Drew Daley jolted in his chair and lifted his head, the way he often did when his mind had drifted and life snapped its fingers for attention. He looked around the classroom and saw that almost everyone had erupted with laughter. Drew smiled and did his best to laugh along, but he had no idea what was so funny. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a sense of humor – he enjoyed a good joke as much as the next kid – it was that he had been focusing on something else. Something that demanded his attention.
He hadn’t uncovered a shocking clue about a mysterious murder. That would just be scary and dangerous.
He hadn’t received a message from outer space. That couldn’t happen, right?
A Babe Ruth rookie card hadn’t fallen into his lap. That would be cool – of course, it was about as likely as receiving a message from outer space.
And the fate of the world did not rest in his hands. The world would be in trouble if it needed to be saved by an 11-year-old kid.
What he had just found was much smaller than all those things. But it felt just as big. And although he was sure he had never seen it before, it somehow seemed familiar. To think, he might never have seen it at all if he hadn’t accidentally left his social studies book at his dad’s house and brought his science book to class instead.
He blinked a few times to regain his focus and looked up at his teacher. It wasn’t unusual for Drew to find himself on a different page from his classmates (in this case, literally), but this was the second year in a row he had Mr. Sawyer for social studies, and Mr. Sawyer was the one teacher who usually managed to keep Drew’s wandering mind on track.
“Okay, everyone, we have a few minutes before the bell rings, and I want to tell you about your new assignment.”
The class quieted down so Mr. Sawyer could continue.
“Next week you are going to give a presentation on someone you greatly admire. Your role model, if you will.”
Nearly half the students’ hands shot into the air. Mr. Sawyer smiled, looking slightly amused yet also a little annoyed.
“No, you are not permitted to pick anyone in your family,” he said. “We’ll have an assignment that deals with them another time.”
Several hands dropped.
“And yes, I mean entire family,” Mr. Sawyer continued. “You already wrote an essay about an extended family member in language arts class last year.”
Three more hands dropped.
“Also, no two students can choose the same person. There are twenty-three students in this class, and I want twenty-three different presentations.”
Two last hands dropped, and Mr. Sawyer finally was able to continue.
“I want you all to take some time and really think about this. The question you should focus on is: ‘What does this person do to inspire you?’ Come in tomorrow with two choices. Everyone should have a backup in case someone else has the same idea. Today is Wednesday, and presentations will begin as soon as class starts on Monday. So that gives you, let me see …” He feigned a confused expression and counted on his fingers.
“Five days,” cried out several students.
“Five? Well, all right, I guess I’ll take your word for it,” he joked. “That’s why I’m not a math teacher.”
As he explained a few more details about the assignment, Drew looked around the room again. He saw nothing but expressions of certainty, as if everyone else already knew exactly who they were choosing.
Drew didn’t know who he would pick. Nor did he know that what he had found in his book would soon change his life forever.
****
This was the first year Drew and his two best friends, Jeff Gray and Tommy Porter, were allowed to walk home by themselves. The school, Emerson Elementary, didn’t have buses, and the boys’ parents had always rotated driving duties. But this year was going to be different. Now that they were in fifth grade, they were finally awarded the freedom to walk home.
As the crossing guard stopped traffic and the boys crossed the street, Drew considered telling his friends about what he had seen while aimlessly flipping through his book. He wasn’t sure how to explain it, though, so instead he asked his friends who they were picking for the social studies presentation.
“That’s easy,” said Tommy, keeping his coffee-colored eyes on his cell phone screen. “Bryce Harper. You see that homer he crushed last night? He did an epic bat flip. Let me find a video of it …”
“Yeah,” said Jeff, “he’s awesome.”
“Who you picking?” Tommy asked.
“I’m not sure,” said Jeff. “I would pick my Pap, but since we can’t pick family members, I’ll just pick somebody on the Pirates.”
“Oh,” Drew blurted out. Even Jeff, who never seemed sure about anything, had a pretty clear idea of what he wanted to do. Am I the only one who doesn’t know who to pick? Drew wondered.
“Who are you gonna pick?” Jeff asked.
“I dunno,” said Drew. “I think – whoa, what’s going on here?”
There was a short bridge between the school and the boys’ houses that they would cross each day. But now there were several traffic cones lined across it, as well as an orange- and white-striped barricade with a flashing light and a big sign that said BRIDGE CLOSED.
“The bridge is closed?”
“Oh yeah, my mom told me about this,” said Jeff.
“So what are we gonna do?” Drew asked.
“I guess we gotta go that way,” said Tommy, pointing to the right before quickly turning his attention back to his phone.
“That’s right,” said the crossing guard from the other side of the road. She gave them directions and said it would take them a bit longer to get home while the bridge was out of order.
The boys thanked her and made their way around the bridge to begin their new route. Until now, they had left the school and walked straight down Emerson Boulevard and across the bridge, a direct shot to their homes. Their new route, however, was much more complex. They had to make a right and walk three blocks downhill, trek two blocks parallel with the bridge, and then go up a hill for another three blocks to circumvent the bridge.
“It’s gonna take at least like fifteen minutes to get home now,” said Drew.
But Tommy said, “Oh well,” and Jeff simply shrugged.
The boys proceeded down an unfamiliar street. At one point, while checking out the new scenery, Drew saw a yellow-haired girl walking into a small, white house with light blue siding.
