The Dollar Kids

  At first, Coach, knowing full well how Mr. Avery might react, balked. But eventually he came around. “I suppose it’s better to put his well-being before his pride,” Coach said. “But, I can’t promise not to tell Rena, if I see the need.”

  They had decided not to tell their parents — especially Lowen’s mum and dad — for fear that they’d put an end to the campaign before it got started. Like Dylan, they would know that Mr. Avery would be mortified, and it could quite possibly make things worse than they already were for the Cornish Eatery. It was best to hope that the campaign was a big success and then ask for forgiveness.

  So, on Anneth’s orders, Dylan took on the task of searching for pictures to post with their plea. “Get some of the house, of course — especially the wishing well and the windmill,” Anneth told Dylan. “And see if you can find good ones of your grandparents and maybe one of you as a little kid, playing in the yard. It’s our job to pull at people’s heartstrings,” Anneth said.

  “We should have a picture of the mill, too,” Sami said. “In its heyday. That will remind people of what a hardworking man Mr. Avery has been all his life.”

  Lowen, Sami, Clem, Mason, and Luna (whom Sami had brought on board and who actually acted like a team player) gathered around Anneth and helped her compose their message.

  “We can’t exactly write this in Mr. Avery’s words,” said Anneth. “The last thing we want to do is make it seem like he’s the one pleading for help.”

  “Maybe we write it from Dylan’s point of view,” Sami suggested.

  Lowen thought for a moment and then shook his head. “Then it would seem as if this were all his idea. He could get in even more trouble.”

  “Let’s tell people who we are, then,” Anneth said.

  Luna said, “You mean — ?”

  “Let’s tell them that we’re the Dollar Kids,” finished Lowen.

  “Why not?” said Anneth.

  Anneth began typing:

  Hello,

  We are the Dollar Kids. Our families bought houses in the town of Millville for one dollar. We all have different reasons for moving here, but the one thing we all have in common is a desire to make Millville our home — just as it’s home to many other people looking to live in a small community. One that prides itself on its history as a mill town. One that is determined to face hardship with grace, dignity, and optimism. One that is willing to welcome new families with open arms

  “That’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?” asked Clem, reading over her shoulder.

  Anneth shrugged. “Some folks want us here. And they did decide to give the program a chance — at least in theory. I think we need to put Millville in the best possible light, to show people the best side of this town — and maybe to remind some of the townspeople themselves why they started the Dollar Program in the first place.”

  She continued typing:

  But this isn’t about us, or even about the town of Millville. This is about one man, Mr. Douglas Avery, who has lived and worked in this town his whole life and is about to lose his home.

  When the mill shut down, Mr. Avery lost his job. Not long after, he lost his wife to cancer. The medical bills for his late wife

  “Late?” Lowen asked.

  “It means dead,” Sami said.

  Anneth continued:

  piled up. And then Mr. Avery himself had to be hospitalized, with no way to cover the costs. As a result, the bank is threatening to foreclose on his home.

  Mr. Avery’s house isn’t just the place where he started his family, the place where he watched his daughter grow up, the place where he celebrated (and here Anneth made an educated guess) more than forty years with his beloved wife, it’s also the place where he’s raising his grandson.

  We’re asking for donations to save Mr. Avery’s home from foreclosure. Any amount, no matter how small, will help. Thank you.

  Next they posted a list of incentives.

  For small donations they were offering:

  • Upstyling tips by Anneth

  • A free subscription to Sami’s advice column

  • A humorous video of baseball tips from Clem and Mason

  For larger donations:

  • A recording of Luna’s cello performance

  • A personal caricature from Lowen

  For VERY large donations:

  • A painting by Mrs. Lavasseur

  • A small end table or bench made by Coach

  They clicked publish on the crowdfunding page and then waited.

