Junie B., First Grader: Cheater Pants

by Barbara Park

  Mr. Scary leaned back in his chair.

  “Ah,” he said. “So when May left for the office, you saw her paper and you just decided to—”

  “Borrow it,” I said. “I decided to borrow it to copy.”

  My teacher did a frown. “Borrow?” he said. “No, Junie B. I'm sorry. But borrow is not the right word here at all. When you copy someone else's paper, that's called cheating.”

  My eyes got big and shocked at that word. ’Cause what was he even talking about?

  “No, Mr. Scary. No. I didn't cheat. I didn't,” I said. “Cheating is when you steal answers off of someone's test. But homework isn't a test. Homework doesn't even count, hardly.”

  “Oh, but homework does count, Junie B.,” he said back. “Cheating is not just about stealing test answers. Cheating is anytime you take someone else's work and you present it as your own.”

  He looked at me.

  “When you cheated this morning, you broke my trust in you, Junie B.,” he said. “We have a rule about this in Room One.

  We keep our eyes on our own papers. You've heard me say that a hundred times, I bet.”

  I felt surprised at that information.

  “That's a rule?” I said. “No kidding? I always thought that was … well, you know … just a suggestion.”

  Mr. Scary rolled his eyes. “No, Junie B. It's not a suggestion. It's definitely a rule,” he said. “And it's an important rule, too.”

  I drummed my fingers on the desk.

  “Well, I'll be darned,” I said.

  After a while, I did a deep breath.

  “I'm sorry,” I said real soft.

  Mr. Scary smiled a little bit. “I'm sorry, too, Junie B.,” he said. “But at least now I think we understand each other better. I will not put up with cheaters in my classroom.”

  I did a wince. “Yeah, only I wish you wouldn't keep saying that cheater word,” I said. “’Cause I didn't even know I was cheating, hardly. Plus I don't like cheaters, either, Mr. Scary. On account of my daddy cheated me at Old Maid last week. And I am still not over that terrible experience.”

  Mr. Scary wrinkled his eyebrows. “Your daddy cheated?” he said.

  I did a sigh. “Yes,” I said. “Daddy raised the Old Maid way high in his hand so I would pick her. And then I did. And so what kind of sneaky trick was that?”

  Mr. Scary covered his mouth.

  He was shocked, I believe.

  I leaned closer to him. “And Daddy is not the only cheater pants in my family, either,” I said very quiet. “On account of my grampa Frank Miller is supposed to be on a diet. But yesterday, my grandma found an empty pie pan in his closet. And all that was left was a little bit of crust and a plastic fork.”

  I thought for a second. “No wonder I cheated,” I said. “Cheating is in my blood, apparently.”

  Mr. Scary did a chuckle. “Well, nobody's perfect,” he said. “Everyone cheats on a diet once in a while, I think. But cheating at school is a very different matter, Junie B. Cheating in school is serious business. Are we clear on that now?”

  I nodded real fast. “Clear,” I said.

  After that, both of us shook hands. And Mr. Scary carried my chair back to my desk.

  After I sat down, he took an envelope out of his pocket. And he handed it to me.

  “I wrote a note to your parents explaining what happened this morning,” he said. “I would like them to read it and sign it, okay? You can bring it back to me in the morning.”

  I did a gasp at that thing.

  “No, Mr. Scary. Not okay,” I said. “Please, don't make me take a note home. Please. I really, really don't want to take a note.”

  Mr. Scary thought for a second. Then he took the note back.

  “Well, okay,” he said. “If you feel that strongly, I won't make you take it.”

  He started walking back to his desk.

  “I'll just call them tonight instead,” he said.

  I did a loud groan. ’Cause what kind of dumb choice is that?

  I stomped to his desk and I grabbed back the note.

  Then I stuffed it into my backpack.

  And I sat down at my desk.

  And I wrote in my journal one more time.

  That night at dinner, I couldn't swallow my meatball. ’Cause how can you swallow a meatball when there's a note from your teacher in your pocket?