“Who’s that?” he asked. “Does she go to Emerson?”
“Are you serious?” said Tommy. “You don’t know who that is? It’s Skylar Jansen. She’s the most popular girl in sixth grade.”
“Oh,” said Drew, not particularly impressed. “Is that where she lives?”
“Either that or she’s about to rob the place,” Tommy joked.
A few minutes later, the boys were almost home.
“You guys ready for Saturday night?” asked Tommy. “My mom’s taking me to get the new Zombie Days game in the morning, so we can have an all-night game sesh.”
“Cool,” said Jeff. “Can your mom make those pizza rolls like Drew’s mom made when we slept over his house?”
“I’ll ask,” said Tommy. “But it still won’t be as cool as Drew’s. It’s sweet how he can use the big TV in the living room or play video games in the basement, and he don’t gotta worry about any brothers or sisters trying to kick him off.”
“Yeah,” Jeff nodded.
“Well, yeah, but Tommy’s house is cool, too,” said Drew.
“I dunno,” said Jeff. “The last time we were over, Link slobbered all over me all night.”
Tommy laughed. “That just means he likes you, dude.”
Jeff rolled his eyes.
“Then I wish he hated me. But I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” he said, turning down his street.
Drew and Tommy continued walking. Their houses were on the same street, Ernest Way, two blocks from Jeff’s.
“Ah, I’m bored,” said Tommy as they approached his house. “I’m just gonna walk with you to your house to kill some time.”
“Okay, cool.”
As the boys neared Drew’s house, Tommy swiped away on his phone, and Drew mulled over the social studies assignment.
“Hey, Drew, can you and your friend come help me a moment?” a voice yelled.
“Sure, Mr. Johnston.”
Mr. Johnston lived in the house across the street from Drew.
“Ehh,” Tommy groaned.
“Oh, c’mon, you said you were bored anyway,” said Drew, motioning for Tommy to follow. The two boys entered the opened garage and set their book bags on the floor.
“I’m so glad you two were passing by. I couldn’t keep this board straight for the life of me and I couldn’t get these hinges in the right place … Hi, I’m Mr. Johnston.”
“I’m Tommy.” He extended his arm for a handshake until he saw that both of the man’s hands were occupied – one holding a ratchet and the other holding steady a big, wooden structure across a table.
“Nice to meet you. And if you don’t mind, Drew, this piece needs to be held in place while I tighten it … Very good, very good … And Tommy, if you could hold from the bottom to make sure the whole thing doesn’t slide right off the table, that would be great.” Before Drew and Tommy even realized what they were holding, Mr. Johnston said, “Finished. Thank you, boys, you were fine assistants.”
“Whoa, that was simple,” said Tommy.
“Yes,” said Mr. Johnston. “I had this whole thing set up, but I ended up losing a few things in this hodgepodge I call a garage.” He paused and looked around. “That’s life, boys. Sometimes there are so many different things happening around you that you get lost in a hodgepodge.”
Even though Drew wasn’t sure what that funny-sounding word meant, he understood what Mr. Johnston was saying.
“Anyway, I have clips to hold everything around here somewhere, but I couldn’t find the darn things,” Mr. Johnston went on. “And I only have about twenty minutes until my wife gets home, so I needed to finish this part quickly.”
Both boys looked confused, so the old man continued. “My wife and I are celebrating our fiftieth wedding anniversary on Sunday.”
“You’ve been married for fifty years?”
“Sure have. Things were different back then. And we had a very simple wedding ceremony because we didn’t have much money. Heck, we had no money. But the one thing I managed to surprise her with on our wedding day was hundreds of Ipomoea flowers. They come in different colors, but I went around to every florist in town until I found as many blue ones as I could. My wife absolutely loved them …”
Tommy rolled his eyes and began scrolling through his phone. Drew nudged him with his elbow, but Mr. Johnston didn’t seem to notice anyway. He was staring off to the side as he spoke, as if he were picturing the look of joy on his wife’s face at the sight of the flowers.
“Inside the flower is a yellow center with a white outline, and all the petals are a deep, vibrant blue. They are just magnificent. Some say the Ipomoea stands for two people being together and holds the title ‘I belong to thee.’” Mr. Johnston finally noticed Tommy’s blank face. “Well, I’m sure you don’t want to hear the ramblings of an old, hopeless romantic. Anyway, I decided to make this for our anniversary.”
With a strenuous grunt, he lifted what looked like a wooden fence with a crisscross pattern leaving diamond-shaped holes a baseball could probably just fit through. The structure was only about two feet wide, but it was at least seven feet tall. The fresh paint on the wood reminded Drew of his own time painting chairs, tables, and a swing set with his dad for a community project over the summer. Though he had never liked the smell of paint before, Drew cherished the hours spent working with his dad and now felt a connection with the familiar scent.
“I built it the same way I built the fence out back,” said Mr. Johnston, dabbing the sweat on his tan forehead with his handkerchief.
“With power tools?” Tommy asked eagerly.
“No, just classic old handheld tools. I cut the wood, stapled it together, and painted it, and now it’s ready for the flowers. This will hang along the side of our front porch and will be full of beautiful, blue Ipomoeas. That’s why I needed the hooks.”
“Won’t it just fall over?” Tommy asked, apparently without fear of offending the man. “Flowers can’t grow sideways.”
