The Smartest Kid in Petaluma

  “I hope my dad thinks a D in science is entertaining.”

  “Did your mom yell at you for taking her pans?”

  Chris helped Norman mount the new tire. “No. She just made me scrub every pot and pan in the kitchen, organize the Tupperware cupboard and mop the kitchen floor. I would have preferred a lecture.”

  Norman pumped up the new tire. “Done.”

  “Good, let’s box.”

  Chris and Norman laced up the gloves and circled each other. Chris threw crisp jabs that snapped Norman’s head back. Chris’ long arms prevented the scientist from hitting the athlete. Norman smiled, and dropped his hands. Chris jabbed with his left hand. Norman anticipated the punch and leaned to his left.

  Chris’ punch hit only air.

  Norman stood, again, in front of Chris with his hands down. Chris jabbed twice with his left, then hooked with his right. Norman ducked to avoid the jabs, then veered to his right. Chris’ powerful right hand missed completely, throwing him off balance. Chris stumbled and Norman hit him twice in the stomach with right hooks and popped him on the chin with a straight left hand.

  Chris smiled, faked a left hook and unleashed an overhand right. Norman avoided the blow and Chris stumbled to the floor. He sat on the cement and laughed. “I think I’ve created a monster. Where’d you learn to slip punches like that?”

  “Remember what you told me when we boxed for the first time?”

  “No.”

  “You said, You’re such a scientist, observe.”

  “Of course,” said Chris. “That’s something I’ll never forget.”

  “I’ve been observing,” said Norman. “You totally telegraph your punches. When you jab you’re on the balls of your feet. When you throw a knockout punch you rock back on your heels. I suppose most people do.”

  “When you’re fighting you watch my feet?”

  “No. I can tell by your posture what you’re doing. I don’t need to see your feet.”

  Chris held out his right hand, “Help me up.”

  Norman offered his right hand. Chris snatched it, yanked Norman to the floor and flipped him onto the cold concrete floor. He knelt on Norman’s chest. “Just remember, Normy, in a real fight there aren’t any rules.”

  “Let me up and I’ll give you a ride home.”

  “Okay.”

  Chris dislodged himself from Norman’s chest and unlaced his gloves. Norman de-gloved himself, opened the garage door, and rolled his vintage Raleigh down the driveway. Chris, with two pairs of gloves dangling around his neck, hopped on the bookrack. Norman swayed and wiggled down the street until he picked up speed. Although it was old, the Raleigh, with its skinny tires was faster than any BMX.

  Chris was home in two minutes.

  On the return trip, Norman took a detour that led him past Darcy’s house. She was nowhere in sight, but Norman still waved as he passed the yellow-and-white house. He continued down the road to the high school. The baseball, girl’s softball, track, and tennis teams were all practicing. Norman lingered by the backstop and watched Marcus take batting practice. Marcus still crowded the plate on every pitch, challenging the pitcher to sneak one by. Norman’s brother sprayed hits to left, center, and right. On the way home Norman passed Luchessi Park. A woman pushed a baby carriage. Two dogs growled over a Frisbee. Children hung, swung, and twirled on monkey bars. Two barbecue pits, abandoned since last summer, stood like sentinels. Norman’s mouth watered for a rare, char-broiled burger.

  Chapter 23

  Mr. Forrester read the announcements in his dull monotone: “Kenilworth’s Squad finished fourth in yesterday’s Spirit Competition. Our baseball team plays Cook Junior High in Santa Rosa this afternoon. Kenilworth’s track team has a dual meet with Petaluma Junior High at home.” The bat-like teacher yawned, then continued, “Third quarter finals week begins on Monday. Penny Hosking, your glasses have been turned into the Lost-and-Found. Winners of Kenilworth’s Science Fair are: Eighth Grade, Rex Evitch. Seventh grade, Norman Babbit. Sixth grade, Bernadette Burrell. All three qualify for the Regionals in Sacramento and a chance for the Nationals in Washington D.C.”

  Mr. Forrester lowered the paper he had been reading from. “I suppose, Mr. Babbit, that congratulations are in order, eh?”

  “You suppose?” said Chris. “Norman works for months on a kicking science project and you suppose he deserves congratulations?”

  “Quite right, Mr. Forte,” said the teacher. “Congratulations, Norman.”

  “Thanks,” said Norman.

  “He’s a nerd,” said a voice from the back.

