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Chapter 21
Timothy spent much of Sunday afternoon putting the finishing touches on his Boston Tea Party project. Using his mom’s typewriter was a tedious process because he only knew where half the letters were, plus he had to keep stopping to wait for the Liquid Paper to dry each time he made a mistake.
Finally, when all six paragraphs were finished, he slid the watermarked paper into the brand new report cover binder he’d bought specifically for the project. He added the pictures he’d photocopied at his mom’s office, which he jazzed up with colored sticky stars to make up for them being dark and a little wavy.
On Monday morning, he was ready. The day of the Bicentennial Presentation had arrived.
The classroom was festooned with red, white and blue crepe paper. Mrs. Brenner had obviously worked late the night before. She’s also had a janitor wheel in a real lectern, from where the students would give their presentations.
Six or seven mothers had shown up and were sitting in the back of the room, including Brandon’s mom, who said hello to Timothy when she walked in. There weren’t any dads, they were all at work.
Several students had brought props to help illuminate their presentations. The girl who was doing Betsey Ross brought a handmade cloth star she had stitched herself. She demonstrated the technique by which anyone could fold a piece of cloth in order to cut out a five-pointed star.
The kid doing Thomas Jefferson brought in a copy of the Declaration of Independence. And Drew, from Timothy’s lunch table, was wearing a three-pointed hat.
When it came to the reports themselves, Paul Revere’s Ride was fairly action-packed, and the Inventions of Ben Franklin had so many curiosities Timothy almost wished he’d picked that subject himself.
None so far had any real zingers, though, nothing as startlingly original as Timothy imagined his own report to be. By the time they were halfway through, Timothy was actually starting to think he had half a chance of winning this thing.
Then Brandon went up to read his report. He came out of the gate pretty strong:
The Battle of Lexington and Concord was singularly important for three distinct reasons. Firstly, it marked the beginning of the armed conflict between the thirteen colonies and Great Britain. Secondly, it gave birth to the image of The Minuteman we still cherish today...
But then came the last sentence of his intro paragraph:
Finally, on the level of sheer symbolism, it gave the fledgling American Army its first taste of cohesion.
Fledgling army? Taste of cohesion? Level of sheer symbolism? There was no way he did not copy this. He was busted for sure.
But Brandon continued to read confidently, and when Timothy looked over at Mrs. Brenner, she had one leg eagerly crossed over the other, her loose foot bobbing enthusiastically, like it too was cheering Brandon on. She was buying the whole thing, hook, line, and sinker.
The essay continued to flesh out each point laboriously, culminating with a resounding:
The shot heard round the world may not have literally been heard around the world, but it was sure loud enough to rouse the sleeping giant that would soon enough be these United States of America.
The entire class erupted into applause, almost intoxicated by the idea that one of their own had achieved such dizzying heights of prose and patriotism.
“I want to point out how Brandon clearly enumerated his three points in the introductory paragraph,” Mrs. Brenner said to the class. “He went on to expand upon each point in its own paragraph. Perfect form. Congratulations, Brandon.”
She herself began clapping, which caused the room, including the mothers in the back row, to begin clapping once again.
“Up next,” Mrs. Brenner said, checking her notes, “Timothy Miller.”
Timothy took to the lectern. It was a little big, but he could still more-or-less see over it.
He had decided against dressing up like an Indian himself, it no longer seemed to go with theme he’d chosen to pursue.
When he’d practiced in his room, he’d held up the glossy binder to show the audience the photocopied images. But Steven with the copier in his house had already dazzled the class with so many perfectly clear photocopies illustrating his report on Washington Crossing the Delaware that Timothy decided to skip it and just launch right in.
He cleared his throat.
We all know that the Boston Tea Party took place in Boston on December 16, 1773. Boston is at 42 degrees latitude, which is a little bit higher than Kingston, so it must have been pretty cold. The Sons of Liberty disguised themselves as Indians, and climbed aboard three British ships all loaded up with tea from China.
Timothy took a breath and looked around the room. Everyone was looking at him and seemed to be following along. So far so good. He continued.
You may also know that the reason that the Boston Tea Party took place was to protest Taxation Without Representation, which meant that the British were taking our money, but didn’t let us vote, which is obviously unfair.
He looked over at Mrs. Brenner, who smiled, but was definitely not bobbing her foot. Okay, time to turn up the heat a little.
