Peter Lee's Notes from the Field

by Angela Ahn

“Petey, there’s an ill-prepared substitute teacher!”

  Oh. Now I knew exactly where she was going. L.B. had, what my mom told me to call, “quirks.” She had to have her hair in a braid. She ate slowly—really slowly. She talked like an old lady who had read too many novels. And her biggest quirk of all: she absolutely hated her real name.

  “She keeps calling me Charlotte,” L.B. cried. Nobody dared use her real name—except ill-prepared substitute teachers.

  “Did you tell her?”

  “Petey,” she said with an edge of impatience and disgust. “Of course I did. But she can’t seem to comprehend basic information!”

  “Do you want me to talk to her?”

  “Desperately.” She frowned, her eyes sad.

  The principal, Ms. Broadbent, popped her head in the room. “All better now, L.B.?” She had a singsong voice, like a bird chirping.

  “Petey’s going to make it better.”

  Ms. Broadbent put her hand gently on my shoulder and mouthed, Thank you! I would have hoped she—as a professional educator—wouldn’t leave it up to a ten-year-old to sort out an eight-year-old’s problems, but then again, this was no average eight-year-old.

  I held out my hand for L.B. to take and she squeezed it tightly as we walked down the hall to the primary wing. She gripped my torso fiercely as we neared her class and I knocked on the door. The lunch bell had already rung, and people were buzzing around packing up their lunches and getting ready to go outside.

  “Charlotte,” the substitute teacher said as she noticed us by the door. L.B. erupted in tears.

  “Uh, Ms.…” I glanced up at her name written in thick red dry-erase marker on the board. “Francis,” I said. She waited for me to continue. “Can I talk to you about…Charlotte?” I whispered the name.

  “Sure,” she said, looking at me attentively.

  I stepped inside the empty classroom and said, “You can’t call her that.”

  “Call who what?”

  I pointed to L.B. “That name. She hates it.”

  “Charlotte?”

  “Sh!” I said. L.B. exploded with fresh tears. “She likes L.B. Didn’t Ms. Tarkas leave a note about it or something?”

  “Elby?” Ms. Francis said, confused. “E-L-B-Y? I couldn’t figure out what everybody was talking about.”

  “No, like the letter L and the letter B.”

  “I’m the Little Beast! Don’t you see?” L.B. wailed, and she dropped to the floor on her knees.

  “It’s kind of a long story—you don’t need to hear it,” I started to tell Ms. Francis while I tried not to get too caught up in L.B.’s melodramatic show.

  “She must know my origin story!” L.B. yelled.

  “Please, I’d love to know her origin story.” Ms. Francis looked intrigued.

  “Okay, okay.” I waved my hand impatiently. I took a breath and prepared to tell her how it all began. “L.B. used to climb up my body. She still does. I’m tall, right?” I waited for acknowledgment.

  Ms. Francis nodded and said slowly, “She climbed up your body?”

  “It was annoying, so I got mad once when she was doing it and yelled to my parents, ‘Get this Little Beast off of me’—or something like that. She thought it was funny.” I looked down at her.

  “It is funny!” L.B. said from the floor.

  “For a while, she actually insisted we call her Little Beast.” I stared at L.B. and a tiny smile emerged as if she was remembering those days fondly. “But Little Beast is kind of…weird, right? So we settled on L.B. for short.”

  “It was a compromise!” L.B. sniffled. “Is it so hard to comprehend?”

  “L.B.…,” Ms. Francis said slowly, nodding. Her eyebrows scrunched into a tight knot. I could see her trying to put all the pieces together. “Okay. I think I got it now. Is that what she was trying to explain earlier? Ah, I see. No more Char—that other name.”

  “Now we understand each other perfectly,” L.B. said as she wiped her eyes and smiled. She stood up and hugged my waist.

  Even though she came home from the hospital with a bracelet that said “Charlotte Ji Eun Lee,” it’s best to use L.B.

  I looked at L.B. “Can I go eat lunch now?” My stomach grumbled and the only thing I could think about was the roast beef sandwich waiting for me in my lunch box.