  “Who said that?” said Chris.

  “I did,” said Roger Thornton. “He’s a nerd. All he does is study. If I studied that much I’d win the science fair.”

  “No you wouldn’t,” said Chris.

  Roger stood, “Why not?”

  “Because you’re stupid,” said Chris, standing.

  “Chris and Roger—” said Mr. Forrester. The first period bell rung and the classroom emptied without incident.

  Mr. Carlson distributed the English test to everyone except Norman. “Good luck, Chris,” said the teacher. “I’m certain Mr. Babbit wishes you luck as well.”

  “Luck is for losers,” said Chris. “I’m prepared. I’m a lean, mean, English machine.”

  “For Norman’s sake, I hope so,” said Mr. Carlson.

  “If you care that much about my grade,” said Norman, “be fair and let me take the test.” A murmur of approval sounded throughout the room.

  “No,” said Mr. Carlson.

  “I have every confidence in Chris, but at least let me see a test.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can see what to study for next time,” said Norman.

  “Commendable,” said Carlson. He walked his weasel-walk down the row of desks and handed Norman a test.

  Norman read: PART 1. A Verbal phrase contains a participle, an infinitive, or a gerund. Identify each in the following sentences. Ten sentences followed.

  PART 2. An elliptical expression is one from which something has been omitted. Locate and explain the elliptical phrases in the following sentences. Ten more sentences.

  Norman didn’t read PART 3. He folded the test in half, “Good luck, Chris.”

  “What was that, Norman?” asked Mr. Carlson.

  “Nothing,” said Norman, “absolutely nothing. The same as my grade.” He glanced at Chris who flashed Norman a confident grin and began scribbling furiously. Norman opened his science book and read about electrons.

  Chris scratched his head and snapped his pencil in half. Howard Bennett and Mike Caldwell stared at each other, then nodded. Howard signed his name to the test and without answering one question, walked to the front and turned his test in.

  “Done so soon, Mr. Bennett?” asked Mr. Carlson.

  Without replying, Howard returned to his desk. Mike Caldwell signed his test and turned it in unanswered. Lois Thompson, Alex Rhett, and Clarence Bleeker did the same and sat at their desks quietly. “Do you realize you are all receiving F’s?” asked Mr. Carlson.

  “Yep,” said Chris, turning in his, and Norman’s, test.

  Janet Dalton, Louise Arnold, and Darcy Norton all signed and turned in their blank tests. Roger Thornton scrawled answers and said, “I’m not flunking a test for that nerd.”

  “Thanks guys,” said Norman to Mike and Howard. “I know you planned that.”

  “Planned what?” asked Howard. “Mike and I just decided to hand in our tests. Carlson ain’t fair, what he did to you.”

  “Howard would have flunked anyway,” said Mike.

  “Those other guys done it on their own,” said Howard. “We didn’t plan nothing.”

  Chapter 24

  “Your Algebra tests,” said Mr. Davies, “are quite interesting.” He continued walking through the room, distributing the tests. “Norman, ninety-seven. Stacy, ninety-two. Clifford, a nice improvement to eighty-seven. Last and absolutely least, we have a zero. A goose egg.
Zip. For Tom.

  “Thanks,” said Tom.

  “It doesn’t surprise me that you failed the test, Tom,” said Mr. Davies.

  “Surprised me,” said Tom. “How about you Norman? Did it surprise you?”

  “No,” said Norman.

  “It astounded me,” said Mr. Davies, “that you could score a zero when you cheated.”

  “I didn’t cheat.”

  “I caught you,” said Davies. “I notified the Principal. She is moving you out of this class and into a private tutorial. If you don’t pass the tutored class you will not graduate from Kenilworth.”

  “No way,” said Tom. “I’m going to high school next year. I’m sick of this school.” He flung his test at Norman.

  “Leave my classroom now,” said Mr. Davies. “It’s been arranged for you to spend the remainder of this period in the library.”

  Tom slouched at his desk.

  “OUT,” said Mr. Davies.

  Tom rose leisurely, “You win, Teach.” He walked to the door, cocked his hand like a pistol, aimed at Norman and exited. “You lose, Normy.”

  “What’s all this about, Norman?” said Mr. Davies.

  “Why are you so interested now?” said Norman. “You teachers are stupid. Or lazy. Or both.”

  “I’ve already expelled one student from my class today.”

  “You expelled a punk,” said Norman. He bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling.

