by Brandon Mull
Miss Doulin had to be in her late thirties. She was not a pretty woman. Her hair was shaggy, her lips were thin, and her eyes were too close together. Worse, she seemed to have a sour disposition. Summer doubted whether Miss Doulin would ever have a Mrs. in front of her name.
“Some of you may have heard that I don’t allow a lot of horseplay,” Miss Doulin continued. “This is true. You are now in the fifth grade. You are growing up. More will be required of you this year than ever before. You are preparing for junior high, and I promise you no horseplay will be tolerated there.
“This classroom is a place of learning. Without order that will never happen. If you work hard and participate in class discussions, we can have a little fun. For example, I have a trivia question. The first of you to answer correctly will have no homework tonight. But be careful. If you answer incorrectly, you will have extra work.”
She gave the class a meaningful stare. Summer shook her head slightly. It was not a good sign to be talking about homework in the first five minutes of the first day of class.
“Name two men who appear on U.S. currency who were never presidents of the United States.”
The class was silent.
“Currency is money,” Miss Doulin clarified.
Pigeon raised his hand.
“Yes, Paul.”
“Benjamin Franklin and Alexander Hamilton.”
“Very good, Paul. Can you tell us where they appear?”
“On the ten-dollar bill and the hundred-dollar bill.”
“Excellent. No homework for you tonight.”
“Can I have a different prize?” Pigeon asked.
“Like what?”
“Could you call me Pigeon?”
She paused. “Fair enough. If you would rather have homework.”
“That’s fine.”
*****
Trevor exited the cafeteria holding a tray with a chicken sandwich, tater tots, applesauce, and a small carton of chocolate milk. The day had gotten really hot. The bright sun made Trevor squint as he scanned the rows of aluminum picnic tables for his friends.
He had watched for Nate in the lunch line. Summer and Pigeon rarely bought lunch, and he had forgotten to ask whether Nate planned to buy. Nate had never showed up.
Finally Trevor saw Summer and Nate. Who was the kid in the leather jacket? He smirked when he realized it was Pigeon. Trevor joined them at the table.
“Is that jacket keeping out the chill?”
Pigeon looked up from his bag of potato chips. “I have to keep it on. I sweated through my shirt.”
“How was class, Trev?” Summer said.
“Mr. Butler seems pretty cool. Is Miss Doulin as bad as everyone says?”
“Worse,” Nate said. “She already threatened me with detention.”
“Nate was being a little too funny,” Summer said.
Trevor ate a tater tot. “I can’t believe you three ended up in the same class and I got left out.”
“I wasn’t sure Pigeon was in our class,” Nate said. “I never knew he was named Paul, so my mom couldn’t check for his name on the list.”
“Pidge already got in good with Miss Doulin,” Summer said.
“I didn’t know he was such a brain,” Nate said.
“I’m not,” Pigeon said. “I just know a lot about the presidents and the Founding Fathers. I have this great book about them. I have all of the presidents memorized.”
“No kidding,” Nate said.
“Did you know that Thomas Jefferson and John Adams died on the same day?”
“No.”
“July 4, 1826. Fifty years to the day after the Declaration of Independence was signed.”
“Weird.”
“They were among the last surviving signers.”
A hand slapped down on Pigeon’s shoulder from behind. “What’s for dessert today?” It was Denny. Eric of the flat features stood at his side.
Pigeon grabbed his brown bag and folded the top down.
“For a second I thought Summer was dating the leader of a biker gang,” Denny said. “Then I realized it was just a geek in disguise.” Denny tried to snatch the bag from Pigeon. When Pigeon refused to let go, the bag ripped. A sandwich in a plastic bag fell out, along with a banana and two individually wrapped cupcakes.
Eric reached for the cupcakes. He got one. Nate, seated on the opposite side of the table, snagged the other.
“Two desserts?” Denny said. “Good idea! One for me, and one for . . . Eric. Maybe that jacket really has made you cooler!”
“Are you actually trying to steal his food?” Nate asked.
“That black eye healed pretty good,” Denny said.
“It hit me in the mouth.”
“How’d it taste?” Denny smiled. Eric chuckled.
Nate threw the cupcake at Denny as hard as he could. Denny ducked, and it flew over a couple of tables into the side of a building.
Denny was no longer smiling. “You’re going to make this year interesting, Dirt Face. These guys quit fighting back at school years ago. See, Kyle’s mom is the head yard duty. We never get busted.”
“Maybe I’ll go talk to the principal,” Nate threatened.
Denny shrugged. “Try it. See what happens to you.”
“Don’t talk to him, Nate,” Pigeon said.
“See, Nate, Pigeon knows the drill,” Denny said. “Just hand over your dessert and save yourself the hassle of getting trashed.”
