“I was thinking of inviting him over Saturday to fish some more,” I say.
“I wonder if he wears the same clothes on the weekend,” my mom says.
Dad shrugs.
“I bet he does,” Willow adds.
So do I.
18. Loyalty
Toulouse didn’t wear the same clothes to school the next day. Well, he wore the same jacket, gloves, and shoes, but today’s black pants have gray pinstripes, the vest is dark red instead of black, his tie has a diamond pattern, and, on his head, he’s wearing a brilliant red bowler.
Despite how beautiful it is, the hat gets laughs, which I doubt is why he chose to wear it. I wonder if he thought twice about wearing it, if he figured out that his wardrobe doesn’t match ours, that the kids are teasing him because of it, but decided to go ahead and wear the red hat anyway, because he likes it.
That was my thinking back when I wore my duck tape clothes. But after months of being teased, I finally gave up. The fun of wearing them was spoiled by the snickering and taunting. I surrendered.
I wonder if Toulouse will. I wonder if he’ll still be wearing a suit a month from now. I hope so.
“Good morning, Toulouse,” I say as he unpacks his ink bottle and quill.
He tips his red hat. I wish I had one to tip back. It’s so dignified, tipping hats. But they’re not allowed in class.
“That was fun yesterday, at the creek.”
He bows again.
“I was thinking we could go again, tomorrow, if you’re free.”
Tomorrow’s Saturday.
“Are you guys dating?” Garrett interrupts.
Hubcap: “Yeah! You two going out?”
“We’re ten,” I say.
I glance at Toulouse, double-checking with my eyes. He nods. He’s ten.
“So it’s a playdate,” Garrett says.
Hubcap: “Yeah!”
“We’re going fishing,” I say, though I really should ignore them. Like Toulouse does.
There’s a beep, and the principal’s voice comes out of the speaker. Saved by the morning announcements.
“Good morning, students. This is Principal McDowell. Please stand for the pledge.”
We all stand and lay our hands on our hearts. Toulouse seems unsure about the hand-on-heart thing. Maybe they don’t have to pledge allegiance in Quebec. He does lay his hand on his chest, but he doesn’t recite the pledge with us. I doubt he knows the words. I don’t even listen to what I’m saying when I say them.
‘ “… andtotherepublic … forwhichitstands …’ ”
The pledge ends. The principal introduces the two students who have been reading the announcements this month. I don’t know them. William something and Olivia something. They’re fifth graders.
“Photographers will be here today for Picture Make-Up Day,” Olivia says, “for those of you who missed Picture Day in September.”
And for those of us who lived in Quebec in September …
I glance at Toulouse. His eyes are opened very wide. They’re as big as Oreos. He looks worried, bordering on scared. He must not like having his picture taken.
I know how he feels. “Smile,” they say, but no one can. We grin instead. Grinning isn’t smiling. When you grin you’re either faking it or up to something.
I peek at Garrett. He grins at me. So does Hubcap.
Toulouse coughs. He coughs harder. He hacks. He’s gagging on something.
I tap him on the back, swiftly but not hard. He keeps gagging.
“He’s choking!” Ursula says. “During announcements! I can’t hear!”
“Give him the Heimlich!” Monique says.
I stand up and wrap my arms around him, grip my left wrist with my right hand, and pull.
“Hoof!” Toulouse says.
Everyone shrieks. I hear something land on his desk. I’m behind him, so I can’t see it. Everyone sticks out their tongues in disgust. Whatever he coughed up is grossing them out. I step around.
The thing on his desk is about the size of a golf ball. It’s dark brown, like dirt, and has fur. It’s a dirt clod with fur.
And it came out of Toulouse.
19. Okay
I walk with Toulouse to the office, to see the nurse, as Mr. Logwood instructed. He also instructed me to ask that a janitor be sent to our classroom, and he instructed me to hurry—though we were not to run in the halls.
Before I left the room, I saw him use a paper towel to pick up the thing that Toulouse upchucked and seal it in a plastic sandwich bag. Maybe Mr. Logwood intends to have it analyzed. If so, I wouldn’t mind seeing the results.
