Almost Zero Read online

  ALMOST ZERO

  A DYAMONDE DANIEL Book

  Also by Nikki Grimes

  Jazmin’s Notebook

  Bronx Masquerade

  The Road to Paris

  Make Way for Dyamonde Daniel

  Rich: A Dyamonde Daniel Book

  ALMOST ZERO

  A DYAMONDE DANIEL Book

  Nikki Grimes

  illustrated by

  R. Gregory Christie

  G. P. Putnam’s Sons

  An Imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

  A division of Penguin Young Readers Group.

  Published by The Penguin Group.

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario

  M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.).

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  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England.

  Text copyright © 2010 by Nikki Grimes.

  Illustrations copyright © 2010 by R. Gregory Christie.

  All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, G. P. Putnam’s Sons, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014. G. P. Putnam’s Sons, Reg. U.S. Pat. & Tm. Off. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Grimes, Nikki. Almost zero : a Dyamonde Daniel book / Nikki Grimes ; illustrated by R. Gregory Christie. p. cm. Summary: Dyamonde is angry at her mother for not buying her the shoes she wants, but when she finds out that a classmate has it a lot worse, she is determined to help. [1. Voluntarism—Fiction. 2. Conduct of life—Fiction. 3. Schools—Fiction.] I. Christie, Gregory, 1971– ill. II. Title.

  PZ7.G88429Al 2010 [Fic]—dc22 2010002282

  ISBN: 978-1-101-65717-1

  For Barb Wallingford,

  beloved mother of Adam, Brian, and Emily,

  devoted teacher, and passionate lover of literature

  —N.G.

  For Ruth Edwards

  —R.G.C.

  Contents

  The World of Dyamonde Daniel

  1. Sneaker Heaven

  2. Robbed

  3. Mean Mom and the Mustard Stain

  4. Almost Zero

  5. Suddenly Small

  6. Tales out of School

  7. Good-bye, Clothes

  8. A Good Cause

  9. Spreading the Word

  10. Pulling Together

  11. Brown Bag Surprise

  Dyamonde is always on the lookout for a friend in need!

  The World of Dyamonde Daniel

  Dyamonde Daniel

  This third-grader is smart enough to know she should never tell her mom what to do…but sometimes she forgets. Fortunately, Dyamonde can also use that big brain of hers to come up with a plan when a friend needs her help.

  Free

  He’s Dyamonde’s best friend, and even though she doesn’t always listen to his advice, he always comes through for her when she needs him.

  Damaris

  A great friend with a big heart, she’s also the best writer Dyamonde knows. She adds poetic flair to any project, and the two girls make a great team!

  Isabel

  She has a cool white streak in her hair that makes Dyamonde a little jealous. But when Isabel’s family needs help, Dyamonde is determined to make sure they get it.

  Tameeka

  This stylish girl likes to show off her expensive clothes, and sometimes she’s not very nice, but who knows—she might end up surprising Dyamonde.

  Dyamonde’s mom

  She loves Dyamonde and works hard to give her everything she needs—but sometimes they don’t agree on the difference between “want” and “need”!

  1. Sneaker Heaven

  Dyamonde Daniel was not jealous of anyone. Except maybe Isabel, a girl in her class who was born with a streak of white in her hair that Dyamonde thought was too cool. Plus Isabel was cute, with dimples you could swim in, which didn’t help matters.

  Good thing I’m a better dresser, Dyamonde sometimes thought to herself. Not that she’d ever say that out loud. Dyamonde thought being mean was the most uncool thing in the universe.

  Monday morning, she and Isabel were standing in front of school talking when Tanya, Tylisha and Tameeka, the three T’s, paraded past like models on a runway, showing off their new matching hoodies.

  Oh, puleeze, thought Dyamonde.

  Free snuck up behind the three T’s, swishing his bony hips like he was a model too.

  “Stop it, Free!” said Dyamonde, trying not to laugh. Free straightened up just as Tameeka turned around. Isabel covered her laughter by bending down to retie her shoes, and Dyamonde lowered her smiling eyes.

  “Cool sneaks!” said Dyamonde, noticing Tameeka’s pink high-top sneakers.

  “Thanks,” said Tameeka.

  “Those come in red?” asked Dyamonde. Red was her favorite color.

  “Yeah,” said Tameeka. “I saw some red ones at Sneaker Heaven.”

  Dyamonde’s face fell. Sneaker Heaven was expensive. She really liked those sneakers, though. Tameeka could tell.

  “Why don’t you tell your mom to buy you some?”

  “Huh?”

  “Tell her. That’s what I do. If I need something, I tell my mom to get it.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” said Dyamonde. Who ever heard of telling your mom what to do?

  “No. I’m serious. I tell her nice, but, you know. She’s my mom, and it’s her job to get me whatever I need.”

  Well, thought Dyamonde, I guess that’s true.

