The boys went to the old man and touched him on the shoulder.

  “Ah, boys. You’re here. I wanted to come and cheer you on.” Mr. Conway was talking louder than usual. “And to get some hearing aid batteries. Mine pooped out this morning. But I don’t see the painting.”

  “Oh, it’s behind the curtain over there,” said Emery. “Here, want some M & Ms?”

  Emery extended a fistful of candy toward Mr. Conway.

  “I have a lot, too,” said Philip and he held out a handful of candy.

  Mr. Conway pulled open one of his jacket pockets. “Fill ’er up, boys. I love M & Ms. Remember their old ad? ‘Melts in your mouth. Not in your hand.’” Mr. Conway laughed and in a low voice said, “Ah, I love those old commercials.”

  Philip and Emery looked at each other.

  “Before your time, eh?” Mr. Conway shrugged. “But where’s your painting? I don’t see it.”

  Before they could answer, a voice came over a speaker. “If everyone will take a seat.” The boys recognized Tracy’s voice.

  “Oh, too late,” said Philip. “We’ll show you later.”

  “What did you say?” said Mr. Conway.

  “They’re saying it’s time to start,” said Philip in a loud voice, realizing Mr. Conway was having trouble hearing. “We have to sit down now.”

  The boys helped Mr. Conway to a metal chair. Philip sat next to Mr. Conway, and Emery sat next to Philip. All three popped M & Ms into their mouths as they waited for the ceremony to begin.

  Emery poked Philip in the ribs.

  “Why is he looking at us like that?” he asked.

  “Who?” asked Philip.

  “Johnny Visco.”

  Philip turned to his right and there was Johnny Visco, staring their way. Philip popped a few M & Ms into his mouth. Then he turned the opposite way to see whether Johnny Visco was looking at something past them across the gallery. But there didn’t seem to be anything of interest in that direction. Philip looked back and Johnny Visco was taking a seat alongside his parents. As he sat down, though, he tossed another glance toward Philip and Emery.

  “He is looking at us,” said Philip. “Maybe he recognizes us from school. Here, I’ll give you three red for those three blue.” And they traded M & Ms.

  Tracy began to speak, her voice booming out of two speakers set up in the front of the gallery. “Good afternoon. Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you all very much for coming to the Agora Gallery of Fine Art.”

  “Nice and loud,” Mr. Conway smiled toward the boys. “I can hear everything.”

  Tracy continued. “For the next two weeks ten works of art submitted by students in the area will be on display here along with our new show of adult art titled ‘Apotheosis of the Aesthete.’”

  Mr. Conway banged his cane on the floor three times and hissed, “Nonsense. Nonsense. Gibberish. Bah! Apotheosis of the applesauce!”

  Tracy followed everyone’s gaze and looked at Mr. Conway for a moment. Then she continued.

  “Now, some of you have already told me you didn’t see your work hanging up.” She swept her arm, indicating the walls. “That’s because we’ve selected the ten winners—that was done yesterday by a group of fine local artists—and they are now hanging behind that curtain. The paintings, I mean, not the fine local artists.” And the audience laughed politely. “And nobody has seen them yet.”

  There was a buzz in the audience.

  Philip poked Emery. “That’s what she thinks,” he grinned.

  Emery jabbed a thumb in the direction of Johnny Visco. “He’s looking at us again.”

  Philip leaned back in his chair and looked. His eyes met the eyes of Johnny Visco. Philip let his chair fall forward.

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  Tracy’s voice filled the room. “Let me describe to you the ten works you’re going to see. First of all there is the high school division.” Tracy went on to describe five of the works of art behind the curtain. The crowd politely applauded after each description as Tracy asked the artist to stand up.

  “And now,” she went on, “the elementary division.”

  Mr. Conway gave Philip and Emery a smiling nod of his head and popped an M & M into his mouth.

  “First, we have a pencil drawing titled My Mother’s Garden.”

  The boys listened and then applauded when a young girl stood up.

  “Next, we have a painting titled Everyday Things. You will see that it is an assortment of items that we see and use every day arranged into a very attractive panoply of the mundane and commonplace.”

  The boys looked at Mr. Conway, and he didn’t disappoint them.

