by Dan Gutman
“Nah-nah-nah boo-boo,” Michael whispered when I went to sit in the hall.
I was in love with Mrs. Cooney, but she sure wasn’t in love with me.
5
Checking for Headlights
To make Mrs. Cooney fall in love with me, I would have to be on my best behavior. Luckily I got my chance the very next day.
After we finished pledging the allegiance, Miss Daisy told the class that we had to go to Mrs. Cooney’s office one at a time. Ryan and Michael wanted to go first. But I got to go first because my name starts with a.
So nah-nah-nah boo-boo on them.
When I got to Mrs. Cooney’s office, she didn’t seem mad at me anymore. I was determined to be the most perfect kid in the history of the world.
“Good morning, A.J.,” Mrs. Cooney said. “Every year at this time, I have to check the students for headlights.”
Headlights? Why would a kid bring a headlight to school? Headlights belong on cars. I kept my mouth shut, though. I didn’t want Mrs. Cooney to get mad at me again.
Mrs. Cooney put on a pair of rubber gloves. She told me to sit on a chair, and she turned on a bright light over the chair. It was like one of those lights they shine at bad guys in police TV shows when they’re trying to get them to confess.
I wanted to tell Mrs. Cooney that checking kids for headlights was dopey, but I was trying to be on my best behavior.
“Is this really necessary?” I asked politely.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she said. “Lots of kids have headlights.”
Nobody I know! Mrs. Cooney started looking through my hair and rubbing a stick against my head. What a waste of time! If I had a headlight up there, she wouldn’t have to look very hard to see it.
“What happens if I have one?” I asked.
“You’ll have to stay home from school for a few days,” Mrs. Cooney said.
Hmm, that didn’t sound like such a bad idea. I could use a vacation. I started thinking of how I could get a headlight. Maybe my dad had an extra one in the garage.
But even if I could get a headlight, how would I attach it to my head? With a strap or something?
As Mrs. Cooney was poking around in my hair, I started to think about what it would be like if the two of us were married. Maybe she would make me hop around the house with a ruler on my nose and cluck like a chicken all day. Maybe I would have to wear a headlight all the time.
My mom once told me that all people are different and that’s what makes people so interesting. She said we should accept people for who they are instead of trying to change them. Maybe I could live with Mrs. Cooney even if she was weird.
“Okay,” Mrs. Cooney said. “You can go back to class, A.J. You don’t have headlights.”
Duh!
Mrs. Cooney is weird, but I still loved her. I decided that I still wanted to marry her when I grow up.
When I got back to class, I told Ryan and Michael that Mrs. Cooney tried to find headlights in my hair.
“It’s head lice, dumbhead!” Michael said. “Not headlights!”
Oh. That explained a lot.
6
Ryan and Michael Go to the Nurse
Luckily, nobody in our class had head lice or headlights. But the next day Ryan and Michael sounded horribly sick.
“Cough, cough, cough,” coughed Ryan. Michael made weird nose noises and held his neck with both hands.
“Is something the matter, boys?” asked Miss Daisy.
“I have a sore throat,” said Michael.
“Me too,” said Ryan, coughing some more, “and a tummy ache. May I go to the nurse’s office?”
Miss Daisy looked at them for a minute, like she wasn’t sure if she believed them.
“Well, okay,” she said. Then she called Mrs. Cooney to tell her Ryan and Michael were on their way.
“So long, sucker!” Ryan whispered to me as he was leaving. “Have fun learning about vowels.”
Miss Daisy told us about vowels and consonants. Consonants are all the letters that aren’t vowels. They should be called un-vowels or anti-vowels, if you ask me.
“How come y is sometimes a vowel and sometimes a consonant?” I asked Miss Daisy.
“I have no idea,” she said. Miss Daisy doesn’t know anything about anything.
When Michael and Ryan finally came back to class, it was time for lunch. We found our usual table in the vomitorium.