  At first nothing happened, which made sense. Keeping their campaign a secret meant that they couldn’t tell people around town — the very people who would most want to help Mr. Avery, however modestly. But the Dollar Kids shared the link with their friends back in their former hometowns. Coach shared the link with other coaches in the area, particularly those who had grown up in mill towns. Mrs. Lavasseur shared the link with her grown children in other parts of the country, and they shared the link on their social media sites. And then people began to donate.

  The donations were small at first. Anneth was regularly sending out her upstyling tips, and many subscribed to Sami’s advice column (which she enjoyed writing and updated often). One woman who received Anneth’s upstyling tips posted a picture of a jeans-pocket bulletin board in the comments section of the site. Then someone whom Lowen had drawn as a pan-wielding chef shared his caricature in the comments section, too. And then, much to their enormous surprise, an art collector donated a thousand dollars for Mrs. Lavasseur’s painting of ladybugs clustered on a smudgy windowpane, and the site seemed to explode.

  With school, baseball, and the crowdfunding site, the Dollar Kids became overwhelmed — but the Grover family suffered most. The Kellings and the Muñozes could afford to hire help to fix up their houses early on. Rena had Coach to help with repairs, and he brought a lot of skill. Dad was researching roofing material, petitioning the town council for more time to fix up the house, and also driving to Ranger to look at apartment rentals just in case, but he wasn’t getting much help from Mum. To Mum’s surprise, business suddenly picked up at the Cornish Eatery. Most of the customers were strangers passing through, and she decided that it must be a seasonal thing. Summer was coming, and Millville wasn’t far from some beautiful lakes.

  She thought that until one of the new customers asked about the crowdfunding site. When Mum looked puzzled, the visitor showed her the site on his phone.

  A family meeting was called — IMMEDIATELY.

  Lowen watched his parents’ faces as they went from horrified (what would Mr. Avery say?) to angry (since when are you keeping secrets from us?) to amused (how many paintings has Mrs. Lavasseur sent?) to proud (you did all this on your own?).

  Mum beamed at them. “The three of you have worked hard to help a family out, and that may be one of the very best results of this adventure.”

  “You make it sound like the adventure is over,” Anneth said.

  Mum and Dad exchanged a solemn glance. Lowen knew then that Anneth had been reading them correctly: something was wrong.

  “What?” asked Clem.

  Dad sighed. “As you know, Mrs. Corbeau is still acting as town councillor in Mr. Avery’s place. She informed me today that we will not get an extension. The other Dollar Families have been able to meet their requirements, and rules are rules. No exception will be made for us.”

  It occurred to Lowen that when he and his mother applied for the house, they never considered the possibility that it would cause them more sadness, more regret, more missing.

  Clem collapsed forward onto the table.

  “It wasn’t like we didn’t try,” said Anneth.

  “We did try — you probably tried hardest of all, Clem,” said Dad, reaching out to hold his shoulder. “I really admired your determination.”

  Lowen thought about the year and wondered if there was anything they could have done differently. He didn’t think so. Sometimes, all the determination in the world won
’t make things go your way.

  “This was a grand adventure,” Mum said after a few moments of quiet, “and we learned a lot. We learned about ourselves, our persistence, and our creativity. Perhaps one day we can buy a house of our own.”

  Lowen fought back tears and lost. Anneth dropped silent tears, too. But they both nodded in agreement.

  “Yeah. One that someone else doesn’t mind selling to us,” said Clem.

  “One that doesn’t require so much fixing up,” Dad added.

  And even though none of the Grovers was feeling particularly happy, they laughed again.

  The next morning Mum announced that she, too, would like to contribute to the crowdfunding campaign. She researched food safety laws and decided that if Dad got the proper packaging, they could send frozen pasties. It would be her way of knowing that she’d made a contribution to Millville.

  By the end of the day, the crowdfunding site had dozens of new donations and Mum was up to her ears in pasty dough. She asked the rest of the family and Dylan if they wouldn’t mind helping her fill pie trays so they could be frozen overnight.