“Oh, that’s true. But, you see, the hinges are attached at an angle. I already have two studs to hang the base from. Also, I have a bottom section that connects to this fence, and that will hold the dirt and the water in. Now all I have to do is go pick up the flowers, plant them, then hang this whole thing up,” Mr. Johnston said, admiring his work.
“Yeah, if it works, I guess it’ll be cool,” said Tommy.
Drew nudged him again. “I’m sure it’ll work. And I bet Mrs. Johnston’s gonna love it.”
****
“Why did it take you so long to get home? I was starting to worry. And why were you and Tommy in the Johnstons’ backyard?” Drew’s mom asked as he approached the front porch.
“We were in the garage. Mr. Johnston was showing us this flower holder thing he made for Mrs. Johnston.”
Mr. Johnston then yelled over from across the street. “Hey, Penny! Thanks for letting me borrow him. He was a huge help!”
Drew’s mom waved and smiled. Her real name was Penelope, but just about everyone in Emerson, even some of the kids, called her Penny.
“And it took us so long to get home because the bridge is closed,” Drew continued. “Can you believe that?”
“Oh, that’s right. I hope it isn’t closed for too long. It’ll be a pain to get home. So, how was school?”
Drew’s emotions were jumbled. Part of him was curious and excited about what he had seen in his textbook, and part of him was frustrated about not knowing who to choose for Mr. Sawyer’s assignment. He considered showing his mom what he had found in his book, but he figured she was more interested in homework, so he explained the social studies assignment to her.
Penny suggested that he do his other homework, play outside for a while, and then come back to it. “If you still can’t figure it out, we’ll talk it through tonight before bed, okay?”
“All right.”
Drew did his homework, threw a tennis ball off the garage for a while, ate dinner, played video games for half an hour, then got ready for bed. Instead of talking to his mom about the assignment, he told her he had figured it out and she didn’t need to worry about it anymore. Something told him that he had to do this assignment on his own.
As he lay in bed that night, he repeated in his head what Mr. Sawyer had said in class: “What does this person do to inspire you?”
Inspire me. Inspire me. Who inspires me? Inspires me to do what? Drew asked himself. He didn’t want to let Mr. Sawyer down with a disappointing presentation, especially after all Mr. Sawyer had done for him. He thought back to a few weeks ago. It was the first day of school, and from the beginning it was a rough one. In math class, Drew had accidentally called the teacher by the wrong name – well, sort of. Mrs. Machado taught both math and Spanish. However, in math, students were to refer to her as Mrs. Machado, and in Spanish, Señora Machado. Because Drew only had her for Spanish in the past, he called her Señora Machado by mistake. Though it was just a minor misstep, it still prompted several classmates to giggle, and Abigail Linwood to pounce on the opportunity to correct him in front of the class.
He hoped to escape the rest of the day without any more issues, but he had no such luck. The science teacher, Mrs. Steinbeck, was known as the toughest, meanest teacher at Emerson Elementary. Everyone was silent as the bell rang for class to begin. Mrs. Steinbeck introduced herself and immediately turned to the chalkboard and wrote her name, sharply but carefully striking the chalk on the board.
“I don’t like to waste time, which is why permission slips for science lab were mailed to your homes two weeks ago for your parents to sign. They contained instructions stating that you were to have them signed and prepared for me today. I need everyone to get them out and, quietly and orderly, pass them to the front of each row.”
Drew felt a small rush of pride. His mom had signed the permission slip, and he had remembered to bring it to school. But when he opened his folder, nothing was there. Where is it? He checked his pockets. Nothing. He looked in the other folder he had with him. Empty. That’s right, he remembered. The permission slip was in his daily planner, which was still in his locker.
All the other students quietly passed their permission slips to the person in front of them. The room resembled a fluent assembly line, with Drew being the one kink. He hesitantly raised his hand.
“Yes?” said Mrs. Steinbeck when she noticed the limp arm in the air.
“Mrs. Steinbeck, mine’s in my locker …”
Drew could sense the silent gasps all around him. Mrs. Steinbeck’s eyebrows rose. She lowered her head slightly and peered above her stylish glasses at Drew. He gulped and smiled awkwardly. Mrs. Steinbeck started as if she were about to berate the forgetful boy, but something restrained her from doing so, and her expression calmed – barely.
“Go get it and return quickly,” she said. She pointed to a small table against the wall next to the door. “Take the hall pass.” After a short pause, she looked at the nametag on his desk and coldly added, “This is not a good start, Andrew Daley.”
Drew hustled down the hall as fast as he could without running, hoping that a quick trip to his locker wouldn’t put him on Mrs. Steinbeck’s bad side. As he entered his combination, he noticed a small boy with neatly-combed, copper hair standing on the other side of the hall a few lockers down. Drew couldn’t tell if he was waiting for something or if he was completely lost.
“Um …” The boy was trying to muster the strength to say something.
Drew turned from his locker. “Do you need help with something?”
“Yes,” he responded shyly.
Drew figured the boy to be in kindergarten or first grade. It felt strange to Drew that he himself had been so small and clueless just a few years ago.
“I have to go to art class,” the boy continued, “but I don’t know how to get there.”
“Oh, I can help you with that,” said Drew. Students that young had one main teacher and only went to other classrooms for special classes like art and gym. The boy must have gotten separated from his class somehow. There are probably a hundred ways a kid could get lost and separated from the rest of the class, Drew thought.
