Jack Strong Takes a Stand (13 page)

“What's that for?” she asked, surprised.

I looked up at her. “I guess just for understanding,” I said.

My mom hugged me back, and neither one of us said anything for a minute. Finally she let me go.

“If only you were this dedicated to Chinese,” she said.

 

35

 

At four o'clock,
two huge trucks rumbled up our little street and parked on our lawn.

“Whoa,” said Nana, peering out the window. After getting home from the city, she'd spent most of the afternoon picking out an outfit.

I'd spent most of the afternoon practicing my answers to imaginary questions.

“Yes, Brody, it's great to be an inspiration to kids around the country.”

“Yes, Brody, I do miss school, and my friends, but it's for a good cause.”

“No, Brody, I don't have a girlfriend right now, but I'm definitely open to suggestions.”

When I heard the roar of the trucks, I looked out the window. A huge guy with a beard hopped out of the first truck.

“Let's set up the stage right here,” he yelled to the rest of the guys.

Stage?

“Use the house as the backdrop,” he continued. “And get that tree in the frame, too. It's pretty.”

Soon, eight more guys jumped out of the trucks. Half of them set up a little path of metal sheets, and the rest unhitched the huge truck doors and started rolling off a bunch of giant steel planks.

The next thing I knew, my mom was running outside at a full sprint.

“Excuse me, excuse me! Hello? What is all this??!?” she yelled at no one in particular.

When no one in particular answered her, she went up to the huge bearded guy, who seemed like he was in charge.

“Can you please move these trucks? You're ruining my lawn.”

“Sorry, ma'am, we need to unload the deck for the stage.”

“STAGE?!”

The huge bearded guy looked down at her. “Are you Mrs. Strong?”

“Yes,” she said. “Get these trucks off my lawn.”

“I'd love to, but I'd get fired,” he answered.

“Ha-ha,” said my mom. “What's your name?”

“Larry,” he said a bit reluctantly.

“Well, Larry, this is a TV show, not Woodstock. No one said anything to me about trashing my property. So I suggest you move these trucks in the next five minutes or this whole show isn't going to happen, and then I bet a lot more people will get fired.”

Larry examined my mom and quickly decided she wasn't kidding.

“Give me ten minutes.”

My mom looked him up and down, then nodded once. “Fine. But if you boys disturb so much as a single dandelion, your lawyers will be hearing from me.” Then she gave him a friendly smile. “I'll have some lemonade out in a minute.”

As my mom came back inside, she noticed me. “The things mothers do for their children,” she said.

Larry the Beard watched her go, then hollered, “Let's pick up the pace, boys!”

Sure enough, exactly ten minutes later the trucks were backing off the lawn and heading up the street to the cul-de-sac.

While the rest of the guys were building the stage, Larry saw me looking out the window and came over. “That your mom?”

“Yup.”

He shook his head. “Piece of work.”

“Hey, watch it!” I said.

“It's a compliment, little man,” he said, chuckling. “So you're Jack Strong.”

“Yup,” I said again.

“Cool,” Larry said. “Wait here.”

“Where am I gonna go?” I said, and he laughed.

A minute later, he came back with three guys, and they picked up my couch and carried me out to the front lawn in about six seconds. And nobody dropped anything on their toes.

“So what's this all about?” Larry asked me, taking a mashed banana out of his jean jacket and eating it.

“What's what all about?”

“This whole strike thing. You trying to get a girl or something?”

“I'm in middle school,” I said. “I'm always trying to get a girl.”

Larry roared with laughter, little banana particles flying out of his mouth. “That's funny, little man!”

A loud engine got us both to turn around. A huge trailer was coming up the street, followed by one of those fancy SUVs. They both pulled into our driveway.

I was starting to realize that it takes a lot of vehicles to put on a television show.

“Walter Cronkite's here,” Larry said, which I think was some kind of joke that I didn't get.

Brody hopped out of the SUV.

“My guy Jack Strong!” he said, walking up to me and extending his hand. He looked perfect, as usual, except for the fact that he was wearing a bib.

“Hey, Brody,” I said.

He pointed at the trailer. “That's where I'll be for the next couple of hours, getting beautiful.”

“Cool,” I said. Shaina Townsend, the woman who did the background interview with me two days ago, was there, too, wearing the shortest dress I had ever seen. She looked at Brody and smiled, and he looked at her and he smiled, and I immediately decided that they were boyfriend and girlfriend.

Brody turned back to me. “So, we are going to have some fun tonight! Especially with Mrs. Fleck right across the street throwing her own little shindig. Holy smokes, this might be a first, even for me!”

He slapped me on the back and disappeared into the trailer.

Sitting there watching the huge stage being built, I decided to take a picture and text it to Leo.

OMG IT'S HAPPENING.

Two seconds later he texted back.

DOUBLE OMG.

 

36

 

The next three hours
went by in a blur.

5:00 p.m.
A short guy in one of those Crocodile Hunter jackets introduced himself to me. “I'm Mel, Brody's producer,” he explained.

I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“We are going to kill it tonight,” said Mel, whatever that means.

6:00 p.m.
Mrs. Fleck drove past our house and up to the cul-de-sac at the end of the street. The first thing she did was put up a huge poster between two trees. It had a picture of an overweight kid sleeping on a couch and it said,
It's Wrong to Lie
, which was kind of clever, I had to admit.

