“Yes, Mr. Cavendish told me. That’s a lot of money,” the teacher replied.
Bill boasted, “I’d buy video games!”
“Don’t you first need a player to play them on?” Tito asked. “Your old one is broken, remember?”
“Video game consoles cost a lot of money,” Brian said. “The good ones cost more than two hundred dollars.”
“I’d buy cat food and two more cats,” Tiana said. “I love animals.”
“I don’t want anything that eats or poops,” said Max. “If I had two hundred dollars I’d buy a television with a DVD player in it. And a bunch of DVDs.” He grinned at the thought.
“I’d buy clothes,” Elizabeth said. “An outfit for every day of the week.”
Mimi told her, “You’d run out of money before you ran out of days of the week.”
“What would you buy, Tulip?” Jerome asked.
She thought for a moment. “I’d buy a big backpack and stuff to go in it,” she said.
“Huh?” Jerome asked, scratching his head in confusion.
“Not a book bag, but a satchel with my special things in it to keep with me all the time. My own clothes and shoes. Stuff to fix my hair. Soap. Food—lots of food. My writing journal. A clean blanket.” She paused. “And I wouldn’t spend all the money; I’d keep a little bit extra in a safe place in the bottom of the bag.” She looked away, seemingly embarrassed.
The class continued to chatter about the possibilities. Mrs. Powell interrupted them finally and said, “Maybe we should all write an essay for homework: What I Would Do with Two Hundred Dollars.”
“Ah, man! Why is it that every time you have a conversation with a teacher, she turns it into a homework assignment?” Rashawn said to Jerome, groaning.
“Now you students know me well enough to know I had already planned to have you write that paper,” Mrs. Powell said, ignoring Rashawn. “It’s due on Friday. And it must include an advertisement that shows the cost of the items you’d purchase.”
“But I’m not even in the talent show,” said Max. “Why do I have to write the essay?”
“The essay is a homework assignment. It has nothing to do with the show. It’s about dreaming and thinking of possibilities. Two hundred dollars isn’t really as much money as you think. Things are very expensive these days.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Yes, Max. You, and everyone in the class, has to write the paper. And I want you to find out how much the things you wish for will actually cost.”
“What do you mean?” Mimi asked.
“Let me give you an example,” Mrs. Powell replied. “Suppose I said I would use the money to buy myself some new shoes.”
“Good idea,” a boy from the back of the room called out. “Your shoes are pretty ugly!” The class giggled.
Mrs. Powell laughed. “Maybe so, but they’re comfortable! Anyway, if I decided to buy new athletic running shoes, I might only be able to buy one pair with two hundred dollars. I’d have to find an advertisement that gave the price of those kind of shoes. But I might be able to buy three pairs of high heels if they were on sale at the department store. So I’d cut out an ad that showed the price of the high heels, and I’d include that with my paper.”
“I get it!” Brandy said. “We have to write what we’d buy, and find something that tells how much that something would cost.”
“Exactly!”
“Can we use the Internet?” Brandy asked.
“Of course! Just bring proof of the cost of the items you want to purchase. You’re welcome to use the computer and printer here at school if you need to.”
The class continued to complain, but the teacher was used to it and moved on. “Now, I think when we stopped our poetry study last week, Ziggy was the next to recite a poem. I’ve been thinking about this all weekend. Ziggy, you’re on!” She sat down at her desk.
Ziggy swaggered to the front. “You all know,” he began, “that I like to eat unusual stuff.”
“Broccoli and potato chip sandwiches!” Rico called out.
“Chocolate-covered carrots!” Rashawn added, laughing.
“Peanut butter and pickles!” Jerome said.
“Well, it seems your friends know you quite well, Ziggy,” the teacher said. “Even I have witnessed your famous food inventions. Now let’s hear the poem.”
Ziggy explained, “It’s about going to the grocery store, sort of. It’s just a silly poem, but it seems like it describes me. Here we go!” He took a big breath, grinned, and began. “‘Popcorn and Pickles,’ by Ziggy Colwin.
“POPCORN AND PICKLES ARE MY FAVORITE TREATS,
HOT SAUCE AND SYRUP TO DRINK!
