Read Online Wall Ball by Kevin Markey - Free Book Online

Swickle. “But the crowd outside may not.”
    We settled down and listened intently as Mr. Swickle explained how the fund-raiser would work. Five tables would be set up at different points around the parking lot, each with its own steaming vat of hot chocolate. Classes would take turns manning the tables. Everyone would have a job. Some kids would collect money from customers, some would fill cups, others would push carts loaded with fresh urns of hot chocolate from the cafeteria to the tables outside.
    Best of all, since the whole thing was our idea, our class got to go first.
    Slingshot raised his hand.
    “Yes?” asked Mr. Swickle.
    “How much are we charging?”
    “A buck a cup. It’s a nice round figure and will keep things simple. We won’t have to make a lot of change.”
    The only thing left to decide was how to use the proceeds. Mr. Swickle asked if we had any ideas.
    We had plenty.
    Many of them had to do with new, cool stuff for the school. Like a swimming pool. With waterslides. And a sprinkler park.
    “Why not some trained dolphins that could swim around the deep end doing tricks?” asked Mr. Swickle
    I detected sarcasm.
    “People, people,” he said. “The idea is to use the money to help other people, remember?”
    We got serious after that. Our class thoughtof a million good causes, but Orlando came up with the best one of all. Maybe the fact that he came from Florida gave him the idea. Or maybe he simply glanced out the window at the shivering presidents.
    In any case, his hand suddenly shot in the air.
    “Go ahead, Orlando,” Mr. Swickle said.
    “Coats for Kids?” the center fielder suggested. “I read about it in the paper. It’s a program to provide warm clothes to families who need them right here in town.”
    We talked it over. It was perfect.
    “It’s unanimous,” Mr. Swickle said. “Coats for Kids.”
    At precisely 9:45, we donned our coats, pulled on our hats and gloves and boots, and followed Mr. Swickle outside.
    I couldn’t believe my eyes. In the last hour, every person in Rambletown apparently had gathered in the lot. Many had brought friends from out of town.
    “That’s a lot of cold people,” Slingshot observed.
    “Ka-ching!’ exclaimed Stump.
    We took up our posts. Gasser, Orlando, and I commanded a table near the main entrance to school. We were cashiers. Slingshot and Gabby waited at either end of the table, ready to fill paper coffee cups from big, brown, plastic urns. Stump and several other classmates stood on alert behind pushcarts, primed to race back to the cafeteria for fresh supplies of liquid warmth.
    “Come and get it!” bellowed Gasser. “Fresh hot chocolate! Getcher hot chocolate here.” His years of playing baseball obviously had not been wasted: He sounded exactly like a ballpark vendor.
    Instantly, a swarm of noisy, red-nosed customers descended on us. They pressed dollar bills into our hands like money was litter they couldn’t wait to toss. We replaced greenbacks with steaming cups. The money went into a tinbox, the hot chocolate went down the hatch, and the customers—or so it seemed to me—went directly back to the end of the line to wait for seconds. You couldn’t have made money faster if you had your own printing press.
    An hour passed in no time flat. We were so busy, I didn’t even feel the cold. At the end of our shift, Mrs. Nedermeyer’s class arrived to replace us. I counted up our haul before handing over the tin box to Ocho.
    “One hundred and thirty-four dollars!” I announced.
    Slingshot quickly did the math. “One thirty-four times five tables is six hundred and seventy dollars,” he said. “If we pull in that much every hour until school ends at two forty-five, we’ll make three thousand three hundred and fifty dollars.”
    Slingshot is a whiz with numbers.
    I didn’t know how many coats you could get for kids who didn’t have them with three thousand three hundred and fifty dollars. But I knewit was a lot. Despite