by Gail Donovan
The last words on the paper were just: “Birthday wishes: Phoebe Collins.” Finch had no idea who Phoebe was, but he wanted to make this good. The way he wanted it to sound when it was his turn.
“Finally,” he said, “on behalf of the whole Acorn Comprehensive community, we want to wish a very. Happy. Birthday. To . . . PHOEBE COLLINS!”
Mrs. Stuckey took the microphone and switched it off. “Thank you, Finch,” she said. “That’s plenty of announcements for today.”
“Is that true, Finch?” asked Mr. White. He was standing with the arms of his blue-and-white-checked shirt crisscrossed over his chest, as if what he’d just heard was making him cross, for real. “Green Team is looking for new members, now?”
Finch thought fast again. He didn’t actually know if that was true, but why couldn’t it be?
“Probably,” he said. “You’re starting a new club with only three weeks to go. So why can’t kids join Green Team now, too?”
Just then somebody dashed across the lobby, past the yellow construction-paper Sunshine Awards taped to the wall around the giant construction-paper oak tree, and into the office. Miss Kirby!
Miss Kirby was one of those not-a-teacher helpers, like Grammy Mary. Except she wasn’t old. She had just graduated from college. Her job at Acorn was anything and everything to do with nature and the environment, like Green Team, and the class gardens.
“I heard the announcements,” she said. “Great job taking the initiative, Finch!”
Finch wanted to give Miss Kirby a Sunshine Award!
“No problem,” he said, with a little good-bye wave.
In a hurry—he wanted to ask Atticus to join Green Team—he sped down the hall as fast as he could without getting called out for running, and bounded into Mrs. Adler’s room.
“Good morning, Finch,” said Grammy Mary, with her big smile.
“Hey, Grammy Mary,” said Finch. “Sorry I’m late, Mrs. Adler, I—”
“We know,” said Mrs. Adler, holding up a stop-talking hand. “We heard the announcements. And you already have two volunteers for Green Team.” She turned her stop-talking hand into a look-over-there hand, pointing to two kids with their hands in the air: Mohamed and Fatouma.
Okay, thought Finch. Plan A was Atticus. Plan B, Mohamed and Fatouma.
After lunch, he took them to Miss Kirby’s office. A bunch of fourth graders and some kids from the other fifth-grade class were there, waiting for their assignments.
“Hey, Miss Kirby, this is Mohamed and Fatouma. They’re joining Green Team.”
“Welcome!” said Miss Kirby. “No Noah today?”
“No Noah today,” said Finch. “He’s busy.”
He didn’t say exactly what Noah was busy doing: He was on the playground, getting Finch’s allowance to Oscar and Oliver.
Miss Kirby began explaining how they always went out in pairs, or a group of three if there were an odd number of kids. “So, it looks like we have eleven kids today.”
Fatouma’s hand shot in the air. “Five teams,” she announced. “Four teams of two kids, and one team with three.”
“Thank you, Fatouma!” said Miss Kirby. “And with five teams inspecting eighteen classrooms, how many rooms will each team inspect?”
Fatouma thought for a second. “Three teams will do four rooms—that’s twelve. And two teams will do three rooms—that’s six. That’s eighteen.”
“Nicely done,” said Miss Kirby, handing out their badges and clipboards. “Finch, why don’t you and Mohamed and Fatouma be our three-person team?”
The three of them headed out. Their first classroom was empty. No kids and no teacher, either.
“Can I hold the clipboard and write stuff down?” asked Fatouma.
“Sure,” said Finch.
He handed her the clipboard and began digging through the bin. He picked up a piece of paper with somebody’s multiplication table for the number 7, and suddenly remembered: Millie. And just as suddenly, saw the answer: Fatouma.
“Hey, Fatouma, want to do me a favor?”
“I guess,” she said.
“You know Millie?” he asked.
Fatouma nodded.
“She needs help with her times tables. You wanna be, like, her study buddy?”
“Does she want me to?”
