Last-But-Not-Least Lola Going Green Page 2

  Sam Noonan says playing video games uses a lot of energy. “Go outside and ride your bike,” he says.

  “My baby brother uses lots of diapers,” Sophie Nunez says. She plugs her nose. “I’m going to ask my mom to use cloth diapers.”

  Olivia O’Donnell says taking long showers is bad. It wastes water.

  “We probably shouldn’t take showers or baths period,” Sam says.

  Cow gas, cow gas, please, nobody take cow gas.

  Madison Rogers reads hers. “Timo told me at recess that people in Finland don’t have big jars of peanut butter. I am very sad that people in Finland don’t have big jars of peanut butter. They only have teeny-weeny ones. They can’t get full without gobs of peanut butter. They have to eat nothing-and-J sandwiches.”

  “I love peanut butter!” Harvey Baxter calls.

  Ruby Snow yells, “I hate peanut butter! I want to move to Finland!”

  “Peanut butter! Peanut butter!” we peanut-butter people chant.

  “Yuck! Yuck! Yuck!” Ruby, Charlie, and Sam yell.

  “Butterscotch babies! Butterscotch babies! Put on your listening ears!” Mrs. D. calls out. Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.

  We stop peanut-butter talking and clap along with Mrs. D. She takes a deep breath. “Madison, thank you for caring, but that really isn’t a Going Green problem. Do you have another Going Green idea?”

  Madison groans. “All my good ideas got taken up, ’cause I’m ‘R’ for Rogers.”

  Fishsticks! She thinks she has problems! Try being “Z.”

  Madison says, “Hmmmm. I have one more, but it might not be a good one. How about cow flatulence? My dad said cow flatulence pollutes the air.”

  I raise my hand. Madison calls on me.

  “Is flatulence the same thing as a fart?”

  Madison thinks for a minute. “Um, I don’t think so.” She looks at Mrs. D.

  “Yes, it is,” Mrs. D. says really fast.

  OH NO. I cross it off my list.

  “Good one,” Mrs. D. calls over all the armpit farting going on in the room. “Who’s next?”

  I know.

  Rita Rohan. She says we should ride horses to school, but she’d have to give everyone a ride ’cause she’s the only one who has a horse.

  Now it’s time for the “S” people. That’s Ari Shapiro, Ruby Snow, Gwendolyn Swanson-Carmichael, and Jamal Stevenson. That Jamal is gifted-n-talented. We took a test and it said so.

  Then John Carmine Tabanelli and Timo Toivonen and Ben Wexler have their turns.

  After that, it’s me.

  I’m last.

  Zuckerman. Zuckerman. Zuckerman.

  The worst name in the world.

  I will always be last, and out of ideas. That’s when I hear ol’ Amanda Anderson all the way across the room. “It’s easy to pack a trash-free lunch!”

  “You already had your turn, Amanda Anderson!” I yell.

  Fishsticks!

  I want to beat Amanda Anderson. Not with a stick, in case you think that. I want to win. And I want her to lose. I want to beat, beat, beat her. And only I know why I want to beat Amanda Anderson.

  3 ½. WHY I WANT TO BEAT AMANDA ANDERSON

  I KNOW AMANDA ANDERSON.

  I know all the things Amanda loves, even:

  1. Smelly lotion. (Blech!)

  2. Bows and ribbons. (Who needs ’em?)

  3. Princess stories. (No thanks!)

  4. Brownly bananas. (Yellow, thank you.)

  Yes, I know EVERYTHING about Amanda Anderson. I used to be Amanda’s next door neighbor AND her best friend. I spent the night at Amanda Anderson’s house forty-four and one-half times. The one-half was because of the night we ate chicken teriyaki and I threw it up. I had to go home. The other forty-four times worked out great.

  She had a house with three bedrooms and two bathrooms; same as us, but with different wallpaper. Even when me and Amanda were babies, we were best friends. We had a secret Peanut Butter and Jelly handshake. We said, “Ooga booga! Ooga! Booga!” when we wanted to get wild.

  Then the Andersons moved! They moved to a house on Windy Hill Drive with six bathrooms. We stayed in our good ol’ house on Cherry Tree Lane. We’ve got one extra room for grandparents and Mom’s sewing machine, and nothing else extra. We’re squeezed in like sardines, but Dad says we like to be cozy. Now we just have a sewing machine in that extra room, ’cause Granny and Grampy went home.