  Chapter 5

  HANDS-ON LEARNING

  Saturday, June 8, 10:30 a.m. (24 days before we leave!)

  Conditions: Hot, dry, possibly asthma-inducing

  Haji, Dad and I loaded the wood into the minivan, but we still had some shopping to do. We got the store clerk to cut strips of pressure-treated lumber into pieces long enough to make my grid. They even mitered the corners for us in a perfect forty-five degree angle so all we had to do when we got home was screw the corners together into a square joint. Dad and Haji said they could put it together, no problem. It was like constructing a picture frame. But we weren’t done. We headed back inside to find the right wire to complete the grid.

  Dad told a sales clerk, “We need some wire.”

  “What kind of wire?” Dan was wearing a bright orange apron that had a “Fifteen Years of Service” badge pinned to his front pouch. I felt confident Dan could help us.

  “For a…” Dad looked at me for help.

  “A paleontology field excavation grid,” I said quickly. “It’s going to be four by five feet, and we need wire that is rustproof.”

  “Ah, what you need is galvanized wire. Aisle twenty-eight. Follow me.”

  Dan led us a mile into the cavernous store, with building materials piled high up to the ceiling, and then pointed to the selection of wire on the shelf. “Lightweight, medium-weight or heavyweight?”

  I said “heavyweight” at the exact moment Haji said “medium-weight” and Dad said “lightweight.”

  We all laughed. “Medium is a good compromise,” Dan wisely suggested. He pulled down a roll and passed it to me. “It comes in rolls of fifty feet. Is that going to be enough?”

  I looked at Dad, who looked at Haji, who looked at me.

  “Oh, I wish L.B. were here,” Dad said as he pulled out his cell phone and tapped his calculator app. For once, I agreed with him.

  “I’ll leave you to it, then,” Dan said. “Good luck with your grid.”

  “Thank you!” I said, holding up the roll of wire.

  Dad looked up from his phone. “Actually, this is a great math problem for you, Peter! You have a grid that is four feet long by five feet wide. If we place the wires every six inches, how much wire will you need?”

  He was the one with the calculator in his hands! I had not come to the lumber store to do extra math homework.

  “Just buy two rolls,” Haji said impatiently.

  “Peter can figure it out!” Dad said encouragingly.

  “I already figured it out. Buy two.” Haji grabbed a second roll.

  “You should let Peter use math to solve real-life problems,” Dad said seriously to Haji. “It’s what we in the education field call ‘hands-on learning.’ ”

  “Standing in lumber store tapping on calculator is not hands-on. Building is hands-on!” Haji started walking down the aisle, smirking.

  2:20 p.m.

  “You can take car,” Haji said to Hammy as she and L.B. were getting ready to go. We had just come back from the lumber store and had moved the last piece of wood to the backyard.

  “No, I don’t feel like driving,” Hammy said. “We’ll take the bus.”

  “If you don’t keep driving, you feel too nervous to drive and then you never drive again,” Haji warned.

  “But I usually have my chauffeur!” Hammy said, pointing at Haji.

  Haji waved his hand through the air and said, “Okay, okay. Have a good time. Don’t buy too much…stuff.”

  Hammy tied her scarf arou
nd her neck and stared at him wickedly.

  “Hammy only buys treasures, Haji,” L.B. said.

  “Why do all her treasures look like pigs?” Haji said as he pointed at the corner cabinet in the living room. Through the glass front you could see it was crammed full of all the ceramic pigs Hammy had collected over the years. Haji was right. She could call them “treasures,” but it was still basically used junk, usually in the shape of a pig.

  Hammy and L.B. giggled.

  “You sure you don’t want to come treasure hunting today, Peter?” Hammy teased as she put on her shoes.

  I had been treasure hunting with her and L.B. exactly one time. I will never go again. On that day, I realized shopping can cause some people, namely me, physical and emotional suffering. Hammy and L.B. had spent two straight hours walking up and down every single aisle of every single antique store on Main Street, touching every old piece of junk previously owned by a person who was now dead and probably haunting the store that had their old stuff.