“I’m sorry you threw … you don’t feel well,” I whisper to Toulouse as we walk briskly down the halls.
He doesn’t reply.
I’d like to ask what he ate for breakfast this morning but decide it’s too personal a question, and, most likely, rude.
“I am okay,” he answers in a tiny voice.
“Now, you mean,” I say. “I often feel better after … you know … after I vomit.”
He nods.
At the nurse’s station, I say, “Wait there … on that chair … for Edward … He’ll take care of you. He’s our nurse. I have to go talk to Ms.… the secretary.”
“I am okay,” he says again.
“Tell that to Edward … and don’t worry … he’s nice. He’ll probably give you a mint for … for the taste. I’ll see you back in the classroom. Edward will bring you there when he’s done with you … after he’s sure you’re okay … which I’m sure you are.”
“I am okay,” he says for the third time.
“Right. So everything will be fine.” I try to smile, which means I grin, then I walk away.
I tell Ms. Plowright that Mr. Logwood wants a janitor to come to our room to clean up a mess that a sick student made, and she picks up the phone.
In the hall on the way back, I think about how everyone will laser-beam poor Toulouse when he gets back to class. They’ll melt his skin and bones and heart with their eyes. He’ll be defenseless against them.
At least that’s what it feels like to me after I do something stupid and get sent to the office. When I jammed the chopsticks down my throat, for example. And when I accidentally choked on a scented dry-erase marker. They make them smell too good.
I want to protect Toulouse, but how can I when I can’t even protect myself?
I think about this as I walk through the halls, and come up with a plan that might work.
20. Works Like a Charm
I walk through the door. It’s Read-Aloud. Mr. Logwood is sitting in his armchair in the Gathering Place, holding the book we’ve been reading, Poppy.
Hubcap, who can never focus during Read-Aloud, sees me first. He elbows Garrett, who swats at him. Garrett loves Read-Aloud. He gets completely absorbed in the stories and dislikes distractions to the point of hitting anyone who bothers him. When Hubcap elbows him again, Garrett shoots him a this-better-be-worth-it look. Hubcap makes a hitchhiker gesture toward me. Garrett glances over, and his face lights up. It’s worth it.
Other kids sense that something is going on behind them and twist around. Within moments, I have the attention of the entire class. As planned.
On the way back from the office I stopped in the boys’ bathroom and made a quick duck-tape bow tie and bowler. The hat is neon green. The bow tie is made of a duck tape with a mustache print. Those are the two tapes I happen to have in my pockets today.
The idea was that I’d attract the class’s teasing away from Toulouse and onto me. And it’s working like a charm.
“Is it Halloween already?” Garrett asks.
Hubcap: “Yeah, nice costume, Woody.”
“That’s enough,” Mr. Logwood says, though he seems to be fighting snickers himself. “Or shall I break into song?”
Everyone shuts up.
“Maybe you’d like to hang up your hat, Woodrow,” Mr. Logwood says to me.
“No, I’d like”—my throat clo
ses up—“to keep it … on?” This last word I squeak.
“Like his boyfriend,” Hubcap says.
“Please take a Think Time, Vitus,” Mr. Logwood says.
Hubcap stands and stomps away.
“Please, Woodrow,” Mr. Logwood says. “As you know, wearing hats is not allowed in the building.”
“You let Tou … Toulouse,” I say.
“Yeah! If Toulouse can, why can’t Woodrow?” Monique asks.
“It’s only fair,” Ursula says.
“Yeah!” Garrett says. Which surprises me—and everyone else. As a rule, Garrett does not stand up for me. Or anyone, except himself.
“Quiet, please,” Mr. Logwood says. “This is Read-Aloud, which is intended as a quiet, listening time. If you do not wish to quietly listen, you can return to your desk and write a summary of the book so far.”
Total silence, like someone hit the Mute button.