  Mother kept on looking at my plate.

  “What's the trouble with you tonight, honey?” she asked. “You love spaghetti and meatballs.”

  I picked up my fork real slow.

  Then I put it right down again.

  “Is something wrong, Junie B.?” asked Daddy. “Are you sick?”

  I got down from my chair. And I stood by the table.

  Then I hanged my head. And very slow, I took the note out of my pocket.

  “I did something bad at school today,” I said real glum. “And so there's something I have to give you.”

  I rocked back and forth on my feet for a minute.

  Then I quick threw the note on the table.

  And I ran to my room as fast as I could!

  I shut the door real hard.

  Then I ran around and around in circles. ’Cause I didn't actually have a plan, that's why.

  My stuffed animals looked shocked at me.

  What's wrong, Junie B.? said my Raggedy Ann named Ruth. Are you in trouble?

  Of course she's in trouble, said my Raggedy Andy named Larry. Can't you tell? I bet Mother and Daddy are going to be running in here any second.

  My elephant named Philip Johnny Bob did fast thinking.

  Hide, Junie B.! he told me. Hide in the closet until they calm theirselves down.

  I nodded at that good idea.

  Elephants are the smartest stuffed animals there is.

  After that, I quick grabbed him by his foot. And we ran into my closet.

  We climbed over shoes and games. Then we scrunched way down in the corner.

  Pretty soon, we heard Mother and Daddy come in my room.

  Our hearts started to pound and pound.

  Then we tried to scrunch even smaller. Only too bad for us. Because Philip Johnny Bob accidentally knocked over a shoe box. And it made a loud crashing sound.

  Mother and Daddy opened the closet door.

  I waved at them real pleasant.

  “Hello. How are you today?” I said.

  Philip Johnny Bob held out his arms.

  I love you people, he said.

  Daddy rolled his eyes.

  Then he came into the closet. And he carried us out.

  He sat me and Philip Johnny Bob on my bed.

  Mother sat next to us. “You didn't have to hide from us, Junie B.,” she said. “Daddy and I didn't come to yell at you. We just came in to talk about this.”

  I flopped back on my bed. And I put my pillow on my head.

  “Yeah, only I already did talk about this, Mother,” I said real muffly. “Me and Mr. Scary talked about this for a jillion million hours at recess.”

  Mother took the pillow off my head.

  “Yes, I'm sure you did,” she said. “But Daddy and I need to talk to you, too, Junie B. Copying someone else's work is a very serious matter, honey.”

  Daddy nodded. “Cheating is wrong,” he said. “We want to make sure you understand that.”

  I did a big breath at that man.

  “But I already do understand that, Daddy,” I said. “I don't even like cheaters myself.”

  I thought for a minute. Then, all of a sudden, I remembered about the Old Maid.

  I sat right up. “And anyway, if you think cheating is so wrong, then how come you do it yourself?” I said. “Huh, Daddy? Huh?”

  Daddy looked shocked at me.

  “What?” he said. “What are you talking about? I don't cheat.”

  “Yes, you do too cheat,” I said back. “On account of last week you cheated me at Old Maid. And I am still not over that terrible experience.”

  “J
unie B., that's not true,” Daddy said. “I already explained that to you, remember? When you raise the Old Maid above the other cards in your hand, it's not cheating. It's part of the fun.”

  “Yeah, only it wasn't fun,” I said. “It wasn't! ’Cause after you raised her up there, you did a wink at me … like it wasn't really her. Only it WAS her, Daddy! And so what kind of sneaky trick was that?”

  Daddy rolled his eyes way up at the ceiling. Then he shook his head kind of annoyed. And he left my room.

  Mother ruffled my hair. “Sorry, honey,” she said. “But I'm afraid Daddy is right on this one. What he did was sneaky, but it wasn't cheating. Trying to fool the other person is supposed to be part of the game.”

  After that, she went to go start my bath water.

  Me and Philip Johnny Bob flopped back on my pillow.

