No Talking (3 page)

He said,“If you go find a dictionary, can you look up the word ‘won't'?”

Lynsey nodded.“Of course you can.” “Then it's a word—one word,” said Dave. “Any other questions?”

And now it was Lynsey's turn to hide her

thoughts, because she was impressed with Dave's answer. He was still
very
annoying, but his answer seemed right, plus he'd explained his reasoning clearly. But she didn't get carried away with good feelings about Dave. He was still a miserable, unpleasant boy who was forcing her to get involved in a pointless contest.

It's also a shame to have to report this, but Lynsey was just as proud and stubborn as Dave.And since he had pushed her into this fight, she felt it was her duty to push back—and she saw the perfect way to do it.

She turned away and whispered something to the girls at her lunch table, and when they all nodded their heads, she turned back to Dave. She gestured toward her friends and said, “
We
want to make this contest harder. How about this: no talking at home, either. Or on the school bus, or anywhere else. No talking at all—except for what we already decided. Not even to parents. And let's make the contest last for
two
days instead of one—two twenty-four-hour days in a row. Unless you think that's too
hard
.”

Dave shrugged. “Fine, no problem. Except . . . how do we keep track of all the mess-ups when you and your friends start gabbing at home?”

“You mean, when the
boys
cheat?” said Lynsey.

“Simple. We'll have to use the honor system when we're not at school. It's the only way. We all keep track of our own mistakes. And report them.
Honestly
. Except I don't know if the
boys
can be trusted. Have any boys even
heard
of the honor system? I
know
you can trust the girls.”

“Don't worry about us,” Dave said.

Lynsey tossed her head.“So when does the contest start? The girls can be ready by tomorrow. At lunchtime. Unless that's too soon for the boys. Do you need more time to get organized? Like a week? Or
two
weeks?”

“Very funny,” said Dave. “We'll start Tuesday, tomorrow. At the beginning of lunch. And it's not over until Thursday ...how about at twelve fifteen? That'll be the middle of lunch period.” Lynsey nodded, and Dave went on. “I'll be the official score-keeper for our side, and you keep track for the girls. And no cheating. Okay?”

Lynsey nodded again.“Agreed.” She held out her hand.

Dave looked at it like it was covered with slime. “What?” he said.

Lynsey wrinkled her nose. “It's
revolting
, but we have to shake on it—so
you
won't try to back out.”

Dave shook, and then made a show of wiping his

hand on his pants, which got a big laugh from the five or six other boys who had witnessed the ceremony.

And as Dave turned and went into a huddle with the guys at his lunch table, Lynsey did the same with the girls at her table.

The contest was on.

T
he boys Dave ate lunch with were his best friends. He looked around at them and grinned after he'd explained the rules. “Cool contest, huh?”

Todd shook his head. “I'm not doing this—it's dumb.Who wants to not talk? Besides, it's impossible, like she said.”

“You think girls
can
stop talking, but boys
can't
?” Dave asked. “So you're just giving up without a fight? Is that it?”

Todd said,“Well, no ...but it's still a stupid idea.” “So what?” said Dave. “It's a
contest
, and the boys are gonna win it, okay? So listen. First, we've got to tell every guy. Everybody
has
to be with us on this. Tim Flanagan was absent in homeroom this morning. I'll call him, in case he's coming back tomorrow.And you all have to do that too, figure out who else isn't
here.And if you don't have a number, call me at home tonight, 'cause my mom has a school directory. And every fifth-grade boy who's here at school has to be told.Today. Okay?”

Jason said,“But really, not talking? For two days? Like . . . how?”

Dave pulled an index card from his pocket. On the back of his India report he wrote the word “Easy.” He held it up, showing it to all the boys.

Then he said,“Did I just talk?” “No,” said Jason.

Dave said,“Keep watching.” He shook his head. Then he nodded at them.

Then he smiled. Then he frowned and showed his teeth and growled like a dog.

“I didn't talk, right? But you
got
what I said. Not talking just means . . . not talking. It'll probably be fun—but even if it's not, it's a
contest
.Against the girls. And we're gonna win it, right? And tell all the guys to practice short sentences.Three words or less.”

Jim said,“You bug me!”

Jason said,“Your breath smells!”

Richard said,“Look, it's Batman!—hey, is Batman one word or two?”

And the sentences kept coming, each boy trying to be the goofiest.

“Guys,” Dave said.“Guys, c'mon.We've only got fourteen minutes before next period.
All
the fifth-grade boys are right here at lunch—it's the perfect chance to tell everyone. And I hate to tell you, but the girls are already ahead of us.”

The boys hushed, and looked around.

Lynsey, Anna, Emily, Taron—all the friends who'd been sitting at the next table were fanning out through the cafeteria, talking to every girl in sight. And Hannah and Karin were heading for the door to the playground.

Dave said, “Everybody know what you have to say to our team?”

The boys looked back at him and nodded, each face deadly serious now.

“All right, then,” Dave said.“Let's do this.”

S
ince Dave and Lynsey had been almost shouting at each other in the middle of the cafeteria, you might think that a lot of the other fifth graders in the room would have tuned in and paid attention to the commotion.You might think that a lot of the kids in the lunchroom already knew about the contest.

But if you thought that, you'd be wrong. And you'd be wrong because you don't understand just how
loud
, how incredibly
noisy
it was in the cafeteria during fifth-grade lunch. And not just on this one day. It was noisy during fifth-grade lunch
every
day.

And it wasn't noisy only at lunch.
Anywhere
a bunch of these fifth graders got together, the talking got out of hand.