  I went over for a play date at the Andersons’ new house. If you yelled in the kitchen, you could hear your voice all over again. You could roll an orange down the counter island for ten whole seconds. I wondered, could toilet paper in one bathroom stretch to the other bathrooms? It could, just barely.

  But Amanda didn’t think it was funny.

  “You messed up my new house,” Amanda said when her mom drove me home.

  “It’s not a house,” I told her. “My mom says it’s a Mick Mansion.”

  After that, Mom didn’t have any play dates with Mrs. Anderson, either.

  But Mom didn’t even notice. She’s too busy sewing dresses, or sometimes she gets on the train. Dad makes dinner. She’s got to keep meeting with the people at Macy’s, because you never know.

  4. THE ONLY CHILD

  FINALLY, IT’S MY TURN. LET’S SEE … what if everybody rode bikes everywhere? What if we lived in trees? What if …

  “Yes, Lola?” Mrs. D. says and raises her eyebrows way up high.

  All of a sudden my cheeks feel hot and my throat feels scratchy. Maybe I’m coming down with a deathly disease like the baboonic plague that Mom watched on PBS. It killed lots of monkeys. I think.

  I hold out my purple notebook with “cow gas,” my last idea, crossed off. “They took all my ideas ’cause I had to go last!” My voice is choking off.

  Mrs. D. takes a swig of coffee from her travel mug. “But because your turn is last, maybe you’ve had time to think of another idea?”

  Hmmm. I think and think. Granny Coogan told me how you can turn rotten garbage into compost to help vegetables grow in your garden. That’s good for Mother Earth, Granny said.

  Granny is back in Texas. She’s probably making compost right now. But I don’t feel like using her rotten garbage idea.

  All the kids are staring at me, especially that Little Miss Perfect Amanda Anderson. Why is she smiling at me? Why is she giving me the thumbs-up? What a meanie. I wish she was never, ever, ever born. Then I have it: the perfect idea.

  “The Earth has TOO MANY PEOPLE,” I say really loud so the kids in the back can hear. And I look right at Amanda Anderson with my meanest glare. She stops smiling. And her thumbs-up turns wobbly and sinks down to her lap. “We can all help Earth by only having ONE KID.”

  “Ooh, that’s a good idea,” Sophie says.

  “Yeah, seven billion people live on planet Earth,” Charlie says, “according to Yoonoo-dot-com.”

  And Jamal says, “The Earth faces severe food shortages because of overpopulation.”

  “Well, how do you like that?” I say, ’cause I’m in charge, even if I don’t know what he meant. “So just have one kid, like my family.”

  Amanda’s hand shoots up. “If you’re an only child, then who’s Jack?” she says, sweet as pie. Sour cherry pie.

  “I didn’t call on you, Amanda Anderson!” I yell back.

  “Jack’s your older brother, that’s who!” Amanda says anyway. And she adds, “Cheater,” with her sound turned down.

  “It’s true,” says Jessie Chavez. “Jack Zuckerman is friends with my brother!”

  “Raise your hand, Jessie Chavez!” I tell her. She raises her hand. But I don’t call on her.

  Mrs. D. comes and stands by me. “You do have a brother, don’t you, Lola?” she says.

  I nod. “He wrote ‘Go Yankees!’ all over my green notebook,” I explain. “And ‘Jack rules the world.’”

  “But he’s still your brother,” she says.

  I hang my head ’cause it feels like a big ol’ watermelon. I st
are at my watermelon-smelling pencil and my brand-new purple notebook.

  Mrs. D. says, gentle as can be, “It’s not a bad idea, Lola. But we all already have our sisters and brothers, don’t we? Even when they write on our notebooks … When you’re all grown-ups, you can certainly choose to have one child, or none.”

  Everybody laughs really loud, even me. Mrs. D. gives out THE LOOK and we stop.

  “Might you have another Going Green idea, Lola? One that we could begin this September?”

  I feel as sad as a “Z.” Bad and mad and not at all glad. I am “Z.”

  My one-kid-only idea had been so good. Now I’m plumb out of ideas and I won’t get to be Captain Green. And it’s all Amanda Anderson’s fault.

  But I remember something.

  “YES! I have another one!” I say to Mrs. D.

