“I made six fantastic trades on the bus!”

These are Hank’s first words of the new week—not Hi, not Great to see you, not How are you? So I guess the buttons thing is still going strong, at least for him. I’ve never seen Hank so totally hyper.

“On Friday? I saw some guys who had made these bunches of buttons with little twist ties, so I made myself twenty of them using some of the junky buttons we found on Saturday, duplicates and stuff.”

“Yeah, I noticed those kids, too.”

“So anyway, this morning I was looking for anything special in the bunches they had—sometimes just one button out of a whole set. And if I spotted a good one, then I would offer to trade two bunches for one bunch—just to get that particular button. And it worked like magic! But the best part? After I take the one button I want from a bunch, then I add an extra button to fill it back up, and just like that, I’ve got another bunch of ten to trade with! Pretty great, huh?”

I nod, but I’m also doing math in my head—because what Hank just described makes a really neat equation: Twenty bunches minus the two bunches he trades leaves eighteen, but then he adds one bunch back—which makes nineteen; minus the next two bunches leaves seventeen, but then he adds one back, to make eighteen, and so on—all the way down to one last single bunch left. There’s a special name for that kind of math progression…maybe recursive?

Hank says, “Right now I’ve still got fourteen bunches left, and I’ve already made six trades, and three of my new buttons are amazing! I’m going to be able to trade two bunches for one bunch nineteen times! Isn’t that great?”

“It is! Really smart!”

Hank’s got me grinning now—I can’t help it. Ben went nuts about his new clarinet, and Grampa was excited about the old mill, but Hank is almost exploding!

He takes a deep breath, and he looks embarrassed. I hope there wasn’t some weird look on my face just now to make him feel that way.

He calms himself down, almost serious. “But I’m going to have to cool it till after homeroom. Mr. Scott has a new rule: no buttons in his room. So remember that before you go to language arts. What about you? Got any button plans for today?”

“Not really, but I’ll keep my eyes open.”

That’s what I say, but the truth is that I’m just not into the buttons thing today.

But I’m very curious to see what’s up with the fad. And I promised Grampa I’d take good notes!

We head toward the sixth-grade hall, and the first thing I notice is that those boys don’t have any button bunches hooked onto their belts today. The bunches are on short loops of cord now. Which makes sense. All those clumps hanging everywhere? Way too awkward.

I also spot five different groups of second- and third-grade kids along the corridor, comparing handfuls of buttons and trading…which means button fever is spreading to the younger grades.

“Your little sister—what grade is she in now?”

A groan from Hank. “Third. I finally convinced my mom that I had to have a lock on my door. Hannah is driving me nuts.”

“Has she claimed some of the family buttons so she can bring them to school? Is she into collecting like you are?”

“No way—not interested. She’s more of a mad-scientist type. Last week she pulled the heads and the arms and the legs off five of her dolls so she could switch them all around onto the different bodies. My mom got pretty freaked out, but I told her not to worry. It’s actually a smart way to mix up a boring doll collection—now she’s got five new little Frankenstein dolls!”

That gets me laughing, and then I try to recall if Ellie ever made me laugh like this—yes…only not as often.

Do I want to compare Hank with Ellie? No.

But it keeps happening.

Which makes me wish I could stop observing my own thinking. Which only makes me think more.

Hank’s been thinking, too.

“How many different kinds of button kids can we identify? So far, I’ve only seen one actual collector—me. I’m calling myself a hunter-gatherer. Then there are kids like that guy.”

He points at a boy swinging a shoelace loop that must be loaded with forty or fifty bunches of buttons. “I’d call him a getter—someone who just wants more.”

“How about traders, kids who like making the deals more than they like the buttons themselves?”

Hank nods. “Absolutely—traders are a definite species.”

“And I’ve also spotted three or four color nuts, kids who mostly go after one particular color.”

He smiles. “And then there are the metalheads.”

“Right, and the military metalheads are a subspecies.” Then, trying not to sound too curious, I say, “How about Ellie? What’s her category?”

“Hmm…maybe a crafter? On account of the stuff she’s making? But…when Ellie got us all to bring buttons to lunch? That’s what really got things moving. And then the first bracelet she made last week? That got a ton of kids hooked. Might have to call Ellie a trendsetter. Which means a lot of the other kids are followers.”

I’m a little scared to ask this, but I say it anyway. “So…what would you call me?”

“You?”

He has to pause, and I’m worried that I’ve put him on the spot, that he thinks I’m trying to be cute, or that I’m only—

“I’ve got it—you’re the catalyst! Except that’s not a category, because there’s only one catalyst. You started everything. And when you gave away those buttons last week after lunch? That was pivotal! Without you, none of this would be happening. I wouldn’t be collecting, and I wouldn’t know what Bakelite is or how it got used to make fantastic Art Deco buttons—I wouldn’t even know what Art Deco means!”

Catalyst.

I like that.

I like it so much I almost blush.

It’s a word I know from chemistry. A catalyst releases energy. Add the right catalyst, and a process speeds up—like a solid turning to a liquid, or a liquid separating into different gases.

Of course, a catalyst can also make everything burst into flames and destroy the whole lab.

So, yeah…Grace the Catalyst.

We stop beside the art room bulletin boards because Hank has to turn here to head for Mr. Scott’s homeroom. I think he wants to say something, so I wait.

And I’m right.

“See you at lunch, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And listen—don’t let Ellie bug you today. She thinks she runs everything, but she doesn’t. You’re ten times smarter than she’s ever been. Ten times nicer, too.”

He says the last bit with half a smile.

“Thanks.” And I smile back.

Then Hank walks his way, and I walk mine.

So…did my face tell Hank that I needed cheering up?

Because I really did. And what he just said worked: I feel better.

But as I get closer to Mrs. Lang’s room, the feeling evaporates.

I’m not ready for today—not ready to deal with Ellie, not ready for the whole button circus. I wish it would all go away.

I don’t even care anymore that wishing isn’t scientific.

Still, unless I totally chicken out and run for the nurse’s office, I know I’m stuck. Because the one sure thing about a school day? Once it starts, it just keeps going.

And mine begins with homeroom. Right now.