Stacey the Math Whiz

  Haley wearily signed back. “Okay, the Duke can be on the poster, too.”

  It was Saturday morning, and I was baby-sitting for Charlotte Johanssen. Mary Anne was taking care of Haley and Matt. Since all three kids planned to be in the SES math fair, I had suggested we get them together.

  Usually sitting for Char puts me in a good mood. She and I are very close. We call each other almost-sisters. She’s quiet and thoughtful and very bright.

  That Saturday, however, I was a train wreck.

  I had not slept well. I’d had a recurring nightmare: I was in Madison Square Garden, wearing my brand-new outfit, bought at a fabulous discount at Zingy’s. I was clapping rhythmically, waiting for U4Me to emerge. The arena went dark, the crowd screamed with anticipation, and when the lights blinked on, the stage was filled with … Connecticut’s top Mathletes teams!

  Do I sound a little guilty?

  I was.

  I kept thinking of the look on Ms. Hartley’s face when I told her I was skipping the event.

  Why couldn’t I just have spoken up? Why couldn’t I just have said, “You’re right, Ms. Hartley. See you Saturday night”?

  I knew why.

  Because if I had, I’d be guilty about the expression on Dad’s face.

  Arrghh!

  “Don’t you guys think it’s a good idea?” Haley was asking.

  “I think it’s great,” Mary Anne said.

  “Mm-hm,” I agreed.

  I tried to look enthusiastic. After all, I was the current-but-soon-to-be-ex math champ of the entire state. I was a role model.

  A roll model was more like it. I felt as if I’d been rolled over.

  “ ‘And now, the magic repeating numbers,’ ” Charlotte read from a looseleaf sheet.

  “ ‘Zee magic rrrrepeateeng nommmbairs,’ ” Haley corrected her, rolling the r’s.

  “ ‘Geeeve me a nommmbair from one to ten and I weel make it repeat three times,’ ” Charlotte read aloud, trying to imitate Haley’s accent.

  “Mootch better,” said Madame Math. “Go ahead, Mary Anne.”

  “Seven,” Mary Anne said.

  “Moomba lazoomba,” Charlotte said, fighting back a laugh. She took a marker and wrote 7. Then she said, “First I weel mooltiply it by 37 …”

  She did, and she wrote the answer: 259.

  “Goodness, zat ees not a reepeating seven! What shall I do?” (Countess Countsworthy was really warming up now.) “Hmmm, let me mooltiply zees by three.”

  With a flourish, Charlotte wrote 259 × 3 = 777.

  “Yes!” she crowed. “I have made zee seven repeat!”

  Mary Anne and I applauded.

  “That’s fantastic,” Mary Anne said.

  Personally, I love repeating-number tricks. Our team had worked on them in practice. “You know,” I said, “you can stretch that trick to six digits instead of three.”

  “Cool,” Haley said. “I mean, vonnnderfool.”

  I took a pen and began writing. “You see, here’s how you made Mary Anne’s number repeat. Basically, you did this …

  “But you broke down that one hundred eleven into two factors, three and thirty seven …

  “To make the trick look more complex, you split the problem into two parts …”

  Oops.

  I was going overboard. I knew it. Mary Anne’s eyes were glazing over. Charlotte and Haley were staring at the paper. All I could think about was Lindsey, about how I almost ruined her math skills for life.

  I wasn’t going to do it again. I was not going to complicate anything. Let the kids discover math for themselves.

  I put the pencil down. “So, uh, anyway, your trick is great just the way it is.”

  “What’s the other trick?” Haley asked.

  “It’s nothing,” I replied. “Do another one you planned.”

  “Hey, that’s not fair!” Charlotte complained.

  Haley was signing something to Matt. Immediately he picked up the pencil and scribbled 111,111 on the paper.

  “All riiight, Matt!” Mary Anne said. “Multiplying, in second grade!”

  “He just knows the ones table,” Haley replied. “I taught it to him.”

  “Okay, so you multiply the number by 111,111, and it repeats six times,” Charlotte said. “What’s the trick, Stacey?”

  “It’s really for older kids,” I explained.