“Well,” said Finch, “she doesn’t exactly know I’m asking you. But I heard she needed help, and you’re so good at math. Maybe you could help her.”
Waiting for her answer, Finch looked at Fatouma. He realized he didn’t know much about her. He thought she hung out with a few girls on the playground, but he didn’t know who her best friend was, or if she even had one.
“Okay,” said Fatouma. Inside her blue hijab, a smile lit up her face. “Sure!”
“Awesome,” said Finch. “Let’s give this room ten points.”
In the next room, he and Mohamed got to work, digging through the bin. Mohamed started looking harder at each piece of paper, too.
“Hey,” he said, holding up a drawing of a horse with wings. Inside a speech bubble were the words Nothing escapes my eye! “Can I keep this?”
Finch shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “How come?”
“I’m going to take it to comics club and show Mrs. Haywood.”
“There’s a club for comics?”
“Kind of,” said Mohamed. “Mrs. Haywood is here early every day, and she lets anyone who wants come to her room and draw. Most kids draw comics.”
Finch felt like his brain was working way faster than it ever did in Mrs. Adler’s class. Because he had just thought of something else. The drawing of the three-headed dog he had seen in Mr. White’s office, with the name in the corner: Kael. He wondered why Kael had to go see Mr. White. Maybe it was like Finch going just because he had looked in Angelika’s locker and dug a bunch of holes in their class garden. They thought something was wrong with him, even though there wasn’t. Or maybe Kael did have a problem. Either way, he was an excellent artist.
“Hey,” he said. “Does Kael ever go?”
Mohamed shook his head.
“Can you ask him if he wants to? He’s really good at drawing.”
“What’s up?” asked Fatouma. “You trying to get a Sunshine Award?”
“No,” said Finch.
Mohamed asked, “Then what are you doing?”
Finch didn’t want to lie; he just didn’t want to tell the whole truth. Even though he had put Noah and Angelika on his crew, and let Guppy in on the secret, he still didn’t want everyone to know.
“Maybe it’s a little like a Sunshine,” admitted Finch. “But it’s not official. I’m just trying to . . . do some favors. So, can you ask Kael if he wants to go to comics club sometime, and I’ll do a favor for you, okay? I’ll ask my mom to order all the Captain Underpants books the library doesn’t have.”
“Really?” asked Mohamed. “You can do that?”
“Yeah, I can,” said Finch, leaving out the fact that he didn’t get any special treatment just because the librarian was his mom. Any kid could ask her to get more books. “Definitely,” he added.
“Yes!” said Mohamed. “Okay, I’m in.”
Next room, next bin, overflowing with cardboard milk cartons and pieces of paper written on both sides.
“Let’s give them ten points plus a couple bonus points,” said Finch.
Fatouma wrote 10 + 2 on the clipboard. “You should ask Khalid, too,” she said. “He’s really good at drawing Star Wars characters.”
“Kael and Khalid,” said Mohamed. “Got it.”
Bonus points, thought Finch, as they headed back to turn in their clipboard. In one Green Team outing he had signed up Fatouma to help Millie, Mohamed to help Kael and Khalid, and himself to help Mohamed.
Next stop, Paleo Pals.
13. Paleo Pals
“Hello, everyone,” said Finch’s mom. “And welcome to your library. Mr. White asked if Paleo Pals could meet in here and I said I’d be delighted. We’ve got a big assortment of books on paleontology over here on these tables. At the end of your meeting, you can either come to the desk and check them out, or leave the books right where you found them, okay? Enjoy!”
Mr. White gave a little wave of his hand to Finch’s mom. “Thank you, Mrs. Martin, for welcoming us to your space. I’m sure we’ll do our best to leave the library as nice as we found it.”
If there was one thing Finch hated, it was grown-ups telling you what to do by having a pretend conversation with another grown-up.
“Now,” said Mr. White, “I’ve been working on finding some activities so we can really dig into paleontology.” He paused to give kids time to laugh at his joke, then added, “But in the meantime, here are some mazes and word searches.” He began passing out a stack of papers and a box of pencils.