SO WHENEVER I GO TO THE GROCERY STORE
I CLIMB IN MY CART JUST TO THINK, AND I THINK . . . AND I THINK. . . .
BROWNIES AND OLIVES ARE MY FAVORITE TREATS,
MUSTARD AND CHOCOLATE TO DRINK!
SO WHENEVER I GO TO THE GROCERY STORE
I CLIMB IN MY CART JUST TO THINK, AND I THINK . . . AND I THINK. . . .
SPAGHETTI AND TOOTHPASTE ARE MY FAVORITE TREATS,
COFFEE AND KETCHUP TO DRINK!
SO WHENEVER I GO TO THE GROCERY STORE
I CLIMB IN MY CART JUST TO THINK, AND I THINK . . . AND I THINK. . . .
CORNFLAKES AND GRAVY ARE MY FAVORITE TREATS,
YOGURT AND SOY SAUCE TO DRINK!
SO WHENEVER I GO TO THE GROCERY STORE
I CLIMB IN MY CART JUST TO THINK, AND I THINK . . . AND I THINK. . . .
LIVER AND JELLY ARE MY FAVORITE TREATS,
PRUNE JUICE AND MOUTHWASH TO DRINK!
SO WHENEVER I GO TO THE GROCERY STORE
I CLIMB IN MY CART JUST TO THINK, AND I THINK . . . AND I THINK. . . .
I THINK I’M GONNA BE SICK!”
In between each verse, the class shouted “Ugh!,” getting louder and laughing harder as the poem got sillier and the food choices got more disgusting. Ziggy took a bow and sat down, quite satisfied with himself.
Mrs. Powell, who was still wiping her eyes with laughter, stood up. “You wrote that, Ziggy?”
Ziggy nodded. “Really, I did. I was at the store with my mum, and I just started writing down silly food combinations. It was easy.”
Mrs. Powell nodded in agreement. “That’s how the best poetry is created, class. Just like the poem that Tulip recited last Friday, poems come from things that are important to us.”
“That’s what I do,” Brandy said. “I’ve been writing poetry since I was six years old!”
“Me, too,” said Tulip quietly. The two girls looked at each other and smiled.
Mrs. Powell looked pleased. “Good for you, both of you. Save every single one of those poems. Each one is a moment of your life captured forever.”
Ziggy, Jerome, Rashawn, and Rico rehearsed for the talent show every night after school. On Monday they practiced their dance moves with the new music Rico had created on his computer. The drums really made it come alive.
On Tuesday they figured out how to sing and dance at the same time—not an easy task. They’d get out of breath, and fall on the ground laughing, the music pounding on as they sat there trying to catch their breath.
By Wednesday, they’d worked out how to make the dancing and the singing work together. They’d sing a verse, then twirl, sing another verse, then stomp, then stop singing altogether, and the four of them would leap and twist to the music.
Thursday they practiced with their costumes on. All of their parents had pitched in. Rico’s mother made the outfits—shiny black slacks and satin shirts to match. Rashawn’s mother made four capes with colorful satin linings that swirled when they moved. Jerome’s cape was bright blue, Rico’s bright green, Rashawn’s a deep purple, and Ziggy’s a blazing orange.
Jerome’s grandmother had gone to the local costume store and found four shiny plastic top hats to match the capes—one orange, one blue, one green, and one purple. Ziggy’s mom sewed sparkles on everything.
“Awesome!” Ziggy whispered as they
modeled the outfits.
By Friday, they were ready. The four boys went to school that morning, swaggering a little with confidence.
“Just wait until tomorrow!” Rashawn told everyone boldly.
“I already got my tickets!” one boy said in response. “I can’t wait to hear what you guys come up with.”
“The Black Dinosaurs will rule the talent show!” Jerome said, echoing him. “Just call us the Lyrical Miracles!”
“Better than the Dance Machine?” Tito asked. “My sister’s in that group.”
“I’m sure your sister is really good, mon,” Ziggy told Tito. “But our dance moves are so outstanding they want to use them in a music video!”
Tito had to laugh. “You’re so full of stuff, Ziggy.”
“Our costumes will blow you away!” Rico boasted. “They were flown in from Europe last night!”
“For real?” Mimi asked.
Brandy told her, “Don’t believe anything they say. Their moms made the costumes.”
