Altogether, One at a Time

  Altogether, One at a Time

  “Inviting Jason” is adapted from an earlier version

  which appeared in Children Everywhere.

  Copyright © 1970 Field Enterprises Educational Corporation.

  First Aladdin Paperbacks edition 1975

  Second Aladdin Paperbacks edition 1989

  Revised cover edition 1998

  Copyright © 1971 by E. L. Konigsburg

  Aladdin Paperbacks An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, N Y 10020

  www.simonsandschuster.com.

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction

  in whole or in part in any form.

  Also available in an Athencum Books for Young Readers hardcover edition.

  Printed and bound in the United States of America

  20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Konigsburg, E.L.

  Altogether, one at a time / E.L. Konigsburg ; illustrated by Gail E. Haley . .

  [ctal.].

  p. cm.

  Summary: Four short stories entitled Inviting Jason,

  The Night of the Leonids, Camp Fat, and Momma at the Pearly Gates.

  [1. Children’s stories, American. 2. Short stories.]

  I Haley, Gail E., ill. II. Tide

  PZ7.K8352A1 1989

  [Fie]—dcl9 88-29175 CIP A C

  ISBN-13: 978-0-689-71290-6 (Aladdin pbk.)

  ISBN-10: 0-689-71290-1 (Aladdin pbk.)

  For Adolph Lobl,

  with love and with memory

  Contents

  Inviting Jason

  The Night of the Leonids

  Camp Fat

  Momma at the Pearly Gates

  Inviting Jason

  illustrated by Mercer Mayer

  THE FIRST BIRTHDAY PARTY I ever had in my life was when I was ten years old. One whole decade old. And I had to invite Jason.

  The big thing in birthday parties where we live is slumber parties, only it isn’t called a slumber party because that’s what girls call it. On the invitation where it says FROM . . . , I wrote “Supper at 7:00 P.M., May 15.” May 15 being my birthday. Where it says UNTIL . . . , I wrote “After breakfast on May 16.” That and the fact that I wrote at the bottom to please bring a sleeping bag lets everyone know that it is a slumber party. I had been to two slumber parties since we moved here; one of them had been Jason’s.

  My mother checked the invitations for spelling. When she noticed the FROM and UNTIL, she said that she had no idea that a slumber party meant a life sentence cooking and washing dishes. My mother gets sarcastic at the slightest thing. She knew that I wouldn’t care if she used paper plates. Mother also noticed that Jason’s name wasn’t on any of the envelopes. That was besides disapproving of the way that I abbreviated Ohio. Cleveland, Oh, I had put. Mother said that if that was the way I abbreviated Ohio that I should use exclamation points instead of periods. Sarcastic.

  “Well, where is Jason’s invitation?” she asked.

  “You limited me to six kids, and Jay was number seven on my list,” I explained.

  “Take someone off,” she suggested, the way an umpire suggests to a batter that he’s out.

  I took off John Beecham; he was the only one I had invited who I didn’t really like. I had added him even though he hadn’t invited me to his party. Dick liked him. Dick was the fastest runner in the fourth grade and the second fastest in the whole school. As a matter of fact, if Dick couldn’t make it on May 15,1 would have to change the date. I thought about it again and decided that I ought to have John Beecham to give Dick something extra to come for.

  “I don’t think Jason can come,” I told Mother. “He has dyslexia.”

  “It’s not contagious,” Mother said. “Invite him,” she added.

  I forgot that Mother would know what dyslexia was. She had explained it to me in the first place. Mother is big on education. Dyslexia has to do with education, or at least reading. If you have dyslexia it’s like your brain is a faulty T V set; the picture comes through the wires all right, but some of the tubes are missing or are in the wrong places. So that when you tune in to one channel you may get the sound from another. Or spots of the picture may be missing or be backwards or upside down. Kids with dyslexia read funny.

  Jason used to read funny in class until they discovered that he had it. Then they quit making him read out loud and sent him down to special reading during our regular reading. They also sent him down during our P.E., P.E. being physical education. An d it was too bad about that; Jason could handle a ball like there was nothing wrong with him. But his reading was like the Comedy Hour; that’s about how long it took. Except that Mrs. Carpenter wouldn’t let us laugh. An d when Jay was called to the board to write something, it was like he was writing sideways, and that took three hundred hours.

  Jason’s mother, Mrs. Rabner, told Mother that he had improved a lot since he had been tutored in dyslexia. The nicest thing about Jason was his mother. She did everything she could to make my mother and me feel welcome when we moved here in September. But we had moved around enough for me to know that your first friends aren’t always your best friends.

  I ripped up the envelope that had John Beecham’s address and addressed the last one to Jason Rabner. The invitations came eight in a package, but I had ruined one envelope spelling boulevard wrong. I had thought that spelling everything out and writing in ink made it look more important. After two bad mistakes of which I could fix only one, I wrote the rest in pencil instead of ink and abbreviated everything I could, including Ohio.

  Inviting Jason was a mistake from before the time the party began because that’s when he arrived. Fifteen minutes before. I didn’t like the idea of everyone else arriving and Jay looking buddy-buddy with me like some cousin or brother-in-law.