That's why it's time to tell a little more about
this particular set of fifth-grade kids.

Because there's more to tell.There's
always
more.

• • •

A school system really is a little like the army—remember? About how kindergarten is sort of like basic training camp?

Because kindergarten was where Dave and the other new recruits first learned the rules. They learned when to sit and when to stand, when to talk and when to hush, when to walk and when to run, when to eat, and nap, and play, and sing, and draw, and everything else.

Because every system needs rules—no rules, no system.

Most of the rules made perfect sense to Dave and the new recruits, especially rules like this: no fighting, no bullying, no shoving, no spitting, no biting, no stealing, no vandalism, no cutting in line, no snowball throwing, and so on.

For most kids, the really serious rules like that weren't hard at all.Those were the easy ones.

The toughest rules were ones like, “No running in the halls.”

Hard. “No disorderly behavior on the buses.” Also hard.

“No candy or chewing gum.”

Very hard. But nowhere in the forty-four-page Laketon Elementary School Handbook did it actually say, “No whispering, chatting, talking, calling out, yelling, or shouting in classrooms, in the hallways, in the auditorium, or in the lunchroom.”

True, there
was
a rule about paying attention in class. And there
was
a rule about being respectful. And there
was
a rule about being courteous at all times.

And Dave and his classmates obeyed those rules—or at least, they
thought
they did. It's just that they all seemed to think they could talk
and
be courteous—at the same time. And they all seemed to think they could talk
and
pay attention—at the same time.

Because none of these kids really meant to be disrespectful or disobedient or discourteous. But none of them wanted to stop talking. Ever.

In fact, this group of kids had been given a nickname by the teachers at Laketon Elementary School, and the name had stuck with them ever since they had all been in first grade together.They were “The Unshushables.”

If Laketon Elementary School had
really
been like the army, then sometime—probably during

second grade—Dave and Lynsey and all the other recruits would have been lined up out on the playground on a cold, rainy morning, and a gruff man with short hair and shiny shoes would have walked up and down in front of them, shouting right into their faces. And he would have shouted something like this:

“YOU DRIVE ME
CRAZY
! You call
yourselves
STUDENTS
? You are a
MISERABLE
MOB
! You are LOUD,
UNdisciplined, and I WILL not
tolerate your NOISE! When you walk
in MY hallways, you do not SHOUT!
You do not WAVE and YELL and
HOOT when you see your friends. At
an assembly in MY school, you do
NOT whisper and giggle and point
and wave and laugh at your own silly
jokes! And when you come to MY
lunchroom, it is NOT a free-for-all
festival of flap-jawed jibber-jabber!
Lunch is a time to SIT and be QUIET
and EAT. I am going to TEACH you
little motormouth MONSTERS proper
school MANNERS if it is THE LAST
THING I DO! DO I MAKE MYSELF
CLEAR?”
“YES, SIR!”
“QUIETER!”
“ Yes, sir !”

But, of course, Laketon Elementary School wasn't the army.

However, with Mrs. Abigail Hiatt in charge, sometimes it felt that way. She was a tall woman with a long face, curly gray hair, and bright blue eyes, and she had been the principal at Laketon Elementary School for the past thirteen years.

She gave careful orders, set precise goals, and she demanded results from her teachers, from her office staff, from her custodians, from her cafeteria workers, and from her students and their parents, too. Her school never went over its budget, never missed its academic targets, and the place never felt loose or sloppy or disorderly.

Under Mrs. Hiatt's watchful eye, group after group of children had wandered into Laketon Elementary School as aimless little kindergartners and marched out six years later as perfectly disciplined young students. Under Mrs. Hiatt's leadership, the place ran like clockwork.

And then the Unshushables came along. In all her years as principal she had never known a group of kids like this.

And for the past five years, Mrs. Hiatt had been trying to make these kids obey the simplest school rule of all: no talking—except when it's allowed.

Year after year, memos had been sent home to the parents of Dave and his classmates about too much shouting on the school buses.

Year after year, Dave's grade had been told how to behave before every assembly.

Year after year, all their teachers had stood out in the hallways to try to keep the noise down before and after school, and especially at lunchtime.

This group had even been given a separate lunch period for the past three years in a row: third-grade lunch, fourth-grade lunch, and this year, fifth-grade lunch. Mrs. Hiatt had made that decision. She didn't want the noisy behavior of this group to infect the other children at her school. Because year after year, the Unshushables lived up to their nickname.

To be honest, a few of this year's fifth-grade teachers had already given up.They didn't have any real hope of changing these kids.They were just trying to cope. Because it was already November, so in

six short months the Unshushables would be gone forever, moved along to the junior high, and next year Laketon Elementary School would be quieter.
Much
quieter.

But Mrs. Hiatt had not given up, not by a long shot. She still had over half a year with these kids, and she intended to use that time.

Every day the principal stalked the fifth-grade hall.“
You there
—stop shouting!”

At every assembly, she glared. “And I don't want to hear even a
whisper
from our fifth graders, is that clear?”

At every fifth-grade lunch, she walked around the cafeteria with a big red plastic bullhorn, and when the noise became unbearable, she pulled the trigger and bellowed, “STUDENTS! YOU ARE TALKING TOO LOUD!”

Mrs. Hiatt felt sure that this constant reminding
had
to be having an effect on these kids . . . how could it not? After all, these were good kids . . . right? They
had
to be making progress . . . didn't they?

She knew she was being very stern with them, but it was for their own good. And Mrs. Hiatt felt sure that sooner or later, these kids would grow up a little—and quiet down a lot.