6:15 p.m.
People started joining Mrs. Fleck. I recognized a couple of the stricter teachers from school, a couple of parents and their hopefully unwilling children, and my standardized-test tutor. (He probably figured he had to support Mrs. Fleck, since it's people like her that helped him put a pool in at his house.)

6:30 p.m.
A bunch of kids from school came over to our house, cheering and yelling and holding up signs that said things like
Jack Makes Us All Strong!
and
My Schedule Includes Xbox!
Nana and my mom fed them all pizza. I was too nervous to eat. Which was a first.

6:45 p.m.
People kept coming. Some I recognized, some I didn't.

7:00 p.m.
A student string quartet started playing Beethoven in the cul-de-sac. Mrs. Fleck cheered as if they were Lady Gaga. The cello player wasn't as good as me. Just saying.

7:30 p.m.
The stage was finally ready. There were three cameras. Brody emerged from his trailer and brought a woman over to me to put some makeup on my face. It itched.

7:45 p.m.
The couch was lifted up onto the stage, with me on it.

7:50 p.m.
The lights came on.

7:59 p.m.
Brody looked at me. “You ready, kid?” I nodded. He pointed at the camera. “When you see that red light go on it means we're on the air.” He chuckled. “So don't be picking your nose or anything.” I responded to that the only way I knew how—by touching my nose. Sweat beads started popping out on my forehead. Brody cracked his knuckles, stretched out his neck, and gave me a thumbs-up. “It's show time.”

8:00 p.m.
Show time.

 

37

 

A blinding light suddenly zapped
me right between the eyes.

Two huge applause signs started blinking, and people in the front yard started clapping and hooting wildly. It was like one of those pregame college football shows on ESPN.

Not everyone clapped, though. Some people actually booed. I should have known right then that things wouldn't go exactly as planned.

The camera panned over the crowd and landed on Brody's bright, toothy smile.

“Hello, everyone, and welcome to
Kidz in the Newz
, the show that brings our area's youngest newsmakers right into your living room. I'm Brody Newhouse, and tonight we're broadcasting live from the front yard of a young man named Jack Strong.”

The red light of my camera came on, and I tried to smile. The crowd cheered, and I heard Nana yell, “Bravo! Bravo!” which made me turn the color of a tomato.

“There's a real problem in this country,” Brody continued. “Because the world has gotten so much more competitive, parents have decided that the only way their kids will succeed is by getting into the very best college. And the only way to do that, apparently, is by filling their children's every waking hour with some sort of self-improvement activity, as early as grade school. From sports, to music, to academics, to languages, it's not enough to just be good anymore. Now, you have to be the best. And to be the best, you have to be practicing, working all the time.”

Brody turned to another camera. “It was only a matter of time before one of these overscheduled children would decide that they'd had enough. And ten days ago, it finally happened. On a Monday afternoon, after a weekend filled with games, lessons, classes, and tutors, a middle school boy named Jack Strong asked his parents if he could skip soccer practice. They said no. And that was it. That was the last straw for young Jack. He went on strike. He sat down on the couch. He hasn't gotten up since. And now, kids everywhere are supporting him in what's becoming a real movement.”

The crowd roared again, until Brody asked for silence.

“But, like any controversial issue, there are passionate arguments on both sides. As we speak, a hundred yards away from us, there is a block party going on sponsored by Missy Fleck, a local parent who has emerged as the most vocal opponent of Jack Strong and what he's doing. She is very firm in her belief that kids need to work hard to get ahead, and there are many that agree with her.”

A cheer went up across the street.

“We will be hearing from Mrs. Fleck later,” Brody said.

We will?

“As well as a surprise guest,” Brody continued.

Really? Who? For a second I thought
Dad?

“And in a moment,” Brody concluded, “we will hear from the man himself, Jack Strong. But first, a little background on this amazing story.”

The lights went out as a bunch of screens set up around the yard played a short report narrated by Shaina Townsend. There were pictures of me doing all my various activities. There was an interview with Mrs. Bender at school, where she called me “one of her favorites.” There was the interview from Wednesday where I said Mrs. Fleck “pushes her kids too hard,” which made some people in the front yard hoot with approval. And it showed a short interview with Nana, where she said, “I've never been more proud of him in my entire life. Plus, we play cards all day long, it's wonderful!”

Mrs. Fleck wasn't on there, though. I guess they were saving her for the live show.

After the video ended, the lights came up and Brody announced, “Back to talk with Jack Strong, after these short messages.”

During the commercial break, the makeup people came out and attacked Brody's face, while barely touching mine. “You're younger than me, you don't need as much help,” he said.

The stage lights came back on.

“Welcome back to
Kidz in the Newz
. And now, at last, Jack Strong.” The applause signs flashed, and Brody turned to me.

“Jack, tell us how the whole thing began.”

After all the waiting, and all the sitting, and all the sweating, I was ready.

I took a deep breath.

“Well, like you said, one day after school, I was sitting on the couch, and my mom came to get me for soccer practice, and I told her I didn't want to go.”

Brody looked at me, waiting. “And…?”

I wasn't sure what else to say. He'd basically just told everyone the story. But Brody kept looking at me, so I told it again. “And … I told my parents I wanted to quit some of the activities that they made me do. And they didn't let me. They said I needed to be well rounded to get into college. So I decided to go on strike and stay on the couch until they changed their minds.”

“Let's talk about your dad,” Brody said. “This is mainly his doing, correct? This obsession with getting into a good college?”