  They were all sharing a Dad Chillin’ and laughing at how it was still one of the most popular pasties at the Cornish Eatery when the door opened and in walked Mr. Avery, madder than anyone had seen him before. If Lowen were to draw him, he’d have smoke coming out of his ears.

  “Sit down, Mr. Avery,” said Dad, no doubt worried about the possibility of another stroke.

  “Who do you people think you are?” Mr. Avery shouted. “What gives you the right to share my troubles with the whole damn world?”

  “Gramps,” said Dylan.

  “You think you know everything about everybody. That everyone’s willing to take a handout, just like you. You come in here all high and —”

  “Gramps!” Dylan banged the rolling pin on the counter. “Who do you think you are?” he shouted at his grandfather.

  Mr. Avery stared at Dylan, mouth agape.

  Mum reached over to put her hand on Dylan’s shoulder, but he moved out from behind the counter. “What do you know about anything?” he shouted at his grandfather. “You can’t take help from anyone! And you know what? You can’t give help, either! You didn’t help Dad when he was depressed. You didn’t help Mom when she needed money to keep things going. I’ve lost both my parents and one home and I’m about to lose another, and you still go on about people minding their own business! What about my business, Gramps? Who’s minding my business?”

  Seconds passed. Mr. Avery took a deep breath. “You’re right,” he said at last. “I’m no good to anyone.”

  He turned and walked out the door.

  Dylan slumped over the counter. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “He’ll likely come around,” Dad said, but Lowen didn’t think Dad was necessarily right. Mr. Avery seemed especially good at holding on to bad feelings.

  “I better get home,” said Dylan, untying his apron.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” Mum asked. “You can stay with us tonight.”

  Dylan shook his head. “Naw, I need to be there for him. Not many people are.”

  Later Lowen texted Dylan: Everything OK?

  Return text: He said three words to me: Go to bed.

  Lowen, Anneth, and Clem couldn’t go to bed. The crowdfunding site had exploded. Links to the site had gone viral — everyone was talking about the Dollar Kids and their attempt to help someone in their new community. Loads of people were leaving comments on the site — praising the Dollar Kids, calling out the cool incentives (Coach would need to hire help to make tables), or discussing Mrs. Lavasseur’s extraordinary talent. It seemed she had been discovered.

  The next morning, they had far exceeded their goal of saving the house. “This could go a long way toward paying down his debt,” Mum said, marveling over the money the kids had raised. “Once he gets over being furious with everyone, I hope he’ll start to feel some peace of mind.”

  Ms. Duffey dropped by the Albatross to tell them that several reporters had contacted the town council — they were on their way to do a story about Millville, the Dollar Kids, and Mr. Avery.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” said Ms. Duffey. “I told them that your kids — as well as Sami, Mason, and Luna — could be interviewed at the Cornish Eatery this afternoon. Dylan may want to be there, too,” she said as an afterthought.

  “That will work,” Mum said. “I could use the kids’ help today.”

  Dad cringed. “How’s Mr. Avery reacting to that news?”

  Ms. Duffey shook her head. “He didn’t answer the phone last night. I’m heading over there to talk with him now.”

  “And I’m heading to the shop,” said Mum. “I don’t know how we’re going to fill all the orders.”

  “Do you need even more help?” asked Ms. Duffey. “I could spread the word.”

  “Yes,” Mum said without hesitation. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”

  That morning, the Kellings and the Muñozes came by with their younger kids to help fill orders — and to be there when the older kids were interviewed.

  At one point Rena popped in to borrow Kate Kelling for a little while. Apparently, she and Kate had been working on a website for Restored Riches — a website where people could order one-of-a-kind clothing — and she wanted it up and running before the Millville story ran all over the news that night.

  Despite the celebratory atmosphere and the excitement of the impending interview, Mum seemed a little down. Lowen wondered if she was facing the fact that they’d be leaving just at the point when her own shop was getting so much business. “Are you OK?” he asked her.

