Read Online Steinbeck’s Ghost by Lewis Buzbee - Free Book Online Page A

three hundred a week. His dad offered to pay, but Sheila refused. It was a noble cause, she said. She loved the library, too.
    While Travis and his dad were working on the car wash plan, his mom grew quieter and quieter, and sat back with her arms folded. She was onto him, Travis knew. She was going to sit back and wait until Travis slipped up. Then she’d pounce. Travis clearly knew way too much about the library.
    “Who else is gonna help with the car wash?” his dad asked.
    His mom leaned forward, her arms still crossed. He was the bird in the birdbath, she was the cat. He was doomed.
    So he gave up.
    “The committee,” he said. “The Save Our Library committee.” He pulled a folded flyer from his back pocket and handed it to his mom.
    “So,” she said. “Tell me about this committee.”
    There was a tiny smile hiding in her face. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

    His parents were pretty mad. About him riding his bike to the library, sure, but mostly mad that he hadn’t told them. He had lied to them, and he knew it and they knew it.
    Still, during the excruciatingly long and quiet drive home, they didn’t go ballistic. The word “punishment” had yet to surface. They were being calm—angry but calm.
    So Travis played it the same way. He wanted to yell at them, yell that they had stranded him on Camazotz and it wasn’t fair and he was bored out of his gourd and at least they got to go to work and the library was something he cared about, but they wouldn’t know about that, would they, they were always at work. The words rose up in him, but he didn’t let them out.
    He would let his parents be right—they
were
right, on one level—and not insist on his being right—oh,
he
was right, too. He had played this game before, waiting, and it felt good to be bigger than his anger. He let his parents do most of the talking.
    At home, around the dining room table, the deal was made. His parents knew the library was important to him, and they were beginning to see that they had to give him more freedom, too.
    So. He could ride his bike to the library, when it was daylight—by daylight they meant the sun was still visible—and when it wasn’t raining. If it was raining, he had to take the bus. But coming back, especially in the dark, yes, in the evening, too, was another thing. He would have to get a ride back, with Hil’s mom, or maybe Miss Babb, or one of the other committee members. Or he could wait for his parents to come get him.
    Agreed? Deal. Pinkie swears all around.
    Not bad, Travis thought Not bad at all.

    The next meeting of the Save Our Library committee was held in a larger conference room, the Ricketts Room, named for Doc Ricketts, Steinbeck’s best friend. This room was more like a theater, all chairs and no long table, but still too small for the turnout that night. Miss Babb stood at a lectern, and every speaker had to stand to be heard. The original committee members had brought friends, and some new members came because of the flyers. They were thirty-seven altogether.
    Travis drove in with Hil and his mom. To go over the car wash with him, and to make his parents happy.
    Each of the five subcommittees gave their reports and doled out responsibilities to new volunteers. Over the coming weekend there would be a bake sale in front of the Maya Cinema, a used book sale in front of the library, a tamale sale in the Alisal neighborhood, and an information table in front of the National Steinbeck Center for out-of-town visitors. And the car wash.
    Nine people, including Miss Babb, signed up to help with the car wash.
    Travis signed up for a new subcommittee, the mailing committee, which would stuff envelopes and mail out flyers to every address in Salinas, and to magazines, newspapers, and libraries and library associations around the world.
    Miss Babb had never looked so excited. She seemed to be glowing. At the end of the meeting she hugged Travis and thanked him about a hundred times.
    Travis