A Poster Prize

I bundled up in my fleece-lined, acid-washed jean jacket as I headed out my front door, the autumn air just beginning to bite. The slight humidity in the Maryland air kept the chill just above the surface of my skin, not quite allowing it to seep in just yet. But even that protection would be gone by the end of my cul-de-sac.

Brittle brown leaves filled the curbs of my neighborhood’s streets. I crunched through their depths, following my routine path up the hill to the gate opening onto the grounds of my elementary school, with blotchy patches of green mixed with the dying blades of grass that lined the front of the building.

I wiped my nose on my sleeve, the mottled blue and white jean pattern the perfect camouflage for my snot. Opening the front door, my purple mittens did little to block out the chill of the metal handle. The warm dusty smell of the school’s heater sent warmth into my cold limbs. I breathed in deeply, taking in the scene.

Posters of singers and athletes lined the walls of the entrance. Fundraiser. My heart sank as Cyndi Lauper, Madonna, Michael Jackson, Wham!, Magic Johnson, Wayne Gretzky, familiar faces we all knew, loved, and idolized, stared at me from every angle. Prizes for those who sold whatever wears my school chose to help supplement their budget.

My single mom wasn’t keen on fundraising. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust me going door to door to sell the wrapping paper and peanut brittle; she didn’t trust everyone else. She lived in constant fear that someone would kidnap my sister or me. I even had my address, phone number, and our car’s license plate memorized by the time I was five, just in case. So there was no hope of participating in the event.

I walked down the long, laminate-tiled hallway toward my third-grade classroom. Artwork dotted the walls beside each door, boasting of the students’ talents within – except for mine. I paused at the classroom entrance, marveling at the paper Christmas tree next to a poster with the lyrics to the song, The Twelve Days of Christmas, and a challenge above.

“How many presents did the singer receive according to the song? The winner gets a poster of their choosing. Submit answers to Ms. Gross by Friday.”

Immediately, I dropped to the floor right in the middle of the hallway, slinging my backpack around and rifling through to find a paper and pencil. My hand shook as I wrote my name at the top of the sheet, hastily scribbling down my answer, “twelve.”

I zipped up my bag and stood, ready to turn in my paper, when Jason stopped beside me.

“I want to say the answer is twelve, but that can’t be right.”

My head whipped in his direction. “Why not?”

Jason pointed at the lyrics. “Look, it says they got a partridge in a pear tree on the first day, but it also says they got the partridge and pear tree on the second day along with the turtle doves.” His finger skimmed over the entire poster of lyrics. “The pear tree part is on every line.”

“So?” I needed him to confirm what my suspicions were telling me.

“So, I think it’s a lot more than twelve presents.”

I stared at the display challenge, then back at my sheet. He was right. “Are you going to solve it?”

Jason scoffed. “I’m not doing math unless I have to. Besides, you only have to sell three things to get a poster from the fundraiser. My mom, dad, and grandmother will all buy something from me, so why bother?” He shrugged and headed into the classroom.

Lucky. I watched as the door shut behind Jason and checked my watch. It was 8:46 am. I had fourteen minutes to try to solve this problem before class started. Sure, I had the rest of the week, but I wasn’t sure if Ms. Gross would be handing out a poster to every correct answer or just the first one turned in. I wasn’t going to take any chances.

Again I plopped down in the middle of the hallway with my pencil and paper. After erasing my initial answer, I sang the Christmas carol in my head, writing down the number of each item received each day – there were a lot of numbers. Next, I added up a day at a time, then added the twelve days together, finally coming to an answer – three hundred and sixty-four. It was possibly the biggest number I’d ever calculated, and it didn’t feel right.

There was no way someone would give another person that many gifts – they’d have to be rich! My shoulders slumped as the bell rang.

With heavy limbs, I picked up my things and headed to my seat in Ms. Gross’s room. Jason sat in the chair next to mine, and he glanced at my Christmas carol answer.

“Whoa, how’d you come up with that? Over three hundred sixty gifts?” His voice seemed to cut through the chatter of other students drawing Ms. Gross’s attention.

‘SHH!” I swatted at Jason’s arm as I cringed into my chair, trying to disappear.

“What’s that, Jason? What number did you say?” Ms. Gross’s Jersey accent made her tone sound harsher than her expression conveyed.

Jason’s face went red. “Um,” he glanced again at my paper, but I snatched it from off the desk. He gave me a side-eyed glare. “Three hundred sixty-something.” He shrugged his response.

Ms. Gross rose from her desk over to our corner of the room and held out her hand. “Can I see how you came up with that number?”

Jason eyed me over his shoulder. “It, uh, wasn’t my number. It was Amber’s.” He jutted his thumb in my direction.

Ms. Gross’s eyes flicked to me. “Is that true, Amber? Did you come up with that answer?”

I swallowed hard. “The actual number was three hundred sixty-four.”

“Is that how many presents you believe the singer received from her true love?”

I nodded tentatively, ready to hear the error in my calculation, but a smile broke out across Ms. Gross’s face.

“Congratulations, Amber. Start thinking about what poster you’d like.” She patted my shoulder before turning and heading back to her desk.

My chest swelled. Who would have thought math would actually come in handy?