  Charlotte frowned. “We’re both above grade level.”

  Matt and Haley were signing again. “Matt says you multiply littler numbers,” Haley said. “Same as last time.”

  “Well, he has the right idea,” I began.

  The three kids were staring at me. They looked so eager. I was dying to explain the trick.

  I took a deep breath and picked up the pencil. If they fell asleep from boredom, I could always tuck them in for a nap.

  “Okay, let’s see how the number breaks down …

  “We know that one hundred eleven breaks down into factors — and so does one thousand and one!”

  “So if we take a number, like five,” Haley said, “and multiply it by all those little numbers you underlined, in any order —”

  “We’ll get five five five five five five!” Charlotte exclaimed.

  “Try it,” I said.

  Well, the multiplication was very hard for both girls. Mary Anne and I had to help them. But when they got the answer, 555,555, they were ecstatic.

  “That is so cool!” Charlotte said. “Can we make the number repeat nine times?”

  I shrugged. “Let’s figure it out.”

  Charlotte ran upstairs and brought back a calculator. We all huddled around it and tried to find the factors of 111,111,111.

  We got as far as 3 × 3 × 37 × 333,667 before we gave up.

  Countess Countsworthy practically tackled her parents when they returned home. She, Madam Math, and the Duke of Digits insisted on performing a preview in the living room.

  The reaction? “Stacey, you live up to your reputation,” Dr. Johanssen said. (Boy, did that ever feel good.)

  “Can we go to see Stacey in the Mathletes championship later?” Charlotte asked. “Please?”

  “I suppose,” Dr. Johanssen said. “Where is it?”

  “Well, actually, I’m not competing today,” I replied. “I, uh, have another appointment.”

  “To do what?” Charlotte asked.

  “See a concert,” I muttered.

  “For that you’re going to miss the championships?” Haley asked.

  Mr. Johanssen chuckled. “I’m sure the team is saying the same thing.”

  Zing. Did I feel guilty again.

  We said our good-byes, and I walked with Mary Anne back to the Braddocks’. After dropping off Matt and Haley, we headed along Elm Street.

  I barely said a word. My thoughts were like passengers on the New York subway, crowded and bumping into each other.

  “Mary Anne,” I said. “Did I blow it or what?”

  “No way,” Mary Anne answered. “I think the kids had a great time!”

  “No, I mean the meet.”

  “Oh, that.” Mary Anne suddenly looked concerned. “Are you changing your mind?”

  I took a deep breath. The words just spilled out. “My team needs me, Mary Anne. They may become state champs. Yesterday Ms. Hartley told me I’m tied for the state individual scoring record. I mean, I must be crazy. I’ve worked so hard, I’ve had a good time, and now, just when they need me the most, I’m gone.”

  “Remember what you said, Stacey — family over math.”

  “Claudia said that. My dad went through so much trouble. He’s trying so hard to spend time with me. I want him to know I appreciate him. And I do want to see U4Me. Sort of. I mean, this is my second time….”

  “Sounds like you really don’t want to go.”

  “I don’t!”

  “So tell your dad. He’ll understand. What’s the worst that could happen? He’ll dock your allowance until you pay for the ticket?”

  “He d
oesn’t give me an allowance.”

  “Stacey, did your dad ask you beforehand if you wanted those tickets?”

  “No. That’s not his style. He usually doesn’t ask. He just kind of announces. It drives my mom crazy.”

  “What does he do when she says no?”

  I shrugged. “Apologizes, I guess.”

  “Then you don’t have to worry. Tell him everything you told me. He’ll understand. Stacey, you have a whole lifetime to do stuff with your dad. There will always be rock concerts. But there’s only one state championship this year.”

  I had to admit, Mary Anne was right.

  I knew just what to do.

  “What do you mean, give the tickets to Samantha’s niece?” Dad asked over the phone.

  “It’s what she wants, right?” I said. “She’ll love you for it.”

  “But I thought you and I —”

  “Please don’t be mad, Dad. When you first told me, I was so excited that I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t realize I’d be missing the state championship —”

  “Whoa, hold it,” Dad said. “That’s at the same time?”

  “Didn’t you know?”