“I knew that,” Mimi replied. But she looked a little embarrassed.
“Be there if you dare!” Jerome said.
Just then, Tulip came up the steps and into the front hall. She wore the same blue jeans and T-shirt almost every day.
“Hey, Tulip,” Jerome said. “Are you ready for the talent show? Do you have your costume?” Rico, Rashawn, and Ziggy hovered close by.
She smiled shyly. “I haven’t had much time to practice, and I don’t have a costume, but I’ll do my best. I’m just glad I get to be in the show.”
After all the loud and silly boasting of the Black Dinosaurs, Jerome didn’t know what to say to Tulip. He looked down at the floor.
“Did you and your mom get settled in the new place?” Rico asked her.
She sighed. “Yes, it’s tiny, and the furniture in it is kinda old and beat-up, but it’s home! Momma is really happy. She hates having to depend on other folks for stuff. She’ll be baking cakes and making bouquets for Jerome’s grandmother for the next five years so she can thank her!”
“Sounds good to me!” Jerome said, looking up and smiling once more.
He walked with Tulip to English class, where the chatter was about the talent show and Mrs. Powell’s homework assignment.
“Does anybody have an extra ad I can use?” Brian asked. “I couldn’t find anything that advertised monkeys.”
“Who’d want to buy a monkey anyway?” Liza asked, making a face. “That’s a dumb use of two hundred dollars!”
“I want to start my own zoo,” Brian explained.
“You’re going to need millions of dollars for something like that,” Rashawn said.
“And remember the mess that happened at my house when we got all those animals together, mon?” Ziggy said. “Running a zoo is a lot harder than you think!”
Everyone who had been there that day laughed, remembering the chaos and confusion.
Mrs. Powell began class, saying, “I know everyone is excited about the talent show tomorrow, so let’s have an easy day today. We’ll let one person read his or her essay to the class, then we’ll finish early, because I brought doughnuts as a treat!”
Everyone in the class cheered.
“Did you remember onions to go with mine?” Ziggy asked, laughing.
The teacher made a face. “Sorry, Ziggy, I just couldn’t bring myself to do that.”
“Not to worry. I always carry my own!” Ziggy pulled an onion from his book bag.
When she got the class settled again, Mrs. Powell asked for a volunteer to read his paper. Simon, a tall, quiet boy with straight blond hair, went first.
“If I had two hundred dollars, I’d buy books. I used to hate reading. In second grade, we’d sit in a big circle and everybody would read a paragraph out loud. It was awful. I always felt stupid. When I didn’t know a word, the smart kids would giggle and I’d start to sweat. The teacher would try to give me a hint, but I’d be so confused that I couldn’t even remember what the sentence was. The teacher would finally sigh, then tell me the word. I’d say it real fast and try to go on, praying that there wouldn’t be any more hard words hiding on the next line, and praying for a fire drill or a tornado.”
Simon stopped for a moment and looked up from his paper. Lots of kids seemed to be nodding in agreement. He continued:
“By the time my turn was finally over, my brain would be blank. The teacher would ask stupid questions like, ‘Why was Silly Sam so happy?’ I’d never even have a clue. Silly Sam was probably happy because he didn’t have to read out loud at school.
“I probably never would have got out of second grade and I’d probably still hate reading if it hadn’t been for that student teacher we had. His name was Mr. Stanker and he looked really young for a teacher. We giggled when we heard his name. Of course we called him Stinker Stanker. He had pimples on his face, and his hair was cut in a buzz, and he dressed like a teenager, but he made reading fun. He made up games for us to guess words, let us play Scrabble instead of making us take spelling tests, and lots of times he read to us! He had a deep voice that made the stories seem real and exciting.
“Sometimes he’d use words that were bigger than my whole head. But he’d stop and explain if he thought we didn’t understand. When it was our turn to read, he would give us a private time to do it. That way I didn’t make so many mistakes, and I remembered the stories and ideas. I think I learned to like books that year. So, because of a teacher named Stinker Stanker, I’d buy two hundred dollars worth of books. The end.”
Simon sat down, looking a little embarrassed.
“That was excellent, Simon,” Mrs. Powell said.
“Oh, here’s my advertisement for books. It came in the Sunday paper,” Simon added. “Can we have our doughnuts now?”