  Mother served fried chicken, and the only person with a real appetite was Jason. He ate thirds. Everyone else was anxious to get on with the party and stopped at seconds. Jason cleared his plate and carried it to the sink where Mother was standing. She said, “Thank you, Jay; you’re a real gentleman.” N o one else took the hint. I looked at Dick and rolled my eyes to the top of my head long enough for him to get the message but not long enough for Mother to get it, too.

  When it was time to blow out the candles, Jason sang Happy Birthday with such concentration that when he got to Happy Birthday, dear Stanley— Stanley being my name—his St wet the icing and everyone kind of picked at the cake. Except, of course, Jason, who ate his all gone. I caught Dicks eye again.

  The first thing we did after eating was to get on with the party. I had opened each present as it arrived so that there didn’t have to be any grand opening; I don’t think that that is bad manners. Just girls (mothers) think so.

  Our first game was a drawing contest to see who could draw the best. We drew girls. With their clothes off. Grown-up girls. We passed the pictures all around. Since it was my party, I got to be judge.

  Dick held on to Jason’s picture for a long time before passing it back to me for judging. There was some-thing sort of spooky about it. I awarded Dick first prize; his drawing was neat, and I decided that neatness counts. We crunched the pictures up and put them in the garbage can right after.

  Next we sat around on the floor and played cards. Jason made a real fool of himself. He wanted to lose. He kept throwing down his cards and saying things like “Go l dang it, I thought I had him.” A measly pair of fours. Then old Jason would throw in his M & M’s. That’s what we were playing for—the M & M candies that Mother had put in our party cups. Jay had only about ten brown ones left, and they were worth the l
east. Dick had cashed in a red for five brown and had bid three brown plus one yellow when Mother broke up the game. I told her that it wasn’t for money. True, but it was gambling. Also true. It was also messy. Someone had stepped on my winnings.

  “Bed time,” she said.

  We pushed back all the furniture in the den and laid out the sleeping bags. No w was the time for ghost stories, but the truth is that no one could tell a ghost story and tell it right. They were all full of uh’s and and’s and they never told them in order. We told jokes full of swear words; I told one that I had heard my father tell the man from the office who he had brought to the house for supper. Everyone laughed. I was relieved because if someone had asked me to explain it, I would have had to fake it. But they either understood or else no one wanted to be the one to ask.

  Mom and Dad took turns coming in to tell us to quiet down and go to sleep. Jason was the first to konk out; at least he didn’t snore. It wasn’t long before it was morning and everyone was ready for breakfast.

  Everyone was more ready than Mother was. She put on a bright dress and make-up, but I knew what was going on underneath both.

  Mother made bacon and eggs and put out two different kinds of cold cereal and orange juice and told everyone to pick up a plate and serve himself. We almost ran out of bacon after Jason filled his plate. Almost. Mother told everyone to roll his sleeping bag and gather up his belongings and then play outside until he got picked up.

  One by one they left. Two called their mothers to remind them. Jason sure didn’t call his mother. Dick’s mother had called us to tell us that she would be late picking up Dick since she had a beauty parlor appointment every Saturday; she said she would stop by for him on her way home, if that would be all right with us. I took that call, and I said that that would be fine with us.

  By that time, it would have been nice if Jason’s mother would come for him so that I could have some time alone with Dick. I guess she wasn’t anxious to get him back, either. I had to help Mother push the den furniture back in place, and Dick and Jay were looking through LIFE magazines while I did that.

  When I finished, I asked Jay if he would like to call his mother. “I’ll dial it for you,” I suggested. Jason did not look enthusiastic. After I finished that call, Jay and Dick were still sitting together. Jason had one of the pads we had drawn our girl pictures on last night. He was writing something when his mother arrived. I carried his sleeping bag out for him, meeting Mrs. Rabner halfway up the walk. I figured there was no point in having her come in. Al l she’d do would be to have coffee with Mother, and Jay would hang around for that.

  Dick said goodbye to Jason and said, “I enjoyed talking with you.” Dick also said “See ya” to him.

  Jason said goodbye and thanked both me and my mother for the party. A t last he was gone. I said to Dick, “Too bad about Jay.” Saying that allowed room for Dick to say the first bad thing.

  Dick said, “You know, dyslexia makes things come out different. Like I read him the story about the astronauts and here is how he wrote it.” I looked at what Jay had written:

  They nogged down and stepped onto the

  glans. Nothing looked fare wol, so

  Allen lo men . . .

  “He sure can’t spell,” I said.

  Dick glanced over the paragraph again. “The way he writes seems better for the moon than what the magazine said.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it.”

  “Yeah,” Dick added. “And here’s a picture I asked him to draw. Doesn’t it look kind of the way that moon pictures should?”

  “Maybe,” I said, “but it sure don’t rate hanging in any museum.’’

  “No earth museum,” Dick explained. An d then Dick said three more nice things about Jason.

  When Dick’s mother came for him, I had had enough of the party. Mother made me help her load the empty Coke bottles into the car. “Aren’t you glad that you asked Jason, after all?” she asked.

