Rich Read online

  A POETRY CONTEST

  “The top three poems will be published on the Kids’ Page of the Sunday newspaper.”

  “Oooh!” said one kid.

  “I could be famous!” said a second kid.

  “You wish!” said a third.

  “And the winner,” said Mrs. Cordell, “will receive a check for one hundred dollars!”

  “Oh, snap!” said Free.

  Dyamonde did not even have to look at Free to know that his eyes were bugging out. She could just see him with imaginary dollar signs and little video games floating in front of him.

  “Now, who would like an entry form?” asked the teacher.

  Free’s hand shot up higher than anyone else’s.

  Read these other books

  by Nikki Grimes:

  Almost Zero: A Dyamonde Daniel Book

  Bronx Masquerade

  A Dime a Dozen

  Jazmin’s Notebook

  Make Way for Dyamonde Daniel

  The Road to Paris

  DYAMONDE

  DANiEL

  RICH

  NIKKI GRIMES

  illustrated by

  R. GREGORY CHRiSTiE

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  An Imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

  Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue,

  Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

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

  First published in the United States of America by G. P. Putnam’s Sons,

  a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2009

  Published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2010

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Text copyright © Nikki Grimes, 2009

  Illustrations copyright © R. Gregory Christie, 2009

  All rights reserved

  THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS EDITION AS FOLLOWS:

  Grimes, Nikki.

  Rich : a Dyamonde Daniel book / Nikki Grimes; illustrated by R. Gregory Christie.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Free is excited about a local poetry contest because of its cash prize, but when he and Dyamonde befriend a classmate that is homeless and living in a shelter, they rethink what it means to be rich or poor.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-61317-7

  [1. Homelessness—Fiction. 2. Friendship—Fiction. 3. Poetry—Fiction.

  4. African Americans—Fiction.] I. Christie, Gregory, date - ill. II. Title.

  PZ7.G88429Ri 2009 [Fic]—dc22 2009001033

  Puffin Books

  Printed in the United States of America

  Design by Katrina Damkoehler

  Text set in Bembo Semibold

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  For Ariana Katherine—N.G.

  To Jerry Gant,

  artist and poet extraordinaire—R.G.C.

  Contents

  The World of Dyamonde Daniel

  1. Rich

  2. Surprise

  3. Lunch Punch

  4. Treasure Hunt

  5. Secrets

  6. Damaris

  7. Poetry Contest

  8. The Three Musketeers

  9. Sleepover

  10. Honey, I Love

  11. And the Winner Is

  Discussion Guide

  Here comes the

  fabulous Dyamonde Daniel

  and her best friend, Free—

  and that means there’s going

  to be an adventure!

  The World of

  Dyamonde Daniel

  Dyamonde Daniel

  Dyamonde Daniel is a third-grader who likes to know everything that’s going on. She gives terrific advice, she’s great at math and she has her friend Free all figured out. She loves meeting people and knows that being “rich” doesn’t always mean having a lot of money.

  Free

  He’s Dyamonde’s best friend, and he dreams of being able to buy all the video games he wants. And winning a poetry contest with a cash prize would be a great start! Free thinks that should be easy since he knows he’s a great poet.

  Damaris Dancer

  Damaris is the quiet girl in class who never raises her hand for anything. She runs away from Dyamonde when Dyamonde sees her in their neighborhood. Does Damaris have a secret? Dyamonde plans to find out!

  Dyamonde’s mom

  Dyamonde lives with her mom in an apartment, and they are super close. Mrs. Daniel is nice and makes the most awesome pancakes on Saturday mornings.

  Rich

  Dyamonde and Free stood in front of a store window.

  “I hate being poor,” said Free. “Ever since my dad lost his job, all my mom seems to say is ‘We can’t afford this, we can’t afford that.’”

  Dyamonde Daniel would not trade Free for anything. He was her best friend, wasn’t he? But that boy had a lot to learn.

  “First off,” said Dyamonde, “I’ve seen you buy lots of things. And second, you are not poor.”

  “Then how come I can’t buy that new video game?”

  “My mom says everybody wants something they can’t have,” said Dyamonde. “That don’t—doesn’t make you poor.”

  “Well, what do you call it, then?”

  “Not having money right now,” said Dyamonde.

  “Same thing,” grumbled Free.

  “No, it isn’t,” said Dyamonde. “Poor is…” Dyamonde thought for a moment. “Poor is having no clothes, and no food, and no place to live, and nobody who cares.”

  “I guess,” said Free. “But I still wish I could get that new video game.”

  “Well then,” said Dyamonde, “you’d better get to school so you can graduate, so you can get a job, so you can buy your own video game.”

  “Forget it, then,” said Free.

  Dyamonde play-punched him in the arm.