  “You should try it,” said Tameeka. “Just tell her you need some red high-tops. That’s it.”

  Dyamonde nodded. Damaris and Free, who were standing nearby, traded looks.

  “Don’t do it, Dy,” said Free. “If you do, your mom will pop you one. Guaranteed.”

  “He’s right, Dy,” Damaris chimed in.

  “Oh, puleeze!” said Dyamonde. “Shows how much you know. She’d never do that. My mom doesn’t believe in coral…in corporate…my mom doesn’t believe in hitting.”

  “Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Dyamonde shrugged him off.

  That evening, when her mom was in the living room reading the funnies, Dyamonde marched in and cleared her throat.

  “Mom, I need some red high-top sneakers.”

  “Is that a question?” asked Mrs. Daniel.

  “Not exactly,” said Dyamonde. “I really ne
ed you to get me some red high-top sneakers.”

  “Dyamonde, the three pairs of sneakers you already have are just fine,” said Mrs. Daniel.

  This isn’t working, thought Dyamonde. I must not be doing it right.

  “No, they are not fine!” said Dyamonde, raising her voice. She crossed her arms and threw her shoulders back. “I need red ones, and you have to get them for me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re my mother, and mothers have to take care of their children, and you have to get them for me. It’s your job!” Dyamonde was practically shouting.

  Mrs. Daniel was silent for a moment.

  “Is that so?” she said, in a quiet voice.

  “Yes, that’s so,” said Dyamonde. Only now she wasn’t so sure. Her mom’s voice was scary-soft.

  “I see,” said Mrs. Daniel.

  Dyamonde gulped.

  “Well, let me give it some thought.”

  “Okay,” squeaked Dyamonde.

  Dyamonde stood in the middle of the living room floor, bouncing from one foot to the other. She didn’t know what to do next.

  “You can set the table for dinner,” said her mom. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

  Oh, boy, thought Dyamonde. I hope I’m not in big trouble.

  For the rest of the evening, she watched her mom, waiting to see if she was going to announce some punishment. But nothing happened. Still, Dyamonde had a hard time falling asleep that night.

  Tuesday morning, Dyamonde tiptoed around the house, careful not to disturb her mom. They ate breakfast together, like any other day. And like any other day, her mom smiled when Dyamonde said good-bye.

  Free was on the stoop waiting for Dyamonde when she came out of the building.

  “Well?” asked Free, getting right to the point. “Did you do it?”

  “Uh-huh,” said Dyamonde.

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Did she pop you one?”

  Dyamonde rolled her eyes. “I told you, my mom doesn’t believe in that stuff.”

  “So, how’d it go?”

  “Okay, I guess,” said Dyamonde.

  I think it did.

  I hope it did.

  All Dyamonde knew for sure was that she didn’t want to talk about it.

  “You choose what to read for your book report?” she asked Free.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah! I found this great book on Jackie Robinson.”

  Baseball, thought Dyamonde. It figures.

  Once Free started talking baseball, he forgot about everything else. That left Dyamonde alone with her thoughts, and that was just fine.

  The rest of the school day was normal. And by the end of it, Dyamonde had stopped worrying about whether her mom was mad at her or not. But when she got home, she was in for a big surprise.

  2. Robbed

  “Mom!” screamed Dyamonde. “Somebody robbed our house!”

  “Stop screaming, child,” said Mrs. Daniel. “The whole building can hear you.”

  “But somebody robbed our house!” said Dyamonde.

  “No,” said Mrs. Daniel in a calm voice. “They didn’t.”

  “But—”

  “Is the television gone?” asked Mrs. Daniel. “Or the CD player?”

  Dyamonde looked around the living room. The TV and CD player were there, exactly where they should be.

  “If our house wasn’t robbed, then how come all my clothes are missing?”

  And they were. The hall closet where Dyamonde kept her clothes was bare. The hangers were naked as a newborn. The dresser drawers were empty, each hanging open like the tongue from a dog’s mouth. The only thing left in the closet was some underwear, a pair of neatly folded pajamas, and one pair of just-washed fuzzy bunny slippers. Those sat atop the dresser.

  “What happened to all my clothes?” asked Dyamonde.

  Her mom fell into her old recliner, exhausted. She slowly kicked off her shoes, one at a time. She removed her watch, carefully placed it on the end table beside her and made herself comfy before she finally spoke.

  Dyamonde felt like shaking her.

  “Nobody stole your clothes, Dyamonde,” said her mom. “I packed them up and took them away.”

  “Huh?” Dyamonde did not believe her ears.

  “Last night, you told me it was my job, as your mother, to give you what you need. Remember?”

  Dyamonde felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t like where this was going.

  “So, I thought about it. And you were right. It is my job to give you a roof over your head, a safe place to sleep, food to eat and clothes to wear.”

  Dyamonde nodded. So far, so good.

