Leo is looking at him with interest. “So what do you want to do?”
“Well,” Teddy says, trying and failing to conceal a grin. He’s talking to both of us, but he’s only looking at me. “That’s the thing. I want to smash the rock into millions of pieces. And then give most of those pieces away.”
I laugh, partly out of surprise and partly out of relief. It’s been weeks since our middle-of-the-night conversation in San Francisco, and he hasn’t mentioned it since. So when I opened the envelope this morning, I didn’t want to believe this could be it. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. But now I shake my head, grinning right back at him.
“That’s a lot of pieces,” I say, and his smile widens.
Leo pushes his glasses up on his nose, considering it. The clock is ticking too loudly, and the dishwasher switches off with a hum, and Teddy is watching him closely, waiting for him to say something, because Leo is the one who can always tell whether an idea is crazy or brilliant.
“I mean, who needs a rock that big anyway?” he says at last, and Teddy lets out a breath.
“So…do you have a plan?” I ask, almost afraid to know the answer, but he sticks the pencil behind his ear again, claps his hands once, then points to the binders.
“Yes,” he says with a little smirk, the same one he gets when I question whether he actually did his homework or studied for a test. “I have a plan.” His overly professional voice returns. “If you’ll please turn to page one.”
“Teddy,”we both say at the same time, and he laughs, immediately breaking character.
“Okay, okay,” he says, holding up his hands. “I’ll just tell you. Even though I spent basically all of last week at the library putting those things together.”
“You went to a library?” Leo asks in mock astonishment. “Is it still standing?”
“I went to the post office too,” Teddy says proudly. “And the bank, and the accountant’s office…”
“Everywhere but school,” I point out.
“I had bigger fish to fry. Which brings me to the chicken lady.”
Leo frowns. “I’m lost.”
“I still don’t think you should be calling her that,” I say to Teddy, who waves this away with an air of impatience.
“How about some quiet from the peanut gallery?”
“Peanuts, chicken, fish,” says Leo. “Now I’m hungry.”
“There’s like fifty pounds of bulk candy in the kitchen,” I remind him.
Teddy sighs. “Do you guys want to hear my idea or what?”
“Yes,” I say, laughing. “Tell us.”
And so Teddy explains to Leo what happened in San Francisco, about the impulsive tip he left for the woman at the farmers market, the way it felt to walk away knowing that money would make a difference in someone’s life, all those things he told me so breathlessly later that same night.
He’s pacing as he talks, scuffing his shiny shoes on the floor, tapping his pencil against the palm of his hand. But this isn’t the same Teddy who burst into my room a few weeks ago. It’s clear that this isn’t one of his usual schemes. It’s no wild idea or half-baked plan. This is no longer just a whim.
As I listen to him rattle off a speech that sounds surprisingly like a business pitch, I realize he’s not just making it up as he goes along. It’s obvious he’s given this a lot of thought, that he’s put a surprising amount of time and energy into it.
For once, he’s not relying on charm. He’s actually done the work.
“I want to start small,” Teddy is saying, “with just the three of us. But eventually the idea would be to really grow this thing. To have a small army of people doing good deeds across the city, maybe even across the country.”
“What,” Leo asks, “like a tipping task force?”
Teddy shakes his head. “Not just tipping. I’m thinking so much bigger than that.”
“Random acts of kindness,” I murmur, and he swings to face me, his eyes bright with recognition.
“Exactly. The way I see it, we’d keep an eye out for anyone who could use a little help. Nothing huge. Just if they’re having trouble paying for groceries, or could use a cup of coffee to warm up, or can’t afford a birthday gift for their kid. The idea would be to lend people a hand in small ways that could make a big difference. We’d make it a nonprofit so others could eventually donate too, but my accountant tells me the seed money could generate enough interest to keep this going for a long time, especially if we’re doling it out in small amounts. And I was thinking we could base it online so that people could write in with requests and suggestions, and…” He trails off, looking anxiously between us. “Well, I can tell you all the details later. But what do you think?”