  The silent classroom waited for the teacher’s response: “Norman, what are you saying?”

  “Tell me you didn’t know I’ve been forced into doing Tom’s homework the past two months. Tell me that. Mr. Forrester knew and he doesn’t teach this class.”

  “I’ve had suspicions—”

  “Did you know he broke into this classroom, tossed me inside, and told me to steal the test we just took? But I wouldn’t steal the test. I manufactured a dummy test to give Tom. Then he made me solve the problems so he could make a cheat sheet. That’s how Tom cheated and still flunked. Right answers, but the wrong questions.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me?”

  “Because you would have said, I can’t do a thing until I catch him in the act. And he promised to whup on me if I said anything.”

  “Well, Norman,” said Mr. Davies, “because of your inaction there is nothing I can do about it now.”

  “Surprise, surprise,” said Norman.

  “Over here, nerd,” said Tom. He stood by the water faucet near the gym. “I’ve got to talk to you.”

  Norman placed his books on a bench and approached. Four students bustled by on their way to class. Norman and Tom were alone.

  “Study Buddy,” said Tom, “you got me in trouble.”

  “You’re right. It was my idea to start doing your homework. I apologize.”

  “You gotta smart mouth. For a fricking nerd.”

  “You’re average. For a retarded donkey.”

  “You stole the test, then gave me the wrong answers.”

  Norman laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I didn’t steal the test. You’re so stupid you didn’t even notice that the problems were different. The numbers were different, stupid.”

  Tom slapped Norman’s face, “C’mon.”

  “No.”

  “Chicken.” Tom slapped him again. “Next time, it’s my fist. I’m gonna smash your little round geek glasses, Norman. C’mon. Hit me.”

  “It takes a good man to fight and win—”

  “I know.”

  “—but it takes a better man to walk away.”

  Expecting Norman to be a fat and easy target, Tom fired a looping right hand. Norman ducked and Tom stumbled, and then fell against the drinking faucet. Norman scurried toward his books and gathered them up. Norman retreated quickly, perhaps blurring the distinction between a good man walking, or running away.

  “I’m not done with you, Babbit,” yelled Tom. “I’m gonna get you where it really hurts. That’s a promise.”

  Norman skipped P.E. He sat in a corner of the library until his legs stopped trembling. Then he opened a book and tried to concentrate. Finally he removed his glasses, folded his arms, lowered his head and fell asleep. He dreamed he commanded an Army tank that was attacking Kenilworth Junior High. The tank’s guns were blazing as it growled up East Street hill. He aimed the cannon at cars in the parking lot. He blew up Carlson’s Volvo, destroyed Jock Lopez’ truck, and obliterated Mrs. Fletcher’s van. Then he saw Mr. Forrester sneaking out the back. Norman turned to the right to cut him off. Norman had the teacher in his sights, then felt too exhausted to pull the trigger. Sweat poured off his body. Why did he feel so pooped?

  Norman looked down and saw why. He was the engine for the huge steel vehicle. Like Fred Flintstone, Norman’s legs poked out the bottom of the tank. Norman tried to run faster and propel the tank to the crest of the hill. He couldn’t and the tank began rolling backwards, down the hill to Mr. McCormick’s store. The tank picked up speed. Norman dragged his bare feet on the asphalt but couldn’t slow the hurtling tank.

  A split second before the tank hit the store, the bell rang and Norman awoke. He stretched then peered under the table to make certain he was wearing shoes. “I hate Kenilworth Junior High,” said Norman. He shook his head and walked to science class.

  Mr. Lewis briefly congratulated the entire class, even Chris, on their efforts, then began explaining the principles of osmosis. He placed three stalks of celery in a beaker full of blue water and explained how the celery would gradually turn blue as the liquid passed through its membranes, equalizing the concentrations of blue dye on each side of the membrane.

  The entire class, including Norman, was less than thrilled with the demonstration. Mike Caldwell read a comic book, Chris stared out the window, Darcy doodled on her book cover. Five minutes before dismissal Mr. Lewis said, “I think you’ll like this more than blue dye and celery.” He disappeared into the supply closet and emerged with a cake, forks, and paper plates. He walked directly to Norman and said, “Congratulations.”

  Norman was shocked. The chocolate cake had WASHINGTON, D.C. OR BUST! Written in red, white, and blue frosting. A small American flag waved in the upper-left-hand corner and a mouse-like-creature sat beneath it. “Thanks Mr. Lewis,” said Norman.