“Well, the art room is in the Garuba wing, down on the first floor at the end of the school. You can go down those steps to the first floor, and then make a right and go past the cafeteria to the end of the hall. You could cut through the cafeteria, but it’s locked sometimes. So you go past it through the double doors at the end of the hall, then make a right and the art room will be the third, no, the second room on your left.”
The young boy stood with glazed eyes, trying to commit this path to his memory. Drew saw the confusion in his face.
“I’ll just take you real quick,” he said. “It’s actually pretty confusing if you’ve never been there.”
On the way to the art room, Drew asked the boy about himself. His name was Brady, and it was his first day in the building. Drew intently listened as Brady explained his horror story of getting separated from his kindergarten classmates. Drew was acting like a seasoned big brother, even though he didn’t have any siblings.
He waited outside the door as Brady rejoined his class. Peering into the room, he saw some of last year’s art projects still hanging by string and clothespins. Drew wouldn’t be taking art this year because at Emerson Elementary, all fourth-graders had art and all fifth-graders had music. He lingered at the doorway for a moment before reversing his path and heading back up the stairs to Mrs. Steinbeck’s classroom.
He set the hall pass down on the table by the door and turned to quietly head back to his seat.
“Why were you gone so long, Mr. Daley? Was there a complication?” said Mrs. Steinbeck, standing in the front of the room but facing Drew.
A few giggles rose to the surface of the room, but Mrs. Steinbeck turned her head sharply toward the class and revealed an icy glare that suffocated the laughter. She turned back to Drew, and a horrible feeling shot through him. Oh no! What had he left the room for in the first place? Mrs. Steinbeck’s enraged stare at his empty hands answered his question. The permission slip. He had forgotten to get the permission slip from his locker.
“You think you can just leave my class and do whatever you want, is that it? You think it is okay to lie to me and pretend your permission slip is in your locker when you actually forgot it at home. Is that it, Mr. Daley?”
Drew shook his head. His eyes shifted nervously around the room. All the students sat with their heads forward but slightly down. They didn’t seem to know where they were allowed to look.
“Return to your seat,” said Mrs. Steinbeck.
“But I –”
“Return to your seat,” she snapped, stabbing toward Drew’s desk with her index finger.
Drew bowed his head and slipped into his chair, his heart pounding and his cheeks beet-red. He had done the last thing a kid at Emerson wanted to do – he had gotten on Mrs. Steinbeck’s bad side.
A cloud of embarrassment clung to him the rest of the day. But when it was time for last period, Mr. Sawyer’s familiar face finally eased the tension.
“Six more months, right, Drew?” Mr. Sawyer had said as Drew entered the classroom.
“Huh?”
“You guys are still counting down until the premiere of that zombie movie, right?”
“Oh yeah,” said Drew. “I think six months is right.”
He, Jeff, and Tommy had made their excitement known last school year when the Zombie Days premiere date was announced. Even though the movie wouldn’t hit theaters until winter, the boys couldn’t stop talking about it the entire last month of fourth grade.
“What’s it called again?” Mr. Sawyer asked. “Zombie Dudes?”
“Zombie Days,” Drew corrected him and laughed. “Trust me, it’s gonna be awesome.”
“Well, I guess I’ll have to see it when it comes out then.”
Mr. Sawyer simply had a way of getting through to Drew, and, thanks to him, the first day of school hadn’t been so bad after all. Now, though, just three weeks into the school year, Drew was already behind in his favorite teacher’s class.
Disappointed in himself, he turned on the lamp next to his bed, pulled out his science book, and turned to page 139. Even now, after all the interruptions of the day, it brought him peace. His breathing eased into a soft rhythm. After a few minutes, he put his book away, turned off his light, and fell asleep without a worry in the world.
****
Despite the peaceful sleep, with morning came the reminder that Drew would disappoint Mr. Sawyer by being unprepared for the first big assignment of the year.
As he dragged himself out the door, his mom said, “Wait, here you go,” and handed him a one-dollar bill. “You and Jeff and Tommy are stopping at Melia’s after school today, right?”
Melia’s Market was a small convenience store owned by a living legend, Mr. Melia. The old man ran the store with his wife, and he was one of the most beloved people in Emerson. Drew and his friends loved going there. In the past, they had to be accompanied by an adult, but this year they were granted collective parental approval to stop at Melia’s once a week on their way home from school. The boys had vowed to go to Melia’s every Thursday for the entire school year. And although it was only the third week of the school year, Melia’s Thursdays were already becoming a sacred tradition for them. Melia’s housed lunch meat, small grocery products, and a number of miscellaneous items, but Drew and his friends were only interested in the candy behind the counter.
Now, in the instant his mom handed him that dollar bill, Drew knew who he would pick for his social studies project.
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Thanks, Mom.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and darted out the front door.
“Yes! It’s perfect! I’ll pick Mr. Melia!” he nearly shouted as he headed down the street.
A minute ago he was dragging his feet, dreading the day ahead of him. Now he was practically running, full of anticipation for social studies class. He knew Mr. Sawyer would be impressed with his choice. And when he went to Melia’s after school, he could tell Mr. Melia about it. His smile spread wider as he thought about how flattered the old man would be.
