Excerpt from the newly published young adult novel, The Magic Pencil

Excerpt from

The Magic Pencil

by Karen E. Dabney © 2009

INTRODUCTION

This story is about YoungStar Malcolm Bakersfield, his mysterious new classmate and a pencil that changes everything!

If you don’t understand him at first,

Try reading aloud then you’ll have a thirst.

‘Malc’ has something to say about everything,

Even if no one’s really listening.

You might agree with him or have a different view,

It’s OK wit him if it’s OK witchu!

Now, read his story, then you’ll see,

Malc’s a lot like all, us, we.

Things are seldom what they seem--once you see a pencil gleam!

PROLOGUE

Today is my brotha’s birthday. I’m gettin ready to look for him when my mother calls my name. “Yeah, Mom?”

“I want you to call Martin and tell him I made his favorite cake. Ask him what time he plans to be here so I’ll know if he’s coming for dinner.”

“I’m just bout to go find him. He’s probly up an out by now.” It’s one o’clock in the p.m. I figure he’ll be at one hangout or another.

“Well, I guess you know better than I. If you can’t find him at a halfway decent location--don’t go looking for him anywhere else-- all right?”

“OK. I’ll be back after a while. Oh, yeah. Is Jam gonna be home in time?”

“He plans to be. He’s rehearsing til about five. Depends on the time Martin wants to come.”

“Ah’ight, Ma.”

“Bye-bye brover. I lub you!”

I pick up my lil sista, kiss her an put her back down on the floor. She grabs at my keys cuz she wantstuh see my plastic good luck star. I let her jangle it against the keys an say: “Bye-bye to you too Jamilah Kibibi Hayes, and I love you!” Satisfied, she waddles back to our mother.

I get my bike from the basement an leave out on my way to Ole Jess Moon’s house. That’s usely the best place to find Martin. He’s practicly livin there now. I ride for bout ten minutes an turn a corner. There he is--standin like a prizefighter--lettin the sun hit his face. “Hey,” I say to him an Jess while bumpin fists together, “what up?”

“Hey, lil bro. Not too much. Jus chillin.”

I see they been workin on a car in the garage.

“Malc, you ain tryin to grow now is you?” Ole Jess smiles.

I am gettin a lil taller. It feels good to hear it. “Tryin to do as much as I can, my man!”

“The way you growin you might git taller’n Martin!”

“Ah’ight now. Whatchu doin lookin for me?” Martin’s dark eyes are tryin to pick my brain.

“Yeah, as if you don’t know. Mom wanna know if you comin for dinner.”

“She bake a cake?”

He’s studyin me now like he’s givin me a physical. “Ya know she did. Hey, you got a real mustache man!”

“Yeah. I’m growin too.”

He scratches his head. I notice he’s been to the barbershop.

“Tell Ma I’ll come roun six. My man Jam gon be there?”

“Yeah, he’s sposed to be. Aw, man, that reminds me! I had a dream that was off the chain last night! You know how I’m likely to fly an stuff in my dreams? Well, in this one I stay on the ground, an it happened round the time I started gettin straight A’s at ole Gillespie Elementary. I hadtuh grab a notebook an write the main parts a it down while it was still fresh. Everybody was in it! It seemed so real--but magical too! Martin, I was wantin you to stay in school an stuff, man!”

“You must’ve been dreamin! But I have thought bout takin up computer design or somethin. Jus thinkin now cuz you know I always an--all ways--got some bidness goin on! Why you laughin Ole Jess? Everybody ain gon work out they garage forever for a penny an a pint!”

“Man--I was laughin witchu--not atchu. Nothin but the best for you, Martin. You too Malcolm!”

“Well,” Martin chuckles, “c’mon Malc, out wit it. Tell us all bout this dream a yours. Seems it must be kinda special.”

I’m glad my brotha always takes time to listen to me.

“Whatchu say bout it, Jess?”

“I’m all ears.” Ole Jess grins.

“That’s cuz you a ole elephant!” Martin snorts.

“An I gon member you said that too!” Ole Jess laughs an winks at me.

“OK, OK!” I break in, “I’m ready to tell y’all my dream! Like I said, most a it took place at Gillespie. I remember how crazy we was over pencils.

Maaaaan . . .

Chapter 1

PENCILOLOGY

Everybody likes the look, the feel an the size of a brand new, never been used pencil. An that pencil’s even better when it’s sharpened to a serious needlepoint. The teachers always be sayin: “Don’t run with a pencil! You could injure someone!” So we run anyway cuz danger’s just a game to us. But back to the point--ha, ha. It’s best if you got a pencil that comes from someplace other than school. You can feel cooler than the kids usin them ole, free, yellow jobs. But if it is yellow--you still cool long as it don’t have the writin on it that the school pencils got. An it should be a number two. Everything I ever heard bout pencils asks for a number two.

