The Secret Sheriff of Sixth Grade by Jordan Sonnenblick
Just when I thought everything had settled down, and I was getting used to my new life with Aunt Cat, The Bee called me down to his office. When I got there, he was smiling.
I didn’t like that. It made me nervous. When I’m nervous, I sometimes talk too much.
“What?” I asked. “I haven’t done anything. I’ve been getting good grades. Well, not super good, but better. And I’ve been on time every day for, like, a month. That’s a record. You can look it up. I haven’t gotten in any fights. I haven’t even gotten in any almost-fights. The other day, I gave Bowen Strack half of my cookie at lunch. No, seriously. I did! Why are you laughing? Did you call me down here because we never talked about the whole Aunt-Cat-is-my-mother thing? Because I can explain. It would feel great to get that all off my chest. I wasn’t trying to make a fool out of you or anything. Not that I made a fool out of you. I mean, you’re not a fool. You are a very smart-seeming guy. Man. Assistant principal person. Shutting up now.”
“Are you sure you’re finished?” The Bee asked.
I nodded.
“Good. You aren’t in trouble, Maverick. I had a long talk with your aunt Catherine several weeks ago about your living situation. In fact, we have chatted weekly since your mother’s accident. I’ve been quite concerned about you, but it seems like you’re in capable hands. Your aunt is a remarkable woman. Are you happy in her home?”
I thought about that. Was I happy? Almost everything I owned had been destroyed in the fire. On the other hand, aside from Freddy, my star, and (once upon a time) my dad’s medal, I had never really had any possessions that meant anything to me.
Who was I kidding? I had never really had any possessions, period.
And hey, at least Johnny’s tree had gotten what it deserved.
Plus, I sort of had friends now. All the hamsters were thriving so far, and each person who’d taken one seemed to enjoy reporting to me on their new pet’s progress several times a week. I was like the Hamster Godfather.
Life with Aunt Cat was stable. I had real food to eat. Her cooking was improving, too. When she made eggs and toast, it included eggs a lot of the time, and once there was even bacon. Or at least, the package said it was bacon. I also had brand-new clothing that I had actually gotten to pick out at real stores. Aunt Cat asked me about school every day, and remembered everything I told her. Sometimes Bill would bring takeout food over for dinner, and we would all play board games or watch a movie. I was learning for the first time that spending time with an adult couple didn’t have to be scary. I wasn’t completely ready to relax about it yet, and I wasn’t sure Aunt Cat was either, but it was a start.
Still, my mother was basically locked up. If I said I was happy, did that make me a terrible person?
“I don’t know. I love Aunt Cat, but I miss my mother.” I wasn’t even sure how true that was, but it felt like something I was supposed to say.
The Bee nodded, and then he said, “Maverick, I’m sure this is a crazy, upside-down time in your life, but I just want you to know my door is always open to you. All right?”
“Yes, Mr. Overbye.”
“Now, there is one more thing. Class elections are coming up in a couple of months, and whoever wins the title of seventh-grade president for next fall will be working quite closely with me on items such as school rules, procedures for keeping the hallways running smoothly, and opening-day procedures. Somehow, when I thought of those topics, your name popped into my head immediately.”
He paused, leaned back with his hands folded on his stomach, and looked at me.
“Umm, sir, are you asking me to run for class president?”
“Yes, I am. Or at least, I’m asking you to consider it.”
“Why? I get in trouble all the time. My life is a mess. There are a million kids around here who are more popular than I am, and smarter, and better behaved.”
“I think you would be a great class president because you have leadership qualities. Granted, they’re in a somewhat rough form right now, but I think you could be a great president. Think about it: Whenever you see something you don’t think is right, what do you do?”
“I charge in there, bang the wrong kid into a locker door, and get sent to the office. Or I charge in there, get strangled from behind by a girl, and then get sent to the office. Or I charge in there, get sliced open, and get sent to the hospital. I think those are the basic options.”
The Bee leaned forward, grinned, and pounded his fist on the desk. “Right! That’s what makes you different! You charge in there!”