Drew eagerly awaited social studies class all throughout the day. He scribbled through his math worksheet, sprinted through the warm-up laps in gym, volunteered to pass out the science worksheets (which he did in record time), inhaled his lunch, impatiently tapped his foot through a language arts lecture, sang several notes ahead of everyone in music class, and recited translations in Spanish so fast that his classmates assumed he was speaking fluently, all in hopes that the clock would somehow match his pace. His haste likely had the opposite effect, and made the day feel longer, but, at long last, the bell rang for the final period of the day to begin.
“Here’s how we’ll do this. I think the fairest way is to put all your names in a hat, which I’ve already done.” Mr. Sawyer held out an old brown fisherman’s hat filled with small slips of paper. “When I call your name, you let me know who you’re choosing for your presentation.”
Drew sat with a proud smile on his face, barely able to wait for Mr. Sawyer to call his name. He had already asked several of his classmates earlier in the day who they were picking. The results were two singers, one baseball player, one hockey player, and two actors. He also overheard Mitchell telling Erin that he picked a racecar driver, someone Drew had never even heard of.
“Without further ado, the first pick goes to … Tommy.”
“Bryce Harper,” Tommy announced.
“All right,” said Mr. Sawyer as he marked it down on his paper. He reached into the hat and pulled out the next name. Then another, and another, and another. Drew wasn’t too worried at first, and no one had chosen Mr. Melia, but his foot tapped a bit faster each time someone else’s name was called.
Please just be me, he thought to himself.
“Zobby, you’re up next.”
Drew’s impatience lessened at the mention of his friend’s name. Zobby was a friendly, brown-haired girl who lived across the street from Drew’s dad. Drew and Zobby had been friends for years. He didn’t spend as much time with her as he did with Jeff and Tommy, but he felt just as comfortable around her as anyone. He knew she would choose someone worthwhile for her presentation.
“I’m picking Miss Elisa. I take music lessons with her.”
Drew smiled at the pick and turned his attention back to his teacher.
“All right. Caleb is next,” said Mr. Sawyer.
“I’m picking, uh, Mr. Melia, from Melia’s Market,” said Caleb.
Drew could not believe what he just heard. He turned around to see Caleb Monroe sitting right behind him with an absent expression on his face.
“Nice pick, Caleb. I like it. Mr. Melia is a really great guy and a great choice for your presentation,” said Mr. Sawyer.
Drew was infuriated. Mr. Sawyer should be proud of me, not Caleb. Two more names were called, but Drew didn’t even hear them. He was still turned around, trying to stare a hole through Caleb.
“What?” said Caleb with a hint of irritation.
“Next is Drew,” Mr. Sawyer declared suddenly. Drew turned back around and looked up at his teacher.
“I picked Mr. Melia,” he said in a defiant tone that surprised even himself.
“He was already chosen. Caleb picked him a minute ago. Who’s your backup?”
“Backup?” said Drew. He had a hard enough time choosing one person. “Um …”
“You know you were supposed to have a backup choice for this very reason,” said Mr. Sawyer.
“Uh …” Drew tried to think. He couldn’t pick his parents, and he couldn’t pick Mr. Melia. He knew plenty of nice people, but he also knew none of them were right for this assignment.
“Drew,” said Mr. Sawyer, “who is your backup?”
Drew opened his mouth, hoping a name would jump from his lips. Instead, all he could say was, “I couldn’t think of one.”
Mr. Sawyer shook his head in disappointment. “You’re going to have to pick someone. See me after class.”
Drew sunk down in his seat. Mere minutes ago he was excited for social studies class to begin. Now he couldn’t wait for it to end.
After the bell rang and the other students had left the classroom, Drew walked slowly to Mr. Sawyer’s desk.
“Drew, you are the only student in the class who wasn’t able to choose a role model.”
“I know, but I picked Mr. Melia. I really do look up to him. And you said we should pick someone who inspires us, and –”
Mr. Sawyer motioned with his hand for Drew to stop talking.
“That’s great, Drew, but Mr. Melia was chosen by someone else. I understand that you had planned on choosing Mr. Melia, but you have to adjust. Being able to make adjustments is just as important as making plans. You understand, right?”
“Yeah,” Drew murmured, facing the floor.
“All right, good,” said Mr. Sawyer. “Come Monday, I don’t want another situation like we had with the you-know-what.”
Drew lifted his head. Oh man, he thought. That was the day he had learned firsthand that poor preparation leads to embarrassment. Toward the end of the fourth-grade year, each student was to give a presentation on one of the 50 states. But as Drew walked into the classroom on his day to present, he realized he had forgotten his notecards and poster he made at home. And he really needed those notecards, because he didn’t practice his presentation one time. He felt humiliated just thinking of the debacle. “Texas is, um, a big state,” was how he began. “Its nickname is, uh, well, it has lots of sports teams …”
“Yeah,” Drew said to Mr. Sawyer, “we definitely don’t want that.”
“So let’s come in tomorrow with an idea,” said Mr. Sawyer. “Think of someone who inspires you to be a better person. There’s got to be someone besides Mr. Melia. Don’t think of it as a painful assignment, think of it as an opportunity to talk about someone you really look up to.”
“Yeah, I’ll figure it out.” And just like that, he was back where he began.
****
On his way down the hall, he spotted Caleb at his locker shoving dirty gym clothes into his book bag. Drew approached him with a sense of curiosity.