  “Panoply of the pig’s feet,” he muttered, banging his cane on the floor three times. “Gibberish! Gibberish!”

  Tracy’s face grew irritated and she stared hard at Mr. Conway for a moment.

  Then she introduced Philip and Emery, and they stood to accept their applause.

  “Third, we have an installation titled, ‘Unity out of Diversity’ by a sixth grade student, Johnny Visco. It is a cleverly arranged assortment of M & Ms of every imaginable color living harmoniously in a big blue bowl that represents the Earth. This is accompanied by an assortment of decorated cupcakes representing the world’s many cultures, each sweet and wonderful in its own unique and diverse way.”

  Philip and Emery turned to each other, their eyes wide with horror.

  “Uh oh!” said Emery.

  “Emery, we’re eating Johnny Visco’s art project,” said Philip, his voice quivering.

  “Is there any chocolate on me? Any icing?” said Emery. He rubbed his sleeve hard across his mouth. “Is it off? Get it off.”

  Philip did the same. Philip’s hand had been full of M & Ms, though, and a bunch of them got loose and fell on the floor. Emery and Philip kicked them backward and forward away from their chairs.

  Then they stared at Mr. Conway, who was having a wonderful time popping one M & M at a time into his mouth.

  “Make him stop,” whispered Emery.

  “Mr. Conway,” said Philip. “Stop eating the candy. Put it away.”

  “Candy? You bet. It’s great. M & Ms,” and he gave Philip a thumbs-up and a big smile.

  “Ohhh,” Emery moaned. “Johnny Visco’s looking at us again.” He crunched down behind a man in a brown jacket.

  “You think he saw us eating his M & Ms?”

  “I don’t know,” said Emery. “If he didn’t, he’s sure to see Mr. Conway.”

  Both boys moaned as Mr. Conway continued to munch away on the candy they’d given him.

  “Do you have any left?” Philip whispered.

  “A whole pocketful,” said Emery.

  “Let’s give all the candy to Mr. Conway. Nobody’ll yell at him,” said Philip. “Here, put it all in here.” He pulled open Mr. Conway’s jacket pocket.

  Emery took a handful of candy from his pocket. As he transferred them to Mr. Conway’s pocket, a clicketty-clack of M & Ms fell between his fingers and rattled to the floor.

  Mr. Conway looked at the boys. “More. Oh, thanks. I really like them.” And, one by one, he continued to pop the candy into his mouth.

  “Can’t you make him stop?” said Emery, beginning to panic.

  “Can’t you stop dropping them on the floor? Look at them. They’re all over.”

  “I can’t help it. My hand’s sweaty. Make him stop eating.”

  Philip pulled on Mr. Conway’s arm as he was transferring some M & Ms toward his mouth. Mr. Conway’s arm came down but some M & Ms dropped out of his hand and made a series of tiny clicks as they hit the floor and rolled under the chair in front of him.

  Emery reached into his pocket to take out the rest of his M & Ms and hide them in Mr. Conway’s pocket. But he reached in too hard and felt something funny happen.

  “Uh oh,” he said.

  “Now what?” said Philip. He peeked back and Johnny Visco was still staring.

  “I think I ripped my pocket.”

  Everyone was rising at Tracy’s invitation to join her in the back room to see the winning projects.

  When Emery stood, he felt the steady plummet of M & Ms down his pants leg and onto the floor, followed by the tiny crunch of people stepping on the candy.

  Johnny Visco walked slowly by and stared down at the floor, now littered with brightly colored M & Ms, some smashed and some whole. Philip and Emery, doing their best to ignore him, cringed at the sound of feet crunching the M & Ms they had dropped.

  Philip and Emery entered the back room and led Mr. Conway off to the side. They watched Johnny Visco get two steps inside the room and stop as if he’d walked into a wall.

  “Hey!” he cried. Everyone got very quiet, not expecting anyone to shout in a fine place like the Agora Gallery of Fine Art.

  “Hey!” Johnny Visco bellowed again. “Somebody ate my art!” He pushed through the crowd and held up the nearly empty blue bowl. “My M & Ms are gone and so are most of the cupcakes. And I know who took them. It was those two over there. They’ve been eating them all along. So has that old buzzard.” And he pointed directly at Philip, Emery, and Mr. Conway. “The old buzzard’s still eating them.”

