The Year Money Grew on Trees - Aaron Hawkins [10]
"You're smart. You'll figure it out. It can't be too hard. There are plenty of people around here raising apples, and no Einsteins in the bunch." Dad started putting his tools away and mumbling about me "giving up a perfectly good job to sharecrop for some old lady." We then walked triumphantly into the kitchen together to fish for compliments from my mom for fixing the washing machine.
Even if he wasn't any help, at least Dad had accepted the idea. Maybe that was the best I could hope for. If everything worked out, he would probably be proud of the great deal I negotiated. Still, it was scary to not be able to rely on my dad for answers. I couldn't remember a time when that had ever happened. It felt like I had been driven out into the desert and abandoned.
For the entire weekend, I thought about everyone I knew and whether they might have a history with apples and, more importantly, whether they'd be willing to help. As I sat staring blankly at the bookcase in our living room, an idea finally bubbled up from somewhere in my brain. What about a book? In sixth grade I had to do a research report on a subject picked out of a hat. I got the Roman Empire and was told I had to use two books besides the encyclopedia. If there were books about something like the Roman Empire, maybe there were books with useful information, too, like how to raise apples. I checked my A—AR encyclopedia volume where I had filed the contract but didn't find nearly enough apple-growing details. I would have to try to find a whole book on the subject somewhere at the library.
***
On Monday I noticed that none of the kids at school carried any books besides their class textbooks. In elementary school we used to have scheduled library times, and some people would constantly check out books. Percy Collyer read every Hardy Boys book there was. In junior high, though, he was bookless.
"Hey, Percy, why aren't you carrying around a book, reading all the time like you used to?" I asked him as we walked between classes.
"I dunno. Never been to the library here, I guess," he said, shrugging.
Come to think of it, neither had I. I didn't even know where the library was, or if one existed. It was time to find out. Since we didn't have any library time in our schedules, I decided I would ask to leave one of my classes early to go find it. The most likely time would be during history.
After the opening bell, I raced through the reading and ditto handout Mr. Clafton had given us. I grabbed my textbook and made my way up to the front of the room, where Mr. Clafton was sitting casually behind his desk.
"There he is! Mr. Jones! Working hard or hardly working?" he asked with a big smile and his feet up.
"Working hard, I guess," I replied, wondering if this was a real question and whether I was supposed to answer it.
"So what's up? Is this new tie awesome or what?" he asked, lovingly stroking a shiny, very thin tie.
"Pretty cool. Mr. Clafton, I'm done with my reading and questions, so I was wondering if I could get a hall pass to go somewhere."
"Sure, if you're all done. Where do you want to go?" he asked, reaching for a stack of hall passes inside his desk.
"I was hoping to get a book from the library."
His feet fell from the desk, and his smile turned into a squinty-eyed stare. "Well, Mrs. Vance, the librarian, doesn't like kids leaving class to go there."
"When are we supposed to go, then? During lunch?"
"No, she's closed during lunch."
"Before school?"
"No, and she closes after school too. If you want something to read, why don't you go check my shelves? I've got some cool books and magazines."
"But I wanted to get something specific. Maybe some thing about history." I thought throwing in that last line might appeal to him as a teacher. I could see the struggle going on inside Mr. Clafton's head. His face was a mixture of fear and recklessness. After staring me down for a few seconds, he finally responded.
"Okay, but don't tell her whose class you're from."
His anxiety was contagious, and I second-guessed