“Hey, Caleb.”
“’Sup?” Caleb responded. He tossed his head back and to the right to flip the dark hair from his eyes, though he didn’t look away from his locker.
“Nothing really. So you’re doing your report on Mr. Melia, huh? That’s pretty cool.”
“I guess,” said Caleb, still without looking up. He was searching for something in his locker.
“What made you pick him?” Drew asked. He was excited to hear Caleb’s answer. Tommy had been hanging out with Caleb recently, and Drew was starting to think that maybe it was for good reason.
“Well,” said Caleb, “I was just gonna take a hockey player, but when I told my mom about it she said to pick Mr. Melia. She said nobody else would pick him, and Mr. Sawyer would probably eat that up. So I was like, whatever.”
Drew’s anger returned even stronger than before. “You picked him because your mom told you to?”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean, it’s just a lame assignment anyways. I didn’t really care,” said Caleb. He found what he was looking for in his locker and stuck it in his book bag. “Later,” he added before strolling down the hall and out the door.
Drew lingered near Caleb’s locker for a few moments. He couldn’t believe how indifferent everyone was about the assignment. Maybe everyone else is right, he thought.
As he circled back to his own locker, he found Zobby waiting for him.
“What’d Mr. Sawyer say?” she asked, jumping into a conversation.
“Not much. Just that I have to pick someone,” said Drew. He exchanged some books and filled up his book bag. “And he mentioned the States project again.”
“Oh, that’s rough. I’m sorry. So, do you know who you’re gonna pick?”
“That’s the thing. I wanted to pick Mr. Melia. He was the first person who made sense to me. Tommy and Jeff just picked sports stars, but I don’t really feel like they inspire me. And then Caleb only picked Mr. Melia ‘cause his mom told him to, not because he actually cares.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Yeah, everyone thinks this is so easy and I should just pick a celebrity or something. I dunno, maybe I should.”
“No,” said Zobby, “I don’t think it’s easy. I get what you mean about not wanting to pick some person you see in movies or on TV. That’s why I picked Miss Elisa. I actually know her, ya know?”
Drew nodded and added a half smile.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Zobby. “You’ll figure it out.”
The fact that someone understood him, even if it was just a little bit, really made him feel like he was on the right path.
****
The bright September sun hit Drew in the eyes as he stepped outside. He pulled his faithful Pittsburgh Pirates baseball hat from his book bag and put it over top of his sandy-blonde hair. The hat, given to him as a birthday gift from his parents years ago, had a white front panel, and the golden capital ‘P’ on the front was outlined in black. Weathered from years of wear, the hat had begun to show its age. The capital ‘P’ had a stain on the top left corner, the white front had collected so much dirt that it looked more beige than white, and the rest of the hat, which used to be jet black, had noticeably faded. Penny had tried to clean the hat several times, but it was no use – the stains were too deeply seated.
Jeff and Tommy were waiting for Drew at the bottom of the school steps.
“What did Mr. Sawyer say?” Jeff asked.
“Did he yell at you?” Tommy added.
“He just told me to pick someone,” Drew said, rushing past them without breaking his stride.
“Oh, wait up,” said Jeff as he and Tommy caught up.
“Why didn’t you just pick a baseball player like I did?” asked Tommy.
Drew didn’t say anything. His pace was so fast that the walk around the unusable bridge didn’t take much time at all.
“Well,” said Tommy, “at least it’s time for Melia’s. I wonder what I should get today. I got two bucks!”
He and Jeff stopped and turned toward the store, but Drew kept walking.
“Where are you going?” Jeff asked. “It’s Thursday, remember?”
“I don’t have any money,” he lied. “And I have too much homework to do, and we have that science quiz tomorrow. I’m just going home.” It was only week three, and Drew was already missing out on a Melia’s Thursday.
“Um, all right,” said Jeff, shooting Tommy a confused glance.
Tommy shrugged and said, “All right, later, Drew.” Jeff and Tommy went into the store as Drew disappeared down the street.
****
“What are you doing?” Jeff asked as he approached Drew before social studies class the following afternoon.
“Nothin’,” said Drew, leaning against the wall several feet from Mr. Sawyer’s classroom door.
“Well, the bell’s gonna ring in like ten seconds. Why are you just standing out here?”
“Mr. Sawyer’s gonna kill me,” said Drew. “I still didn’t pick anyone for my presentation.”
“Oh. Wait, I forgot to tell you!”
“Tell me what?” asked Drew. The bell rang before Jeff could respond.
“Just c’mon, get in the room,” he said, grabbing Drew’s arm and pulling him through the doorway.
Drew followed closely behind Jeff, his head down, trying to use his friend as a shield from Mr. Sawyer’s vision. Maybe if Mr. Sawyer didn’t see him walk in, he would forget to ask him about his presentation. Drew kept his head down as he slipped into his seat. He didn’t look at Mr. Sawyer. He didn’t even look in the direction of his desk. He slouched down as low as he could without sliding off the chair. Then, to his delight, he heard an unexpected voice.
“Well, there’s good news, and there’s bad news …”
Looking up, Drew saw that Mr. Mayberry, the resident substitute teacher, was standing in the front of the room, reciting his trademark introduction.
“The good news is it’s Friday,” he continued, “the bad news is you have me for a teacher today.”