  “I knew you would!” Mrs. D. sings out. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  “A Going Green problem is SUVs. Mom says they gulp gas,” I say.

  Mrs. D. smiles at me and nods. She gives me a big thumbs-up.

  I keep going. “This morning we were walking to school, and somebody went speeding down the road in her SUV. That driver threw out a bunch of litter on the way. Maybe.”

  The smile on Mrs. D’s face goes a little wilty. Mrs. D. asks, “And your solution?”

  But I keep on going. “And guess what?” I say. “That SUV driver, litter-bugger is right here in our class! Her name rhymes with Ramanda Randerson.”

  5. SORRY, MAYBE

  I HAVE TO MISS GYM, AND THAT’S my favorite class when we do relays around cones. ’Cause I am fast! Zip, zip, zip! I learned that from my dog, Patches.

  I have to sit in the classroom all by myself, unless you count Mrs. D. at her desk grading papers and sipping coffee.

  PART ONE: I have to write a note saying sorry to Amanda Anderson.

  Dear Amanda Anderson,

  I am sorry that I made you cry at Going Green. I hope you are having fun at gym. Cause I’m not. Too bad you decided not to wear a Lola dress. It’s got secret pockets. As you know.

  Sincerely,

  Lola Zuckerman

  PART TWO: I have to come up with ANOTHER Going Green idea, a really, really good one. ’Cause Mrs. D. knows I have it in me.

  But where is it?

  I wish I could ask my dad for help. Or I wish I could ask Mom. Or … well, not Jack; he would tell me something like the Earth is going to explode in a billion years, so who cares about Going Green. But I care a whole lot. I bet he did too when he won. Now he’s old so he probably forgot. Or maybe that stinker wants to be the only Zuckerman winner!

  I stare out the window. The little kindergarten kids are blowing bubbles at their recess. I wish I was still a little kid. I turn back to my paper. It’s so quiet in here. How’s a person supposed to think?

  Maybe I should use Granny’s rotten garbage idea. She made one of those compost piles in our backyard. It stunk! Granny and I carried out coffee grounds and eggshells, and mixed them with old grass and leaves.

  She and Grampy Coogan stayed in the extra room for all of June and half of July. Mom got a great opportunity to learn EVEN MORE sewing stuff in New York City. That’s why Granny and Grampy came. Granny and I planted a garden full of cucumbers and tomatoes and even zucchinis. Mom sewed us matching gardening hats in her class. Grampy showed me how to do the Dead Man’s Float at the town pool; and once he let Jack drive the car in the parking lot.

  Jack said they were going to move in and make chocolate-chip cookies every day. But Granny said they could only come for six weeks. Still, we hoped to change her mind. We made them breakfast in bed with a real rose in a glass, and played them “Chopsticks” on the piano ’cause Granny loves piano music. We pretended to like The Bob Johnson News Hour with Grampy. And we only once played “Blanket of Doom” on the guest bed. Even though we stayed on our best behavior, except once or twice when we fell off, they STILL went home to Texas. After they left, I got to sleep with Patches for company. And Jack got grounded. ’Cause that was a ball-face lie that Granny and Grampy couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe.

  The bell rings and the kids start pouring into the classroom. They’re all sweaty from gym.

  I sigh and write “compost.” I have to use Granny’s idea, ’cause I am OUT of green ideas.

  Amanda comes in hand-in-hand with Jessie in their sort-of-matching polka-dotted dresses.

  I look at my desk. Maybe Jessie and Amanda are talking about wearing stripes tomorrow. Or maybe they will send peanut butter up to the North Pole to glue together the polar ice caps. Or something.

  Mrs. D. finishes grading papers and drinking coffee.

  “Hello, Lollipops! Welcome back.”

  Mrs. D. gives me THE LOOK. That one means, “Give Amanda your note.”

  So I walk over and give Amanda my note.

  And my thumb and finger do something.

  They squish that note just a little bit.

  It’s an accident. Maybe.

  6. LAST-BUT-NOT-LEAST, LOLA

  MRS. D. SITS DOWN AT HER DESK and gives me the finger. Not the one Jack gave me and got NO DESSERT for a week, the “come here” one.

  I trudge to the front of the class. What if Granny Coogan is plum crazy? What if you can’t turn garbage into plant food?

