Trevor Lee and the Big Uh Oh!

by Wiley Blevins

  Mother was gonna like this one.

  Then the camera man lined the whole class up. In three rows. One behind the other.

  Pinky and I darted to the back row.

  “I can’t see you Pinky,” said The Boog. “You’ll need to move up front.”

  Pinky hated the front row. It reminded him that he was the shortest kid in the whole entire class.

  “We can hold him up,” I offered. I grabbed under Pinky’s right arm. Elmer grabbed under his left. And we lifted him up. Now he was as tall as we were.

  1, 2, 3… snap! Elmer’s arm gave out right when the almost baldy man took the picture. Pinky dove forward. The front row fell like dominoes. Not the pizza. The little black cubes with dots.

  Sally May’s dress flew up over her head. She was wearing underwear with Sunday written on it. And it was already Monday! Sally Fay rolled out into The Boog and knocked her down.

  “Just one day,” muttered The Boog, as she pulled herself up. “I only ask for one day.”

  She looked up into the ceiling as she spoke. Then she got real mad. Like she finally saw those brown spots. And grizzly-looking dead flies. “Just get in your lines and no moving. Is that clear?” she screamed.

  “Clear as mud,” I whispered to Pinky. “Clear…

  as… mud.”

  Then she walked over to the corner and took a little something from her purse while we got back in our lines.

  Some days a teacher feels like a cow with the runs.

  Chapter 12

  I thought Picture Day couldn’t get any worse. But it did.

  When we got back to the room, a note for The Boog stuck to the door.

  The Boog had a look on her face like the time last week Pinky put a pencil in his nose and the eraser got stuck. He was afraid to take it out because he thought it would erase his memory. The Boog tried to tell him it didn’t work that way. But he wasn’t convinced. It wasn’t until I told him there wasn’t anything worth remembering that he let her pull it out.

  “I have some bad news,” said The Boog as we took our seats. “It looks like Walter has the chicken pox.”

  “Wow! I didn’t even know Walter had chickens,” I said. That’s cause Walter lives in an apartment. Chickens in an apartment are way cool!

  “Hey,” whispered Pinky. “You have chickens. Maybe you can get that pox thingy.”

  “Does it hurt?” I asked.

  “I think it’s a little itchy. That’s all. You get these red marks all over your face. Like fat freckles.”

  Fat freckles. I could handle that. Pinky is a genius. Things were sure looking up for me!

  The Boog went on. “So, he won’t be able to read his part on Family Night tomorrow.” “Oh, no! This is a DI-SAS-TER!” cried out Sally May and Sally Fay at the same time. “Walter is our best reader. And, he has the longest part.”

  “Well, that means I will need to divide up his part and assign it to some of you,” said The Boog. She’s a quick thinker, too.

  Then she paused and looked at me. I ducked under my desk. I’m a quicker thinker.

  I had the end of the story. There was no way I was going to get stuck with the beginning. That was the hardest part of all. That’s when everyone is paying attention. By the end, half of them will be snoring. So, no one will hear me read.

  “Trevor Lee,” The Boog said.

  “Trevor Lee isn’t here today,” I announced in a deep voice from under the desk. Like the kind you hear in a scary movie.

  Then Pinky jumped in. “Trevor Lee is in the bathroom, ma’am.”

  That’s why he’s my best friend.

  “Trevor Lee,” The Boog said once more, now standing over my desk. I could see her toes poking out of her shoes. Like hawk claws. That lady needs to clip her toenails.

  “I need you to read the first paragraph of the story.”

  Uh-oh!

  I’ve sure been through a lot of uh-oh’s since school started this year. But this was the biggest uh-oh in the history of uh-oh’s.

  Earth swallow me now.

  I crawled out from under my desk.

  “Just checking for ticks and fleas, ma’am,” I smiled. “How many words is that first paragraph you’re talking about?” I asked. “Cause if I read more than like two words, I get that laryngitis stuff and can’t talk no more. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience now would you?”

