Sam the Man & the Cell Phone Plan

by Frances O’Roark Dowell

  That was the weird thing, Sam thought as he and Gavin trudged toward Mr. Cameron’s office at the front of the school. He knew all sorts of people who would be happy to help. But you couldn’t keep people with you everywhere you went, like they were notebooks you could pull out of your pocket whenever you needed them.

  Sam glanced at Gavin. At least he had his best friend with him. That made him feel a little bit better. Which was good—since Sam was pretty sure his life was about to get a whole lot worse.

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  * * *

  Sam Graham, Research Man

  When they reached the waiting room outside of Mr. Cameron’s office, Jackson was already there, sitting in a chair by the window and looking at his phone.

  Except that it wasn’t a phone, Sam realized. It was a notebook.

  “You’re copying us too?” Gavin asked when he saw the notebook in Jackson’s hand. “I don’t think you should copy us if you’re going to beat us up.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jackson said, not bothering to look up. “Everybody’s got a notebook now. Some people have two.”

  “Sam has four notebooks,” Gavin bragged. “That means he’s four times better than you are.”

  Sam kept quiet. He was still waiting for Jackson to say whether or not he was going to beat them up.

  “Boys?” Mr. Cameron stood at the door of his office. “Come on in and let’s talk.”

  Sam waited for Jackson to whisper something mean in his ear, like I’ll give you something to talk about later, but he didn’t. He just put his notebook in his pocket and followed Mr. Cameron into his office.

  “So, Jackson,” Mr. Cameron began once they all sat down. “Sam and Gavin here seem to think you’re mad at them. Is that true?”

  Jackson looked confused. “Why would I be mad? We had a misunderstanding, but that’s over, right, guys?”

  “But you told us that if you got in trouble, we’d get in trouble,” Sam said. “You gave us a mean look through Mr. Pell’s window.”

  “I did?” Jackson said. “That’s not how I remember it. What I remember is saying I was sorry if I’d gotten you in trouble. And I’ve never looked at you after that.”

  Sam could feel his face get hot and his throat grow tight. Jackson Grubbs was lying! In the vice principal’s office! Sam gripped the seat of his chair with both hands so he wouldn’t start yelling.

  “Sam? You look upset,” Mr. Cameron said. “Do you want to say something?”

  Sam shook his head. He couldn’t talk. This was terrible!

  “Sam’s mad,” Gavin said. “I can tell because we’re best friends, and best friends know. If he starts talking, he’ll probably cry, and he doesn’t want to cry.”

  “Why is Sam mad?” Mr. Cameron said. He turned to Sam. “It’s okay if you cry, Sam. You’re among friends.”

  But Sam knew it wasn’t okay. If he cried, Jackson Grubb would tell everyone, and people would call him a crybaby. So he just shook his head again.

  “Sam’s mad,” Gavin said matter-of-factly, “because Jackson is lying.”

  “That’s not true,” Jackson said. He sounded like he was talking to a three-year-old. “Why would I lie to a couple of first graders?”

  “Second graders,” Mr. Cameron corrected him. “And the question is whether or not you’re lying to me, not to them.”

  That made Sam feel a little better. At least Mr. Cameron didn’t believe every word that came out of Jackson’s mouth was a fact. He took a deep breath and said, “We have a bodyguard. Why would we have a bodyguard if Jackson didn’t tell us we were going to be in trouble if he got in trouble?”

  “That’s a good question,” Mr. Cameron said. He turned to Jackson. “The fact that these boys feel the need for protection concerns me. Maybe there’s been a misunderstanding, or maybe Sam and Gavin have a reason to be concerned. Either way, we need to solve this problem. Any ideas?”

  Jackson shrugged. “Nope.”

  “Maybe Jackson could sign a paper saying he’s not going to punch us in the mouth,” Gavin said. “And you could make copies to send everyone in the school, so even if Jackson wanted to punch us in the mouth, he’d at least think about it first.”

  “Do you think it might embarrass Jackson if we did that?” Mr. Cameron asked.