  I answered, “No! “

  Which was the same answer I would have given before the party, and I would have meant it just as much. Only my reasons would have been different.

  The Night of the Leonids

  illustrated by Laurel Schindelman

  I ARRIVED AT Grandmothers house in a taxi. I had my usual three suitcases, one for my pillow and my coin collection. The doorman helped me take the suitcases up, and I helped him; I held the elevator button so that the door wouldn’t close on him while he loaded them on and off. Grandmothers new maid let me in. She was younger and fatter than the new maid was the last time. She told me that I should unpack and that Grandmother would be home shortly.

  Grandmother doesn’t take me everywhere she goes and I don’t take her everywhere I go; but we get along pretty well, Grandmother and I.

  She doesn’t have any pets, and I don’t have any other grandmothers, so I stay with her whenever my mother and my father go abroad; they send me post cards.

  My friend Clarence has the opposite: three Eiffels and two Coliseums. My mother and my father are very touched that I save their post cards. I also think that it is very nice of me.

  I had finished unpacking, and I was wondering why Grandmother didn’t wait for me. After all, I am her only grandchild, and I am named Lewis. Lewis was the name of one of her husbands, the one who was my grandfather. Grandmother came home as I was on my way to the kitchen to see if the new maid believed in eating between meals better than the last new maid did.

  “Hello, Lewis,” Grandmother said.

  “Hello, Grandmother,” I replied. Sometimes we talk like that, plain talk. Grandmother leaned over for me to kiss her cheek. Neither one of us adores slobbering, or even likes it.

  “Are you ready?” I asked.

  “Just as soon as I get out of this girdle and these high heels,” she answered.

  “Take off your hat, too, while you’re at it,” I suggested. “I’ll set things up awhile.”

  Grandmother joined me in the library.

  I have taught her double solitaire, fish, cheat, and casino. She has taught me gin rummy; we mostly play gin rummy.

  The maid served us supper on trays in the library so that we could watch the news on color TV . Grandmother has only one color T V set, so we watch her programs on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and every other Sunday; we watch mine on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays and the leftover Sundays. I thought that she could have given me every Sunday since I am her only grandchild and I am named Lewis, but Grandmother said, “Share and share alike.” An d we do. An d we get along pretty well, Grandmother and I.

  After the news and after supper Grandmother decided to read the newspaper; it is delivered before breakfast but she only reads the ads then. Grandmother sat on the sofa, held the newspaper at the end of her arm, then she squinted and then she tilted her head back and farther back so that all you could see were nostrils, and then she called, “Lewis, Lewis, please bring me my glasses.”

  I knew she would.

  I had to look for them. I always have to look for them. They have pale blue frames and are shaped like sideways commas, and they are never where she thinks they are or where I think they should be: on the nose of her head. You should see her trying to dial the telephone without her glasses. She practically stands in the next room and points her finger, and she still gets wrong numbers. I only know that in case of fire, I’ll make the call.

  I found her glasses. Grandmother began reading messages from the paper as if she were sending telegrams. It is one of her habits I wonder about; I wonder if she does it even when I’m not there. “Commissioner of Parks invites everyone to Central Park tonight,” she read.

  “What for?” I asked. “ A mass mugging?”

  “No. Something else.”

  “What else?”

  “Something special.”

  I waited for what was a good pause before I asked, “What special?”

  Grandmother waited for a good pause before she answered, “Something spectacular,
” not even bothering to look up from the newspaper.

  I paused. Grandmother paused. I paused. Grand-mother paused. I paused, I paused, I paused, and I won. Grandmother spoke first. “ A spectacular show of stars,” she said.

  “Movie stars or rock and roll?” I inquired politely.

  “Star stars,” she answered.

  “You mean like the sky is full of?”

  “Yes, I mean like the sky is full of.”

  “You mean that the Commissioner of Parks has invited everyone out just to enjoy the night environment?” W e were studying environment in our school.

  “Not any night environment. Tonight there will be a shower of stars.”

  “Like a rain shower?” I asked.

  “More like a thunderstorm.”

  “Stars falling like rain can be very dangerous and pollute our environment besides.” We were also studying pollution of the environment in our school.

  “No, they won’t pollute our environment,” Grandmother said.

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “Because they will burn up before they fall all the way down. Surely you must realize that,” she added.

  I didn’t answer.

  “You must realize that they always protect astronauts from burning up on their reentry into the earth’s atmosphere.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “They give the astronauts a heat shield. Otherwise they’d burn up.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “The stars don’t have one. A heat shield, that is.” I didn’t answer.

  “That’s why the stars burn up. They don’t have a shield. Of course, they aren’t really stars, either. They are Leonids.”

  Then I answered.

  “Why don’t you tell me about the shower of stars that isn’t really a shower and isn’t really stars?” She wanted to explain about them. I could tell. That’s why I asked.

  Grandmother likes to be listened to. That’s one reason why she explains things. She prefers being listened to when she tells things: like get my elbow off the table and pick up my feet when I walk. She would tell me things like that all day if I would listen all day. When she explains, I listen. I sit close and listen close, and that makes her feel like a regular grandmother. She likes that, and sometimes so do I. That’s one reason why we get along pretty well.