  I clear my throat. I clap, clap, clap-clap-clap, just like Mrs. D., even though no one is talking.

  “I heard some amazing problems today,” I say. “I heard about global warming and juice boxes.”

  Mrs. D. clears her throat.

  I keep going. “I heard about how people want to get rid of pool heaters, even though only two people have one.”

  Mrs. D. says, “Lola? Where’s this going?”

  I cross the front of the room. Just like Mrs. D. “But I’m going to tell you about my new Going Green problem. Which,” and here I point my finger across the room, “is EVERYONE’S problem. Candy Corns, that problem is garbage: garbage and lots of it!”

  “Cool!” Harvey Baxter yells out.

  “Okay, Lola, we’re running out of time here,” Mrs. D. says in her dry toast voice.

  “My Mom and I walked to school to save gas and save the world from global warming,” I say. “We saw a LOT of trash. We saw water bottles and banana peels and Choc Chew wrappers and Niblets wrappers and an old baby bib.”

  “My brother threw his sippy cup out the car window,” Rita says. “I called him a litterbug and I got in trouble. It wasn’t fair.”

  “Thank you, Rita,” Mrs. D. says.

  “We all make tons of trash every day. Our planet is being killed by trash!” I say.

  “Amanda already said that problem!” Jessie yells. “And we could have a no-trash lunch. Problem solved!”

  I squint my eyes at Jessie. “I know that. I have another solution. A better one.”

  “What is it, Lola?” Mrs. D. takes a sip from her travel mug.

  My mouth drops open. I wish I could ask Granny. She knows lots of stuff, like how to whistle with her mouth shut. She knows how to turn garbage into gold. That’s what she said.

  “Uh … ,” I look out the window and see the custodian carrying a big bag of garbage across the yard. That gives me an idea. “Everyone should bring their garbage to school! Just for one day. We could turn it into a compost pile.”

  Madison’s hand shoots up.

  “Yes?” I say to Madison.

  “What’s a compost pile?” she asks.

  “It’s a pile of garbage that turns into good stuff.”

  “Like gold coins?” Sam yells out.

  “Hand, Sam,” I tell him.

  Amanda’s hand shoots up. I nod to Amanda.

  “So you think we should bring our garbage to school? Like banana peels and all that stuff?”

  “Yep, and we can use the compost for the community garden,” I say. “That helps the vegetables grow up.”

  “Won’t it stink?”

  “Plug your nose,” I say.

  “Or put it in a
n air-tight container,” Mrs. D. says. Her nose is wrinkling up like she already smells garbage.

  “Well …” Amanda says. She looks like the ribbon in her hair is too tight.

  Ari Shapiro’s hand shoots up.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Can I bring in my sister’s Pretty Cry Baby doll? That’s garbage.”

  “No,” I say. “That’s plastic. It has to be something that will get rotten.”

  “It is rotten,” Ari says.

  Mrs. D. stands. “Thank you, Lola. Where did you get the idea?”

  I try not to let my face get red. Was Granny crazy?

  “My Granny has a compost pile in Texas,” I finally say.

  “Well, it’s a wonderful idea!” Mrs. D. says.

  “But where would we put a compost pile?”

  Uh-oh.

  “Yeah,” Harvey yells. “Not on the playground. That would STINK!”

  “PEE-YOO!” Jessie yells.

  Then I remember something: Uncle Ken’s Kitchen Composter in our garage. Granny gave it to us right before she went back to Texas so we could keep on composting even when it was snowing outside.

  “We can use Uncle Ken’s Kitchen Composter,” I tell Mrs. D. and all those no-good yellers. “That’s where you put garbage into a machine and it makes compost.”

  “Great problem-solving, Lola,” Mrs. D. says.

  On my way back to my seat I give Amanda a little smile, a sweet-as-pie smile. Lemon pie.

  “Peppermints, you really did a marvelous job with this assignment. Now, before we head off to meet up with our fifth grade buddies, write your choice on a piece of paper and your name under it.”

  We scratch scratch scratch. Mrs. D. collects our ballots. She counts them up.

  We sit there like dead old carrots in a compost pile.

  Finally, she is done. She has a big smile on her face.

  “We have a tie,” she says. “One winner is Amanda’s trash-free lunch project.”

  I suck in my breath.

  “The other winner is Lola’s indoor composter.”