by Greg Pincus
Which meant that somehow he was going to have to turn things around, because if he didn’t pass math, Author’s Camp was out of the question.
So, Gregory flipped through the book until he came to a page marked Review. He took a deep breath and began looking it over. After a minute or two, he scrambled for his cell phone. It only was allowed to call a few numbers, but one of them was Kelly’s.
“So, Kelly,” he said when she answered, “I’m looking at page three hundred twenty-eight and I’m thinking maybe I’ve got something wrong. Shouldn’t it say preview not review?”
“No. And you used that same line when we did the practice test two days ago,” Kelly answered sharply.
“Whoa. Okay. Sorry. I was just hoping maybe we could work together on it some. Maybe, like, now?”
“I don’t think that’s gonna happen.” Kelly sounded like someone was holding her vocal cords in their fist.
“What’s the matter, Kelly?” Gregory sat still, listening, all thoughts of math thrown from his head by that tight, unfamiliar tone from his best friend.
“Remember that funny-looking guy in a suit who we kept seeing at the Slice?”
“The guy who looked like he had a fake mustache … but when I pulled on it we found out it was real?”
“Yeah. Him. He bought the building. He bought the Slice.”
“Why would your mom sell it?” Gregory rubbed his temples hard as if it would help him think better.
“Because we’re moving,” Kelly said. “One hundred forty-four miles, thirteen towns, and one state line away.”
Suddenly, all clarity was gone from Gregory’s brain, replaced by a jumble of memories and questions. Eventually, he murmured, “When?”
“End of the school year,” Kelly said.
“Oh.” And that was all Gregory could think to say. He fell backward into the wrinkled comfort of his bed, wrapping himself tightly in his blanket. Silence hung on the line until Kelly tried again.
“Mom said I could go to Author’s Camp with you this summer and every summer from now on.”
“Oh.” Gregory realized his response came out flat. He tried to muster excitement, but all that happened was he said, “Oh” again louder.
“Did you talk to your parents?” Kelly asked.
“Yes. Both of them,” Gregory said, leaving out the fact that it was talk about garbanzo beans, pi, and math class.
“And????”
There was a long pause before Gregory continued, using his most forced, fake, happy voice. “We’re going to Author’s Camp, Kelly!”
“Great! At least it’s something that makes moving less horrible.” The relief in Kelly’s voice was exactly what Gregory was hoping for.
“Yes. It’s something, all right,” Gregory said. And it was, he thought as he hung up a little later. It was definitely something. Just not something that was true.
Still, it wouldn’t be a problem if he could keep Kelly from ever finding out the truth. And that wouldn’t be difficult if he could ace the math test, find a good time to talk to his parents, convince them that writing was worthy of summer study, and make sure they didn’t speak to Kelly between now and then.
Gregory covered his face with his pillow, blocking the world away. His mind drifted from his plan back to Kelly. She was moving? He didn’t even know what to make of that, and …
He shook the thought away. He had no time for that now. He had a plan. And really, as long as he stayed focused, how hard could it be to make it work?
When he woke up the next morning, Gregory quickly checked under his pillow. He sighed. His math book was there, right where he’d left it when he gave up reviewing. The placement was intentional, as he had long held to the completely unproven theory that knowledge could creep into his brain at night, but it also meant that last night wasn’t just a bad dream.
He was still failing, and Kelly was still moving.
He took a shower, trying to keep his mind on more pleasant things, like finding a rhyme for purple or month. But when he returned to his room, he realized just how bad the day would be: While he showered, his dad had scrawled a whole new set of equations on his chalkboard wall. Dad had even added a personal note:
Don’t worry about the Mr. Davis meeting: Us + Him = Answers!
Gregory erased the wall with vigor … and reminded himself once again to close his bedroom door each time he left the room.
For the last six years, Gregory and Kelly had walked to school together every day. At first their parents had joined them. Then, when they were old enough, there was a rotating cast of neighborhood friends who sometimes joined in. But this morning, Gregory took shortcuts to avoid running into anyone else, even his close-to-best-friend, Alex. This was a morning to walk with just Kelly.