“Mrs. Cooney is weird!” said Michael.
“You can say that again!” said Ryan.
Michael said that when he told Mrs. Cooney he had a sore throat, she didn’t give him cough medicine or take his temperature or anything. She had him stand in a big cardboard box and try to wiggle his ears.
“How would that cure a sore throat?” I asked.
“Beats me,” said Michael.
Ryan said that when he told Mrs. Cooney he had a tummy ache, she had him bounce a balloon on his head while he tried to sing the ABC song backward.
“How would that cure a tummy ache?” I asked.
“Beats me,” said Ryan.
“Then she had me do push-ups on bubble wrap,” Michael said.
“Then she had me solve math problems while I was doing jumping jacks,” said Ryan.
“Then she put an ice pack on my head,” Michael said. “Only she ran out of ice packs, so she put a bag of frozen peas and carrots on my head.”
“So did it work?” I asked.
“Did what work?” Michael asked.
“All that stuff Mrs. Cooney had you do,” I said. “Did it make you feel better?”
“We weren’t really sick, dumbhead!” Michael said. “We were just faking it so we could go see Mrs. Cooney!”
I knew that.
Ryan and Michael also said Mrs. Cooney gave them homework. They had to go home and lick their elbows.
“What?” I asked.
“She said that if you can lick your elbow, it will make any sickness go away,” Ryan said.
I tried to lick my elbow, but I couldn’t reach it. Michael and Ryan tried to lick their elbows too. They couldn’t reach either. Everybody in the vomitorium must have seen us, because soon the whole school was trying to lick their elbows.
It was cool.
7
The Truth About Mrs. Cooney
It was recess the next day. Me and Ryan and Michael were playing on the monkey bars when Andrea and her little study buddy Emily came over, like we were friends or something.
“I know what you boys are up to,” Andrea said. “None of you has been sick. You just want to go to the nurse’s office because you’re in love with Mrs. Cooney.”
“That’s a lie!” I lied.
Why does Andrea have to know everything? And why doesn’t a garbage truck fall on her head?
“Mrs. Cooney is busy enough with kids who are really sick,” Andrea said. “She doesn’t have time for fakers.”
“It’s none of your business, Andrea,” I said.
“My mother is vice president of the PTA,” Andrea said. “She could get you kicked out of school for pretending to be sick.”
“Yeah,” said Emily, who agrees with everything Andrea says. “You’re not sick. You’re just in love with Mrs. Cooney.”
“Well, I was in love with Mrs. Cooney,” Ryan said, “but not anymore.”
“What?!” said me and Michael.
“Mrs. Cooney is too weird,” said Ryan. “I couldn’t marry her.”
“What’s weird about her?” asked Andrea.
We told Andrea about all the strange things Mrs. Cooney did. I told her that Mrs. Cooney had me hop on one foot and cluck like a chicken while balancing a ruler on my nose.
Michael told Andrea that Mrs. Cooney had him stand in a cardboard box and try to wiggle his ears.
Ryan told Andrea that Mrs. Cooney had him bounce a balloon on his head while he tried to sing the ABC song backward.
“And she put a bag of frozen veggies on my head,” added Michael.
Well,
Andrea and Emily were shocked! They couldn’t believe it.
“That’s not what nurses are supposed to do!” said Emily. “They’re supposed to take your temperature and give you medicine to help you feel better.”
“Maybe Mrs. Cooney isn’t a nurse at all,” Michael said. “Did you ever think of that?”
“What do you mean?” asked Emily, looking all worried.
“Maybe she’s a fake nurse,” said Michael. “Maybe she kidnapped the real Mrs. Cooney and locked her up in an airplane hangar somewhere.”
“Stuff like that happens all the time, you know,” I added.
Andrea sat down on a swing and rested her chin on her hands.
“I’ve been giving this a lot of thought,” she said. “People are not always who they seem to be. I hate to say this, but I’ve come to the conclusion that Mrs. Cooney is no nurse.”