  “It’s three short sentences,” answered The Boog. “We can work on it during recess.”

  Recess? Work? What did I do to deserve this punishment?

  Well, okay. Don’t answer that.

  But still!

  I couldn’t read three whole sentences. In front of the entire universe and their Mamaws.

  Some days a boy should just dig a hole to China. And never come back.

  Chapter 13

  T he number 13 is unlucky. About as unlucky as I am now. So, I’m not about to write anything in this chapter. Turn the page.

  And fast.

  No, faster than that.

  Even faster. Hurry!

  And don’t look back.

  Chapter 14

  T hat’s better.

  So, where were we?

  Oh, right. My life was about to end.

  Not only did I have to read the first paragraph on Family Night, but The Boog made me stay in for recess to practice.

  We went through every word. One cotton pickin’ letter at a time. The Boog helped me sound out each one.

  “This letter stands for the ‘sssss’ sound,” she said. I hissed and looked at her for another clue. “And it rhymes with ‘goop’.”

  “Snoop?” I asked.

  “No, look closer at the letters and don’t add any extra sounds,” The Boog reminded me.

  “Sssss… oop. What’s the word?”

  “Soup!” I yelled. Yikes. This was gonna be harder than the time I taught my goldfish to dance.

  After that doozie of a word, I crept on to the next one. Then the next. And so on. But, before I got to the end of the sentence, I forgot where I started. This made no sense.

  These sentences were much longer than The Boog had said. I think she’s a big fibber. That’s a nice way of saying “liar, liar, The Boog’s pants were on fire.”

  Teachers aren’t supposed to do that, you know. Unless they’re meeting with your parents and you did something really bad. Then they can tell a lie as big as the whole continent of South Africa.

  “I’ll never be able to do this,” I sighed.

  “I believe in you, Trevor Lee,” she whispered. Then, The Boog put her hand on my shoulder. And I didn’t even mind.

  When I got home that night, Mamaw was waiting for me with a big biscuit. Filled with strawberry jelly.

  “What happened to you?” she asked. “It looks like a bear stole your grin.”

  I told Mamaw about my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, awful, disastrous day.

  “It’ll take a lot of practice,” said Mamaw. “But you can do it. Why don’t you read it to me?”

  I started the way The Boog had told me. “Once upon a… .”

  Then I stopped.

  “What’s that word?” I asked Mamaw. But she didn’t even look at the book.

  “Trevor Lee, your teacher would want you to do it yourself. That’s how you’ll learn.”

  I looked at each letter. Remembered what sound The Boog said it made. Then put them altogether.

  “Once upon a time,” I said. “Well, that only took half an hour. It’ll be midnight before I get through this sentence. And next week before I get through this paragraph.” I covered my face with my hands. Not because I was crying or nothing like that you know.

  “Just take your time, honey,” said Mamaw. “You’ll get it.”

  All evening I practiced reading those three mile-long sentences. I read them to Mamaw. I read them to Barks-A-Lot. Who just snored through the whole thing. I even read them to the hens. After I raced Hippie the Rooster to the chicken coop, of course.

  Th
e hens were the best audience. They gathered around and clucked after each sentence. One even laid an egg to show me how much she liked it. I think a couple rolled their eyes when I messed up, though. I’ll remember those hens the next time Mamaw wants to make fried chicken for dinner.

  While sitting in the chicken coop an idea popped into my head. And it only hurt a little.

  I really could get the chicken pox just like Pinky had suggested, I thought. Maybe even the small pox. I had also heard of that. But this was a serious problem. So I should probably try to get the large pox. That would be a sure-fire way to get me out of Family Night. And I was sure my chickens had the chicken pox, the small pox, AND the large pox. Don’t all chickens?

  Mamaw says you can get sick easy-like from someone else who is sick. For starters, she says you can get sick if you shake hands with someone who is sick. You can also get sick if they sneeze or cough on you. Or if you kiss them. It was worth a shot. I mean, worth a try. It’s one thing getting sick. It’s another thing getting a shot.