“Mr. White, Mr. White!” said Angelika, waving her hand. “Can we vote on who’s going to be president?”
“President?” asked Mr. White. “Umm . . . yes, great idea, Angelika. Let’s do that right now.”
Noah waved his hand in the air. “I nominate Finch!”
“I nominate Oscar!” shouted Oliver.
“I nominate Oliver!” shouted Oscar.
“Any other nominations?” asked Mr. White. “Good.”
He passed out more paper for ballots, and when the votes were counted, he said, “I am pleased to announce that your Paleo Pals president is . . . Finch Martin!”
Everybody clapped and hollered—because clapping for somebody was an okay way to make a lot of noise—and Finch jumped up and took a bow, imagining this moment in a book. Finch Martin—discoverer of Finchosaurus, the largest dinosaur ever to roam the earth—was elected president of his local paleontology club at the age of ten.
After the clapping died down, Finch grabbed a Do Not Disturb: Student Reading sign and signaled to Noah and Angelika to meet him at one of the smaller tables. Paleo Pals wasn’t turning out too bad. But he had more important things to do than mazes and word searches.
“Let’s talk about cake,” he said.
“Cake?” asked Noah. “Tell me your first cool president thing is getting us cake for snack.”
“Not ‘cake,’ ” whispered Angelika. “Cake. Remember? Caring kids?”
“I know,” said Noah. “I’m just kidding. But seriously, President Finch, are we getting snacks here?”
“Seriously,” said Finch. “I have no idea. But did you deliver the money?”
“What money?” asked Angelika.
“My allowance,” said Finch. “I gave it to Noah to give to Oscar and Oliver, at recess.”
“Mission accomplished,” said Noah.
“No way!” said Angelika.
“Yes, way,” said Noah. “Because I am a caring kid. Who deserves some cake.”
“No, I mean, no way—because I gave them money, too. I didn’t know you were going to!”
Finch, Noah, and Angelika all swiveled around in their seats to look at Oscar and Oliver, who were both giving them the two-thumbs-up sign, big grins on their faces.
“Oops,” said Noah.
“That’s not fair,” said Angelika. “They are such bullies. We should tell.”
“No, we shouldn’t,” said Finch. “You know if we tell on them they will take it out on David, forever. Let’s just do better telling each other stuff. Like, here’s what I did today.”
As he told them what happened during Green Team—who was doing what, to help who—Angelika was busy circling things on a “Dinosaur Discovery” word search. When he was done talking, she held up the paper. Instead of circling whole words, like fossil and carnivore, she had circled single letters. D. M. K. K.
“I get it,” said Noah. “David. Millie. Kael. Khalid. What about A for Atticus?”
“No,” said Finch, shaking his head. “We’ve investigated him, but we don’t have a plan to help him. We don’t even know if he needs any help.”
“Alert,” whispered Angelika. “Alert.”
The grown-ups were wandering the room, going from table to table.
“Hello, Noah,” said Finch’s mom. “Hello, Angelika. Hello, Finch. Or should I say, President Finch?”
“You can call me Finch,” said Finch.
“All right,” she said. “How’s it going? Anything I can help you with?”
“Yes,” piped up Angelika. “I was wondering, do you have any books about lice? Like, how to get rid of them?”
Finch’s mom had a funny look on her face. An I’m-not-freaking-out look. An I’m-a-librarian-helping-a-student-use-our-resources look.
“We have a wonderful book called The Giant Book of Parasites, which I believe has a chapter on head lice,” said Finch’s mom. She pointed to the Dewey Decimal poster. “So, where do you think you would find that book?”
Angelika studied the poster. “On the shelf with the five hundreds?”
“You got it,” said Finch’s mom.
“And Mom?” said Finch. “I mean, Mrs. Martin? You know the Captain Underpants books? Does the library have all of them?”
“Probably not every single one,” she said.