“Should we have a talk with Dirt Face after school?” Eric asked.
Denny shook his head. “We’ll let it slide today, since we already beat him up before we met him. But now that you know the rules, don’t make us teach you again.”
Trevor wanted to pounce across the table, grab Denny by his curly blond hair, and pound him in the nose. But Denny was a strong kid. Nate looked equally angry and hesitant.
Denny and Eric walked away.
Pigeon started peeling his banana.
“Nice try with the cupcake,” Trevor said to Nate.
“Sorry to waste it,” Nate said.
“Are you kidding?” Pigeon stared at Nate like he was crazy. “I wish I could lose all my desserts that way!”
“Be glad you missed him,” Summer said. “Denny is a psycho. He gets worse all the time. He flunked third grade, so he’s really old enough to be in junior high.”
“He doesn’t bug us too much at school if we do what he says,” Pigeon said.
“And after school?” Nate asked.
“After school it’s more like a game,” Trevor said. “Like a pretend war.”
“Except not always pretend,” Pigeon added. “Sometimes they take things too far.”
“I’ve noticed,” Nate said, touching the scab at the corner of his mouth.
“We’ve tried to fight back a little,” Summer said. “They don’t mind so much down at the creek. But when we try to stand up to them at school, they make life miserable.”
“It works out simpler to let them play their little games at school,” Trevor said. “Doing anything back just encourages them.”
“We’ll see about that,” Nate said, watching the back of that curly blond head.
“I guess I should try bringing three cupcakes,” Pigeon said miserably.
Chapter Three
Moon Rocks
Nate, Summer, and Pigeon met Trevor by the gate at the back of the school. From the rear of the playing field, a path zigzagged down a slope to a road that paralleled Main Street. From the gate at the top of the path, Nate could see most of Colson Valley, including his neighborhood on the side of a low hill across the basin.
“How did your day go?” Trevor asked.
“Not bad,” Summer said.
“I’m soaked,” Pigeon confessed. “I can’t stop sweating.”
“I can’t believe we have nine more months of Miss Doulin,” Nate groaned.
They started down the path. Dry brush and thorny weeds covered the slope behind the school, with a few oak tr
ees adding some shade. A squirrel dashed up a trunk.
“I’m parched,” Trevor said.
“Me too,” Pigeon said. “Where’s a drinking fountain when you need one?”
“Have you guys tried that ice cream place?” Nate asked.
“On the corner of Main and Greenway?” Summer asked.
“Yeah, I think. The one on the way home.”
“It’s new,” Trevor said. “I’m not sure it’s open yet.”
“It looked open this morning,” Nate said. “We should check it out.”
“I’m melting,” Pigeon moaned.
“You could get some ice cream,” Nate suggested.
“I only have like thirty cents,” Pigeon said.
“I don’t have money either,” Nate said. “Maybe we could get a free sample. Or at least a glass of water.”
The path behind the school deposited them onto Greenway. The road was one block over from Main. The street had little traffic and was lined with small houses whose low, chain-link fences protected unkempt yards. A few other groups of kids were also walking home along Greenway. Dogs barked from behind some of the fences.
The side streets along Greenway were minor until Main curved and crossed Greenway. The intersection where Main and Greenway met marked the end of where the town continued trying to imitate the Old West. It was also the location of the Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe.
When they reached Main Street, Nate noticed that Greenway had stop signs while Main had none. An old man in an orange vest held up a stop sign and walked them across the street.
Not much farther down Greenway on the right was Nate’s neighborhood. But he and the others went to the left side of the street where the ice cream shop stood on the corner. A bell jangled as they pushed through the glass doors and into the pleasantly air-conditioned store.
The floor was a white and black checkerboard. Immaculate tables and chairs with chrome legs filled much of the expansive room, leaving space to access the long, L-shaped counter that protected two shelved walls crammed with candy. Licorice, jawbreakers, caramels, gingersnaps, cookies, marshmallow treats, peppermint sticks, gumdrops, malt balls, jelly beans, lollypops, chocolate bars, and numberless other sweets burdened the shelves, some sheathed in shiny wrappers, some visible in clear jars. They had entered an extensive and sophisticated library of delicious confections.
Near the door stood a life-sized wooden Indian rendered in skillful detail, down to his pruned face and wrinkled hands. Meticulously painted, he was an ancient chief with a long feathered headdress, trinkets dangling from his neck, a buckskin shirt, moccasins, and a tomahawk in one hand. He looked weary but courageous.
The shop was empty except for an older woman behind the counter dipping an apple in molten caramel. Her hair was pinned up in a gigantic bun the color of cinnamon. She had large green eyes, and though her youth was fading, she had very pleasant features.