  Gavin nodded. “Yes! That’s why it’s such a great idea.”

  “I’d like to come up with a plan that doesn’t embarrass anyone,” Mr. Cameron said. “I think embarrassing people makes things worse. So here’s what I want you boys to do. You’re going to eat lunch in the library today, and together you’re going to come up with a community project that all three of you do together—a project that helps the school.”

  “What?! That sort of feels like you’re punishing us,” Sam said, feeling angry but trying not to sound angry, which made his words come out a little trembly. “And Gavin and I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You did something a little bit wrong, Sam,” Mr. Cameron reminded him. “You shouldn’t have taken the notebooks from the school store, even if you did pay for them. The only person allowed in the store is the person working there.” Mr. Cameron looked at his watch. “Okay, it’s almost lunchtime, so why don’t you boys grab your lunches and head over to the library. Mrs. Haynie knows you’re coming.”

  “This is going to be the worst lunch ever,” Gavin whispered to Sam as they left Mr. Cameron’s office. “I’ll probably throw up halfway through.”

  Sam wasn’t looking forward to lunch either. He didn’t think he’d throw up, although he might if Gavin threw up first. But spending thirty minutes with Jackson Grubb was going to be no fun. Jackson would probably call them first-grade pipsqueaks and make fun of them because they couldn’t write in cursive yet.

  It turned out they would be eating lunch in the library conference room. Mrs. Haynie had put out a yellow tablecloth on the conference room table and set out a plate of cookies. “I’m going to close the door so you guys can talk without disturbing anyone,” she said after Sam and Gavin sat down next to Jackson. “I know you’re going to come up with some great ideas!”

  Sam tried to smile at the librarian, because she was nice and he liked her. But he sort of wished she’d leave the door open.

  “Okay, here’s my idea for a school community project,” Jackson started as soon as Mrs. Haynie left the room and closed the door. “I think we need a skateboard ramp. I know about twenty kids who would bring their boards to school every day if we had a ramp. I know I would.”

  “I bet the school wouldn’t let us,” Gavin said. “Too dangerous.”

  “Maybe,” Jackson said. “But they’ve got one at my cousin’s school. You can make them safe, and you can have rules, like everybody has to wear a helmet.”

  Sam blinked a couple times. Was this the same Jackson Grubb from the school store? From the window in the classroom door? From Mr. Cameron’s office?

  “Why are you acting like a regular person?” he asked. “And not like somebody who wants to beat us up?”

  Jackson thought about this for a moment. “I was never going to beat you up. I don’t beat up pipsqueaks, for one thing. I don’t actually beat up anyone. I was just mad because I got in trouble—for something that was sort of your fault, just like Mr. Cameron said.”

  “It was a whole lot more your fault,” Gavin pointed out. “You should have sold us the notebooks instead of being mean about it.”

  “I was hungry,” Jackson said with a shrug. “And you were annoying me. Bad combo.”

  “So you’re not going to beat us up?” Sam asked, just to make sure.

  “Nope,” Jackson said. “Not interested.”

  “No more scary faces at Mr. Pell’s door?”

  “That’s all behind us now.”

  Sam let out a deep breath. Okay then. “We would have to do research first,” Sam told Jackson, pulling out his information notebook and a pencil from his right back pocket. He wrote the word
research at the top of a blank page. “If we could show that other schools have skateboard ramps and they’re safe, maybe we could get one too.”

  “Sam’s really good at doing research,” Gavin told Jackson. “He can find out all that stuff in, like, five seconds.”

  “We’d need to to find out how much a skateboard ramp costs,” Jackson said. He took a bite of his sandwich, swallowed, and then looked at Sam. “Could you find that out too?”

  Sam nodded. “I think so. I can get my sister to help me.”

  “Cool, that’s your job then,” Jackson said. He pointed to Gavin. “Do you know what a petition is?”

  “Maybe?” Gavin said. “Sort of?” He paused. “No, not really.”

  “A petition is a piece of paper that you get people to sign,” Jackson said. “On top of the paper it would say something like ‘We the people would like a skateboard ramp at our school.’ You get, like, a hundred kids to sign it so that the principal knows we mean business. You think you can do that?”