  “But guess what, Dyamonde. Nowhere does it say I have to give you more than you need. So I’ve decided, from now on, I’ll give you exactly what you need and nothing more.”

  Dyamonde’s heart pounded against her chest.

  “There are no clothes in my closet except pajamas. I can’t go to school wearing pajamas.”

  “No, you can’t,” her mother agreed.

  “Then what am I supposed to wear tomorrow?”

  “The same clothes you wore today,” said Mrs. Daniel. Then she picked up the television remote and switched on the news.

  Dyamonde’s feet were glued to the living room floor, and her mouth hung wide open.

  “Better close your mouth, or you’ll catch flies,” said her mom.

  Dyamonde balled her fists and made a choking sound. Then she ran to the bathroom, slammed the door as hard as she could and plopped down on the side of the bathtub.

  “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” muttered Dyamonde. Then she went to the sink and turned the water on full blast to cover the sound of her crying.

  3. Mean Mom and the Mustard Stain

  Wednesday morning, Dyamonde stomped and banged doors as loudly as she could, hoping to make her mom as mad as she was. But it didn’t work. Her mom pretended not to notice.

  “Big deal,” Dyamonde muttered to herself. “So what if I have to wear the same stupid clothes I had on yesterday. I don’t care.” Dyamonde’s lie sounded pretty weak, even to herself.

  Dyamonde pulled on her red T-shirt, which had a quarter-size mustard stain on it from the bite of hot dog Free gave her at lunch the day before.

  “Shoot!” said Dyamonde.

  She went to the kitchen sink, squirted dishwashing liquid on a sponge and dabbed at the stain. That only made the spot bigger.

  “Crumb!”

  Now she was really mad, but there was nothing she could do about it. She had to leave for school soon or she’d be late. She zipped on her blue jean skirt, pulled on her striped vest and hoped the spot didn’t show too much. She pulled on her stinky socks, which slouched more than clean ones did, and Dyamonde hated that.

  “Get a move on!” called her mom.

  Dyamonde sucked her teeth and knelt to tie her white sneakers.

  Her mom was at the door, holding it open.

  “Have a good day,” said Mrs. Daniel.

  Dyamonde looked at her mom like she was crazy, but she didn’t say a word. She figured her mouth had gotten her in enough trouble already.

  “What took you so long?” asked Free as soon as she hit the stoop. “I almost went to school by myself.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” snapped Dyamonde.

  “Hey!” said Free. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing,” said Dyamonde. “I’m sorry.”

  Free scratched his head.

  The two walked awhile in silence. Free studied Dyamonde when she wasn’t looking.

  “What happened to your shirt?” asked Free.

  Dyamonde’s hand flew to the spot, still wet, peeking out from behind the vest.

  “It had a mustard stain. I tried to wash it, but…” Dyamonde’s voice trailed off.

  “So why didn’t you just put on a different shirt?” asked Free.

  “BECAUSE I DIDN’T, THAT’S WHY,” yelled Dyamonde.

  “Geez!”
said Free, jumping back. “Alls I did was ask you a question!”

  “I know,” said Dyamonde, calmer. “I guess I don’t feel like talking right now.”

  “Okay by me,” said Free, throwing his hands up. “Later, then.” Without saying another word, Free jogged ahead, leaving Dyamonde to herself.

  Dyamonde growled, mad at herself for chasing her friend away, even madder at Tameeka for her stupid idea.

  God, thought Dyamonde, let Tameeka be sick today, just a little, just so she has to stay home. I don’t think I could stand to see her right now.

  4. Almost Zero

  Naturally, the first person Dyamonde saw when she arrived at school was Tameeka in her pink high-top sneakers.

  “Hey, Dyamonde,” she said. “You get your red high-tops yet?”

  Dyamonde wished her eyes were balls of fire. That way, she could burn Tameeka to the ground.

  “No, I didn’t get my red high-tops,” snapped Dyamonde.

  She turned to walk away just as Tameeka said, “Hey, didn’t you wear that same shirt yesterday?”

  Dyamonde fumed. She wanted to say, “You know how many clothes I have in my closet now, thanks to you? Almost zero!” But instead, Dyamonde turned on her heel and walked away.

  Dyamonde avoided Tameeka for the rest of the day.

  At lunch, she found a table all to herself. Everything was fine until some boy goofing off behind her knocked her elbow as she was about to take a sip of her milk. She ended up with more than a mouthful. Half the container spilled down her front.

  “Rats!” said Dyamonde. Now her T-shirt was stained and sticky. She mopped up the milk with her napkin, which didn’t help much. Her eyes filled with water, but Dyamonde refused to cry.

  “Sorry,” said the boy. Dyamonde glared at him. “Sorry,” he said a second time, carrying his tray to a table as far away from Dyamonde as possible.

  It’s only milk, Dyamonde told herself. It’ll dry soon. And it did.