  “Thank Darcy,” said Mr. Lewis. “She baked it.”

  “In Home Ec,” said Darcy. “This morning. That’s why the frosting’s a little runny.”

  Norman was speechless.

  “Let’s eat,” said Chris.

  Chris swooped down on the cake like Luigi on a grasshopper. He was followed by more owl-and-hawk-like students and the cake was devoured in minutes.

  A layer of crumbs covered Norman’s lab table. Norman swept the crumbs onto a paper plate as the bell rung and students fled the room. As Darcy passed he said, “Thanks, Darcy.”

  “I only got a C minus on it,” said Darcy. “The frosting.”

  “Tasted like at least a B minus.” Norman straightened his glasses. “Darcy, would you like go to the next dance with me?”

  Darcy smiled and said, “I promised Stu McCauley I’d go with him.”

  “Oh.”

  “But we could dance.”

  “That would be great,” said Norman. “If I knew how to dance.”

  Darcy laughed, “If you can’t dance, why’d you ask me to a dance?”

  “I don’t know. I was feeling confident there for a moment and it confused me,” said Norman, “I’m not used to that sensation.”

  “At the next dance, if you’re feeling confident enough, I could teach you a few moves.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. Bye Norman.”

  Darcy left the room and Norman wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. “It takes a good man to fight and win, but it takes a better man to ask a girl to a dance.”

  “What are you making, Norman?” asked Mrs. Babbit.

  Norman drifted as he stood at the stove, stirring. r />
  “Norman!”

  No response.

  “Norman!”

  “What?”

  “What are you making?”

  “Hot chocolate.”

  “How was school today, Norman?” asked Mrs. Babbit.

  Norman reviewed the day: a chocolate cake to celebrate my science project, a 97 in Algebra, an argument with Mr. Davies, a scuffle with Tom Allen, a crazy dream, and a promised dance from Darcy. “Same old stuff,” said Norman. He poured the too-hot chocolate into a mug and escaped to his room.

  “Well, Luigi,” said Norman, lounging at the computer with his mug of chocolate lava, “it doesn’t get any better than this.” He raised his mug in a toast, “We did it. To my mice.” Luigi flew to his cage and began preening. “And to my faithful lab assistant, Luigi.”

  Chapter 25

  The peanut butter on Norman’s breakfast toast bubbled perfectly. Norman gobbled it down and left early for school. He wanted to make sure his mice had enough food and water. Norman wanted those rodents in PERFECT shape for their trip to Sacramento. On his bike, Norman had arrived early and knocked on the door of the faculty lounge. Mr. Lewis handed Norman the key to the science lab. “We’re in a meeting,” said Mr. Lewis. “You go ahead, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Thanks,” said Norman. He ambled down the empty corridor. The squeak of Norman’s Nikes echoed in the hushed hallway. The morning sunshine glinted off the polished floors. Norman felt comfortable and secure, almost cozy, walking alone in the school. He stopped in front of the science lab and inserted the key. He whistled to himself. Norman opened the door and flicked on the light. His three cages were on the far side of the lab. “Good morning, gentlemen,” said Norman as he crisscrossed through lab tables, “I hope you’ve all had a good night’s sleep.”

  Norman peered into the cages. Not an exercise wheel was twirling, no mice fought for food, the coveted spot at the water bottle was abandoned.

  All ninety mice were dead.

  The motionless mice were scattered throughout the cages. Some were piled in corners; others lay on their backs with their feet in the air. The cages that had whirled, buzzed and hummed with activity were silent. Even Ike and Zeke were still.

  Norman opened the CONTROL cage and removed two mice. He placed them on the nearest lab table. They were cold and stiff. Their pink tails, always so elastic and active were rigid as car antennae. Norman smelled the mice, they reeked of medicine or alcohol. He returned the mice to their cage and searched for a clue. The food and water levels were about the same as when Norman had fed the mice after school yesterday. He scraped through the cedar chips covering the cage’s floor. He found what was left of a ball of RODENT GONE; a strychnine poison that he’d seen Mr. McCormick use in the storeroom. Norman raked his fingers through the cedar chips of the other cages, knowing he’d find leftover RODENT GONE. He was sifting through the cedar when Mr. Lewis placed his hand on Norman’s shoulder: “Norman?”