  “You want to know the truth?” she said. “I really thought that when Ms. Duffey put the word out that we needed help, that we’d see more Millvillians here. It makes me sad that they still don’t think of us as one of them. That they don’t realize that our efforts will not only save Mr. Avery’s house, but shine a little light on their town.”

  Even more surprising, at least to Lowen, was that Dylan never showed up — not to help with the pasties, but also not for the interview. Was his grandfather keeping him away? Was Mr. Avery still mad, even knowing that they’d saved his house?

  When the reporters arrived, they interviewed Anneth, Sami, Clem, Mason, and Luna. When it was Lowen’s turn, he said that moving to Millville had taught him a lot about friendship and that he had wanted to do whatever he could to help his friend Dylan. (All the while, he hoped Dylan was OK.)

  At the dinner hour, the Grovers took a break and headed home to watch the evening news. Mum had sent the volunteers home after the interview, thanking them profusely for their help but saying that the family could handle the rest of the work on their own. Lowen guessed the real reason was that she needed some space and didn’t want her sad mood to bring everybody else down.

  Lowen was excited to see the Dollar Kids on TV, of course, but he couldn’t help wondering how Mr. Avery was reacting to all of this. They hadn’t seen him since his angry outburst. What if the television interview made him even more furious? Lowen didn’t know what they’d do if he flat-out refused to accept the money.

  “What the — ?” Clem blurted out as they turned the corner and saw their house.

  It was as if elves had been there during the day! The house had a new metal roof, fresh paint, and Clem’s steps were now attached to the porch. The front lawn had been mowed, there were freshly planted flowers in the front, and the honeysuckle bush had been trimmed back.

  Just then, Rena approached them from the back of the house. “Come on in, you guys! Everyone’s waiting!”

  “Rena, what on earth — ?” Mum began, but Rena just laughed and tugged on Mum’s arm.

  “We have to go in through the back; the paint’s still wet on the front door.”

  As they walked around their house — Lowen still couldn’t get over how different it looked with a coat of fresh paint; it was as if the house had gotten a face-l
ift — they could hear voices inside. Lots of voices.

  They walked in the back door and Mum gasped. The kitchen was as dramatically transformed as the exterior of the house. The floors had been sanded and polished till the wood glistened. There was a new tile backsplash and new countertops. And there were brand-new kitchen cupboards.

  “Wow. I bet Coach built these,” Lowen said, running his fingers over the smooth wood.

  “Rena! How long have you known about this?” Mum asked. But again, Rena just smiled and pulled Mum along.

  There wasn’t an inch to spare in the living room. The Kellings, the Muñozes, the rest of the Doshis, Mrs. Manzo, Coach, Ms. Duffey, Rutabaga Dave, Mr. and Mrs. Field, Mrs. Lavasseur, most of the guys from the high-school baseball team (who were sitting on the stairs), and all of Lowen’s and Anneth’s classmates — including Dylan — were crowded into the little room, and in the center of the crowd, sitting in the corduroy chair, was Mr. Avery, wearing grubby paint clothes. The TV was blaring.

  The Grovers looked at one another, stunned. “How did all this happen?” Dad asked.

  “Shhh,” said Mr. Avery. “It’s starting.”

  One of the reporters who’d interviewed them was standing outside the Cornish Eatery, explaining about the town of Millville’s Dollar Program and touching on the situation with Mr. Avery’s house. Then clips of the Dollar Kids’ interviews aired, which was simultaneously embarrassing and really, really cool.

  Then the reporter broke away from the shop and climbed the hill to the Albatross, where, “Unbeknownst to the Grover family,” the reporter said in hushed tones, “a very appreciative Mr. Avery has organized a work party.” As they watched, the reporter approached the house. Folks in the room started calling out to one another: “That’s you with the ladder, Dave!” and “Hey, that’s Sara painting the porch!”