“So, what are you going to do with the book,” asked Zoe, “you know, when it’s all finished?”
“Don’t know yet.” Natalie gathered up the first twelve pages from the library table in front of Zoe. “Maybe print out a copy for you, and maybe one for Lill and Sparky . . . maybe let some other kids read it. I might even show it to Ms. Clayton—maybe get some extra credit in English.” Natalie handed the pages to Zoe, and she tucked them into the blue folder with the rest of the manuscript.
Zoe shook her head, and her curly brown hair bounced from side to side. “It’s way too good for that. I think you should get it all done and then give it to your mom. She should get it published—you know, for real.”
Natalie snorted. “Yeah, like my mom is going to take it to her boss and say, ‘Guess what? My daughter wrote this wonderful little book,’ and then her boss goes, ‘Gee, that’s great—let’s pay her a bunch of money and start printing her book right away!’ Get real, Zoe. You don’t know anything about publishing.”
“Do too,” said Zoe. “My dad gets this magazine called Publishers Weekly at his office, and when I go there, I read all about what the bestsellers are and who’s making the big deals.” Zoe’s dad was a lawyer, and she always bragged to Natalie about big deals and famous clients.
Natalie shook her head. “Well, I’ve seen that magazine too, and I’ve also been to my mom’s office at her publishing company, and I’ve seen stacks and stacks of envelopes filled with new books from new authors, and most of them don’t get published. So there!”
“Shhh!” Mr. Levy glared at the girls from his perch at the front desk. Even though it was after three on a Thursday afternoon and they were the only kids in the room, it was still his library, and he liked it quiet.
Natalie whispered, “Let’s go.”
Zoe never admitted that there was something she did not know or could not do. They gathered up their coats and backpacks, and by the time they had walked halfway down the stairs toward the front door of the school, Zoe had a good idea—no, a great idea. But she wasn’t going to just blurt it out. What’s the fun of that? Zoe wanted to make Natalie work for it.
So she said, “I know how to get your book published.”
Natalie shifted her backpack to the other shoulder and glanced sideways at Zoe. She said, “Oh, really?” There was just a trace of sarcasm, but Zoe heard it loud and clear.
Zoe said, “Yes, really.”
Natalie and Zoe had been best friends since their first day of kindergarten at the Deary School. From the start it had been a push-and-pull friendship, the kind that can happen when two very different people like each other a lot.
They stepped out onto the sidewalk. It was sunny, but a cold wind whipped across the Hudson River and skittered off the buildings on Riverside Drive. January in New York wasn’t picnic weather. Pulling up the hood of her parka, Natalie said, “So, what’s your big idea?”
Zoe said, “Ever hear of Ted Geisel?”
Natalie shook her head and said, “No . . . does he go to school here?”
Zoe looked amazed, shocked. She put her hands on her hips and said, “You mean you’ve never heard of Ted Geisel? Really? Well. Then that’s your homework assignment.”
Natalie laughed. “You don’t have an idea at all—you’re just trying to send me on some wild goose chase.”
Zoe shook her head and put on an air of superiority. “No, I really do have a plan, and it’s a very good plan. But until you know who Ted Geisel is, it won’t make any sense to you. So go learn what you have to learn, and we’ll talk about it tomorrow, maybe.”
Natalie lifted her nose into the air and said, “Fine!” She turned on her heel and headed south. She had to walk down to Seventy-second Street and then east to Broadway to catch a bus to her mom’s office in midtown. Most of the schoolkids in the city used the subway. It was a lot faster, but Natalie always felt too closed in down there. Besides, the buses smelled better. Natalie was never in a rush anyway. Today, like almost every school day, it would be about another three hours before she got home.
Zoe would be home in twenty minutes, and all she had to do was put up her hand. When she did, a yellow cab pulled out of the traffic on Riverside Drive. It veered over and lurched to a stop at the curb. Zoe lived on East Sixty-fifth Street, and she always went home in a taxi. As Zoe opened the rear door of the cab she yelled to Natalie, “Remember—Ted Geisel!”
Natalie was almost to the first cross street. She looked back over her shoulder, made a face, and stuck out her tongue. Then she turned and kept walking, smiling to herself.
Zoe could be a pain, but once in a while she really did come up with a great idea. Natalie couldn’t wait to find out something about this Ted Geisel.