  “You call that a punch? You punch like a girl,” said Free.

  Dyamonde pulled her arm back and punched him for real this time.

  “Ouch! I was just kidding!”

  “Come on, then,” said Dyamonde. “And hurry. Mrs. Cordell said she’d have a surprise for us today.”

  Surprise

  “Attention, class!” said Mrs. Cordell. “I have an announcement.”

  Great! thought Dyamonde. Here it comes!

  “First, how many of you like contests?”

  Everybody’s hand went up except for Dyamonde’s. She wanted to wait and see what this was all about first.

  “Well, the local library is sponsoring a poetry contest!” said Mrs. Cordell.

  Tameeka groaned. So did Charlie. But then, Charlie groaned about everything.

  Mrs. Cordell ignored the groaning.

  “The top three poems will be published on the Kids’ Page of the Sunday newspaper.”

  “Oooh!” said one kid.

  “I could be famous!” said a second kid.

  “You wish!” said a third.

  “And the winner,” said Mrs. Cordell, “will receive a check for one hundred dollars!”

  “Oh, snap!” said Free.

  Dyamonde did not even have to look at Free to know that his eyes were bugging out. She could just see him with imaginary dollar signs and little video games floating in front of him.

  “Now, who would like an entry form?” asked the teacher.

  Free’s hand shot up higher than anyone else’s. Dyamonde didn’t raise hers. She decided to wait for a math contest. That’s what she was best at. But she was curious to know who was trying out for the contest.

  Dyamonde looked around the room and saw lots of hands. One of them belonged to a quiet girl named Damaris Dancer.

  Damaris was a pretty girl, really tall, with skin like dark chocolate mixed with strawberries. Her reddish brown hair hung in heavy twists that made Dyamonde think of a lion’s mane.

  Damaris raised her hand a little higher, just in case Mrs. Cordell hadn’t noticed her.

  That’s strange, thought Dyamonde. She never raises her hand for anything. I wonder—

  “Psst,” said Charlie from the seat next to Dyamonde.

  Dyamonde turned to him, annoyed. Don’t psst me, thought Dyamonde. She would have said as much out loud if
Charlie hadn’t distracted her by pressing a note in her hand.

  Dyamonde unfolded the torn loose-leaf page and read:

  I’m a poet

  and I know it,

  and now I got

  the chance to show it.

  Free

  Oh, puleeze! thought Dyamonde, shaking her head. Then she wrote something on the bottom of the page and sent it back.

  Can’t wait for lunch.

  Hope we have punch.

  Dyamonde

  Free laughed and Charlie asked, “What’s it say?”—loud.

  “Is there something you boys would like to share with the class?” asked Mrs. Cordell.

  “No,” said Free. “Sorry.”

  Dyamonde bowed her head to hide her smile.

  Lunch Punch

  Dyamonde beat Free through the lunch line. She’d downed half a carton of milk by the time he joined her at the table.

  “Doesn’t look like punch to me,” said Free.

  “Hardy-har-har,” said Dyamonde. “Like your poem was so much better.”

  “You watch!” said Free. “I’m gonna win that thing.”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Dyamonde. Just then, she noticed Damaris sitting two tables away. She wasn’t eating, though. Instead, she was reading a book.

  She does that a lot, thought Dyamonde. In fact, I hardly ever see her eat. Is she on a special diet or something?

  “Hello?” said Free. “Earth to Dy. Is anybody listening?”

  “Huh? Sorry,” said Dyamonde. “Do you know anything about her?”

  “About who?” asked Free.

  “Damaris Dancer,” said Dyamonde.

  “Nope,” said Free. “Why?”

  “Just wondering,” said Dyamonde. “You know, she signed up for the contest. She might be good at writing poems. Her name kinda sounds like poetry.”

  “So what?” said Free. “Nobody’s gonna win that contest except for me. There, you see? I know my poetry.”

  “Oh, puleeze!” said Dyamonde. “Stop rhyming or—”

  “Or you’ll walk on out the door, and you won’t come back no more?”

  “Quit it!”

  “Anymore, I should have said. Rhyming’s messing with my head.”

  Enough already, thought Dyamonde. “Reed Freeman, stop rhyming right now, or after school, I’ll go on a treasure hunt with somebody else.”

  “Treasure hunt?” That got Free’s attention. “What treasure hunt?”

  Treasure Hunt

  Free loved digging up secrets. Once, he helped his dad dig up an ancient time capsule with records from the olden days that his dad had planted back when he was in high school. Then there was the scavenger hunt Free went on at summer camp. That was fun. He’d never heard of a girl digging up treasure, but if any girl could, it would be Dyamonde.

  After school that day, they met out front and headed across the avenue, walking toward Broadway. On Broadway, Dyamonde turned right.

