Authors: Sue Stauffacher
Donuthead (15 page)
I leaned over and picked up the skates. “I disinfected them,” my mother said.
But that wasn't what I was thinking. I was thinking that they surely weren't as graceful as Sarah Kervick's. They seemed
like the kind of skates that might belong to Marvin Howerton. Like they'd had some experiences from which they were lucky to come out alive.
“Want to try? I could help you on with this stuff.”
I looked over the impressive pile of protection and then back out at Sarah on the ice. She had already improved. Her back straight as a ruler, she made her way slowly across the ice, the blades of her skates peeling off layers rather than chunks.
“I think I'll watch for a little while,” I said.
She patted my shoulder and looked across the ice to Sarah's figure.
“She's going to get good, isn't she? She's going to make that ice behave.”
“She'll beat it into submission,” I agreed, as if such a thing were possible.
“Well, I told 'em I just had to make this little delivery to you, so I better get back.”
I watched Sarah for a while longer.
What was it like to be fearless?
“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” It was FDR's voice that delivered the familiar line in my ear. I almost saw him there, sitting next to me in his big wool overcoat and muffler, patting me with a giant mittened hand.
Go on, son,
he was saying.
It's not just a bunch of campaign hooey. I really mean it.
A pair of thick socks tumbled from the bag under my feet. I unrolled them and pulled them on over my own socks. It took a little time to work my feet into the skates, since they were waiting for some other kid's feet. My frozen fingers struggled to
tie the laces tight, and I held on for dear life as I climbed down the bleachers.
Hobbling over to the opening of the rink, I was surprised by Sarah, who careened around the bend, tilting at a dangerous angle.
“Franklin?” Breathless, she nearly slid into me as she fell on her butt trying to come to a stop. “Are you comin' out here?”
I decided not to look down at the ice. Its ability to absorb shock seemed woefully inadequate. My teeth started to chatter.
“I could help you, if you want,” she offered, holding out her hands.
“P-p-pull me fast,” I said, before I could lose my nerve. I grabbed on to her hands. “I w-w-want to feel like I'm flying.”
Books are so personal. Even when they are filled with characters we have created, a writer's memories are delicately woven into her fictions. When I was about eight years old, for example, a little girl named Sarah showed up in our classroom. Her long blond hair was so tangled, it looked like a robin's nest was perched on the back of her head. I was too polite to ask about it, but I was very curious. After a week or so, the tangles were gone. Someone had combed them out. I'd like to acknowledge that person, but I don't know who he or she is. A teacher? A neighbor? A mother, suddenly come to her senses? Who took the time to notice a little girl's distress and act in order to make her feel better? So, thank you, whoever you are, and thank you to all adults who help children with their generous acts of kindness.
In her letter to Sarah, Gloria says,
“Hold fast to your dream, Sarah…. And surround yourself with people who believe in that dream for you. And you will achieve it.”
My dream has been to write books for children, and I've always been careful to surround myself with people who would support me in my dream. The most steadfast among them is my husband, Roger. I've always felt that with Roger, all things are possible. And with my sons and my wonderful friends and family, I am blessed with support. I'd also like to thank my mom and dad, Joan and Al Stauffacher, for teaching me how good it feels to help someone in need, and my mother-in-law, Marge Gilles, and my friends Debra and Levitan for cheering on
Donuthead
from the first draft.
My agent, Wendy Schmalz, has been representing me for
many years. After a dry period with no sales, I asked Wendy why she didn't dump me in favor of more lucrative clients. She said, “Because I believe in you, that's why.” I will be forever grateful for her friendship and her faith in me.
Finally, I don't think people realize the extent to which a writer and an editor collaborate to create a book. When I met Nancy Hinkel, my editor at Knopf, I knew that Donuthead had found a wise and witty companion on his journey to becoming a novel. Nancy challenged me to write a better story, and her suggestions resulted in enhancements I wouldn't have dreamed possible. If you like Paul, Bernie, Glynnis, even dented packages of Twinkies, then know you have Nancy to thank for this. I know I do. It has been a wonderful experience to collaborate on
Donuthead
with such a gifted editor.
• • •
What else can possibly happen to Franklin Delano Donuthead? Turn the page for a sneak peek at the first chapter of
Donutheart
,
the hilarious companion to
Donuthead,
coming in October 2006.
DONUTHEART
ISBN 0-375-83275-0
Excerpt copyright © 2006 by Sue Stauffacher. Published by Alfred A. Knopf Books for Young Readers
CHAPTER ONE
Fear of Flying
In the course of human events, it is sometimes necessary to reduce one's water intake to delay natural functioning. Using the boys' bathroom at Pelican View Middle School was to be avoided whenever possible. I will spare you the details of my first visit; it's enough to know that it involved me, Franklin Delano Donuthead, an industrial-sized roll of toilet paper, and an eighth-grade knowledge of ancient Egyptian mummification techniques.
