The Fight for Kidsboro (10 page)

“I'm impressed. I guess you're gonna keep this lemonade thing going, huh?”

“Definitely. Especially this summer.”

“Well … I'm sorry for ever doubting you. You really came through. I was beginning to think this new program wasn't working for anybody, but … at least it worked for you.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Well, I'll tell you what. Go on and keep doing what you're doing. In a few weeks, I'll check on you to see if you're still making money. Okay?”

“Sounds good.”

James left, and I held my chin up high. I felt like a father whose son had just hit the home run that won the game. I imagined turning to the other parents in the stands, saying, “I taught him that swing.”

Much to my delight, most of the interviews went just as well. Out of the 10 people I talked with, only three were displeased with the new law. Five had gone out and gotten new jobs or figured out new ways to make money. A couple of them, like James, had rarely lifted a finger in their lives. But I guess with the right incentives, people can produce. I began practicing the speech I would give before the U.S. Congress in 25 years: “Ladies and Gentlemen, I have two words for you—Everybody Works …” (Applause.) “Thank you …” (More applause.) “Thank you …” (Standing ovation.) “Thank you …”

The first thing I did after the interviews was tell Scott, and he immediately took the wind out of my sails.

“James sold lemonade?” he asked.

“That's what he said.”

“Do you believe him?”

“He had the money right there.”

“But do you know for sure that's how he got it?”

“I have no proof, no. You don't think he sold lemonade?”

He picked up a pipe from the table. It wasn't a real pipe, it was a bubble pipe, but he claimed it helped him think. “That doesn't sound like James.”

“I know it doesn't. That's what's so great.”

“And the others. How did they get their money?”

“Different ways.” I looked at him and grabbed the pipe out of his mouth. “Oh, come on. You think they're all lying?”

“Pardon me for raining on your victory parade, but it sounds suspicious,” he said as he grabbed the pipe back. “I think I should investigate.” I guess he figured he was on a roll, detective-wise.

“I'm not paying you.”

“I know that. I'll do this one for you on the house.”

I rolled my eyes. He had never liked the new law. I assumed this was his way of trying to prove it didn't work. He picked up his magnifying glass and hat.

And as he opened the door, someone started screaming.

8

BAD JUSTICE

T
HE SCREAMING WAS COMING FROM
Jill's house, which was next to Scott's. Jill was pointing her finger in Marcy's face, and Marcy wasn't backing away. They were both yelling at the same time, listening to nothing but themselves. Others were gathering around to watch the fight, but Marcy and Jill didn't see them. All they were seeing was red.

“I never should've hired you!” Jill shouted.

“I wish I'd never asked you to!” Marcy replied.

“Fine. Then go ask Corey for a job. Start picking through our trash cans. I hear he needs a decorator for his kitchen!”

“If I'd known what a jerk you'd be for a boss, I would've done that to begin with.”

“
I'm
a jerk? You've been my employee for three weeks and you may have just bankrupted us!”

“You take this dumb newspaper too seriously.”

“Well, thanks to you, that might not be a problem anymore.”

“I hope it does go bankrupt. At least you'll be human again.”

This was too much for me to stand back and watch. I felt responsible for some of this, and the verbal zingers were getting way too personal. I stepped in. “Hey, hey. Wait a minute.”

“Go away,” Jill said to me.

“I'm quitting this town,” Marcy said.

“Marcy—” I said.

“No, wait. I'm not quitting yet. I'm gonna stick around long enough to vote you out of office, then I'll quit.” She stomped away.

Jill turned away from me and headed back into her house. I debated going in the other direction and letting her cool off, but I wanted to defend myself now. I opened the door. She was sitting at a table with her head resting on a stack of papers—the issue in which Corey was misquoted.

“Jill …” I whispered.

“
You're
the cause of all of this!” she shouted without looking up.

“You two will work this out.”

“She was a good friend, Ryan. I slept over at her house when we were in
kindergarten
! I've
never
fought with her like that.”

“That's why you'll be okay.”

“Please! Let me call a city council meeting!”

“It's not the law, Jill. The program is working. We just need to work out a few of the kinks.”

