you really deserved it.”
“Why?”
“Because I think you’re someone we can all look up to,” she said matter-of-factly.
“You mean because I’m flat?” said Stanley glumly.
“No,” replied the president. “Because you use what’s different about you to make people all over the world realize what they have in common,” she said. “You’ve traveled the globe, showing people that when they have the freedom to be different, they can achieve amazing things.”
Stanley felt himself blushing. “I haven’t done anything amazing.”
The president raised her eyebrows. “Stanley, I’m the president of the United States of America. I’ve met a lot of people who have done a lot of important things. But I don’t know anyone who has saved Mount Rushmore, foiled an Egyptian antiquities thief, practiced martial arts in Japan, gone over the Canadian side of Niagara Falls without a barrel, walked across Mexico, unearthed an archaeological fraud in Africa, performed with the Flying Chinese Wonders, flown unaided across Australia—and, as of an hour ago, flapped like a flag hanging off the top of the Washington Monument while the entire world watched, glued to their televisions.”
Stanley smiled. “That does sound like a lot,” he admitted.
“Yes, it does,” the president agreed.
Stanley munched some more tortilla chips.
“I do have one question I have been meaning to ask you,” the president said. Her face became very serious. “I want you to tell me: What is La Abuela’s secret ingredient?”
Stanley swallowed hard. With help from the great matador Carmen del Junco, he had traveled across Mexico to discover the famous secret ingredient in La Abuela’s cooking. He had sworn he would never reveal it to anyone.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a secret.”
The president nodded thoughtfully. “That’s what a hero might say.” She rose and walked toward the door that Stanley had entered from. She turned back to him. “As long as you always remember La Abuela’s secret, Stanley, and hold it close to your heart, you’ll be fine.” She winked.
Stanley thought back to what he had learned in Mexico: The secret is not the ingredient. It is what you do with it.
The president looked deep into his eyes, as if to say, That’s why you’re here, Stanley. Because of what you do with it.
But how did she know?
“There are some folks who have been very worried about you,” the president said.
She swung open the doors, and Stanley saw the group of people waiting outside. For a moment, he was speechless. Then he ran up and wrapped his body around each of them, one by one.
7
The Award Ceremony
The following night, at the famous Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, all of those who had traveled to Washington gathered to honor Stanley Lambchop, the youngest and flattest recipient of the National Medal of Achievement in history.
Stanley stood in a special section of seats above the audience, surrounded by his mother, father, Arthur, and the president herself. He wore a tuxedo crafted by the president’s tailor, which made him feel like a special present wrapped in a very thin box. Around his neck, on a red, white, and blue–striped ribbon, hung a bronze medallion: the National Medal of Achievement.
When the orchestra finished playing the National Anthem, everyone took their seats. The governor made some brief remarks, and then a girl in a plaid shirt, blue jeans, and a cowboy hat sauntered onto the empty stage. She carried a ukulele.
“My name is Calamity Jasper from the Black Hills of South Dakota,” she said into the microphone. “I met Stanley on Mount Rushmore the day he saved Abraham Lincoln’s face from cracking off. I’m real proud of him here tonight. This song is for you, cowpoke.”
She gave a few strums of her ukulele and began singing in a sweet, warbling voice. The tune was “You Are My Sunshine,” but she changed the lyrics to “You are our flat boy, our only flat boy.” She received a standing ovation.
Mr. O. Jay Dart, the Lambchops’ neighbor and the director of the National Historical Museum, appeared onstage. In great detail, he told the story of how Stanley had caught sneak thieves red-handed in his museum. An enormous screen descended at the back of the stage, and on it was projected a grainy security photograph from that night, clearly showing Stanley dressed as a shepherd girl hiding in a painting. Stanley tried to laugh even though he was embarrassed.
Amisi, the girl who had opened his envelope in Egypt and who had inspired Stanley with her intelligence and sense of justice, recited a beautiful Sufi poem.
Mountie Martin, of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, showed an instant replay of Stanley coiled into a hockey puck, whipping past an NHL goalie to score an impossible goal.
Captain Tony, the African pilot and police officer, stood onstage with his arms around his children, Bisa and Odinga, and told of how Stanley had jumped from his plane with nothing but his body for a parachute.
The billionaire Billy Wallaby stood with his long-lost brother, Wally Wallaby, and spoke stirringly about how Stanley had reminded them of the spirit of brotherhood.
Oda Nobu, the big Japanese movie star, took the stage. “Hello, Stanleysan,” he said. “You once did me the honor of traveling to Japan, because you said you were a great fan. I am here to return the favor.” A great ream of paper was rolled onto the stage, and Oda Nobu tore off a gigantic sheet that was taller and wider than he was. With great speed and grace, he turned, folded, and flipped the paper this way and that—until suddenly, with a flourish, he held up an origami masterpiece shaped exactly like Stanley in real life!
A tall, dark-haired woman appeared behind Oda Nobu and held out her slender hand. “I’ll take that,” the great Mexican matador Carmen del Junco said with a sly smile, whisking the intricately folded paper into the air. She swung and swooped the paper Stanley like a matador’s cape in grand, dramatic arcs. It was a beautiful performance.
Yin and Yang, the Flying Chinese Wonders, thanked Stanley for teaching them the secret of balance. They transformed their bodies into a map of the United States, with a fireworks display occurring over it.
As he clapped, Stanley turned excitedly to his brother—but he wasn’t there. “Where’s Arthur?” he whispered.
At that moment, he was surprised to see Arthur shuffling across the stage.
“My name is Arthur Lambchop,” said Arthur, as the applause died down. “I’m Stanley’s little brother.”
The microphone was way too tall for him, and he had to stand on his tiptoes to make himself heard. “It’s not always easy having a brother like Stanley. People pay more attention to him. That’s just the way it is. Plus, he gets to do stuff that my mom and dad wouldn’t let me do in a million years.”
Stanley saw his parents exchange worried looks.
“But,” Arthur continued slowly, “I remember when we went with my dad to Africa, and Stanley got really upset because he felt alone. He was sad because there were no flat people like him. And all I could think was that nobody makes me feel less alone than my brother. He’s like … he’s like the glue that you didn’t even know was there between people, bonding all of us together. When you’re a kid, a lot of people ask you who your hero is. And I … I can’t think of anybody as honest, flexible, and strong as my brother.”
Stanley felt a lump in his flat throat like a golf ball.
“You’re my hero, Stanley.”
8
In the Mail
At the end of the awards ceremony, Stanley joined all the special guests onstage for the grand finale. Arthur paced before the line of performers like a general. Stanley was on the end.
“This is it!” Arthur said. “Ready?”
A murmur of excitement went down the line. Yang, the Flying Chinese Wonder, leaned forward and winked at Stanley. Stanley noticed that, beside him, Carmen del Junco and Oda Nobu were holding hands.
“Commence countdown!” Arthur hollered. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two … one!”
Yin flipped high into the air and landed on her brother Yang’s shoulders. Yang bent his knees, and the pair launched straight upward like a rocket. Yang landed on Oda Nobu’s shoulders, so they were now three people tall. At that moment, Carmen del Junco grabbed Stanley’s hands and spun him around. His feet left the ground, and she let go. Stanley arced around the theater like a boomerang, until he saw Yang’s face come into view, and they grabbed each other’s hands.
Stanley held his body out to the side and waved his legs gently atop the flagpole formed by his friends.
The crowd leaped to their feet.
“That’s my boy!” cried his father.
