Before I even find a seat on the bus Friday morning, the boy from yesterday, the one with the phone, gets right up in my face, talking fast.
“Those buttons? The red ones you gave me? You got any more of those? I found some really big green buttons, and I’ll trade ’em for some more of those red ones, if you want to. What do you say, huh? You want to trade?”
“Um, let me sit down first, okay?”
I live pretty close to school, so the bus is nearly full, and as I walk back to look for a seat, I’m in the middle of a massive swap session, with kids calling to each other.
“I’ve got fifteen little white buttons here, perfect for making a bracelet or something, and I’m looking for buttons made of pewter. Anybody have any pewter?”
“No pewter, but I’ve got a really nice brass one.”
“Brass? Does it have an eagle on it?”
“No, it has a globe.”
“I’ll take it! What do you want for it?”
“What’ve you got? I’m looking for some of those US Navy buttons, the kind with the anchor.”
“Pewter? Who’s looking for pewter?”
“I am!”
Phone Boy is still with me when I sit down.
“So, those red ones? You have any?”
“First of all, my name is Grace—what’s yours?”
“Chris.”
“How come you want more red buttons?”
“That color? It’s really rare. I’ve got my eye on a couple of Coast Guard buttons, but I’ve got to get some good ammo before I try to make a trade. So, I was thinking that these two big green guys ought to be worth about eight of your red ones—what do you say?”
“Hey, I want some of those red ones! Look at these yellow buttons—fantastic color, right?”
It’s the boy who was joking about the Button Police yesterday, and the four yellow buttons he’s offering to trade? They’re mine—some of the buttons I gave away from my tray at lunch on Wednesday! Which means he must have gotten them from someone who was at our table…except, really, those buttons could have already changed hands five or six times!
The driver slams the bus to a stop and waves some cars past. Then she stands up and yells, “Get in your seats and stay there! Any more moving around when the bus is rolling, and I’ll call the school and have the principal meet us at the curb—you got that?”
Everyone sits down fast, and there’s a lot of nodding, and it’s quiet. But the moment the bus moves, the yelling and the trading picks up again—with kids sitting now.
The boy, Chris, hands me his two green buttons. “Nice, huh?”
They’re very large, at least an inch and a half across, and there’s a carved design on each one, sort of a notch on the front that cuts across the two holes.
“Hold them up,” he says. “See how the light comes right through? Almost like glass or something. Really great buttons!”
Even though I have so, so many buttons, I haven’t seen any like this pair, not yet. And all of a sudden I really want them!
But without even thinking, I pretend I don’t.
“Yeah…I mean, they’re okay, I guess. But eight of my red ones? For two? I don’t think so.”
“How about seven?”
And now I know I’ve got him hooked.
“I could trade six, I guess.”
“Okay, six! Deal!”
I dig around in the bottom of my book bag, and hand over six of my best blood-red buttons. Our deal is complete, and I have never felt like this, never in my whole life! Trading is so fun!
I hear myself calling out, “Who’s got those pewter buttons?”
“Back here—I’ve got three. Pass these up to her.”
It’s a girl two rows behind me, and I think she’s a fifth grader.
I study the buttons, and then I frown. “Oh—they’re not the same. That’s too bad.”
“Right,” she says, “but they’re all snowflake designs…and every snowflake is different, right? So, they’re still pretty amazing.”
I can tell this girl’s smart.
I say, “Yeah, but I like it when buttons match. Like these cranberry-red buttons? I’ve got enough that somebody could actually sew them onto a sweater. Such a great color!” And I pass three of them back to her. “I think I’ve got six, maybe even seven…if you wanted to trade.”
These pewter buttons in my hand have a very nice weight to them—so solid. And just like with the big green ones, I feel like I’ve got to own these buttons!
I can tell the girl’s not sold yet, so I say, “I’ll tell you what. How about I give you three of my red ones for each one of these. Deal?”
And now this girl knows that she’s got me on the hook! And she knows that I know that she knows.
“Hmm…I think maybe four of your red ones for each of mine would be better—twelve total. How about that?”
“Twelve for three? Okay…but you’re getting a really good deal!”
I hunt around to find nine more red buttons, and I pass them back. Even though I feel like I got beat on this deal, I don’t care. These pewter buttons feel so heavy, so real!
I’m getting low on my red buttons, so I’m done trading—for now. But I’ve got seven other little sandwich bags of buttons in my locker, the ones I didn’t show at lunch on Wednesday! I must have a couple thousand buttons there, all kinds! If I’m careful, I could probably get my hands on every single pewter button at school today, probably even get—
My mind screeches to a halt.
What is wrong with me?
I’ve been hearing this hyper little voice inside my head, and it’s like I don’t know who’s talking!
Because standing at the bus stop five minutes ago? I was Grace Hamlin, the careful scientist. I was all set to observe and analyze and take some notes. I was going to see if there were any new cases of button fever today. Then I got on the bus, and in ten seconds I morphed into a wild button zombie—Must get more buttons!
A sudden sharp stillness fills my thinking. I look around me on the bus, and now I can see what’s going on here.
It’s clear that not everybody has buttons—probably only about fifteen kids are actually trading. But every kid on the bus is totally tuned in, following each transaction and choosing sides, too—there’s a cheering section for every trade.
“Don’t do it! Your button is way better than that piece of junk he’s trying to give you!”
And something else: The kids who don’t have any buttons? They wish they did. And by Monday morning, my theory is that most of them will.
That thought I had a minute ago, that I should rush to my locker and grab some button bags, and keep on trading like mad?
I can’t do that—no way!
Because if I did, everyone would figure out that I’ve got a massive supply of amazing buttons. They would see that I have this huge advantage.
And they would probably think it wasn’t fair.
Which is true…I guess.
So I’d better just be an observer here, a scientist. Which is not the same as being in the action. It feels more like being a spy.
I tell myself that I can do this, that I can stay outside the flow. I’m going to be scientific: I’m going to watch the events and keep trying to understand what’s going on.
That’s what I tell myself.
But as I get off the bus with three pewter buttons in my right hand and the two big green ones in my left hand? I am so glad that these buttons are mine!
And I admit that it might be tough to stay true to my scientific goals.
Because that feeling of making a great trade? It’s a hard thing to forget.