“So what is she?” Emily asked.
“I have reason to believe,” Andrea said, “that Mrs. Cooney is a…spy.”
We all gasped.
“A spy?” asked Michael.
“You’re talking about the woman I love!” I said.
Andrea got up and paced back and forth from the swings to the seesaw. She looked like one of those detectives in a police movie.
“Think about it,” she said. “Mrs. Cooney is always gathering information on everybody. That’s what spies do. She talks in a whisper, like she doesn’t want anyone to hear her secrets. And she always wears that nurse’s uniform.”
“So?” Michael asked.
“School nurses don’t wear nurse’s uniforms!” Andrea said. “They wear regular clothes like everybody else.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You’re saying that Mrs. Cooney can’t be a real nurse because she wears a nurse’s uniform?”
“Exactly!” Andrea said. “It’s the perfect disguise!”
“I don’t believe it,” I said.
“A.J., you’re blinded by love,” Andrea said. “Mrs. Cooney probably came to our school to spy on us, and she’s going to sell the information to some bad guy who’s going to try to take over the world.”
“We’ve got to do something!” said Emily, and she went running off the playground.
“You don’t know anything about spies,” Ryan told Andrea. “I’ve seen lots of spy movies. Spies always wear trench coats and carry briefcases and drive cool cars. They’re always slinking around in the dark and looking in file cabinets. And they’ve got all kinds of cool spy gadgets.”
Michael was right. I’ve seen a lot of spy movies too.
“You watch her,” Andrea said. “You’ll see I’m right.”
It was hard to believe that Mrs. Cooney might really be a spy. But after all, Andrea is a genius who knows everything. She’s right about everything else. Maybe she was right about this, too.
8
Spying on a Spy
We decided the only way to find out if Mrs. Cooney was really a spy would be to spy on her.
So we watched her like a hawk the whole next day. Andrea listened to Mrs. Cooney’s conversations whenever she talked with the teachers. Me and Ryan snuck in the nurse’s office during recess. Emily pretended to be sick so she could gather more information.
Finally, when school let out at three o’clock, we got together at the monkey bars in the playground to compare notes.
“There’s a cabinet in the nurse’s office that’s locked at all times,” Emily said, “and I saw the word ‘poison’ on a bottle inside!”
“Poison!” Michael said. “Spies are always poisoning people!”
“And she took my temperature with that weird thing she sticks in your ear,” said Emily.
“How do we know that thing is really a thermometer?” asked Ryan. “Maybe it’s a secret brain scope.”
“She has all kinds of spy gadgets,” said Ryan. “Like those machines she uses to test our eyesight and hearing every year. Maybe she really uses them to transmit secret coded messages.”
“What about that tape measure thing she’s got?” I asked. “The one where she pushes a button and the whole tape goes flying into her hand. That thing is cool.”
“Mrs. Cooney is always weighing and measuring things,” Emily said.
“She’s obsessed,” said Andrea. “She’s constantly gathering information about us and writing it all down.”
“Like a spy,” Michael added.
“You know, when I was in her office today,” Emily said, “she told me she isn’t allowed to give kids medicine.”
“That’s true,” Michael said. “She’ll give you a cough drop or some crackers. That’s it.”
“Once she had me gargle with salt water,” Ryan said. “A lot of good that did.”
“Or she’ll put a bag of frozen vegetables on your head,” said Michael.
“What kind of nurse can’t give medicine?” Emily asked.
“A fake one,” Michael said. “A spy nurse.”
“This morning I saw her standing in the hallway,” Andrea said, “and she was whispering into the phone.”
“She was probably passing secrets to that bad guy who wants to take over the world,” said Ryan.
Wow, the evidence against Mrs. Cooney was mounting. Maybe she really was a spy!
“We’ve got to do something!” Emily said.