“Come in,” she called in a sweet voice, twirling the apple to keep the caramel from dripping before crusting it in crushed nuts. “We’re newly opened. Children are my favorite customers.”
The children crossed the room to where the woman was placing her caramel apple on a sheet of waxed paper. “This place looks expensive,” Nate ventured.
“Candy can carry a hefty price tag,” she agreed. “There are brands of fine European chocolate that cost a hundred dollars for a few ounces. You see, superlative chocolate must be made with the proper care, by the correct process, and from the best cacao beans. No shortcuts. Such supreme attention to quality demands generous recompense. We carry no name brands here. Everything is handmade. But in spite of my rigid insistence on excellence, I try to stock items for every budget. I even keep a jar of penny candy near the register.”
“Candy that costs a penny?” Pigeon exclaimed in hungry disbelief.
“I swap out the penny candy daily,” she continued. “If you don’t like what we have on sale today, you can call again tomorrow.” She motioned at the large jar near the register. Already digging for change in his pocket, Pigeon hurried toward the jar.
“No name brands?” Trevor asked. “No Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups? No Jolly Ranchers? No Snickers?”
“I have my own brands,” the woman said. “Some from suppliers, many I concoct myself. If you like peanut butter cups, try my Peanut Butter Blast. If you like Jolly Ranchers, try my Sucker Squares. If you like Snickers, try a Riot bar. You may never go back to the brands you know.”
“These are only a penny?” Pigeon asked. He was holding up a smallish pretzel smothered in white and dark chocolate.
“That’s right.”
Pigeon examined the change in his palm. “I’ll take thirty-two, please.”
The woman cocked her head sympathetically. “I neglected to mention, I sell only one penny candy per customer each day. If not, I doubt I could stay in business. But take me up on the offer every day, if you like. You’ll find I never scrimp on quality, even for the least expensive treats.”
“Can I get one for each of my friends?” Pigeon asked.
“Absolutely,” she responded. “One per customer.”
“Four, then,” he said.
“How much is your ice cream?” Summer inquired. She was standing farther along the counter peering at the tubs of ice cream through the glass.
“For kids, a dollar a scoop, whether cup or cone,” she said, taking a nickel from Pigeon in return for a penny and four of the chocolate-drenched pretzels. “Fixings for sundaes are extra, as are shakes and malts.”
“I’m going to bring ice cream money tomorrow,” Summer declared.
The others gathered as Pigeon distributed the pretzels. Nate put the whole thing in his mouth. There was so much chocolate that it overwhelmed the taste of the pretzel, which only served to add a little crunch. The chocolate was richer and creamier than any he had ever sampled. “This is awesome,” he said as he finished chewing. The others agreed with wide eyes.
“How much for another one?” Trevor asked.
“You don’t want to know,” she said. “Tell me a little about yourselves. I have not yet met many children in town.”
“I’m Summer. This is Trevor, Nate, and Pigeon.”
“I’m Mrs. White,” she said. “Pleased to meet you. You’re on your way home from school?”
“Yes,” Pigeon said.
“What grade are you in?”
“Fifth,” Trevor and Summer answered together.
Mrs. White nodded thoughtfully. “Are you good students?”
“Pigeon is probably the best in the school,” Summer said.
“I’m no great brain,” Pigeon said, “but the three of us participate in the gifted program.” He indicated Trevor and Summer.
“I did accelerated learning at my old school,” Nate mentioned.
Mrs. White licked a stray drop of caramel from her knuckle. “What do you children do for fun?”
“We have a club,” Pigeon said, receiving a glare from Summer.
“What sort of club?” Mrs. White asked.
Pigeon looked to Summer. “We explore stuff,” Summer said.
“And ride bikes,” Nate added.
“Explorers?” Mrs. White said musingly. “Do you kids like to daydream?”
“I do,” Trevor said.
“Me too,” Nate echoed.
“I’m always on the lookout for clever, imaginative explorers,” Mrs. White said, glancing at the door of the shop. “I’m familiar with Colson, but only recently arrived in town after a long absence. It is already beginning to feel like home again.”
“I’m new here too,” Nate said. “My family moved here from Southern California.”
“Do you have any other inexpensive candy?” Pigeon asked.
“How much money do you have?” Mrs. White inquired.
“Twenty-eight cents,” he replied.
Mrs. White pressed her lips together. “Hmmm. I’m in the process of hiring help. If you kids want to assist in some chores, I
could reward you with treats.”
They all agreed enthusiastically.
Mrs. White walked along the counter, crouched, and arose holding spray bottles and rags. “This is for the windows,” she declared, holding up one spray bottle. Nate accepted it. “This is for the tables,” she said, handing the other bottle to Trevor.