“Woodrow, I’ve been allowing Toulouse to wear his hat in class because he is new not only to this school, but to the United States, and I thought it best he be allowed to hold on to something that clearly gives him comfort during what must be a challenging transition. In time, I’ll ask him to comply with school rules. You, on the other hand, having attended Uwila since kindergarten, must certainly be used to our conventions and rules. I expect you to comply with them now.”
He makes a good point. It’s obvious from all the nodding that everyone agrees with it. I didn’t think this all the way through. I got the attention I was after. I should have left it at that. I should have taken the hat off when he asked. Now my face is burning, and I feel as if I’m going to faint.
I remove my hat, then fumble with it, and end up dropping it. When I bend over to pick it up, stuff from my pockets spills out onto the floor with a clatter.
The snickering returns. I hope it lasts till Toulouse gets back, and he can slip in without notice.
21. Lenny the Magnet Boy
He doesn’t return while I’m picking up my stuff.
He doesn’t return during Read-Aloud.
He doesn’t return by Writing Workshop, and I was hoping to do some peer editing with him on my story “Lenny the Magnet Boy,” which is about a kid who gets magnetized after fooling around with his dad’s metal detector. Forks and fish hooks and other metal stuff start flying at him. He ends up stuck to the refrigerator. I haven’t come up with a decent ending yet, and I was hoping maybe Toulouse would have an idea.
Instead, I get paired up with Monique. It could be worse. It could be Ursula. Or Garrett. Or Hubcap. Monique can actually be kind of nice. She says the story is funny, but she thinks some of the objects that fly at him would be too heavy. The hammers, for example.
“Good point,” I say.
“But the hammers are funny,” she says. “Maybe Lenny becomes a really, really strong magnet. Then he could attract something that he could use to pry himself off the fridge. Like a crowbar.”
“Not bad,” I say. “Not bad at all.”
Monique’s story is about a twelve-year-old girl named Natasha who finds out her mom and dad aren’t her real parents, so she sets out to find them. She discovers they live in Paris and flies there to look for them.
“Alone?” I ask.
“Yes. She’s very brave.”
“But can kids … like … can they fly by themselves? I mean, don’t you … don’t they … have to have an adult … like a parent … with you … them?”
“My cousin flew here last summer by herself, and she’s twelve.”
“But I bet she had to have her parents’ … Her parents probably had to fill out … you know … forms. And take her … to the airport.”
She thinks about this.
“And Natasha … she’s flying overseas,” I say. “Wouldn’t she … will she need a passport … or something?”
Monique thinks awhile longer, then says, “Maybe she finds out her parents live in the same town she lives in.”
“Good idea, but not as exciting.”
We start revising.
Toulouse isn’t back by recess. I’m worried about him. Maybe Edward found something bad. Maybe Toulouse is very sick. I mean, who throws up things like that?
Music comes after recess on Fridays. Mr. Weldon teaches it. He does both music and choir, which makes sense.
Music class is different than choir, though. We don’t sing. We play instruments. But not till after we’ve learned something about music. Today we learn about rests.
Some rests are one beat. Some are more. Each one has a different symbol. They can be combined if the composer wants the musicians to pause for a length of time that doesn’t have its own symbol. Six beats, for example, is a four-beat rest (called a whole rest) plus a two-beat rest (a half rest). Music is kind of like math, except you can hear it.
After we learn about rests, we practice, first by counting out loud as Mr. Weldon points at the written music on the overhead. Then we clap it. Finally, we get to use instruments. Everybody loves getting to use the instruments. Kids love making noise.
We usually don’t get to use the instruments for long, though. Somebody always ends up banging on one of them too loud, or wielding one like a weapon, and then Mr. Weldon takes them away. It doesn’t seem fair, especially with a kid like Hubcap in our class. A guy like him is always going to mess things up for everyone.
I like playing the castanets, which are tiny finger cymbals. If I were Lenny the magnet boy, I could suck them right to my hand. But I’m not, and I have to wait for my turn to choose an instrument. Unfortunately, Hubcap goes before me, and he knows I like the castanets, so he takes them. He doesn’t even like them; he likes the loud instruments, the ones you bang, like drums and wood blocks. But I guess he likes messing with me more.