  So, I began shaking hands with the chickens. “How do you do?” I asked. Most of the ones I could snatch pulled away and raced to the back of the coop as soon as I tried to clutch their claws. A couple tried to peck my hand off.

  I wasn’t sure that was going to work, so I considered the next way to get sick—cough or sneeze. But how do you make a chicken sneeze? I could throw pepper into the air. That always made me sneeze.

  There was no pepper around, so I threw some of the chicken feed up in the air. I immediately began sneezing like a tornado was shooting out of my nose. The chickens started clucking and squawking and flying around to grab the seeds as they fell to the ground. It was like a bunch of old ladies at Walmart fighting over the 90% off sale bin. And I didn’t hear even one chicken sneeze in all the mess.

  The last way to get sick was to kiss one of the chickens.

  Never gonna happen.

  Not even with Veronica.

  I just had to hope that my hand shaking did the trick. Surely by morning I would be as itchy as a bee sting on your butt.

  When Mother and Daddy got home, I read to them, too. I didn’t want them to get the pox thingy, so I kept my distance.

  Daddy watched the baseball game on TV while I read to him. “Almost there,” he said. “Keep practicing.”

  Mother checked her emails while I read to her. “Almost there,” she said. “Keep practicing.”

  Mamaw brought me a big bowl of ice cream. With caramel sauce.

  “You need your energy for all that practicing,” she said. Then she winked at me.

  This reading stuff was more exhausting than running uphill backwards while being chased by an angry goose.

  Don’t ask.

  And, I only had one day before Family Night.

  I wonder how fast you can catch the chicken pox? Or malaria?

  Chapter 15

  W hen the alarm clock went off I rolled over and yelled “Liar!” Then I rolled back and went to sleep. Mamaw had to shake the covers to get me out of bed.

  “So today is the day,” I grumbled. Rubbing my eyes. “The soon-to-be worst day of my life.”

  Unless…

  I sat up in bed. A little too fast. And spilled onto the floor. I pulled myself up and thrust my face into the mirror.

  “Do you see these red spots?” I asked Mamaw. “I think I have the pox.”

  Mamaw ran over. Held my face in her hands. And leaned in real close.

  “Honey, those are just your freckles,” she said. And took a deep breath.

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “They look a little fatter than usual to me. Like those chicken pox things.”

  “Sweetpea, you’re as healthy as a diet candy bar,” she said. And went downstairs to finish cooking breakfast.

  “Those chickens can’t do anything right,” I grumbled. “All I wanted was a little disease. Was that too much to ask for?”

  At school The Boog had on a fancy, new dress. With big flowers and buttons the size of Pinky’s head. And her hair was all curly. She even had some red stuff on her lips and cheeks. She cleans up real nice. For a girl.

  “Let’s go down to the gym and practice reading our story,” she said. “It’ll be just like we’ll do it tonight.”

  We all lined up like sardines in one of those stinky silver cans. The kind with a pull-tab and lots of juice.

  “Smile,” said The Boog. “And hold your books up high.”

  I put mine over my head.

  “A little lower please, Trevor Lee.”

  Well, she said “high.” You heard it.

  “Now, I will count to three very softly. When I finish, I want everyone to say the name of the story together. Let’s practice. 1… 2… 3.”

  “The name of the story together,” we all said.

  “No!” said The Boog, her hands shaking. “Read the title of the story. Let’s try again. 1… 2… 3.”

  “The… the . .. little… red . .. little… the… hen. Hen.”

  “Let’s try that one more time,” said The Boog. A big drop of sweat rolled down her forehead and onto her face. It left a white strip down the middle of the red circle on her cheek.

  “I will say it slowly and you say it with me.”

  We did that about a thousand hundred times before The Boog said it was right.

  “Now, as soon as we say the title of the story, Trevor Lee will begin reading. Nice and loud.”

  The room went silent.

  This was the moment.

  The Boog held her breath.