  “I’ll get two hundred people to sign it,” Gavin promised. “I’ll get a thousand people. I’ll get—”

  “A hundred kids who go to this school and know how to write their first and last names would be good,” Jackson told him. “Okay, so then we have to come up with a fund-raising plan. Maybe we could do a bake sale or something. Or sell pencils with the school’s name on them.”

  Sell pencils? Who wanted to buy a pencil? Sam thought. Pencils were boring. No, there was something else they could sell that Sam thought everyone would want to buy.

  He leaned across the table toward Jackson Grubb. “I’ve got a plan.”

  “Sam’s really good at plans,” Gavin said.

  “I’m the best at plans,” Sam said. He was pretty sure he wasn’t bragging when he said that either. He was pretty sure he was telling the truth.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  * * *

  Frozen Fred, the Skateboarding Waffle

  So how many notebooks did you sell today?” Mr. Stockfish asked, patting Leroy on the head. “As many as you sold yesterday?”

  Sam pulled out his information notebook. “Yesterday we sold forty-seven,” he reported. “Today we sold thirty-nine.”

  “Do you really think you’re going to sell enough notebooks to buy a skateboard ramp?” Mr. Stockfish sounded doubtful.

  “No, but that’s okay,” Sam said. “Because someone’s dad who works for a lumber company is going to donate the wood for the ramp. And someone else’s mom owns a hardware store, so she’s going to donate the parts you need to hook everything together.”

  “Who’s going to build the ramp?”

  “A bunch of us kids and the vice principal,” Sam told him. “Mr. Cameron used to be a skateboarding champion. Yesterday he brought his trophies to school.”

  “I wonder if Leroy would enjoying riding on a skateboard?” Mr. Stockfish picked up his chicken and looked her in the eye. “She might like a nice roll down the block.”

  Chickens on skateboards! That gave Sam an idea. He pulled out his camera notebook and started to draw. Most of the pictures in his camera notebook were of chickens and chicken stuff, he realized. Maybe one day he’d grow up to be a chicken photographer.

  Sam was excited about the skateboard ramp. First of all, Mr. Cameron had been so happy that Sam, Gavin, and Jackson had come up with a community project idea that he made them team leaders, which meant they were the bosses. Second, now Sam and Gavin were Jackson’s new best friends, or at least his new second-grade best friends. Third, Sam’s dad said he would get Sam a skateboard so he could use the ramp, and Sam’s mom said she’d get him a helmet, because wearing a helmet was going to be one of the rules for skateboarding at school.

  “I wonder if skateboarding is going to be my new thing,” Sam said to Mr. Stockfish as they got ready to walk home. “I might be really good at it, and now it’s going to be in the Olympics.”

  “Skateboarding is a good way to break your arm,” Mr. Stockfish said. He set down Leroy and pushed himself up from his chair. “So maybe wearing a cast can be your new thing.”

  After Sam walked Mr. Stockfish back to his house, he went home, wishing it was dinnertime already, because he was hungry. His dad was working in his office off the kitchen, so Sam went to ask if he could have a frozen waffle.

  “Just one,” Sam said. “I promise it won’t spoil my appetite.”

  “I guess one is okay,” his dad said. “Are you sure you don’t want to toast it?”

  “Toasted waffles taste weird,” Sam told his dad. “They’re mushy on the inside.”

  “Not if you toast them long enough,” Sam’s dad said, following Sam into the kitchen. “And they’re nice and crispy on the outside. And when you toast your waffle, you can put butter on top and it melts . . .”

  Sam opened the freezer door. “Would you like a waffle too?”

  “Yeah, come to think of it, I would. Do you mind popping one into the toaster for me?”

  Sam’s dad sat down at the kitchen table. Sam got out two waffles and put one in the toaster and pushed the on button.

  “Did you ever finish writing your waffle story?” Sam’s dad asked.

  “I haven’t had time,” Sam said. “I’ve been busy researching skateboard ramps and selling notebooks.”