Neither Kelly nor Gregory spoke for a long time after they met on her porch and began the trudge to school. They passed the preschool they’d attended together, a cute, brightly painted cottage that looked so small now but had seemed so big when they were younger. Their footsteps were all they heard as they cut through the park where they’d first met when they were babies. They walked wordlessly past the twisted-trunk perfection of their favorite tree, where they would often go with their notebooks and write away the hours.
Finally, they rounded a corner and the sunlight around them disappeared, blocked by big, brick Lee Elementary looming over them atop the town’s biggest hill. As they climbed, Gregory broke the silence.
“You just can’t move away, you know?”
“That’s what I said too.”
“How’d that go?”
“Not well.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
It was rare for Gregory to be at a loss for words, but the quiet filled the morning as surely as equations had filled his wall. He didn’t want to talk about the math test or Author’s Camp or his parents or anything at all. He wanted it to be two days ago. And so did Kelly.
But it was today, and today moved as if every class were the last one before summer vacation.
The evening was little better, though it did move faster. Kelly and Alex both came over so they could all study for the test, but try as he might, Gregory’s mind wandered to sadder places, which was not easy considering how sad the thought of the upcoming math test made him.
“You gotta focus, G,” Alex said as he drummed with pencils while looking over a work sheet Gregory had just done. “Don’t make numbers the enemy. They’re your friends.”
“I wish they’d move away instead,” Gregory said.
“Oh, that’s helpful, dude.” Alex suddenly flipped his pencils toward his study buddies. Kelly and Gregory caught the flying implements smoothly, and tossed them right back to Alex as if this was a common occurrence. Which, in fact, it was. “Back to work, G, or your grade is gonna match your name.”
“I didn’t think there was anything lower than an F,” Kelly said.
“Trust me,” Alex said as he pointed to Gregory’s work sheet. “An F is gonna be a reach if he answers like this.”
Even in his sorry state, Gregory laughed. He tried to get his head back into math, pushing aside thoughts of Kelly and the move. He tried even after his friends went home, but he still went to sleep with a feeling of doom hanging over him.
The next day at school, the test met all of Gregory’s expectations. Unfortunately, that was the only positive about it. He did have a brief moment of excitement when he did problem number three without hesitation … but before long, he knew that he’d never match the 66 he’d gotten on the practice test.
As he stared at the page full of equations, he briefly wondered if he could get extra credit by graphing the number of erasure marks he left on each question, then realized he didn’t even know how to do that. Besides, it wouldn’t matter. He hadn’t aced the test, and that had been the first step in his big plan. He needed, as he’d learned in English class, to revise.
Over the weekend, Gregory stayed in his room as much as possible. He
lost himself in books, preferring to read about other kids’ problems rather than focus on his own. He wrote a poem or two, though they sat there on the page refusing to come fully to life. And he revised and revised his now-failed plan, trying to come up with something … anything … that would help him see Kelly in the summer after she’d moved.
He talked with Kelly a few times on the days off school, and he could tell that she was no happier than he was. Gregory felt this proved how unimportant math was since she was pretty sure she’d gotten 100 percent on the test and was still unhappy. Frankly, Gregory didn’t think a perfect test would make him superhappy right now either, though he had no actual experience of what getting a 100 felt like on which to base that conclusion.
By the day of his parents’ meeting with Mr. Davis, Gregory had come up with one idea to try during the get-together, though he couldn’t gauge its odds of success. So, in school that day, he feigned sudden, tremendous illness (but got distracted by lunch), tried to goad Mrs. Harris into sending him to detention (but instead ended up with a writing assignment), and begged Alex to disguise his voice, call Mr. Davis, and invite him to a superimportant, urgent juggling meeting. Nothing worked.