9
Vowel Movements and the Third Degree
I was all mixed up. I was in love with Mrs. Cooney and wanted to grow up and marry her. But what if she was secretly a spy who was selling information to some guy who wanted to take over the world? I was starting to feel sick. I mean really sick. Not fake sick.
“A.J., you don’t look good,” Miss Daisy said. “Do you need to go to the nurse’s office?”
“No!” I said. “Not that! I’m fine.”
“A.J., I want you to go to the nurse’s office,” Miss Daisy said. “Now.”
So I went to Mrs. Cooney’s office.
“Hi, A.J.,” she said cheerfully. “Feeling a little under the weather?”
“No. I feel fine,” I said. “Can I go back to class?”
“Not so fast.”
Oh no. She was going to have me stand on my head or juggle Ping-Pong balls or put her Beanie Babies in ABC order. Or something equally weird.
“I want to ask you a few questions,” said Mrs. Cooney. “When was your last bowel movement?”
Huh? I didn’t quite hear what she said. Bowel movement? What’s that? I didn’t know what a bowel was, so how could I possibly know if it moved? I didn’t want Mrs. Cooney to know that I didn’t know what a bowel movement was.
Maybe she said “vowel movement.” That would make more sense. Vowels move all the time. But I didn’t know which vowel she was talking about.
“A?” I guessed.
“I said when was your last bowel movement?” Mrs. Cooney asked.
“Y?” I asked.
“Why?” said Mrs. Cooney. “Because that will help me know what’s wrong with you.”
I didn’t know what vowels had to do with what was wrong with me.
“I-O-U,” I said.
“You owe me what?” Mrs. Cooney asked. “A.J., can you please just answer my questions? What did you have for breakfast today?”
That’s when it hit me. Mrs. Cooney was doing what all those cops do with bad guys. She was giving me the third degree. What if I told her some important piece of top secret information? And what if she sold it to that bad guy who wants to take over the world? And what if that guy took over the world?
It would be my fault!
The fate of the whole world was on my shoulders!
I decided that I wasn’t going to give Mrs. Cooney any information. I didn’t care how beautiful she was. I wouldn’t answer any of her questions, even if she shined that head lice light in my eyes.
“A.J., did you eat breakfast this morning?” Mrs. Cooney asked.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” I said, crossing my arms in front of me.
&n
bsp; “I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Cooney said.
“I have the right to remain silent,” I said.
“A.J., I only asked you if you ate breakfast.”
“That’s classified information,” I replied. “Who wants to know? I want a lawyer.”
“Don’t be silly, A.J.”
“Are you going to torture me?” I asked. “That’s what they do in the movies.”
“A.J., you’re acting very strangely today,” Mrs. Cooney said.
Oh, she thinks I’m strange! She puts bags of frozen vegetables on kids’ heads and makes them balance yardsticks. But I’m strange!
By the time Mrs. Cooney let me go back to class, school was over. All the kids were gone. Miss Daisy gave me my backpack and told me what we had to do for homework.
But that night I couldn’t do my homework. I had too much on my mind.
I hate to admit that Andrea is right about anything, but she just might be right about Mrs. Cooney. What if she really is a spy? How could I marry her? And yet, she was so beautiful.
All night long I was tossing and turning in my bed.
10
I Thought She Was Gonna Die
“Now are you convinced, A.J.?” Andrea asked, taking a big bite of her apple.
Me and Ryan and Michael were sitting around the vomitorium talking about Mrs. Cooney. It was so important that we even let Andrea and Emily sit at our table.
All the evidence seemed to show that Mrs. Cooney was a spy. Still, I wasn’t sure.
“My mom says people are innocent until they’re proven guilty,” I said.
“Mrs. Cooney is guilty, A.J.!” Andrea said, getting up and waving her arms around. “What do you need to do, catch her—”
But Andrea couldn’t finish that sentence, because at that very moment, the most amazing thing in the history of the world happened.
Andrea started choking.
