Chapter 5

“I'm telling you Shanice, he winked at me."

Lizzie was in the coat room next to the Grade 5 classroom changing her rain boots into her indoor sneakers, "I know it sounds impossible, but it's true."

"It sounds like you've been reading too much of that Harry Potter stuff," responded Shanice, tying up her own shoes. "Next you are going to tell me there's blast-ended screwits scurrying around your basement."

"Blast-ended screwits can't scurry, they don't have legs. But that was a book. This was real."

"And we're going to be in REAL trouble if we don't get into class before the bell rings."

Shanice paused at the doorway.

"But don't worry your secret is safe with me. I'm not going to tell anyone that the town’s wood statues have started winking at you."

She chuckled and continued into the classroom. "That might make a good movie title "Revenge of the Winking Wood Carvings."

Lizzie was ticked off. Shanice was supposed to be her best friend. They wore each other’s friendship bracelets, often switched shoes and did each other’s hair. But now that something strange had happened, Shanice was dissing her. It was not shaping up to be a great day.

She was right. It went downhill from there. Mr. Thompson started the day with a pop quiz that required students to name the different phases of the moon and the way they impacted tides.

The lesson had been taught less than a week ago, so the answers should have been fresh in her mind, but they weren't. Lizzie confused waxing and waning and came up with just three of five impacts. When it came time to turn in her paper, Lizzie was near tears.

Dennis Borden, wearing his baseball cap on backwards because he thought it made him look cool, saw her distress and set out to make it worse.

"Aw, little Lizzie is upset because she doesn't know the phases of the moon," he whispered loud enough for everyone in the two closest rows to hear. They all turned to look at her. "I would think someone who howls at the moon, would know all about it."

The boys tittered. Lizzie blushed, and then got mad. Sticking with the moon theme, she said: "Houston, we have a problem. His name is Borden and he's a loud-mouthed jerk."

"Houston isn't the only one with a problem Miss Paris," came a booming voice from the front of the class. "I do not tolerate name calling in this class. Apologize immediately or there will be detention for you after school."

"But he said..."

Mr. Thompson cut her off. "No buts. Apologize now or see me after class."

Lizzie bit her tongue so hard she thought it was going to bleed.

"Dennis, I shouldn't have called you a jerk... you're a moron."

The class exploded with laughter.

"I hope you enjoyed that Miss Paris. You'll now be spending recesses with me all week, cleaning the white boards."

Lizzie lowered her head onto her desk. Her Dad was not going to be happy about this. Still, she couldn't help but smile a little bit.

Later in the morning, as the math lesson on multiplying fractions was coming to an end, Lizzie started to get anxious. There had been no free time to recreate the list of potential P-Day subjects that had disappeared over the fence. Worse still, she realized she couldn't remember a single name on the list, except Portia White.

"Miss Paris," came Mr. Thompson's voice unexpectedly." What is the rule for dividing fractions?"

"Urn..invert and multiply?" she offered trying to refocus quickly.

"Are you asking me or telling me?" challenged Mr. Thompson.

She paused.

"Invert and Multiply. Final answer."

There were some giggles from behind her at her game show response.

"Is she right?" asked Mr. Thompson turning to the rest of the class.

There were lots of nodding of heads and a general murmur of approval.

"Correct. Thank you Miss Paris. Now everyone please put away your math books. It's time to choose subjects for the year long research paper."

While students shuffled books and papers around in their desks, Mr. Thompson passed out a photocopied page outlining the details of the project.

The sheet indicated the project had to be about a Canadian hero. Research had to include at least four different sources, two of which had to be books or articles from newspapers or magazines. Internet research was permitted, but Wikipedia COULD NOT  be used as a source.

A rough draft of the project was due in January and the final submission was to be handed in on May 15. The project could be in the form of an essay, but it should include visual aids. In addition to the written material, each student had to give a six-minute oral presentation to the class on their chosen hero.

Any research carried out for the project could also be used in the Historica Fair slated for the end of the year. The fair was a day long regional competition for Grade 5 and Grade 6 students from across the county. It was like a science fair, but for history, with winners earning the right to go to provincial, and possibly national competitions.

The final note on the page was the one that worried the students the most. It said the project would be worth 40 per cent of their final Social Studies mark.

"Any questions?” asked Mr. Thompson after the student had a chance to read the sheet.

Billy Kaiser's hand shot up.

"If we interview someone in person, does that count as a source? I want to do General Lewis MacKenzie. He's from Princeport and my Dad knows his brother."

"Who is Lewis MacKenzie?" whispered Geoffrey Carter to Mike Turner, who was seated directly in front of Lizzie.

"That would count as one source, no problem," said Mr. Thompson. "Just make sure you take good notes, or better still tape the interview. That way you can go back and check it, if you forget something."

Geoffrey's hand went up.

"Who is Lewis MacKenzie? I've never heard of him."

Mr. Thompson looked toward Billy to give the answer.