  “Look at this!” Hammy would say, holding up an object. Then she and L.B. would stand there and discuss its artistic qualities. Nice detail. Colors are so attractive. Shape so pretty. I wished I had taken an extra puff on my inhaler before we had started shopping. The smell, the dust and the idea of all this stuff that used to be owned by people who were now dead really creeped me out and caused my lungs to rebel every time we walked into a different store. Then, when it seemed they would end the day empty-handed, they finally found a ceramic pig. They both became ridiculous.

  “Hammy!” L.B. shouted. She held the “treasure” up in the air for Hammy to see.

  Hammy quickly shuffled to L.B., trying to avoid banging her hip into all the old furniture. Her eyes were bright and shiny.

  “L.B.! You found one!” she said breathlessly.

  Then she made a noise I’ve never heard before. It sounded like a pig squealing.

  L.B. copied the noise and they both stood there, clutching the ceramic pig between their hands. Then they started jumping up and down in the middle of the store, squealing.

  I hid behind a grandfather clock and pretended I wasn’t with them.

  “Ha, ha, Hammy,” I said now. “You know how I feel about treasure hunting.”

  “I know, I know. Just kidding. You have very important work to do with Haji.” I nodded.

  “Lock door behind us, okay? Don’t want anybody to steal Haji’s favorite picture.” Hammy winked as she nodded her head toward the Time cover.

  I waved goodbye and closed the door. As usual, the picture frame slid and I automatically straightened it out.

  “Come, Peter! Time to build!” Haji held his power drill in his hand and gave the trigger two pumps—Rrrrr! Rrrrr!

  “Before we get started, I think there’s still a little math problem that needs solving!” Dad reminded me.

  I sighed. Dad didn’t ever give up. Mom was out shopping, but I knew that if she had been here, she would have agreed with Dad. In this family, it’s hard to avoid extra math.

  “Cha, you take your job in education too serious sometimes.” Haji shook his head.

  “I need paper,” I said, suppressing my frustration.

  Dad hovered over me while I calculated.

  “There, eighty feet,” I told him as I showed him my work. Turns out Haji’s guess in the store was right, and we needed only two rolls if we were placing the wire every six inches.

  He adjusted his glasses as he scrutinized my numbers. “That number looks correct. So let’s recalculate. What if we put the wire every four inches instead?”

  “Why would we do that?” I questioned.

  “Just for fun!”

  “Why you think math problems always fun?” Haji said. “Cha, let’s just build this thing.” Haji drilled the pilot holes for the screws and then let me use the drill to put the screws in. We all helped wind the wires around the screws to tighten them into place. When my grid was finally done, it looked exactly like the one in my book. I think we were all pretty happy with the end product. I couldn’t wait to use it next time I did a practice excavation.

  “Anything cold to drink, Haji?” I asked as I peered inside his refrigerator. We had worked mostly in the shade, but the day had been hot.

  “There’s some cold barley tea,” he told me as he wiped his forehead with a paper towel.

  “Pour me some too, Peter!” Dad gasped. He was the sweatiest out of the three of us. “That took longer than I thought.” He went to the sink to splash water on his face.

  “Probably because you insisted on turning it into a ‘fun’ hands-on math problem,” I muttered with my face inside the fridge.

  As I took a nice long drink, Hammy and L.B. opened the front door, hands full of shopping bags. “Hello! We’re home!”

  I walked up to them in the living room. “Find anything good?”

  Hammy smiled broadly at me. “Today was the best day, wasn’t it, L.B.?”

  L.B. started jumping up and down as if she were riding an invisible pogo stick. “I can’t wait, I can’t wait, I can’t wait!” she squealed. Not like a pig, just like her annoying self.

  “What?” I said, confused.

  “What’s going on?” Haji came in behind me.

  “Everyone, everyone! Come on. See!” Hammy motioned for everyone to gather around. “We found something amazing today.” She held a bag close against her stomach.

  “What is it?!” I shouted. I had observed that when people were hot and tired, they become impatient, me included. I would have to write that down in my notebook later.