But did you know this: that John Hancock who organized the Boston Tea Party was a tea smuggler? In the early days, his smuggled tea was cheaper than British tea, so he made a fortune. But when the East India Company cut their prices, their tea became cheaper, so by dumping the tea, John Hancock was actually getting rid of his competition.
A few students looked at each other like the scandal had piqued their interest. Timothy’s plan was starting to work.
And another thing, they didn’t just dump the unopened chests into the water. The so-called Sons of Liberty took their tomahawks and hacked open all 342 chests of tea and dumped the tea leaves straight into the water. That’s a lot of tea leaves. They basically turned Boston Harbor into a giant cup of tea.
He got a few snickers. Keep going, Timothy, you’re almost there.
And what about the fish swimming around in the harbor? Most water has a pH level of 7, which is what fish are used to. But black tea has a pH of only about 5, which is different than what fish are used to, and might be really bad for them.
Mrs. Brenner looked like she genuinely didn’t know where this was going, but no matter, it was time to go for the kill.
So while we’re celebrating our independence this summer, we need to remember that some of the people we think of as heroes are actually environmental criminals. And when it comes to the Boston Tea Party, as far as the fish were concerned, the party’s over.
Timothy looked around the quiet room, wondering why it wasn’t exploding with applause.
A single girl in the front row, who used to chase Timothy around the schoolyard back in 2nd grade before he had long hair, began to clap furiously, which signaled others to begin clapping. A few of his guy friends actually did call out “Go Timothy!”
“Well, Timothy,” Mrs. Brenner said, “that was certainly very interesting!”
The mothers in the back row, who were clapping politely, got a laugh out of this.
“Up next...” Mrs. Brenner said, checking her list.
The three remaining reports after Timothy’s seemed a bit tame in comparison, but were fairly thoughtful and well researched.
At the conclusion, Mrs. Brenner checked the tally of whatever points she’d been keeping on her clip board.
When she announced that Brandon had won the contest, the room again erupted with applause as he went up to accept his Friendly’s gift certificate, which he briefly held aloft.
Brandon’s mom, on her way out of the room shortly afterwards, made a point of stopping at Timothy’s desk and told him personally how much she’d enjoyed his essay.
And Brandon himself was very gracious in victory.
# # #
When Timothy got home from school, Cathryn was up on a ladder in the living room, painting the upper trim a darker pink than the walls.
“How’d your report go today?” she called down.
“Brandon won for his report on Lexington-Concord.”
“But how’d your report go?”
“Okay, I guess.”
Cathryn came down carefully from the ladder, brush and tin can of paint still in her hands.
“You gonna share it with me?” she asked.
“Nah.”
“C’mon, I wanna hear it.”
He remained reluctant. Based on the chilly reception at school, he was thinking it must not be very good. But Cathryn had stopped what she was doing to pay attention to him. It seemed rude not to share when she was asking so enthusiastically.
“You wanna just read it?”
“No, you read it, just like at school.”
Oscar the cat came into the room at this moment, jumped up on the couch and started looking at Timothy, as if he wanted Timothy to read it too.
Timothy took the report out of his knapsack, halfheartedly holding it up to demonstrate the professional-looking presentation.
We all know that the Boston Tea Party took place in Boston on December 16, 1773...
he began to read, a bit noncommittally, assuming it would be instantly apparent to Cathryn what a dog his report was. But every time he looked up, she had an unmistakable look of admiration on her face, maybe a light glow, even.
This positive reinforcement made Timothy put more and more effort into his performance until, by the concluding paragraph, his delivery was as full-throated as if he were back at the lectern, going for the gold.
“Timothy, you wrote that?” she said.
“Uh, yes.”
“That’s amazing. I can’t believe that stupid teacher of yours didn’t give you first prize.”
It was both surprising and vindicating to hear Cathryn calling his teacher stupid. Maybe Mrs. Brenner really did miss the boat this time.
Cathryn put down the paint and started wiping her hands off on a rag.
“Hey, come on,” she said, “we’re going to Friendly’s right this minute.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“You’re gonna tell me you don’t want to go to Friendly’s?”
Charles had a game today, so besides worrying about being seen at Friendly’s with Cathryn, he really had no excuse.
“Yeah, but...”
“Alright then, let’s go...”
# # #
Everyone in Kingston knew the best ice cream was at Mickey’s Igloo. But Micky’s was only open over the summer, so Friendly’s was a dependable year-round favorite.
The waitress escorted Timothy and Cathryn to a prime booth near the window and dropped two menus on the table.