“But could you get them? I mean, would you—please?”
“I can do that,” said Finch’s mom, nodding. “I can add some to my next book order, and I can borrow some from other schools.”
“Thanks,” said Finch.
“How about you, Noah? Anything I can help you with?”
“I was wondering if there was going to be snacks?” asked Noah.
“I will talk to Mr. White,” she said. “I’m sure we can get some snacks in for the next meeting. In fact, I’m going to ask him right now.”
She headed off, and Angelika circled four more letters. M for Mohamed. C for Charlotte, H for Haley, and G for Graciela.
“Your mom is awesome,” said Noah. “Look how many kids we just got help for. I’m gonna go find a book so I can do a Who Loves This Book? Noah Does! recommendation for her.”
Angelika said, “I’ll go find that book on parasites.”
Alone, Finch checked the letters Angelika had circled on the “Dinosaur Discovery” word search. It was almost half the class. He had no way of knowing if any of them was the notewriter. Or if any of the things he and Angelika and Noah were doing was going to actually help anybody, notewriter or not. But it was better than nothing. Way better.
He still wanted to be known someday as Finch Martin, discoverer of Finchosaurus, the largest dinosaur ever to roam the earth. But that was going to take a while. For now, this was good. For now, he was Finch Martin, president of Paleo Pals. Finch Martin, president of “Cake Club.”
And Finch Martin—not the kid getting all the extra help anymore. The one giving it.
14. The Fruits of Our Labor
The next day was as hot and muggy as dog breath.
Grammy Mary sat on one of the big boulders alongside the garden. She wore a straw hat with a giant plastic purple flower on the brim. “Good morning, Finch,” she said with a smile.
“Hey, Grammy Mary,” said Finch. “Cool hat.”
“It’s keeping me cool,” she said, taking it off and fanning herself.
“Fifth graders!” called Mrs. Adler, raising her hand in the air for silence. “Let’s give our full attention to Miss Kirby.”
“Good morning, ever
yone,” said Miss Kirby. She was wearing short overalls, like a cross between a farmer and a little kid. “Because of this heat, we’re only going to work outside for about thirty minutes. Then we’ll go in and make a salad from the greens we’re going to harvest. Who here wants to eat some kale?”
That wasn’t a real question, because the whole class garden thing was being willing to at least try eating the food they grew. So everybody raised their hands to show they would eat kale.
“Then let’s get gardening!” said Miss Kirby, and began assigning different kids to different jobs.
Finch sidled up to Noah. “Let’s split up,” he whispered. “I’m gonna talk to Atticus.”
“Check,” said Noah. “I’ll hang with David.”
Finch grabbed a trowel and went over to where Atticus was cutting leaves and putting them into a bowl. “Miss Kirby said I could weed,” he said. “What’s a weed, again?”
“What’s a weed?” echoed Atticus. His face scrunched into a worried frown. “Weeds are the plants we don’t want.”
“I get that,” said Finch. “I mean, where are the weeds?”
“Oh,” said Atticus, his frown switching to a grin. “This is kale,” he said, pointing to a row of plants with dark green curlicue leaves. “And all this other stuff is weeds.” He pointed to clumps of green here and there. “Weed. Weed. Weed.”
“Got it,” said Finch. He stuck his trowel into the ground, yanked up a weed, and tossed it aside.
“You’re supposed to make a pile,” said Atticus. “Remember? For the kids collecting stuff for the compost? Miss Kirby says a weed isn’t edible but it can still help us make edible things.”
“Who says it’s not edible?” asked Finch.
“Umm . . . Miss Kirby?”
“But is that true?” asked Finch. He dug up another clump of weeds, bit off a mouthful, and chewed.
“How is it?” asked Atticus, staring at Finch as if he was doing a magic trick.
Finch swallowed. “I’m gonna go with not edible,” he said.
Atticus cracked up, laughing. “Too bad you’re not a cow. Then you could eat it.”
“Too bad I’m not an herbivorous dinosaur,” said Finch.