I take a recorder, and right after I do, Toulouse walks in. I’m so glad he’s back that I run over to him.
“No running in class,” Garrett says.
Hubcap shouts, “Yeah, Woody—walk!”
Mr. Weldon gives Hubcap a Think Time for shouting.
Nobody says a word about what happened before, when Toulouse choked. They’re all too busy with their instruments. I guess in the end, I didn’t need to make the duck-tape hat and tie. But I don’t regret it. How can I? I still have the hat and tie.
22. Ooh-LOW
“Monsieur!” Mr. Weldon exclaims, and claps his hands together, his fingers pointed upward. “Bienvenue, Toulouse! Welcome! I worried you weren’t going to be with us today! Here, for you, something special!”
He unlocks his off-limits supply cabinet with the small silver key he keeps on a chain around his neck.
“Come here, Monsieur Hulot!” He pronounces it ooh-LOW.
Toulouse walks over and looks inside.
“Take whichever instrument you like,” Mr. Weldon says.
Toulouse looks up at him, then back into the cabinet. He leans in and comes out with a small red plastic accordion. It looks like a toy, but then all the instruments Mr. Weldon gives us look like toys. Toulouse pulls open the accordion, and it wheezes. The bellows are blue and made of cardboard. Toulouse covers some of the accordion’s little buttons with his fingers and squeezes. It wheezes again, but this time there’s a tune in it.
“Ah, you play!” Mr. Weldon says. “Please, monsieur, regale us with a song!”
I guess Toulouse doesn’t have to count or clap first.
He pulls the accordion open again, and then squeezes it shut, then opens it again. He does know how to play it. He plays a song. It’s cheerful, but with a slight sadness to it. Toulouse shuts his eyes and sways slightly. He plays an entire song, from memory.
Everyone is silent, then Mr. Weldon starts slapping his hands together loudly and cheering, “Magnifique! Bravo! Bravo, Monsieur Hulot!”
We start to clap and cheer, too. Some do so because they’ll do anything if it means they get to make noise, but a lot of us mean it. We’re impressed. I don’t know if there’s anyone in our class who can play a who
le song on an instrument as well as Toulouse just did.
Toulouse bows twice.
When the clapping winds down, Mr. Weldon says, “That was ‘Reine de Musette,’ no?”
Toulouse nods.
“A beautiful tune, played beautifully!” Mr. Weldon gushes. He actually has tears in his eyes.
Then Garrett says in a loud voice, “What was that thing you puked up on your desk, Toulouse?”
“Yeah!” Hubcap says. “And what did you do to Otto?”
Mr. Weldon gets mad and sends them to the office.
I’m mad, too, and not just because they brought up the two things I didn’t want brought up. I’m mad at Garrett and Hubcap because they hated the fact that Toulouse was impressing everyone and getting attention, so they decided to spoil it. They intentionally tried to embarrass him. It’s mean to try to knock somebody down just because they’re flying higher than you. Falling hurts more the higher you are. I know this from personal experience.
Toulouse puts the accordion back in the cabinet.
“Oh, please, monsieur,” Mr. Weldon says, “won’t you please play us another song?”
Toulouse picks up a triangle and comes over and stands next to me.
“Have it your way, monsieur,” Mr. Weldon says, pouting.
I lean over and whisper to Toulouse, “I’d sure like to sock both of those guys right on their noses.”
He looks up at me.
“ ‘Sock’ means ‘punch,’ ” I say.
He nods.
“You’re really good at the accordion.”
He tips his hat.
“Okay, everyone,” Mr. Weldon says. “Ready? All together now: One … two … three … ready … begin!”
We bang and shake and toot our instruments, making a pretty awful noise. We smile.
23. Winding and Unwinding
I’m a picky eater, and none of the few foods I like—pizza, chicken nuggets, nachos—are being served today. Lunch is beef stew, which smells weird and has green peppers, which I don’t eat. The side dishes are not tater tots or french fries or even mashed potatoes, but steamed carrots and cole slaw. The dessert is red Jell-O. I may starve.
Odd, Weird & Little Page 5
