Room One Page 10

  Dave and Lynsey walked to the front of the room. Dave was supposed to begin the presentation by telling about the history of India. He looked down at his index cards, looked up at Mrs. Overby, looked out at the class, and he opened his mouth.

  But he didn’t talk.

  He coughed. Dave coughed for about ten seconds. Then he wiped his mouth, looked at his index cards again, looked at Mrs. Overby again, looked at the class again, opened his mouth again, and … coughed some more. He coughed and coughed and coughed until his face was bright red and he was all bent over.

  Lynsey stood there, feeling helpless. Dave hadn’t told her about his experiment, so all she could do was watch—and listen to his horrible coughing. Lynsey’s opinion of Dave had never been high, and it sank lower by the second.

  Mrs. Overby thought she knew what was happening with Dave. She had seen this before—kids who got so nervous that they made themselves sick rather than talk in front of the class. It surprised her, because Dave wasn’t shy at all. Ever. In fact, none of this year’s fifth graders were the least bit shy or nervous about talking. Ever.

  But the teacher took pity, and she said, “You’d better go get some water. You two can give your report later.”

  Lynsey gave Dave a disgusted look and went back to her desk.

  Dave nodded at Mrs. Overby, coughed a few more times for good measure, and hurried out of the room.

  And with Dave out in the hall getting a drink, it’s the perfect time to tell why he was in the middle of his fourth hour of not talking, and why he had decided to keep quiet in the first place.

  CHAPTER 2

  GANDHI

  When something happens, there’s usually a simple explanation. But that simple explanation is almost never the full story. Here’s the simple explanation anyway: Dave had decided to stop talking for a whole day because of something he’d read in a book.

  See? Very simple, very clear. But it’s not the whole story.

  So here’s a little more.

  Dave and a partner had to prepare a report on India—not a long one, just some basic facts. Something about the history, something about the government, something about the land and the industry, something about the Indian people and their culture. Five minutes or less.

  Dave’s report partner was Lynsey Burgess, and neither one of them was happy about that—there were some boy-girl problems at Laketon Elementary School. But this isn’t the time to tell about that.

  Even though Dave and Lynsey had to give their report together, they both agreed that they did not want to prepare it together. So they divided the topics in half, and each worked alone.

  Dave was a good student, and he had found two books about India, and he had checked them out of the library. He hadn’t read both books, not completely—he wasn’t that good a student. But he had read parts of both books.

  Dave thought the most interesting section in each book was the part about how India became independent, how the country broke away from England to become a free nation—sort of like the United States did.

  And Dave thought the most interesting person in the story of India’s independence was Mahatma Gandhi.

  Dave was amazed by Gandhi. This one skinny little man practically pushed the whole British army out of India all by himself. But he didn’t use weapons or violence. He fought with words and ideas. It was an incredible story, all of it true.

  And in one of the books, Dave read this about Gandhi:

  For many years, one day each week Gandhi did not speak at all. Gandhi believed this was a way to bring order to his mind.

  Dave read that bit of information on Thursday afternoon, and he read it again on Sunday night as he prepared for his oral report. And it made him wonder what that would be like—to go a whole day without saying a single word. And Dave began to wonder if not talking would bring order to his mind too.

  In fact, Dave wondered what that meant, “to bring order to his mind.” Could something as simple as not talking change the way your mind worked? Seemed like it must have been good for Gandhi. But what would it do for a regular kid in New Jersey?

  Would not talking make him … smarter? Would he finally understand fractions? If he had more order in his mind, would he be able to look at a sentence and see which word was an adverb—instead of just guessing? And how about sports? Would someone with a more orderly mind be a better baseball player?

  Powerful questions.

  So Dave decided to zip his lip and give it a try.

  Was it hard for him to keep quiet? You bet, especially at first, like when he got to the bus stop, where his friends were arguing about why the Jets had lost to the Patriots. But Dave had learned quickly that by nodding and smiling, by frowning and shrugging, by shaking his head, by giving a thumbs-up or a high five, or even by just putting his hands in his coat pockets and turning away, not talking was possible. And by the time he’d ridden the bus to school, Dave had gotten pretty good at fitting in without speaking up.

  There. That explains what’s going on a little better. And it’s probably enough, at least for the moment. But there’s more. There’s always more.

  And now we’re back in class on Monday with Dave, who got through the rest of social studies without saying a word. And when the bell rang at the end of the period, it was time for fifth-grade lunch.

  More than a hundred and twenty-five kids began hurrying toward the cafeteria. And by the time they got there, the fifth graders were already talking like crazy—all except one.

  CHAPTER 3

  INSULTS

  If you had to shut up for five minutes, I bet the whole top of your head would explode!” As those words flew out of his mouth, Dave had two thoughts.

  First, he thought, Darn it!—because he remembered he’d been trying not to talk at all.

  And his second thought was, Gandhi probably wouldn’t have said that. Because it wasn’t a very nice thing to say.

  But that’s what Dave said, and he said it to Lynsey Burgess, and there was a reason he said it.

  So it’s time to back up a little and explain.

  Dave had gotten through the lunch line without a peep. He had pointed at the pizza plate, then pointed at the fruit cup. He had nodded for “yes, please” and shook his head for “no, thanks.” He had grabbed some milk from the cooler and flashed his lunch pass at Mrs. Vitelli. And he had smiled a lot.

  No talking? No problem.

  Then he’d sat down at a table with some of his friends, just like always. But instead of jumping into the conversation, Dave had kept a pleasant look on his face, and he’d kept his mouth full of food.