As everyone else headed for freedom at the end of the school day, Gregory went to Mr. Davis’s room and peered through the window in the classroom door. His mom and dad were already there, talking with his teacher. Both parents had dressed nicely today, he saw, and his father had even shaved. This was clearly very serious.
Forcing a smile, Gregory took a deep breath and went in to meet what he was sure was going to be his doom.
“… But then Owen said to my boss, ‘Well, if your e to the x is correct, then the differentials down here are completely wrong. That’s why your machine isn’t working.’ And he was right!” Dad was saying as Gregory entered the room.
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Mr. Davis laughed and then saw the new arrival. His enthusiasm didn’t dim. “Ahhhh, Gregory! Glad you’re here!”
Suddenly, Gregory felt as if two burning laser beams were digging into his brain, but it was only his father’s gaze. His mother smoothed out her skirt and adjusted the pencil behind her ear. Gregory bounded in and kissed his mom on the cheek, then sat between his parents, trying to look like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“We’ve got an issue,” Mr. Davis said, “and I thought it would be best if we all talked about it. I’ll be direct. Gregory is not keeping up with his work. At this pace, he will not pass my class.”
“I don’t understand,” Dad said. “Gregory, I know how much you love math. I see your enthusiasm. I know it doesn’t come as easily to you as it does to Owen, but …”
As his father was speaking, Gregory launched his plan. He figured he had one shot out of this mess, and no matter the odds, he knew it was time to try Operation Parable.
“Dad, I cannot tell a lie,” Gregory said, then paused for dramatic effect. “I don’t love math.”
It was obvious what should happen next. His father would say, “Run to my arms, my son, for you may fail one thousand classes since I have your honesty!” and Gregory would get a parental hug and all would be forgotten.
And perhaps that could have happened on another day, but on this day his father laughed.
“Right. And I’m the Easter Bunny!” Dad chuckled more.
“Dad …”
“Gregory, perhaps you didn’t hear Mr. Davis. What matters right now is that you’re not going to pass math class. That is not acceptable,” his father said.
“I think we made a mistake last summer,” his mom added. “You should’ve gone to Math Is Magic Camp.”
“Oh, that’s a great idea for this summer!” his dad joined in. “Owen is a counselor, so you’d even have family there. Eight weeks of math, Gregory. That’d get you back up to speed.”
“Math Is Magic Camp? Dad, I don’t want my days to be ‘mathemagical.’ Please.” Gregory’s parable had spun right around and put him further away from his goal, an injustice he knew would knock Parson Weems down a notch or two in his list of heroes. But right now, he had to focus on the bigger issues. “Please. No math camp. Please?”
“Short term, we could pay Owen to tutor you,” his mom said. “He has such a gift. I know he’d love to share it with you.”
“I like that,” Dad said. “And it would be great for Owen too. I think he’s a natural teacher.”
“I don’t need that! Even camp is better than that!” Gregory protested.
“You clearly need something,” his father said, his cheeks getting redder and redder to match his rising frustration.
“Gregory does not need Owen to tutor him,” Mr. Davis said quietly. Gregory almost protested out of reflex before the words sunk in.
“Thank you,” Gregory said, and truly meant it.
“What do you suggest, Mr. Davis?” his mom asked, absentmindedly spinning her pencil in her fingers. “Owen is …”
“Owen is gifted in math in a way no other student I’ve ever had has been. Of course, I never had you in class,” Mr. Davis said to Gregory’s father, drawing a modest smile.
“Look, I think it’s wonderful the way O sees all things mathematical so clearly,” Mr. Davis continued. “But you know, I like the way Gregory sees the world too. We had a lovely conversation about pi just the other day.”
“Really?” asked Dad.
“Really?” echoed Mom.
“Really?” mouthed Gregory, though no one saw it.
“Gregory,” Mr. Davis said, looking directly at him, “I don’t think either one of us wants you to be in my class again next year. And I know you can pass. I know you can do the work I need you to do. After all, I know how you feel about math.”