“Speaking of books,” Mrs. Powell said, “I’ve got a poem to share with all of us. Actually, it’s a rap.” She grinned. “We can learn it while we eat our snacks.”
“No way, mon!” Ziggy said. “Teachers don’t know how to rap.” He and the other kids nodded in agreement.
“It’s called ‘Reader’s Rap,’” Mrs. Powell said after she passed out the treats. “Just repeat the chorus after me. Left side of the room first. Then the right side. Ready?”
Everyone in the class looked dubious, but curious. Mrs. Powell inserted a CD into the player and a clever hip-hop rhythm filled the room.
“Say hey hey! I read a book today!” Mrs. Powell began. She pointed to the kids on the left side of the room.
“Say hey hey! I read a book today!” they repeated.
“Say yo yo! I’m gonna read some mo’!” She pointed this time to the right side of the room, making her voice sound low.
“Say yo yo! I’m gonna read some mo’!” the students responded loudly and enthusiastically.
“IN A BOOK I FIND THE MAGIC.
IN A BOOK I FIND THE KEY.
WHEN I READ MY BRAIN IS BUSY.
WHEN I READ MY MIND IS FREE!”
Mrs. Powell read with a flair, then pointed to the students on the left once more. They were ready and excited as they repeated the chorus.
“Say hey hey! I read a book today!”
“Say hey hey! I read a book today!” Simon, in the group on the left, smiled with pleasure as he chanted with the others.
“Say yo yo! I’m gonna read some mo’!” Mrs. Powell said to the kids on the right.
“Say yo yo! I’m gonna read some mo’!” Ziggy was out of his seat, dancing to the rhythm of the poem.
“IN A BOOK I FIND THE ANSWERS.
IN A BOOK I FIND THE CLUES.
WHEN I READ I AM THE CAPTAIN.
WHEN I READ I NEVER LOSE!”
Mrs. Powell was enjoying herself. “Say hey hey! I read a book today!”
“Say hey hey! I read a book today!” the left side said loudly.
“Say yo yo! I’m gonna read some mo’!”
“Say yo yo! I’m gonna read some mo’!” the right side yelled even louder.
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“WITH A BOOK I HAVE THE VICTORY.
WITH A BOOK I HAVE A FRIEND.
WITH A BOOK I AM A CHAMPION.
WITH A BOOK I ALWAYS WIN!”
“Say hey hey! I read a book today!”
“Say hey hey! I read a book today!”
“Say yo yo! I’m gonna read some mo’!”
“Say yo yo! I’m gonna read some mo’!”
By this time the whole class was out of their seats and chanting to the rhythm of the rap. They cheered when it was finished.
“That was hot, man,” Rashawn said.
“I told you,” the teacher said cheerfully and triumphantly. “Let’s clean up, then we’ll go down to the auditorium and help Mr. Cavendish finish the decorations for tomorrow.”
“She is one cool teacher, mon!” Ziggy said as he munched his doughnuts and onion.
Everyone had to agree.
The weather on Saturday was balmy and pleasant. Rain was predicted for Sunday, but this evening was turning out to be perfect. Hundreds of tickets had been sold, and excitement was at a fever pitch. It was not quite dark yet, but the parking lot outside the school was already filling up. Dozens of parents, some carrying bouquets of flowers to give to their kids after the show, most carrying cameras, filed through the ancient auditorium doors to sit in the wooden seats.
Tiana and Liza, who weren’t in the show, had been chosen, along with several other kids, to be ushers. Dressed in black skirts and white blouses, they passed out programs and made sure people could find a seat.
The band began warming up, and parents waved and took pictures of their children who were playing instruments.
Backstage, some of the participants chattered nervously, while others sat quietly, going over their lines. Two boys scuffled over a piece of gum. One girl threw up. Tensions ran high.
“I can’t find my shoes!” Brandy yelled. “Who stole my red shoes? I can’t perform without those—they’re my lucky shoes!” She looked frantically in everyone’s bag, and even behind the scenery.
“You’re wearing them,” Mimi told her quietly.
Brandy looked down, sighed with relief, and sat down in a heap on the floor. “I’m losing it!” she said as she put her head in her hands.