Most of the students chuckled, aware that Mr. Mayberry was actually friendly and fair. Written on the chalkboard behind him in giant letters was a reminder from Mr. Sawyer: ROLE MODEL PRESENTATIONS ARE MONDAY. BE PREPARED!
Drew looked to Jeff, who was already smiling back at him, and breathed a huge sigh of relief. The good news, Drew thought to himself, is that I have more time to pick my role model.
****
Figuring there was no harm in enjoying his weekend, Drew spent Friday night with his dad. They went to Rizzo’s Pizza for dinner, and later that night they watched a movie. He thought about telling his dad what he found in his science book but wasn’t sure if he’d be interested. Maybe no one will care about it like I do, he thought. He once again decided to keep the secret to himself.
He went to Tommy’s on Saturday for the sleepover. Instead of choosing a role model, organizing his ideas, and rehearsing a presentation, he spent the night eating pizza, telling jokes, and playing Zombie Days with Tommy and Jeff.
He didn’t get home from Tommy’s until Sunday afternoon. As he dragged his feet through the front door, he was hit with the guilt of neglecting his assignment. Tired from a sleepless night, he tried to think of a way to get out of the presentation altogether. Realizing that wasn’t an option, he began to concede to the idea of picking a big sports star or celebrity, just like most of his classmates had done. He picked up the remote and turned on the TV. This was where everyone else seemed to find their answers. But after a few minutes of flipping through the channels, he tossed the remote in frustration.
Feeling defeated, he walked outside and began throwing a tennis ball against the garage door. With his glove on one hand and the ball in the other, he flung the ball against the door and positioned his body, with knees bent, to catch the ground ball each time it bounced back to him. As he threw the ball, he continued to try to think of someone else he could choose for his presentation. Drew liked baseball just as much as his friends did, probably even more, but he didn’t feel that his favorite athletes were his role models. Rather, they were just really fun to watch. He didn’t admire them the same way he admired his dad for his creativity, his mom for her ability to help people with their problems, or Mr. Melia for the kindness he showed to everyone who walked into his store.
He threw the ball harder. How was it that he had spent more time thinking about this assignment than anyone but had made less progress than everyone?
After a few minutes, Drew realized he had missed the bouncing ball quite a few times, which was unlike him. He noticed how windy it had become, and that the tennis ball was being pulled to the right each time he chucked it against the garage. But even after picking up on the wind pattern, he continued to misplay the erratic ball. It snuck past him again and rolled into the street.
As he went to grab it, he looked across the street and saw Mr. Johnston’s flower arrangement proudly hung on his porch. Though he helped with the project, Drew had not understood the concept of the flower holder. However, upon seeing the finished product, he was taken aback by its beauty. The Johnstons’ house was on the corner of the street, and each time a car turned onto Ernest Way, people would see what looked like a hundred flowers filling the wooden base. He thought back to the story of Mr. Johnston’s wedding flowers and how surprised and excited his wife would be.
Drew smiled to himself and walked back over toward his garage to resume throwing the tennis ball. He decided that he would play his game for about five more minutes. If he was still unable to think of something in that time, he would go to his room, defeated, and begin putting together what he knew would be a below-average presentation on an athlete he didn’t truly feel inspired him.
Each time the ball connected with the old wooden door, it made a loud thunk, which Drew was used to after years of practice. But after he threw the ball one last time, the thunk was followed by an enormous crash behind him.
He looked all around but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then he did a more thorough investigation by squinting his eyes. With his eyes peeled, he saw the cause of the crash and shuddered at the implications: Mr. Johnston’s leaning flower bed had fallen to the ground. The wind must have unhooked one of the hinges connecting the crisscrossed wood to the house. Drew froze. He knew he couldn’t fix the flower bed. And, seeing that Mr. Johnston’s car wasn’t in its usual spot in the driveway, Drew knew the old man was likely on his way home with his wife. He recalled that today was their anniversary, and now the big unveiling of countless hours of hard work would be ruined.
Drew figured he should go tell his mom what happened, even though he doubted she would be able to do anything about it. But as he turned around, something caught his eye. There was movement near the Johnstons’ porch. Drew stepped back beside his garage so he couldn’t be seen. He didn’t know why, but he felt like hiding. For the next several minutes, he peered across the street and watched something amazing happen.
A wizard hadn’t appeared and fixed the flower bed with a wave of his wand. And a superhero hadn’t swooped down from the sky to save the day. But what Drew saw was just as impressive – in a way, more impressive.
And at that moment, Drew finally knew what to do for his role model presentation.
****
It was Monday afternoon, and Drew was sitting quietly in his seat. Caleb stood in the front of the classroom concluding his presentation, which sounded suspiciously like someone else had written it for him (especially considering he read the entire speech from notecards, not looking away from them once).
“All right, thank you, Caleb,” said Mr. Sawyer, in a tone that sounded to Drew much less enthusiastic than when Caleb had originally chosen Mr. Melia. “Let’s see, next is Drew.”
Drew got up and walked to the front of the room.
“Who will you be telling us about today?” Mr. Sawyer asked. Despite the disappointments from last week, Mr. Sawyer looked at Drew with confidence, as if he meant to show Drew that he still believed in him.
“Well, I’m not exactly sure.”
“Drew …”
“I mean, I just don’t know his name,” Drew continued.