The problem is, the adolescent body is 75 percent water. And what goes in must come out. Just not in the boys' bathroom. Note that I did not say “the boys' and girls' bathrooms.” All you need is a peek through the open door to realize that girls can attend to their business behind closed doors. I am still working through my feelings about this. Who decided—and then proceeded to tell generations of architects—that boys need less privacy than girls? Who? Girls are always saying they want everything to be equal.
Hello? The restroom facilities are not equal.
Principles such as equality are as important to me as they were to my namesake, Franklin Delano Roosevelt. “Rules,” our late great thirty-second president liked to say, “are not necessarily sacred. Principles are.” So, I maintain a strict code of conduct based on my interpretation of the principles set forth by President Roosevelt in the New Deal. These include:
Mental Improvement
Health Promotion
Risk Avoidance
The sad state of boys' bathroom facilities had not yet hit the national scene when FDR was in office. Understandably, he had to figure out the Depression and World War II first. Historians could also argue that FDR was more concerned with job security than risk avoidance. But I am living proof that times have changed and the order of the principles needs to be shuffled around a bit for the new century.
So, every time I stand outside the boys' bathroom, health promotion and risk avoidance start duking it out in my mind.
Health Promotion:
Pee! You've got to!
Risk Avoidance:
Are you kidding? Protect your vitals!
Health Promotion:
Use the staff bathroom by the office.
Risk Avoidance:
What if Coach Dilemming's in there?
By the third week of sixth grade, my tendency to avoid risk was winning on a daily basis, and my lack of fluids was affecting my overall level of health so dramatically that I was forced to do what I try very hard not to.
And that is to interrupt the early morning reverie of the chief statistician for the National Safety Department in Washington, D.C. Her name is Gloria Nelots, and I happen to know that at six-thirty a.m. she is at her desk at department headquarters, drinking a cup of very strong coffee with powdered cream and artificial sweetener and synchronizing her hand-held to her computer's notebooking system.
Gloria: This better not be you, Franklin.
Me: Is that how you answer an agency line, Gloria? What if I were your boss?
Gloria: I have it on good authority that he is on the treadmill in the company gym at the moment.
(Long silence. Gloria is a bit grumpy in the morning.)
Me: Gloria, have you ever heard of a condition called “paruresis”?
Gloria: I can't say I have, Franklin.
Me: Really? I'm shocked.
Gloria: Well, are you going to enlighten me, or will I be forced to return to enjoying the early morning quiet, which is the very reason I come to work before the rest of the department?
Me: Happy to. Basically, it's a fear of urinating in public.
Gloria: Last I heard, that was illegal.
Me: I'm not talking about the alleys next to bars, Gloria. I'm talking about designated public places. I'm talking about bathrooms … public bathrooms … as in the presence of other … well, boys … eighth graders to be precise. Members of football teams.
Gloria: You're having trouble letting it fly at school? Is that what you called me at 6:37 a.m. eastern standard time to discuss?
Me: Yes!
Gloria: My advice is, turn on the faucet before you unzip. Works wonders.
Me: But—
Gloria: The call buttons are lighting up here, Franklin.
Me: I don't hear any ringing.
Gloria: Nevertheless. Busy, busy. Oh, I almost forgot. How is Sarah? Has she picked out a costume yet?
Me: I'm afraid we're having a little trouble in that department as well.
Gloria: Well, I'm good for the bill. Have Julia send me the receipt straightaway.
Me: The trouble is …
Gloria: Goodbye, Franklin.
Why Gloria and my mother are so wrapped up in Sarah Kervick's life is a complicated matter that I haven't yet been able to completely puzzle through. Sarah arrived in Pelican View eleven months ago, during our fifth and final year of elementary school. At that time, my mother helped her out with certain … difficulties. Sarah does not at present have a mother, so she relies on mine to consult with about hair, clothes, and her overriding passion—figure skating. Gloria has also taken an interest in and helps pay for Sarah's training and other expenses. I cannot for the life of me figure out why these two women should
exercise what little maternal instinct they have on Sarah Kervick when clearly
I,
too, am in need of a mother's loving care.
Especially now that I am in middle school.
But every time I turn around—Sarah Kervick! For example, out of the blue, my mother informed me that Sarah and I would be performing our community-service activities together. As part of Pelican View Panthers Civic Pride Week, which is always the first full week after Labor Day, each sixth grader must sign up for twenty hours of community service to show that we are doing our part to make the world a better place.
When I tried to protest, my mother said, “You have to find something to do together because my new schedule doesn't give me enough time to take you separate places. Need I remind you, Franklin, that it's a requirement? And Sarah has to meet all school requirements in order to skate.”
So there we sat at the kitchen table, my mother and Sarah unwrapping Twinkies at a rapid rate and sprinkling sticky crumbs all over the list of volunteer options.
“This one looks like fun,” my mother said. “We could all do this together. They need three volunteers to stamp hands at the Lions Club Charity Carnival for Kids.”
I happen to know that my mother's boyfriend, Paul Bernard, belongs to the Lions Club. Honestly, it's like she has antennae for anything that will get her more face time with Paul.
“Sure,” Sarah mumbled, her mouth full of Twinkie cream.
“I think not,” I told them. “I just heard on the news it's going to be a banner flu season.”