  “No! I mean, I wasn’t really connecting. I mean —”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “You’re as bad as me!”

  “You can’t miss a championship meet!”

  “That’s what I say.”

  “Does Mom know about this?” Dad asked.

  “Yup.”

  Did she ever. I had talked this out with her the moment I arrived home. Now she was standing by the phone, giving me moral support.

  “Okay, look, Stacey. You don’t have much time. But don’t rush. Eat a good dinner. The tickets are at the box office. I’ll call Samantha, then I’ll leave from here at the Strathmore and meet you in Hartford. Make sure to take I–95 …”

  As Dad rambled on, I gave Mom the high sign.

  We were in business.

  I hung up at 5:07. The meet was at seven o’clock, and we had a long drive ahead of us.

  I tapped out Ms. Hartley’s number on the phone and heard an answering machine message. “Hi, this is Stacey,” I said breathlessly. “If you’re checking in for messages, I’m coming!”

  We left the house at 5:33. I don’t even remember what we ate for dinner. I must have gobbled it down, though, because my stomach hurt like crazy in the car.

  Of course, it may have been Mom’s driving.

  Now, I love my mom dearly, but being in a car with her is like riding a bull. Around New Haven, I thought I was going to lose my dinner. Outside Wallingford, we hit a traffic jam. I almost hopped out and ran.

  We arrived at the Eastbury Middle School parking lot at 7:02. I pushed the car door open so hard I nearly fell onto the asphalt.

  “Go ahead!” Mom said. “Let them know you’re here!”

  I sprinted into the school through a side entrance. I could hear a huge cheer from behind closed gym doors at the end of a hall. I burst through and yelled, “I’m here!”

  A couple of sweaty guys on a rubber mat looked up at me briefly and then started pummeling each other.

  A wrestling match. Wrong doors.

  “Where’s the Mathletes meet?” I asked a teenage boy who was standing on the sidelines.

  “Auditorium.” He pointed into the hallway. “Right, right, left.”

  I went right, right, left. I ran smack into a wall of people.

  “Mathletes?” I asked a gray-haired man.

  “Sorry, it’s at capacity,” he said. “The AV shop is wiring a closed-circuit TV for us —”

  “Excuse me … excuse me …” I elbowed my way through the crowd. Just inside the auditorium door, a young woman said, “You’ll have to wait, miss —”

  “I’m on the Stoneybrook team! Where’s Ms. Hartley?”

  I was a total maniac. I think I scared the poor woman out of her shoes.

  I didn’t wait for her to answer. I could see my team huddled with Ms. Hartley on a huge stage. Jason was looking nervously out at the crowd.

  My feet have never moved so fast. I sprinted down the aisle and jumped onto the stage. “Okay, guys,” I shouted. “Let’s go for it!”

  The huddle parted. Seven jaws hit the stage floor at the same time. My teammates looked as if they’d just seen Santa Claus fly in on the back of the Easter Bunny.

  “Stacey?” Mari said.

  “I could make it — my dad — I didn’t really — I’ll explain later!” I gasped.

  “Will the teams kindly take their seats?” a voice boomed out.

  Ms. Hartley was beaming. “SMS Mathletes,” she shouted, “are we ready?”

  “YYYYYYYESSSSSS!”

  The state finals are different from the other meets. Not only is it a best-of-three series, but only two teams are involved.

  The table across from us was full of strangers — very smart-looking strangers. I had no idea which one was my rival, George Singh, and I didn’t want to know.

  My heart was pounding. My brain was snapping.

  I answered the first few questions practically before I finished reading them.

  My teammates were on fire, too. Through the first eight questions, we had a perfect score. Then we lost one to Eastbury, and they took a team question.

  Suddenly we were neck and neck. The lead changed hands with just about every question. The meet sped by so fast I can barely remember it.

  But I do know for sure that the final score was SMS 75, Eastbury 73.

  Afterward, I was mobbed by my teammates. Emily was practically in tears. Rick wouldn’t stop shouting in my ears. Jason was riding around on Gordon, piggyback-style.

  “Partyyyyy!” Jason shouted.