  “Oh, my,” said Tracy, who had moved next to Johnny Visco. “Someone has gotten to your installation, haven’t they?”

  The silence of the moment was broken by the tiny click-clack of a few more M & Ms dropping from Emery’s pant leg. He gave them a quick kick.

  Now everyone began pointing at the nearly empty bowl of candy and the nearly empty plate of cupcakes, and talking all at once, their eyes followed the trail of smashed M & Ms that led right to Emery.

  Mr. Conway was still popping M & Ms into his mouth one at a time and waiting for the ceremony to continue.

  “Sir,” said Tracy. “Sir.” And she walked over to Mr. Conway.

  “Did a fine job, didn’t they?” said Mr. Conway, pointing to Everyday Things and then to the boys.

  “What are you eating, sir?”

  “Eat? No, no thank you. Got plenty of M & Ms. Want some?”

  “See? See? It was all of them,” Johnny Visco screamed. “I saw them! That old buzzard is still eating them.”

  “Where did you get them, sir?” Tracy asked, trying to ignore Johnny Visco.

  Mr. Conway smiled and put one hand on Philip’s shoulder and the other hand on Emery’s shoulder. “These are the two fine artists responsible.”

  Philip and Emery pushed Mr. Conway’s hands away and wished they could just disappear.

  “They stole my art. They ate it,” Johnny Visco cried. “Do something.”

  Tracy asked for an explanation from the boys, but the boys were paralyzed with embarrassment. Then she questioned Mr. Conway again.

  “Explain, you say. I can explain,” said Mr. Conway. “Everyday Things is the name of the painting. And it was their idea to...”

  “Sir, I don’t want the painting explained,” Tracy said in a loud voice. “I want the M & Ms explained.”

  Mr. Conway gave her a look.

  “Explain M & Ms? Silliest thing I ever heard of.” He shrugged. “Well, you take a little chocolate and cover it with this colored candy. Print an ‘M’ on it and, Bingo! M & Ms. Melts in your mouth, not in your hand.” He threw a handful of M & Ms into his mouth and held up a clean hand before Tracy’s eyes.

  Tracy stared at him, her eyes and mouth gaping.

  Now, the two adults who’d come with Johnny Visco began demanding an explanation. Mr. Conway talked on about Everyday Things. Philip and Emery tried to explain how they came to take the candy and cupcakes by mistake. The rest of the crowd began talking among themselves, explaining what they thought had happened. Some people in the back began to laugh. And above it all Johnny Visco cried over and over that the old buzzard was still eating M & Ms and Tracy better do something. When he couldn’t get the attention he wanted from Tracy, who was trying to get the room quiet, pay attention to the boys’ explanations, and ignore Mr. Conway’s continuing discussion of Everyday Things, he grabbed some M & Ms from the bowl and threw them at her.

  “Please, now. Stop that,” Tracy cried, shaking a red M & M from her hair. “Can we all simply return to the main room? Please. Everyone back to the main room. Please!”

  Slowly and noisily the people started moving. On his way out Mr. Conway went over to the blue bowl, scooped out the remaining M & Ms, and shoved them into his jacket pocket. As he passed Johnny Visco, the boy look at him and screamed, “Put them back, you old buzzard.” Mr. Conway nodded his head politely at the boy and kept on going.

  By the time everything was sorted out, the competition was cancelled, Philip and Emery were in disgrace, and Johnny Visco was angry.

  Six

  “An old buzzard? He called me an old buzzard?” Mr. Conway slapped his right hand down on the arm of his big soft chair.

  “He’s going to kill us,” Philip was moaning.

  “He’ll smash us both into mush,” Emery agreed.

  “That M & M boy called me on old buzzard?” cried Mr. Conway popping three M & Ms defiantly into his mouth. “I’m glad we ate his art if he called me an old buzzard.” They were sitting in Mr. Conway’s living room. The old man looked at the two boys with fire in his eyes. “Just what we should have done. That’s all it was good for. M & Ms are for eating. Not for making statements about diversity and dodo birds.” He patted his pocket. “You two don’t have any more...”

  “No,” Philip said loudly.