Gregory paused. This seemed like one of his brother’s tricks … but Mr. Davis was a teacher. He wouldn’t do that, would he?
“You’re right, Mr. Davis. I can do this,” Gregory said, not knowing what would come next.
“Good. Come see me tomorrow after school. We have some work to do.” Mr. Davis smiled reassuringly at Gregory’s mom and dad.
Dad was not placated. He rose from his chair and started pacing. “Of course he can pass. That isn’t the question. Passing isn’t enough.”
Mr. Davis nodded. “I understand your concern. Perhaps …”
“Anything below a B, Gregory, and you’ll be doing Math Is Magic Camp. Do you understand?” His father said it as a question, but Gregory recognized that it wasn’t. “And even a B doesn’t guarantee you a pass from camp. I need to see effort. I need to see you show me that you care.”
On the one hand, Gregory was amazed his father hadn’t insisted on an A+. On the other hand, getting a B right now seemed … well … unlikely. True, the threat of a summer spent at math camp was motivating, but how was he going to raise his grade and prove that he cared? Maybe he could get extra credit somehow and …
Then it hit him. He saw a way out.
“Well, you’ve forced me to tell you this now. I really wanted it to be a surprise, but …” He waited again for the tension to build. “I’m going to be part of City Math this year. My application’s already in.”
“Really?” asked Dad, stopping dead in his tracks.
“Really?” asked Mom.
“Really?” mouthed Mr. Davis, but only Gregory saw it, since his parents were too busy studying him.
“Yes, really. It’s a family tradition, and I’m ready to win just like you and O!” Gregory said to his father. He braced himself for Mr. Davis to shoot the idea down. He waited to see if his parents bought into his desperate attempt at a save. It felt like an eternity, but the big red second hand on the schoolroom clock had barely moved when his dad let out a yelp of joy.
Dad pounded Gregory on his back. Mom melted in relief. Gregory knew that City Math was incredibly important to his parents. And he knew they knew that Mr. Davis would count City Math as extra credit, as he had for O … and as his dad’s teacher had done long ago for him as well.
&
nbsp; As his heart raced, Gregory truly wished his Weems-inspired truth-telling had worked. City Math was a bold and risky gambit, particularly since he had no project and had not, in fact, entered yet. Still, saying he was in City Math had worked exactly as he thought it would when he came up with the idea twenty-seven seconds ago. And that was way more important than those pesky details.
The meeting ended soon after. Math Is Magic Camp was still on the table and it was clear to Gregory that he was going to have to work hard, starting tomorrow after school. He also knew that talking about City Math bought him time to come up with yet another plan. After all, City Math wasn’t until the end of May, and it was only February now. That was three months! Tons of time to figure out a plan.
And best of all, there was something rattling in the back of his brain: a glimmer of hope.
Gregory left with his mom and a smile, while his dad stayed behind and shared math laughs with Mr. Davis. It was all good.
“I don’t know why you weren’t going to tell us,” his mom said in the car as she drove him to the Slice. “You know how your father feels about City Math. And Owen will be so excited! Maybe he can help you?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Gregory said. “It’s under control.”
Even though it was boysenberry pie day at the Slice, Gregory’s mom dropped him off and drove straight back to work without stopping in. Gregory was sure he couldn’t possibly be related to her.
Inside the Slice, Kelly’s mother wrapped Gregory up in a big hug. “We’ll never be far away,” she whispered. And while Kelly’s mom was, as always, as warm and wonderful as the Slice itself, today Gregory wanted to say, “Actually, you’ll always be far away. You’re moving. Far. Away.” But he felt his calf hurting so he knew he shouldn’t say it … and besides, he had a feeling that she was as upset as he was.
Sitting at a tall table by the windows, Gregory recounted his afternoon. He and Kelly shared a piece of boysenberry pie. Or more specifically, Kelly ate quickly and Gregory took small pieces on his fork, brought them to his face, and inhaled to let the smell fill his brain.