  No talking? No problem.

  And because he wasn’t talking, Dave had focused all his energy on listening.

  Listening at the lunch table, really listening, was a brand-new experience for him. Because most of the time Dave was a loudmouth.

  See? There’s something more about Dave. And it makes Dave’s reaction to Gandhi make more sense. Because if Dave himself was a loudmouth, a real tongue-flapper, then someone like Gandhi who could keep completely quiet would seem that much more amazing.

  Because Dave really did love to talk. He could talk and talk and talk about almost anything—baseball, cars, dinosaurs, rock hunting, soccer, snowboarding, waterskiing, favorite books, best football players, camping, canoeing, PlayStation, Nintendo, Xbox, comic books, TV shows, movies—you name it. Dave had a long, long list of interests, and he had plenty of opinions.

  Plus, talking always made Dave feel like he was in charge. It was sort of like being a police officer out in the middle of traffic. As long as he did the talking, the traffic went the way he wanted it to. This was especially useful if insults started flying around. When it came to dishing out the put-downs, Dave was a pro.

  But this lunchtime, all the other loudmouths were getting a chance to spout off.

  So Dave had chewed his pizza, and sipped his milk, and listened. And after a minute or two he began listening to Lynsey Burgess. But only becaus
e he couldn’t help it.

  Even though she was sitting behind him at the next table, and even though the cafeteria was almost bursting with noise, Lynsey had a sharp voice, the kind that cuts like a hacksaw.

  “… so I said, ‘Are you serious?’ and she said, ‘What’s wrong with you?’ and I said, ‘Because I saw it first,’ and I did, and it was a great color for me, because my hair’s brown, and her hair’s that mousy blond color, but her mom was right there in the store, so she picked it up and took it over to her, and her mom bought it! Can you believe that? She knew I wanted that sweater more than anything, and she bought it anyway. And then? After school on Friday at soccer practice? She smiled at me, like she wanted to be friends or something—as if! Can you believe that?”

  No, Dave couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe that anyone could flap and yap her mouth so fast, and say so many words, and be so boring and stupid-sounding, all at the same time. He took another bite of pizza and tried to stop listening, but Lynsey was just getting warmed up.

  “… because then, she comes over after practice? And she says, ‘Here, this is for you,’ and she tries to give me the sweater. So I pull my hands away like she’s holding a dead skunk or something, and I say, ‘You think I want that? That thing is so ugly, I would never wear that!’ And she says, ‘Oh’—just like that—just, ‘Oh’—and she walks away with the sweater. Except now, I wish I hadn’t said that, because it really is the best color, and it’s really soft….”

  By this point, Dave was wishing he had an iPod. Because if he had one, and if it hadn’t been against school rules, he could have plugged up both his ears and cranked the volume. Anything to get away from the sound of Lynsey’s voice.

  “… because once I tried wearing this sweater that was made of wool? And it made my neck itch so much, like, I couldn’t even wear it for two minutes, but it was okay, because then my mom found this turtleneck way down in the bottom of my dresser, and I’d forgotten I even had it, and it was pink, so then I put that on first, and then the sweater was fine, because, really, it was like the two colors went together perfectly, almost like a picture in a magazine. Because last week in Teen People? Jenna and Lori and Keith were at this party, like, in Hollywood or somewhere? And Jenna had on a sweater that was almost like that wool one I have, and she was wearing these …”

  And that was the moment when Dave completely forgot about keeping silent, and he turned around and almost shouted, “If you had to shut up for five minutes, I bet the whole top of your head would explode!”

  And Dave was glad he’d said it, even if it wasn’t nice, and even though it ended his experiment. Because after he said it, Lynsey stopped talking.

  But the quiet only lasted about three seconds.

  Lynsey said, “Is your cough all better? Because I thought I just heard a whiny little voice.” She and her friends stared at Dave. “Did you say something?”

  “Yeah, I did,” he said. “I said, I bet if you had to shut up for five minutes, the top of your head would explode. Like a volcano. From all the hot gas that usually comes out of your mouth. When you talk and talk and talk and never stop talking. Yeah. That’s what I said. To you.”

  Lynsey tilted her head and looked at Dave, sort of the way a bird looks at a bug it’s about to eat.

  “Oh, like there’s something wrong with talking? You never have any trouble with yourself blabbing and blabbing every day. We’ve all heard you.” And the other girls nodded and made faces.

  “Well,” Dave said, “talking’s okay, when there’s stuff worth saying.”

  Lynsey said, “Ohhh—so boys can say things like, ‘Hey, did you hear this guy got traded to that team, and that guy got traded to this team, and, hey, he hit real good last year, and, ooh yeah, he can really catch!’ Boys can talk and talk like that, but girls can’t talk about clothes sometimes? Is that it?”

  Dave said, “No … but I don’t talk the way you talk, like, for a million minutes in a row without stopping. And … and …”

  Dave was hunting for something strong to say, a real punch line, something that would shut Lynsey up and end this conversation. So he said, “… and anyway, boys never talk as much as girls do, ever!”

  Please take a careful look at that last thing Dave just said.

  Because with this particular group of fifth graders, that was a dangerous thing to say.

  And now is a good time to tell a little more about the fifth-grade boys and the fifth-grade girls at Laketon Elementary School—to explain why it was a bad idea for Dave to say what he just said.

  Because Dave should have kept his mouth shut.

  He really should have.