Looking around, Timothy actually saw several other kids from his class out for ice cream, their parents had all obviously had the same idea. Drew was even still wearing his three-pointed hat.
Drew waved to Timothy, so Timothy shyly waved back. He was a little self-conscious about being out with Cathryn, but he quickly saw no one cared, their focus on ice cream easily winning out over all other possible concerns.
“Get what you like,” Cathryn said.
Timothy looked down at the dazzling, plastic-coated menu.
“Even a sundae?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“Mom never lets me get a sundae.”
“I’m not your mom.”
Somehow, Cathryn’s response had a greater effect than simply allowing Timothy to consume copious amounts of processed sugar.
A small pressure valve was released somewhere inside. Timothy might not have been able to put it into words exactly, but part of the ongoing tension wasn’t just who was Cathryn in relation to his mom, but who was she in relation to him?
I’m not your mom didn’t completely answer the question. But it jumpstarted an adult-sanctioned checklist, at least, of things Cathryn was not.
The waitress returned to their table.
“Do you know what you’d like?” she asked.
Timothy looked around the restaurant at the various kids who’d been allowed to get the most insane super-sized sundaes on the menu. Whipped cream and fudge sauce were exploding everywhere, faces contorting in response to the sudden glycemic spike.
“I’ll have a small sundae,” he said, sensibly.
“With everything?”
“Hold the fudge, keep the sprinkles,” he responded.
The waitress turned to Cathryn.
“That sounds good,” she said, “I’ll have the same thing.”
The waitress took the menus.
A different kid at another table waved to Timothy, he waved back.
“Looks like you know a lot of people here today,” Cathryn said.
“Steven did Crossing the Delaware, Ted did the Boston Massacre, Cynthia did...”
He gave her the whole litany of Revolutionary subject matter that had earned every consolation prize in the place. She got the idea.
Their sundaes arrived. Timothy ate his whipped cream slowly, savoring one component at a time rather than mushing it all together.
Cathryn went even slower, as if she had ordered more wanting to keep Timothy from feeling self-conscious than because she wanted to eat a dish of ice cream.
“You know,” she said, taking a small bite, “if there’s anything I can ever help you with, you just have to ask.”
“You mean, like homework and stuff.”
“Yeah that, but...” she paused, as if trying to figure out how to say something delicately, “sometimes you seem like you might be...sad about something...I’d just hate to think you wouldn’t talk to me if there was something I could help you with.”
This was starting to get a little uncomfortable. He didn’t really want to say anything at all, but somehow found himself saying.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” Cathryn said.
Well, it’s not like he could roll one right down the middle of the alley and say The problem is you. Besides, that was only part of the problem. The other part was his mom.
Why did his mom seem so...unavailable...since Cathryn had moved in? She was like a different person, and it’s not like he was going to talk about this with Cathryn either, the two of them had become such a team, this seemed certain to backfire.
“You just don’t know what it’s like to have your dad run off,” Timothy said, blurting out the one obvious thing that seemed safe to say.
“Actually, I do know. My dad ran off when I was twelve.”
This didn’t seem to correlate with what Timothy believed to be true.
“But I thought I met your dad that one time,” he said, speaking of a single quick and awkward visit to Cathryn’s parents’ suburban house in New Jersey to pick up some of her stuff.
“That was my step dad,” Cathryn said. “He and my mom got married a few years after my real dad left, and...let’s just say he didn’t treat me very nicely.”
Timothy had stopped eating his ice cream.
“So, then what happened?” he asked her.
Cathryn kind of shrugged like it was behind her, for the most part. She took a tiny mouthful of her own ice cream.
“So, I left,” she said. “I was basically on my own from age 16, until I met your mom. She was the first person who’s looked out for me... you know, everyone talks about helping other people, but your mom really does... she’s a really special person, you know?”
Timothy’s first thought was that he wished his mom would spend more time looking out for him and less time looking out for Cathryn and women in Group. But this was strange territory. Adults didn’t usually lay it on the line like this, so the honesty of what Cathryn was sharing kind of won out.
“How come Mom never tells me stuff like this?”
“She’s just trying to protect you, which is not such a bad thing.”
“Is she gonna be mad that you’re telling me?”
“I don’t know...she’s probably gonna be madder that I let you eat a sundae before dinner,” she said, smiling. “C’mon, eat up.”
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Teachers can be so oblivious ….
Great chapter! Watching a peer get praised for an obviously plagiarized report is soooo familiar. Ugh!