“What about all the other stuff? You know, the fights? The getting in trouble? The bleeding?”
“We can work on all that. In fact, I think you already have been working on that. Think about it—how many enemies have you turned into friends this year?”
I thought about it. “I don’t know. A few, I guess.”
“More than a few, I guess. Anyway, listen. You stand up to people, even people who have power over you. I don’t think you have any idea how rare that is. Think about the people you know. What do they do when they are face-to-face with a bully? When they see someone being picked on? When they see a chance to right a wrong? And how many of them have as much success as you do? Don’t answer me for a little while . . . just think about it.”
I thought about it. I didn’t really know anybody else who tried to stop people from being bullied, but I certainly knew a whole lot of people who had been pushed around. Some people who have been beaten or abused, like my mother, spend the rest of their lives trying to be nice to every bully they meet, thinking the next one won’t turn and start swinging at them. But bullies are made for swinging. That’s what they do.
Others, like Bowen, are so sure the world is full of nothing but bullies that they become bullies themselves, trying to hit everyone in the world first. But a life of getting in the first shot isn’t a life. Not really, anyway.
Then there are people like my dad, who apparently handle their fear by charging face-first into every wall, who need to be the first man in and the last man out at every fire. Until the one time they don’t make it out of the fire at all.
I wasn’t sure what my path would be, but I knew I didn’t want to be like any of them. Each, in their own way, spent life being ruled by the exact same things they feared.
Maybe the real heroes were people like Aunt Cat and—even though I couldn’t believe I was thinking this—The Bee. They were the only ones I knew who reached down and helped the people coming up behind them to stand up. Maybe I could learn to be a leader if I just paid attention to how they did it.
Maybe I didn’t need webs to be a hero—or rippling muscles, or a bulletproof shield. Maybe, at the end of the day, I could just keep trying to look around for people who needed a hand, and then grab on to theirs with my own.
But still, it would be nice if I could break the five-foot barrier someday. I’m just sayin’.
“All right, I’ll do it. I have to warn you, though. I’ll probably lose the election.”
The Bee smiled.
“You know,” I said, “I was really scared of you back in September. But you’re not really scary at all.”
He smiled even bigger. “Mr. Falconer, if you repeat what you just said to anyone outside this office, terrible . . . things . . . will . . . happen . . . to . . . you. Understood?”
I smiled back. “Uh-huh. Sure!”
On the way back to class, I thought about what had just happened. I figured I was right that I would probably lose the election, but I also realized I didn’t need to be class president to continue my mission. It wasn’t like Captain America was an elected position. Or Spider-Man. So why should the Secret Sheriff of Sixth Grade be any different?
But then I realized a name change was in order. I reached into my left front pocket, squeezed my trusty, glued-together badge, and squared my puny shoulders. I was still the smallest kid I knew. My home life was still up in the air, and it might always be. I was still afraid of many,
But soon enough, I would either be class president or the Secret Sheriff of Seventh Grade.
Sounded kind of epic to me.
Jordan Sonnenblick is the author of many acclaimed novels, including Drums, Girls & Dangerous Pie, Notes from the Midnight Driver, Zen and the Art of Faking It, Curveball: The Year I Lost My Grip, After Ever After, and Falling Over Sideways. He lives in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, with his family and numerous musical instruments. You can find out a whole lot more about him at www.jordansonnenblick.com.
Also by Jordan Sonnenblick
Drums, Girls & Dangerous Pie
Notes from the Midnight Driver
Zen and the Art of Faking It
After Ever After
Curveball: The Year I Lost My Grip
Falling Over Sideways
Copyright © 2017 by Jordan Sonnenblick
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available
ISBN 978-0-545-86320-9
First edition, September 2017
Jacket art and design by Nina Goffi
Star © RedBarnStudio/iStockphoto.com
e-ISBN 978-0-545-86322-3
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
Jordan Sonnenblick, The Secret Sheriff of Sixth Grade