Several students looked around at each other in confusion. A few giggled, anticipating another “50 States” disaster.
“But you do have something prepared for us,” Mr. Sawyer said, nodding.
“Oh, yeah, I do. I just don’t know this guy’s name. See, my neighbor across the street, Mr. Johnston, built this big wooden flower holder thing for his wife for their anniversary …”
Mr. Sawyer leaned back in his chair and listened.
“And he filled it with these blue flowers, I forget what they’re called, they had a weird name, but they’re the flowers he gave her on their wedding day. The same kind of flowers, I mean. He was showing Tommy and me the other day when he was still working on it. And he put a lot of work into it and you could tell he was so excited for his wife to see it. Oh yeah, this was for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. But anyway, last night the wind blew it over. I was outside and one minute it was hanging up, and the next minute it was on the ground and a bunch of the flowers had spilled out. I felt so bad, but I didn’t know what to do. And then this guy came jogging by. I have no idea who he was. The sun was going down, and he was wearing a hat, so I couldn’t get a good look at him. But he stopped and took out his headphones and looked at what happened.
“Then he walked right up to the Johnstons’ porch. Some of Mr. Johnston’s tools were still there, and so was a little ladder. Then, I couldn’t believe it, the guy set the ladder next to the flower bed, grabbed one of the tools, and climbed the ladder. He sort of fiddled with pegs on the house – that’s where the flower holder connected to the house. I think the wind unhooked it from the pegs. Then he climbed down the ladder and switched the tool for a different one and did something to the flower bed. Finally, he picked up the flower bed and walked it up the ladder. He sort of struggled – the thing is pretty heavy – but he hung it back up.
“Then he climbed down the ladder, he fixed the flowers, and he even swept the dirt off the driveway so everything looked nice again. Then he put his headphones back in his ears and jogged down the street. And like ten seconds later, the Johnstons came pulling into their driveway. They got out of the car, and Mrs. Johnston was so surprised she started to cry – but in a good way.
“And I just figure, that’s what I want to be like. Because even though no one was watching – except for me, but he didn’t see me – even though no one was watching, this guy did the right thing and helped someone out. It wasn’t to impress anyone. It wasn’t, like, an act. Mr. and Mrs. Johnston didn’t even know what happened. They came home and everything was okay.”
Drew stopped, realizing that he might have been rambling, and looked at Mr. Sawyer to see if he understood. The rest of the students looked at their teacher as well. After a number of predictable speeches, they relied on Mr. Sawyer’s reaction to show them the verdict of Drew’s speech. They knew it was different, but they weren’t sure if it was good or bad.
Mr. Sawyer smiled and said, “The deed is everything, the glory is naught.”
A state of confusion momentarily consumed the class.
“Not what?” asked Abigail.
“Let me rephrase,” said Mr. Sawyer. “The deed is everything, the glory is nothing.”
The class was silent again until Drew said, “Yeah, I get it. You shouldn’t do a good deed just to get credit for it. You should just do it because it’s right.”
“Exactly,” said Mr. Sawyer. He looked to the rest of the class. “That’s the lesson Drew’s presentation has taught us. You should never forget that your true character is determined by what you do when no one is watching, when no reward is at stake, when there’s a chance no one else will ever know what you did.” He turned to Drew and nodded. “Very good work, Drew.”
Drew smiled and returned to his seat. At the end of class, Mr. Sawyer handed each student a half-sheet of paper with his or her grade for the presentation. When the bell rang and the room emptied, he had given a sheet to everyone except Drew. Thinking he had done well, but now second-guessing himself, Drew fidgeted in his seat as Mr. Sawyer walked toward him. With the sheet facing the floor so Drew couldn’t see the grade, Mr. Sawyer said, “Before I commented on your presentation, did you think there was a chance you would get a bad grade because your presentation was unlike everyone else’s?”
Drew simply nodded.
“And did you care about your grade, or were you more excited to talk about this mysterious runner?”
“Well, my parents want me to get good grades, and I know that’s important. But it wasn’t all I cared about. I wanted to give a presentation that really meant something to me. You said we should pick someone who inspires us, so that’s what I did. I don’t know who that guy was, but I know he inspired me to be a good person.”
“That’s it!” Mr. Sawyer exclaimed, pumping his fist in excitement. “That’s what this assignment was all about.” He smiled and handed Drew the sheet of paper with the grade still facing down. “And do me a favor. If you do happen to see this mysterious runner again, thank him. Far too often good things go unnoticed.”
Drew nodded. He slid the sheet of paper into his folder and went straight to his locker. He removed his science book, opened it to page 139, and stared down at a pencil-drawn picture of a sunset over an ocean shore. The drawing covered no more than a quarter of page 139, but he could see that tremendous effort had gone into it. Whoever drew the picture had been deliberate with every detail. It was as though each shimmer in the sky, each ripple in the water, each grain of sand, was carefully accounted for. There was even a small sandcastle in the bottom left corner of the drawing.
Drew wasn’t sure if he would ever see the runner again. And even if he did, he might not recognize him, because he never got a good look at the man’s face. But there was someone he could find: the person who drew the picture. The picture had brought him so much comfort over the hectic last few days, and whoever had drawn it deserved to be thanked. Drew flipped to the front cover. He scanned the names of the book’s previous owners to give himself a head start. He was now on a mission: find the Mystery Artist.