  “Great idea!” Ms. Hartley said. “My treat! How does the Rosebud sound?”

  “Yaaaay!” was the response.

  “Check with your parents,” Ms. Hartley said. “We’ll meet there as close to nine-thirty as possible.”

  I spotted Mom in one of the aisles, making her way toward me. She looked so proud.

  I practically leaped off the stage. We buried each other in hugs and congratulations.

  “Can I use your phone card?” I asked. “I promised to call Mary Anne as soon as the meet was over.”

  Mom fished the card out of her purse. I ran into the hallway, found a pay phone, and tapped out Mary Anne’s number.

  “Hello?” her voice answered.

  “We did it!” I shouted.

  Well, Mary Anne screamed so loudly I thought I’d lose my hearing. I gave her the details and then told her about the Rosebud.

  “I’ll call everyone,” Mary Anne said. “We’ll meet you there!”

  “Great! ‘Bye.”

  “ ’Bye.”

  Back to the auditorium. Now Mom was talking to Dad. He let out a whoop when he saw me.

  “Where were you sitting?” I asked.

  “I wasn’t,” he replied. “I was standing in the back. Didn’t you hear me shouting? The guy in front almost slugged me. His kid was on the Eastbury team.”

  “Daa-aad —”

  “I didn’t care. I’m a father. I have a right to be proud. I say we celebrate!”

  “Well, my teammates are all —” I began.

  “I am taking all three of us out,” Dad barreled on. “That is, if your mom doesn’t mind.”

  Mom was fidgeting. She looked as if she wanted to slug him. “Ed — I don’t think this is proper —”

  Dad was grinning. “I will not take no for an answer. We’ve had dinner together at home. We can survive a restaurant. It’s a happy day all around. I have some news of my own.”

  “What news?” I asked.

  “I’ll tell you at Renwick’s. I made a reservation for three.”

  Mom and I gave each other a Look. Now she seemed curious. I knew just what was running through her mind. The same things that were running through mine:

  He’s engaged to Samantha.

  He found a job.

  He’s moving to Ti
bet.

  One thing was sure. I could not say no. I could always show up at the Rosebud a little late.

  Mom and I followed his car back to Stoneybrook. We listened to the radio and hardly said a word.

  At the restaurant, Dad ordered nachos and guacamole. Then, with a big smile on his face, he cleared his throat and announced, “Fifty-third floor. A view of the Hudson River. A very easy subway ride from my apartment.”

  “You got that great new job!” I exclaimed.

  “Congratulations, Ed,” Mom said.

  “Well, it’s not exactly what I dreamed of. The pay is actually lower than my old job, but there’s room for advancement. I have to be in Atlanta on Monday for some intensive meetings with the home office, then I fly back to New York on Tuesday to start work.”

  “Tuesday?” I said. “Then you’ll miss the second meet.”

  Dad frowned. “Oh. Sorry, Stace. I — I guess, in the excitement of it all —”

  “That’s okay,” I lied. “You can come to the final on Monday. I mean, if it goes to three.”

  “Well, I’m not sure, sweetheart,” Dad said. “I mean, it’ll be a weekday, and I’ll have a lot of catching up to do.”

  I nodded. “Well … try, okay?”

  “Sure,” Dad replied. “So, anyway, I get this call from the chief operations officer, who’s an old college buddy, and he says, ‘Have you heard?’ ”

  I felt as if I’d been kicked. Dad hadn’t sounded very disappointed about missing the Monday meet. And how could he even think of skipping the final one?

  Now he was rambling on about his job, job, job. His face was lit up, as if he’d just discovered gold.

  What happened to New Dad? The caring, “no more workaholic,” car-driving dad who had practically moved into the Strathmore just to spend “quality time” with his beloved daughter?

  Was my life so unimportant now, just because of a job?

  He sounded like the Old Dad to me.

  I tried to smile and listen. I tried not to be mad. I tried to understand how important this job was. Important enough to steal me away from the victory celebration with my teammates at the Rosebud.

  “Yikes!” I blurted out. “I have to make a call!”

  I spotted a telephone by the restrooms. I made a beeline to it and tapped out Mary Anne’s number.