  We did a sigh.

  ’Cause grown-ups never do anything wrong, it seems.

  Not even when they do.

  The next morning, I sat next to Herb on the bus. I sit next to him every single day. On account of that's what bestest friends automatically do.

  Herb started talking about his new dog, Dilly. Only I couldn't even pay attention that good. ’Cause how can you talk about Dilly when you've still got a note from your teacher in your pocket?

  Mother and Daddy had signed that dumb thing. And now I had to take it back to Mr. Scary.

  I slumped way down in my seat. School was not being fun these days.

  I looked at Herb.

  I wished I could tell him about my problem. Only what if he didn't like cheaters? And he found out I was one? And then he didn't like me, either?

  I thought and thought real hard.

  Then finally, I took a deep breath. And I decided to risk it.

  I leaned real close to his ear. And I whispered to him very secret.

  “Okay. Here's the situation, Herb,” I said. “I'm in a little bit of trouble at school. Only I'm really not bad. I promise. It's just that yesterday I accidentally did something wrong. But I don't actually want to tell you what it was … or else you might not like me anymore.”

  Herb looked at me and shrugged. “You copied May's homework when she went to the office,” he said.

  I did a gasp at that boy.

  Because how did he know that private information?

  I scratched my head. “But … but … how did you even—”

  Herb interrupted me. “I saw you,” he said. “Lennie and José saw you, too. You're a terrible sneak, Junie B. Really terrible, I mean.”

  I did a little frown.

  That was not a compliment, possibly.

  Herb patted my arm. “Don't worry. We still like you,” he said. “Just don't copy May's homework anymore. And then you won't get in any more trouble.”

  I nodded my head.

  Then I patted him back.

  That Herb is good for me, I think.

  Me and Herbert walked to Room One together.

  Then we stopped right in our footsteps!

  Because wowie wow wow!

  That whole room looked different, I tell you!

  Instead of being in rows, all of the desks were arranged in groups of circles!

  We looked in the back to where we sit. There were five desks in our group.

  May was already in her seat.

  She was cleaning her desktop with a moist towelette.

  Just then, Lennie and José walked in behind us.

  “Whoa!” said Lennie.

  “What's going on here?” said José.

  Mr. Scary told us to please find our desks. And he will explain this in a minute.

  All of us went back and sat down.

  Sitting in a circle feels friendly.

  We waved and smiled at each other.

  Only not May.

  She looked smuggy at us.

  “I already know why we're sitting like this,” she said. “I was the first one here this morning. And when you're first, you get to know stuff.”

  José stared at her moist towelette. He made the cuckoo sign.

  Just then, Mr. Scary went to the board. And he wrote a weird word.

  “Boys and girls, this morning we're going to be doing a poetry assignment,” he said. “That's why I arranged your desks like this. I want you to be able to talk over your thoughts and share ideas.”

  He pointed at the weird word.

  It was spelled c-i-n-q-u-a-i-n.

  “Does anyone want to try and pronounce this?” he asked. “Hmm? Does anyone want to sound it out?”

  May jumped right up.

  “Tin can!” she shouted. “It's pronounced tin can!”

  She grinned real delighted. “I know it's tin can because you told me that this morning, remember? I was the first one here. And I saw you write it on the board. And you told me it was pronounced tin can!”

  Mr. Scary looked puzzled at her.

  “Gee, I'm sorry, May. But it's not tin can,” he said. “You must not have heard me correctly. This word is pronounced like the words sin and cane. Sin-cane.”

  May crossed her arms.

  “No,” she said. “I'm sure that's not what you told me. You said it was tin can, Mr. Scary. You know you did.”

  Mr. Scary frowned. “No, May. I didn't,” he said. “Now please take your seat.”

  May sat down in a huff. She put her head on her desk and hid under her sweater.

  Mr. Scary looked back to the board.

  “A cinquain is a poem that has five lines,” he said. “And each line has its own special rule.”

