Doyle Beckler was not a smart kid. That much was plain. There is something about a smart kid that other kids can't miss. When it comes to school work, they know who is smart and who isn't and Doyle Beckler was not a smart kid. I guess I've said that much already.
    All of this wouldn't matter much except that it really bugged me how Doyle Beckler could bring his homework in, fresh every morning, and have every thing perfect on it. Everything! I guess that was the thing that really got me. He had to be cheating. He was too good at football to be that smart. Plain and simple. So I put it to him. I asked him outright who was helping him with his homework. It was none of my business but I had to know.
    "Whadda you mean?" Doyle said like I had just accused him of being un-American.
    "I mean, who's helping you with the homework, Doyle? It's as clear as a spring day you're not doing it by yourself."
    We were on the playground and Doyle was holding his football like it might run away from him.
    "Why do you say that?" he asked as he tossed the ball safely in the air and then caught it again and held it tightly to his chest. It seemed like a nervous habit to me. Like he was trying to hide something.
    "Just a hunch," I said. "The way I see it, Doyle, I gotta work hard just to get by and it kinda bugs me when I see somebody like you skating through the whole homework thing."
    "I work hard," he said.
    "Working hard or hardly working?"
    Doyle looked at me like he wanted to tell me something. Kids know that look, too. In fact, we know a lot of things that adults don't understand. And right now, Doyle wanted to spill the beans. I was ready to catch them all.
    "None of your business," he said and walked away.
    Ok, sometimes kids make mistakes but the most important thing (at least my dad thinks it's important), is to learn from your mistakes. I was about to learn a lot from this mistake.
    After school, just as I suspected, Doyle was waiting for me. I figured he was going to do one of two things: either punch my lights out or tell me everything he knew about this homework thing. I was hoping it would be door number two.
    "You gotta minute?" he asked me as I was getting my bike out of the rack.
    "Sure, Doyle," I said to him.
    "So, what if I'm having some help with my homework. What about it? What difference does it make to you?"
    I stood up and faced him. "Like I said; I work hard to just get my homework done and I don't like the fact that you're not playing by the rules, Doyle. That's all. I'm not a squealer and I'm not going to Mrs. Boggs, but I work hard. It kinda bugs me when I see somebody like you getting ahead by cheating."
    I let that word slap him in the face a few times. No kid can stand much of that. We can be rude and we can be hyper and we can be chicken, but a cheater? That really hurts.
    "That really hurts," Doyle said.
    He was quiet for a moment and I was afraid I had gone too far.
    "How about I let you in on a little secret?" he said softly.
    This time I was sure he wanted to tell me all about it. Guilty kids usually do.
    "I'm all ears," I told him.
    "Come over to my house," he whispered, "and I'll show you how I do it." I guess I didn't look very excited because he added, "I'll show you my tree house, too."
    I'm not sure if I just felt sorry for him or if it really was the tree house, but I went with him. Along the way he started telling me about his new little sister. As soon as that topic came up, I was ready to head back.
    "She is so cute," he said, staring at the sidewalk. "You know how babies gurgle and slobber all the time? Isn't that cute."
    "Cute? What's so cute about slobber machine?" I asked.
    "Oh, she does a lot more than just slobber," he said. "In fact, she's smart. You know what? She's real smart."
    "For a baby?" I asked.
    "Oh, yeah, for a baby."
    Doyle was quiet again as we walked along. There was something else he wanted to tell me. I could just tell. Kids have the ability to know this kind of stuff. We just do.
    "No, not just for a baby," he finally said.
    "Doyle, what are you talking about? You're making your sister sound like . . . like some kind of . . ."
    "Come on," he said, "I'll show you. This is my house."
    Mrs. Beckler was a grown up version of Doyle Beckler: not too smart but she could sure toss together a mean double chocolate chip brownie. I had two of them just to check the quality. Top of the line.
    "You boys are welcome to play in the house," she said, "but keep your voices down so you don't wake the baby."
    "Oh, do you have a new baby?" I asked, trying to play along.
    "We sure do. Would you like to meet little Barbara Ann?" she asked.
    Doyle suddenly looked as if he was wound up tighter than a new package of waxed dental floss.
    "If it's no bother," I said, and then Mrs. Beckler led us down a hallway to a back room.
    The room was dark with the shades drawn and it smelled like a baby in the worst way. Doyle and his mother didn't seem to mind in the least. They went right over to the crib and starting cooing and giggling and carrying on until little Barbara Ann woke up with a start.
    And then the most amazing thing happened. I could hardly believe what happened next but I was there so I'm sure it was true.
    "Should we let him in on our secret?" she asked Doyle.
    He smiled and she smiled and I swear little Barbara Ann smiled too, but, heck she was only a couple months old so I don't know how she knew what was going on. But she did.
    "Hey, Boo-Boo," he said to her, "what's eight plus six?"
    Little Barbara Ann gurgled a few times and both Doyle and his mother lit up like night light. I was having a hard time following all this.
    "Go ahead," Mrs. Beckler said. "Look it up and see what she was saying."
    Doyle reached over to a booklet on the dresser and began to page through it.
    "Two gurgles," he said to himself, "and one titter. Ah, right here. Fourteen. The answer is fourteen."
    "That's right," his mother said. "Try it again."
    "Hey Barbara Ann," he said, "what's the capital of Poland?"
    This time the baby took a long time before answering. She looked up at both her brother and her mother before she let out a long sigh and single, solitary giggle.
    "Sigh and a giggle," Doyle said to himself as he flipped through the pages, "a sigh and a giggle. Here it is: Warsaw."
    "Do you mean to tell me," I asked, "that your baby sister can answer questions?"
    Mrs. Doyle looked at me as if I had just landed from Mars.
    "Isn't the answer obvious, dear?" she asked.
    "I guess I should have told you," Doyle said. "My baby sister is a genius. I don't like to go around announcing that because, who would believe me? Besides, we're supposed to do our own homework, right? Mrs. Boggs wouldn't stand for work by a little baby, would she?"
    "B-b-but she can't talk," I stuttered.
    "Right," Doyle's mother said. "So we made up this little booklet that helps us with her answers. She makes these little noises here and the answers are right next to them. It takes a little getting used to, but it does make sense."
    "So you were right," Doyle said. "I do have some help with my homework. I guess you should know that I'm not exactly smart. But little Barbara Ann sure is. Aren't you?"
    Doyle made a screwed up face at his baby sister and she smiled at him. Mrs. Beckler clasp her hands together in glee and the sight of them was enough to turn my stomach. But it was all real. I mean, I saw it with my own eyes and if I hadn't, no way I would have ever believed it.
    It did take another double chocolate chip brownie to seal my lips but I promised them both I would never tell. Besides, if I did, who would believe me.
    It's ok now because all of this stuff happened years ago and little Barbara Ann is all grown up. Doyle and I became pretty good friends over the years. I actually became friends with Barbara Ann, too, and now that she's grown up, well, believe it or not, we're getting married tomorrow. Funny how things like that work out, isn't it. But then, I promised not to tell anyone about the smartest baby in the world.