“You're putting the town before friendships.”

“I'm not, I—”

Her head popped up as if it were attached to a spring. “Then how come I just lost one of my best friends?” She brushed her hair away from her face. Her eyes watered like she might cry, and she stared at me, waiting for an answer to this unanswerable question. She breathed in sharply. “There are things that go on outside these woods, Ryan,” she said.

“I know,” I replied.

“Then maybe you should stop being so much of a mayor and just be a kid.” Jill laid her head back down on the stack of papers.

“I'm sorry.” I didn't know what else to say, so I turned and left.

The crowd that had gathered to see the cat fight between Marcy and Jill had not yet dispersed. They all looked at me, searching for some look on my face that would tell them what had happened. Scott ran up to me.

“What's going on?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Well, hey,” he began, excited. “Guess what I just saw.” I looked at him as if to say, “I'm not guessing.”

“I saw James going into Max's house.” I failed to catch his point, and he noticed. “Come on! James and Max? They're not friends. They're not even
close
.”

“Scott, would you please get to whatever point you're trying to make.”

“I think Max is up to something.”

“So, what's new?”

“No, I mean, with all these people suddenly making money, like James. I think Max is responsible.”

“You think he's hiring them for something?”

“I don't know. But it seems possible, doesn't it?” I hated to admit it, but this did sound like something both James and Max would do. “Let's go investigate,” Scott said, leading the way.

I think Scott sensed that if he was going to uncover something here, he was going to have to do it primarily on his own. I did not want to find anything. I wanted James to be telling the truth.

We sneaked toward Max's house and watched from behind a tree. James was nowhere in sight. We tiptoed a little closer, making more noise than we would have if we had just walked, but that wasn't important. Scott was on the prowl. We were behind the tree closest to Max's house, and we could hear voices from inside.

“Is that James?” I whispered.

“I can't tell,” Scott said. The leaves crunched under Scott's feet as he inched closer. Suddenly, the door swung open. He scurried back to the tree.

James came out of the house. “It's due Monday,” Max said to him from inside. James had a thick book in his left hand.

“Okay,” James replied like a servant to his king. James closed the door behind him.

“Let's get him,” I whispered.

“Wait,” Scott said. “Let's just follow him for a minute.”

James went through the down town area and stopped at one of the two picnic tables that made up our park. He sat down and opened the book. He pulled a pencil out of his pocket and began to work.

Scott was ready. “Okay, let's go.” We pretended we were on our way to the other side of town and just happened to see our good friend James there.

“James!” Scott said with a smile pasted on his face.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing?” Scott asked as he sat down across from him at the picnic table. I slid in next to Scott.

“Just a little homework.”

“Oh.” Scott lifted up the corner of the thick book to read the title. “Algebra. Tough stuff. Especially for a sixth grader.”

James pulled the book toward him and suddenly became very interested in his homework.

“You know, Ryan, I don't know any
sixth
graders in algebra. That's a seventh grade class, isn't it?”

“I think so,” I said, knowing exactly what Scott was up to and playing along.

“I'm in an advanced-placement class,” James said, stuttering over every word. This was actually not that far from believable. James was definitely smart enough to be in an advanced-placement class. The problem with him was that he would be too lazy to do all the work required. I didn't believe him, and neither did Scott.

“Oh, I didn't know that. But I guess I could've just asked the algebra teachers. I have them for math. In fact, maybe I'll ask them at school tomorrow.”

“Well …” James was thinking fast. “I'm not actually in the class. They didn't want me to be in a seventh grade class, you know, because I'm a sixth grader, but I'm doing the work at home. I have a tutor.” This was very good. James seemed flustered as he closed his book. “I gotta go,” he told us.

“But you just got here,” Scott said.

“I know, but I just remembered something I have to do.” James spun out of his seat and practically ran away from us, stumbling over a tree root as he went.

“So, what do you think?” Scott said.

I hated to admit this. “I think Max is paying him to do his homework.”

“Pretty obvious.”

“But that doesn't mean Max is paying
everybody
. Max doesn't have that much homework—and he's smarter than most of those kids. There's no way he'd
let
them do his homework.”