Now I know most kids don’t be thinkin deep bout diffrent stuff as much as me.

See, I like to study things. Not just reglar things--like in school. I mean I like to watch people, animals an machines. Some a the kids I run wit call me The Watcher after the dude in that ole movie, The Brother from Another Planet. All he seemed to do was check everything out like a witness or somethin.

Yeah, I get into pencils just like most a my homies--but deeper--cuz I watch. The reason I do is cuz some kids be actin like a new pencil is gold! Even the ones who got they own! When the teacher busts out a new box--you’d think it’s everybody’s birthday! Which is weird cuz it’s the same ole school pencils--only new. Kids be tryin to act all cool an unimpressed but they watchin every move of the lucky one who gets to sharpen them pencils. Sharpenin is a whole nother story cuz some teachers got electric sharpeners!

I know I talk a lotta junk cuz I hang round older kids an even some adults. I manage to pick up a whole lotta ways to talk. Ole school an new school--it’s all the same to me. Conversatin an communicatin’s what it’s all bout.

We had a substitute teacher--Ms. Kady--for a week that tried to teach us how to properly use pencils. It tripped me out at first but she was OK so I listened. She said when she was in school the teachers showed the kids where an how to hold a pencil! She used a fat piece a chalk to demonstrate:

“My teachers would explain we were to lean the pencil back into the space between our thumbs an pointer fingers, in a slant. When the pencil lead became flat on one side, we’d turn it to the side that wasn’t. There was less waste, less sharpening, and less reason to get up.”

Boy, I knew wasn’t nobody goin for that! Ev-ery-body wanna sharpen they pencil at lease once a hour! Who even want they pencil to last longer than the eraser? The pencil be all stubbly an stuff. An those add-on erasers look wack. I ain never had a teacher--before that one--talk bout the right way to write--ha, ha. She said she hadtuh graduate to usin special ink pens in fourth grade! We can’t even use ink pens at my school! Too many kids be needin correction fluid all the time.

Since I been watchin, I’ve seen some things bout pencils that probly never will make no sense. Like playin leads or breaks. That’s when you an your partners try to see who can break whose pencil lead--or even the whole pencil--first by thumpin each other’s. I don’t even know why we do it! Maybe cuz we bored, wanna show off or cuz it drives the teachers nuts. It’s sorta the same way wit erasers. The teacher gives us nice new pink erasers. Sooner or later those erasers become history. It starts wit us puttin our names on them. Then some kids draw on them, stick they pencils into them, break or cut them in half, so now you got the crumbs developin. Course small pieces a rubber make good projectiles as Mr. Burns--the math teacher--calls them. So we end up throwin them at each other! After a while, hardly nobody got a eraser an those that do might share--or most likely won’t--cuz now the erasers is real valuable! Then we get reminded by the teachers bout how we abused the erasers when we had our own.

Speakin a ownin--it always be the kid who do the lease work wit the most pencils! This kid’s usely a boy. How he collects all them pencils is a bit of a mystery. He may’ve brought a few wit him, stole a few--he feels anything that hits the floor is fair game--might’ve got one from the speech teacher or lied an tol another teacher he needed one. Somehow he ends up wit bout fourteen in diffrent sizes, lengths an colors. He usely keeps a fat rubber band round them an displays his catch all day. You got a better chance a growin wings than gettin him to loan you one. An he hardly ever do any work or even draw! The one we got now don’t talk in class or do nothin. We call him The Collector.

Now, at most kids’ homes pencils an erasers be hard to come by. An--even if you got pencils--you usely ain got no real sharpener. This explains another kinda behavior: kids tryin to use the class sharpener--if it works--before they go home. Course some kids have they own hand sharpeners to bring back an forth--as long as they don’t get lost, stolen or taken by the teachers for various reasons.

At my house we always got pencils an a real sharpener too. Part a why is cuz my mom likes to write poetry an stuff. She wrote a poem bout me.

It goes:

“My Child

My child is my hope.

I keep him safe from dope.

I hug him everyday,

An bless him when I pray.

He’s growing very strong,

And he knows right from wrong.

He is great company.

I raise him to be free.”

I memorized it cuz it makes me feel good an I can say it to myself when I want to. I ain never tol it to nobody--cept my granma--til now. I guess my mom is why I like to watch an learn new words.

An write.