  Pinky held his breath.

  Sally May, Sally Fay, Walter, and the rest of the class held their breath.

  Even I held my breath.

  Which is like really hard when you’re supposed to read.

  “I told you he couldn’t read,” whispered Sally May. This is why she’s still my Enemy #1.

  “You can do it,” said The Boog. “Take a deep breath and do it like we practiced.”

  Take a deep breath? I haven’t breathed since last week.

  “Once upon a… time,” I whispered.

  “Louder,” said The Boog. “Say it like you’re talking to the person in the last row. Or, talking to Pinky out for recess.”

  “ONCE UPON A TIME,” I yelled.

  “Keep going,” smiled The Boog.

  I got through the first sentence. Took another wheezy breath. Then the second. I needed help on three of the bigger words. And finally the third. I messed up a little on that one, too.

  After that I just stared at the ceiling until the end. I didn’t even care that it had brown spots. And dead flies. I just had to be perfect tonight. But I wasn’t even close yet.

  Some days are longer than a ten-word sentence.

  Chapter 151⁄2

  T he Boog reminded us to return to school at 7 o’clock sharp. Told us to practice our parts one last time at home. Try to eat a hearty dinner. And wear something “worthy of the stage.” Whatever that meant.

  I had three types of clothes. School clothes. Church clothes. And play clothes. But no stage clothes. Maybe The Boog meant we should dress like a character in a play. Such as a frog prince. Or a troll. I did have an ugly green shirt Mother bought me.

  When I got home, Mamaw had sloppy joes simmering on the stove. And tater tots crisping in the oven. My favorite.

  “What’s eating you up, sweetpea?” she asked. As she fixed me a plate.

  Mother and Daddy glanced at each other. And got quiet. I could tell their stomachs were as flip-floppy as mine.

  “I have a headache. That’s all,” I said. “I think all that practice reading today gave me brain damage. My head’s swollen. Real bad.”

  “You’ll kick this reading thing in the butt tonight,” said Daddy. “Don’t worry.” And he gave me a high five. But it felt more like a low three. “Sometimes it takes a little extra time to get it right,” he went on. “It took your Mother years of practice before I could eat her cooking.”

  “Ain’t that the tru
th,” whispered Mamaw.

  “But we’re proud of you for working so hard,” said Mother, ignoring them. “And if you need more help, we’ll talk to Miss Burger. About some other solution.”

  Other solution?

  We all knew what that meant. 2nd Grade. And if I didn’t read well tonight, that was exactly where I was going to end up.

  I popped a tater tot into my mouth. And swirled it around. But it just wouldn’t go down.

  I stared at my plate. The life of a tater tot is so easy, I thought. It starts out as a spud. Grows up to be a big, fat potato. Then gets made into the best thing possible. A tot. No problems. No worries. No Family Night.

  I couldn’t eat another bite.

  Mamaw patted my hand. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap,” she suggested. “I’ll wrap up a sloppy joe for you to eat later.”

  I trudged up to my room. Fell on top of the covers. And tossed. And turned. And swiveled. And swooped. Until I finally felt myself drift off to sleep.

  I woke up in what looked like our field. In back of the barn. I was surrounded by our animals. Sort of. There were cows, but with big polka-dots. Chickens, but ones wearing boots. And a large gray horse who was sporting a baseball cap and a dress with extra large buttons.

  “What’s drooping your face?” asked the gray horse.

  “It’s his turn to read,” clucked the chickens.

  “But he doesn’t know how,” laughed the cows.

  “We shall see,” said the gray horse. And she handed me a book. 2½ feet wide and 3½ feet tall.

  “Read this,” said the gray horse. “But if you can’t read it, you must live in the barn. Alone. Forever.”

  “And no visits from your best friend, Pink-eye” added the chickens.

  I grabbed the book cover with both hands. Lifted the corner. And swung it open to page 3. The first page in the story.

  The page had markings all over it. Like letters. Only I had never seen any of them before.