  “Old buzzard! Dang. I should have snatched those last two cupcakes. How were they, anyway?”

  “Great,” said Emery. “There were chocolate, strawberry...”

  “Emery!” Philip cried. “Never mind about the cupcakes. We’re going to be killed in school tomorrow. Who cares about cupcakes?”

  “This Johnny Visco is a tough guy, eh?” said Mr. Conway, whose new hearing aid batteries were working fine.

  Philip and Emery moaned and nodded.

  “Just look him in the eye and tell him the old buzzard said his installation got what it deserved. Digestion. Tell him...” Mr. Conway started laughing. “...tell him his installation melted in my mouth and not in my hand.”

  “If I hear one more time about how M & Ms melt,” Emery mumbled.

  The boys sat disconsolately and watched Mr. Conway hold his sides and laugh till tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “We better go,” said Philip, shaking his head.

  Mr. Conway wiped his eyes. “Sorry, boys. I’ll hold onto the painting. Maybe we can enter it somewhere else. Or maybe that ridiculous art gallery will come to its senses and give us the prize we deserve.” Then he walked the boys to the front door and said goodbye. The boys heard him laughing as the door closed.

  Philip did not get much sympathy at home. When he told his parents what had happened, they smiled. Then his mother looked at his father and they started laughing.

  “You didn’t know it was part of the contest?” said Philip’s father.

  “No! How could we? A bowl of M & Ms. Would we eat it if we knew it was one of the art things?”

  “Tasteful way to get rid of the competition,” said Philip’s mother, and his parents gave a laugh.

  Philip turned and stomped up to his bedroom. His parents were laughing now, but they wouldn’t be laughing tomorrow when he came home from school dead. Smashed into mush by Johnny Visco.

  ~ * ~

  Philip and Emery hid out behind some trees across the street from school the next morning until they heard the line-up bell ring. Then they ran into the schoolyard and into line at the last minute. The schoolyard was full of teachers picking up their classes, so they knew they were safe for the moment.

  Johnny Visco was in a classroom on the third floor of the school. Philip and Emery were on the second floor. The school rules said that students were forbidden to leave their floor unless specifically sent on an errand by their teacher. Philip and Emery agreed it was a good rule because they knew Johnny Visco would never leave the third floor since his teacher would never send someone like him to do an errand.

  They sat next to each other in the lunchroom as they discussed all of this.

  “Do you see him?” Philip whispered.

  Emery looked up from his sandwich. “I don’t see... oh, here comes his teacher and the class.”

  As soon as the sixth grade class entered the lunchroom, Johnny Visco left the line and started walking around between the lunch tables.

  Emery peeked over top of his sandwich. When his eyes cleared the crust, they looked straight into the eyes of Johnny Visco three tables away.

  “He sees us,” said Emery, lowering his head behind his sandwich.

  Philip watched Johnny Visco return to his class, get scolded by his teacher for leaving the line, and find his own table.

  One teacher was always assigned to lunch duty and to patrol the yard while the children played there. Philip and Emery stayed in their lunch seats until they saw the teacher—it was Mr. Sundack that day—go outside. Then they followed him and stood near him for the entire play period. They didn’t see Johnny Visco the whole time.

  “We may make it home alive today after all,” said Emery. “Hey, you don’t think Ms. Trinetti will be mad at us, do you?” They had Ms. Trinetti’s art class last period.

  “I forgot about her,” said Philip. “Probably. She was a judge, you know.”

  Just then a small boy ran up to Philip and handed him a note.

  “What’s this?” Philip asked the boy.

  “The principal said to give it to you,” the small boy said, looking around nervously.

  Philip looked at Emery and said, “The principal?” He unfolded the paper and read the typed message. “It says, ‘Philip and Emery, I’d like the two of you to report to room 319 immediately.’”

  “And it’s from Mr. Greif?”

  “His name’s signed on the bottom. I guess Johnny Visco’s parents complained.”

  “Oooo, somebody else mad at us,” Emery moaned.

  “He wants it back,” said the little boy, pointing to the note.

  Philip handed the note over, and the little boy took it and ran away.

  “I guess we better go,” said Philip.

  ~ * ~

  Philip and Emery left the staircase, pushed through the swinging doors into the third floor corridor, and looked around.

 

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