  “Where’re we going?” asked Free.

  “Almost there,” said Dyamonde.

  Halfway down the block, Dyamonde stopped in front of an old store with a sign that read:

  SECOND TIME AROUND

  Free froze. He hated secondhand stores.

  “I thought we were going to look for treasure,” said Free.

  “We are,” said Dyamonde. “In there. Come on.”

  Before Free could argue, Dyamonde grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. He held on to the door like his life depended on it and looked up and down the street. He’d die if anybody he knew saw him entering that stinky old place.

  Second Time Around wasn’t actually stinky, but Free had made up his mind that all secondhand stores were. Not that he was an expert. This was only the third time he’d ever been in one. The other two times, his mom had dragged him into one to shop for clothes. Even the memory made Free say yuck!

  Once inside, Dyamonde let Free’s hand go.

  “What kind of treasure are we supposed to find in here?” asked Free.

  “You’re kidding, right?” said Dyamonde. “Look around.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Free. “But I don’t like these places.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause they’re full of old clothes and stuff people threw away. Why would I want stuff other people threw away when I could buy something new?”

  Dyamonde shook her head impatiently.

  “First of all, new is okay, but new is boring. It hasn’t been anywhere. And second, how do you know these things were thrown away? Maybe they were left over after a fire, or maybe a family all of a sudden disappeared, and their perfectly good clothes and furniture and stuff were mysteriously left behind.”

  “Huh?”

  “When I look at the stuff here, I always wonder where it’s been, what adventures it’s been on. Like those boots. Did somebody wear them to climb a mountain? Or that jacket. Maybe the sleeves of it once blew in the breeze along some famous river, like the Nile. You never know, right?”

  Free scratched his head. “I guess,” he said.

  “It’s not just old stuff, Free,” said Dyamonde. “Everything has a story. That’s kind of what makes it a treasure.”

  Free nodded, trying to see things Dyamonde’s way, trying to understand.

  “I’m gonna take a look around,” said Dyamonde. “I’ll meet you back up here in a few minutes.”

  “Okay,” said Free.

  At first, Free just followed Dyamonde with his eyes, watching her slowly make her way down an aisle of old clothes, stopping now and then to feel the fabric or to try on a sweater or a jacket in front of a mirror. Then he began wandering the aisles himself, choosing the one with old books and toys.

  The books didn’t look half bad, and even the toys looked okay, though they were mostly for little kids. Balls and dolls and whatnot. But there were table games too, like Monopoly. Only he already had a Monopoly set at home.

  Free sighed. I knew it, he thought. There are no treasures here.

  Of course, that’s when he saw it. A glass jar filled with the most amazing marbles he’d ever seen. It was a small jar, but it must’ve had twenty marbles in it, at least.

  Free reached for the jar, pulled it down gingerly and searched for the price sticker.

  Fifty cents! He couldn’t believe his eyes.

  Free clutched the jar and went to find his friend.

  “Look!” said Free, coming up behind Dyamonde. She was studying a small wooden box she’d found on a shelf. Dyamonde turned around to see what Free was so excited about.

  “Marbles!” he said. “Aren’t they great? Only I can’t figure out why anyone would throw good marbles away.”

  “Maybe they didn’t,” said Dyamonde. “Maybe there’s a story behind it.”

  “Yeah,” said Free. “There must be.”

  Dyamonde smiled. She was trying real hard not to say I told you so. “How much?”

  “Fifty cents! Can you believe it?”

  “Great,” said Dyamonde. “And here’s my treasure for the day—a box for my rock collection.” She held up the box, even opened it so he could smell inside.

  “Smells good. What is it?”

  “Cedar. It’s a special kind of wood.”

  The box was worn in places, but it had a pretty gold latch.

  “I’m gonna paint it,” said Dyamonde. “Red, of course. Then, it’ll be perfect.”

  “Cool,” said Free, who couldn’t stop grinning. “I wonder what other great stuff they’ve got in here. This place is amazing!”

  “But I thought you didn’t like ‘these places,’” said Dyamonde, throwing Free’s own words back at him.

  “Well, that was before,” said Free. “Anyways, why are we standing here talking? We’re supposed to be hunting.”

  “Go on, then,” said Dyamonde. “Nobody’s stopping you.”

  Free zoomed back to the toy aisle while Dyamonde turned her attention to clothes.

  Dyamonde had a funny way of shopping for clothes. She didn’t pay attention to size or style at first. Instead, she picked her way through the rack looking for the color red. Once she found something in that color, only then would she consider the style. Size was the last thing on her mind. If the piece was too small, that was one thing. But if it was a little too big, Dyamonde figured all she had to do was put a belt on it, right?