  “Peter, this is for you.” Hammy pulled out material from a bag. It was faded but sturdy looking. She unfolded it. It was a field vest. Pockets, zippers, loops—it had everything. Attached to the field vest, small tools: brushes, a magnifying glass, a chisel and a hammer. It was like the vest was designed to hold those specific tools.

  My eyes almost exploded out of my head. This wasn’t just a field vest, it was a field vest for a paleontologist. It even looked like it had been worn by an actual paleontologist in the field.

  “Try it on!” Hammy said. As she stood behind me, I lifted my arms and tucked them through the armholes.

  “Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness! It’s perfect!” L.B. screeched.

  “Where did you find this?” Dad asked, amazed.

  “I’m expert shopper!” Hammy replied, smiling. “Peter, you wear it when we go to museum in the summer. You will be very professional.”

  “Hammy…” I couldn’t get words out. I wanted to tell her how much I loved it. How perfect it was. Instead, I wrapped my long arms around her and held her tight.

  When I had a chance later, I reached for my notebook and drew a sketch of the vest Hammy had bought me. I wrote: Best present ever.

  Chapter 6

  FREEDOM IN THE AIR

  Friday, June 21, after recess (school is out in 6 days!)

  Ryan looked shocked when he got his “What I Hope to Become” writing assignment back. “What?” he exclaimed. “Only an A-! Mr. Costa, that is totally unfair. This is a solid A paper!”

  Mr. Costa sighed wearily. His shirt today was completely wrinkled and he was wearing sweatpants. Surely this was a sign that he had finally given up. Mr. Costa came by my desk and handed me my paper.

  An A. I smiled. It wasn’t like I never got As, but this one felt particularly sweet.

  Ryan grabbed my paper off my desk and looked at it. “Peter got an A?” he shouted. “There is no way his paper was better than mine! Did that stupid drawing of fossils get him an A? Additional artwork was not part of the criteria!” Ryan threw my paper on the ground. My fossils were not stupid! He was stupid. Stephanie reached over and picked up my assignment.

  “Outside, Ryan. Let’s talk about this privately.” Mr. Costa gestured for Ryan to step into the hallway. />
  Stephanie handed it back to me and said quietly, “Hey, that’s a cool drawing.”

  I shook my head and put my hand up to indicate I was not in the mood. Why did Ryan always have to ruin everything?

  “That’s the last time I pay you a compliment,” she said, turning her nose up.

  Mr. Costa and Ryan left the classroom for the hallway, where they usually had their conversations. Mr. Costa still hadn’t realized that the giant ventilation grille on the door gave them no privacy and that the class could hear every single word every time they went out there.

  “Ryan, I don’t appreciate you criticizing my marking. You can’t compare your grade to Peter’s grade. Everybody’s grade is based upon the work that they did, given the criteria listed.”

  “Why isn’t mine an A?” Ryan questioned.

  “Yours was technically very sound,” he said. “But it lacked personality and a certain je ne sais quoi. Do you know what I mean by je ne sais quoi?” Mr. Costa asked.

  “Don’t insult me, Mr. Costa. My last name’s Gagnon.”

  “Ryan, it’s not an insult, just a question.”

  “My mother is going to hear about this! She edited my paper, and she told me it was excellent!” Ryan spat out.

  “Great! I’d love to hear about why your mother is doing your work for you,” Mr. Costa said. “You know how I feel about students getting too much help from their parents.”

  A couple of students whispered, “Oooooh.” Ryan had slipped up. I loved it.

  “You are so unfair!” Ryan seethed as he stomped back into the class. Everybody was too scared to look directly at him.

  I slipped my notebook out of my pocket. I wrote the date and a little scoreboard:

  Mr. Costa 1, Ryan 0.

  Thursday, June 27, 10:10 a.m. (last day of school!)

  Conditions; Glorious and free

  By the end of the week, Mr. Costa had finally given up and we were all practically tearing the room apart. On the last day of class, he wore flip-flops, shorts and a tank top. He was officially ready for the summer. Before recess, kids were sitting on top of desks, Liam went to the cloakroom to have a nap and Ryan was boasting about soccer.