"He was the leader of a peacekeeping mission in a part of Europe where they were trying to blow each other up. He was supposed to be good at his job and his picture was in the newspaper a lot."

"But don't the projects have to be about dead people? This is a history project after all," said Geoffrey.

"Yesterday is history," said Mr. Thompson. "Some people call a newspaper the first draft of history. Lewis MacKenzie is a fine choice."

Turning to the class, Mr. Thompson adjusted his tie and continued.

"I trust you've all have made equally interesting choices. You are going to be spending a lot of time getting to know this person between now and May. Any more questions?

"Okay, let's get started. Cassie Allen?"

"I'd like to do Agnes MacPhail, the first female Member of Parliament in Canadian history. She was elected to the House of Commons in 1921."

Cassie was the short, sporty blond in the third row.

"Fine," said Mr. Thompson. "Dennis Borden?"

"I was going to do Willie O'Ree, the first black to play in the NHL, but since he's an athlete, I've decided to do Gideon Sundback.”

"Who?" Lizzie heard Geoffrey ask again.

"Do you know who he is Mr. Thompson?" challenged Dennis in what Lizzie called his Mr. Know-lt-AII voice.

Without hesitation Mr. Thompson responded.

"Gideon Sundback was a Swedish-born Canadian who worked as an engineer at a fastener plant in St. Catherines Ontario. He was married to the plant manager's daughter. When she died, he buried himself in his work and in 1913 he designed the modern zipper. I'm not sure why that makes him a hero, but I look forward to reading about it in your paper."

Dennis looked stunned and Lizzie tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh. She was so unsuccessful, she ended up spraying a fine mist of spittle across her desk. She used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe it up.

And so it went, alphabetically, with students taking Sir. John A. MacDonald, Canada's first Prime Minister, Corrine Sparks, Nova Scotia's first black judge, astronauts Marc Garneau and Chris Hatfield and Metis leader Louis Riel.

When Eric MacKinnon tried to choose Rick Hansen, there was a heated discussion about whether fundraising efforts by the likes of Terry Fox and Hansen trumped their position as athletes. By a vote of hands, the students agreed it was an athletic endeavour that allowed the pair to do something heroic, therefore they were excluded. Eric reluctantly settled for Frederick Banting, the co-developer of insulin.

 Lizzie was surprised and relieved that when it came to her turn no one had taken Portia White.

"I'll do the famous opera singer, contralto Portia White," she said when Mr. Thompson called her name. “She was from Truro and sang in some of the finest concert halls across the world."

"Fine," said Mr. Thompson. "Mr. Robertson?"

 "Wait a second," interrupted Dennis Borden from his corner of the class. "You said no entertainers. Portia White was a singer."

Lizzie's cheeks flushed and her throat tightened. What was Dennis trying to do?

 "An interesting point Mr. Borden. What do you have to say Miss Paris? Or rather, what do you have to say that won't result in us spending more recesses together?"

Lizzie's head was spinning. She had been so focused on Portia as a historical figure, she didn't really think about her as an entertainer.

"When you said no entertainers I thought you meant TV stars or glamour queens like Avril Lavigne or Britney Spears. Portia isn't like that. She's an opera singer who travelled the world in the 40's and broke all kinds of racial barriers. You wouldn't find her on MTV."

"Opera singer, rap singer, disco diva, they’re just singers," whined Dennis. "Josh Groben is an opera singer. I bet if he was Canadian Mr. Thompson wouldn't let anyone do him. Right, Mr. Thompson?"

Lizzie lost it.

"Why don't you take a hint from your precious Gideon Sundback and zip it," Her eyes flashed angrily as she turned to stare at Dennis. If looks could kill, he'd be a goner.

The attention in the classroom turned to Mr. Thompson. Seated behind his tidy wooden desk, the students were anxious to see how he would react to the latest breach of the classroom rules.

 He was obviously in no rush to dispense justice. He watched the students watch him, and moved in the silence from leaning on his desk with his elbows to leaning back on this chair, his fingers linked behind his head.

"When I said no entertainers," he began slowly, "it was really because I didn't want to have to read about scantily-clad pop singers or actors that already get way too much attention. They can get their 15-minutes of fame on shows like E-Talk and Canadian Idol.

"See," said Lizzie turning toward Dennis and sticking out her tongue.

"But," Mr. Thompson continued, "that's not how I relayed the instructions. I was perhaps, imprecise, and will have to work on the wording for next year.  As for this year, the rules say no entertainers and I have to stick with that, no matter how old, or how significant their contribution. I'm sorry Miss Paris, Portia White is out. Do you have another choice?"

Lizzie could not believe what she was hearing. No Portia, and still the other names she'd written on the list wouldn't surface in her mind.

"I had a full list of options," she stumbled to explain, "but they blew away as I passed the Jeremiah Jones wood carving this morning. My back pack fell, and everything was on the ground."

Lizzie was near tears.

 "Jeremiah Jones? An excellent choice, Miss Paris," said Mr. Thompson. "I look forward to reading it. Mr. Rutherford, your choice?"