  “So your phone idea really caught on, huh?” Sam’s dad sounded proud. “Notebooks are better than phones, in my opinion. They make you more creative—”

  Sam’s dad was interrupted by a ping. It was his phone.

  “I should probably check this out,” he said. “I’m expecting a text from work.”

  Sam thought the good thing about having a notebook phone instead of a phone-phone was that notebook phones never pinged. More importantly, they never got in the way of eating waffles. He sat down at the table with his frozen waffle and took out his story notebook. What was going to happen to Frozen Fred next, now that he was out of the freezer? he wondered. Where would he go and how would he get there?

  Sam bit into his waffle. It was like eating a waffle popsicle, he thought. All that was missing was a stick.

  And all Frozen Fred was missing was a skateboard! Maybe there was a kid in Fred’s house who had a skateboard and left it by the refrigerator one day. When Fred rolled out of the freezer, he could fall on the skateboard and roll away! But what if the family had a dog? And the dog started chasing after the skateboard because he wanted to eat Fred?

  Sam had a feeling his story about Fred was about to turn into a whole book about Fred. The title could be Frozen Fred, the Skateboarding Waffle.

  “I’m going upstairs,” Sam called to his dad. “Don’t forget your waffle!”

  When he got to his room, Sam laid out his four notebooks on his desk. All the information in the world was right in front of him. Okay, maybe not all the information. Sam knew he could find more facts, pictures, and stories on a real phone than in his notebooks. But the one thing a phone wouldn’t have was Sam’s stories and Sam’s pictures. Maybe someday he’d ask Annabelle how to upload things to the computer so he could share his stories and pictures with a thousand people all at once.

  But for now, Sam liked having everything on his desk where he could see it whenever he wanted, without having to press a single button. He sat down and reached into the top desk drawer for his colored pencils. First he was going to practice drawing waffles. After that, he was going to write some more of Frozen Fred’s story.

  And then maybe he’d ask if they could have waffles for dinner. Maybe even frozen waffles on sticks.

  Sam got hungry just thinking about it.

  * * *

  Acknowledgments

  * * *

  The author would like to thank her editor, the indomitable Caitlyn Dlouhy, and the very kind and capable Alex Borbolla. Cheers to ace publisher Justin Chanda and the world’s best copy editor, Clare McGlade. Thanks as always to Sam supporter Xyrell Goldston, champion reader. Finally, she owes a debt of gratitude t
o her family, Clifton, Jack, Will, and Travis the Dog.

  * * *

  About the Author and the Illustrator

  * * *

  FRANCES O’ROARK DOWELL spent far too much oxygen convincing her sons that they did NOT need cell phones while they, like Sam, were pulling out every argument under the sun to convince her that they DID. Yes, she eventually caved. She’s the bestselling and critically acclaimed author of many novels, including Dovey Coe, Trouble the Water, Chicken Boy, the Sam the Man series, The Secret Language of Girls series, and the Phineas L. MacGuire series. She lives with her family in Durham, North Carolina. Connect with Frances online at FrancesDowell.com.

  When AMY JUNE BATES was a kid, she loved to draw and read. She’s drawn art for many books for kids, including Patricia MacLachlan’s Waiting for the Magic. She currently lives in Pennsylvania with her three children, her husband, and Rosebud the dog. Visit her at amyjunebates.blogspot.com.

  A Caitlyn Dlouhy Book

  Atheneum Books for Young Readers

  Simon & Schuster © New York

  Visit us at simonandschuster.com/kids

  Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Frances-ORoark-Dowell

  Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Amy-June-Bates

  Also by Frances O’Roark Dowell

  Anybody Shining

  Chicken Boy

  Dovey Coe

  Falling In

  The Second Life of Abigail Walker

  Shooting the Moon

  Ten Miles Past Normal

  Trouble the Water

  Where I’d Like to Be

  The Secret Language of Girls Trilogy

  The Secret Language of Girls

  The Kind of Friends We Used to Be

  The Sound of Your Voice, Only Really Far Away