“So?”
At times it is necessary to connect the dots for Sarah. “All those germy little hands would put us at high risk for infection.”
“All right, all right.” My mother's finger traveled down the list.
“What about raking leaves for the elderly? You can't catch anything from leaves, can you?”
Sarah shrugged. She couldn't think of anything. Once again, it was up to me.
“Certain forms of mold can be very hazardous to
your health. A pile of leaves is a veritable breeding ground for mold spores.”
My mother gave me that look, the one where she raises both eyebrows half an inch. She returned to examining the list.
“Here's one: Search the Internet from your home computer for possible health threats. Then tell other people in agonizing detail about the many ways they can die.”
“Very funny.”
Sarah, who had just taken a big swallow of milk, managed to choke it down before bending over in her chair and cracking up at my expense.
“Or at that Lions Club thing,” she said, “I can dip their hands in bleach before Franklin stamps them.” This got my mother going.
Study after study has shown that a good sense of humor aids longevity, so I was willing to overlook the general gaiety at my expense. However, I did not understand
why
this was funny. Since I'd begun middle school, my risk factors had skyrocketed. Who could blame me for trying to stay safe during extracurricular activities?
You see, while there are many opportunities for mental improvement, health promotion and risk avoidance are very difficult to attain in the middle-school environment. Instead of one classroom and one teacher, I now have seven classrooms, seven teachers, and approximately 478 students to jostle past on any given school day. This last figure takes into account students in more than one class and students within range of my locker. Believe you me, 478 is a conservative estimate.
And that's just standing still. When I'm on the move, things get even more hazardous. We have a mere four minutes between the end of one class and the beginning of another. Due to a bizarre growth pattern, which I am charting for scientific purposes, I find it difficult to “make tracks” in the hallway. You see, one side of my body is longer than the other by almost half an inch. My left arm and leg are outpacing my right arm and leg, making balance, coordination, and participation in any gym or sports activities very difficult for me, though I have yet to convince anyone else of this belief, including Ms. Wolf, our gym teacher.
I do the best I can with what I've got, but on my
very first day, I got tangled up in what I call “The Ponytail Express,” a complicated relay of feminine persons darting back and forth across the hallway. I have observed that a girl with new information to convey has the right-of-way despite the general traffic pattern. Smacking up against unfamiliar girls who act as if
I'm
the one at fault is really quite stressful. And I haven't even mentioned the lunchroom, or the boys' locker room.
Or
any of the three boys' bathrooms.
As you can see, simply getting through the day intact had become my new challenge. And every time I thought things couldn't get worse … they did.
On Thursday morning of the sixth full week of middle school, I found my way to Miss Mathews' homeroom and took my assigned seat opposite Sarah Kervick. I sit next to Sarah Kervick in five of my seven classes. My mother calls it fate. I call it administrative tampering at the highest level. You see, while Sarah has taken it upon herself to keep me safe from the criminal element at school, I am to make sure that her grade point average doesn't travel south of a 2.0, or C, which is the requirement for participation in the
Greater Pelican View Amateur Figure Skating Association, otherwise known as the GPVAFSA.
Honestly, I don't know whose task is more difficult.
“Well, what did Gloria say?” she whispered as Miss Mathews carefully arranged herself in a seated position on the table near the whiteboard, her grade book at her side.
“She said you better get your costume or you won't have one in time for the exhibition,” I whispered back. “Or the regionals!”
Sarah gripped the edge of her desk. “Not about that! About … you know … the other thing.”
Was it a clear view of Miss Mathews' knees or Sarah mentioning “the other thing” that caused me to suddenly feel like my face had a tropical fever? Miss Mathews was a recent graduate of Michigan State University with a dual degree in English and Science Education. While I had no quarrel with her credentials, both her age and her style of dress made it difficult for me to think of her as a teacher.
In fact, it was Miss Mathews in a wrap skirt and sleeveless blouse that sent me to
www.WebMD.com
to find a remedy for the vessel-dilating response known as blushing. Blushing results from the severe dilation of the small blood vessels in the face. We blush when we're uncomfortable, or in response to undesired social attention. Blushing is most common during adolescence—yes, the middle-school years!— when social anxiety is at its peak. I'm sorry to report there is no cure for blushing, leading me to wonder how all this redirection of blood flow would affect my overall level of health.
I turned back to Sarah. “She said I should turn on the faucet, okay?”
“That's what I told you!” Sarah said, squeezing my arm like a python. She seemed to forget we were in the center of a crowded classroom with a teacher up front taking attendance.
“Samantha?” Miss Mathews cupped a hand behind her ear and leaned forward. “Do you have something to say to us?”
Sarah slumped down in her seat and glared at Miss Mathews.
“It's Sarah, not Samantha.”
“Sarah?” Miss Mathews consulted her grade
book. “I'm sorry, I was thinking of third period. Samantha Eggers sits in that seat third period.”
“Whatever,” Sarah responded.
Miss Mathews looked as if she'd hoped for more, so I added, “A completely natural mistake,” and the roll-taking continued.