  He wrote the five rules.

  1st line: One word (title)

  2nd line: Two words that describe the title

  3rd line: Three action words about the title

  4th line: Four words that express a thought or feeling about the title

  5th line: One word that means the same thing as the title

  After that, he wrote a cinquain for us to see. It was a poem called “Pickle.”

  Pickle.

  Bumpy, lumpy,

  Crunching, munching, lunching,

  Cucumbers makin’ you pucker,

  Gherkin.

  I laughed at that crazy thing. ’Cause whoever heard of a pickle poem?

  “Writing a cinquain is fun,” I said. “This assignment will be a breeze, I think.”

  Mr. Scary smiled. “Well, sometimes poems come very easily, Junie B. And other times they don't. But if you share words and ideas with each other, you can really help spark your imaginations,” he said.

  He looked all around. “In fact, I thought it might be fun for some of you to write your poem as a team,” he said.

  May quick came out from under her sweater at that news.

  She looked at our group.

  “Okay. Fine. I'll be the team leader,” she told us.

  After that, she made a mean face at Mr. Scary. And she took out her pencil.

  “I know just what we're going to write about, too,” she said kind of growly.

  She waved her hands at us. “You four guys just talk about your normal stupid stuff, and I'll write the poem,” she said. “I'll read it to you when I get done.”

  Lennie looked disappointed. “But Mr. Scary said we should write our poem together, May,” he said.

  “Sí,” said José. “We're supposed to share thoughts and ideas, remember?”

  May threw her hands in the air.

  “I knew it!” she said. “I knew working as a team wouldn't work. Fine. You guys just write your own dumb poem. And I'll write mine.”

  After that, she took her pencil and paper. And she hid under her sweater again.

  All of us looked at each other and shrugged. Then we started right to work.

  I tapped on my chin.

  “Hmm. It says the first line needs to be the title,” I said. “So maybe the title should come first.”

  May peeked her eyes out at me. “Duh,” she said.

  José covered her up again.

  Just then, Herb
raised his hand.

  “Hey! I know,” he said. “Since Mr. Scary wrote a pickle poem, why don't we write one about an olive?”

  He leaned back in his chair and did a happy thumbs-up.

  No one did a thumbs-up back.

  ’Cause what kind of dumb idea was that?

  “An olive?” I said.

  “I hate olives,” said José.

  “I threw up an olive once,” said Lennie.

  Herb looked irritated at us.

  I patted him. “Don't be mad,” I said. “It's just that maybe there's something funner to write about than an olive, that's all.”

  “Sí,” said José. “Like maybe we could write about soccer. Playing soccer is fun, right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Plus riding the bus to school is fun, too. Right, Herb? Me and you always have fun on the bus. Don't we?”

  Lennie shook his head. “But I don't ride the bus, Junie B.,” he said. “I think we should write about something that all of us know about.”

  He thought for a second. Then he clapped his hands together.

  “I know! We could write about how all of us shampoo our hair to keep it healthy and shiny! All of us do that, right?”

  After that, me and José and Herb just looked and looked at him.

  ’Cause sometimes Lennie is off the deep end, that's why.

  Finally, José put his head on his desk.

  “Maybe we're making this too hard,” he said. “Why can't we just write about something easy? Like about how all of us are friends or something.”

  Herb smiled a little bit. “Yeah. That's a good idea. We could write about the four of us. And we could call it ‘Friends.’”

  José smiled, too. “Sí,” he said. “Or ‘Amigos,’ maybe.”

  Just then, I bounced up and down real excited.

  ’Cause the perfect title just hit me, that's why! It hit me right out of the clear blue sky!

  “PALLIES!” I said. “Let's call it ‘Pallies’! ’Cause that's what we are, right? All four of us are bestest pallies! And ‘Pallies’ sounds like a cute title, don't you think?”

  I looked at them real hopeful.

  Then all of my pallies started to smile.

  Our poem was off to a great start!

  We worked on our poems for the whole entire morning, almost.