The Waffler

by Gail Donovan

  Ella and Emma spoke next.

  “Hey, you owe me,” Emma pointed out.

  “Me, too,” echoed Ella. “We covered for you in Band.”

  “I know,” said Monty, bouncing lightly against the chain-link fence. “How come?”

  Ella shrugged. “’Cause it’s not fair.”

  Monty nodded. In a way, it didn’t make sense. Mr. Carlson didn’t have anything to do with Mrs. Tuttle’s one-Buddy rule. But in another way it made perfect sense. Teachers were on the same team, and kids were on the same team. Emma and Ella were on his side, and that meant covering for Monty when he messed up in Band.

  “Thanks,” said Monty. “I owe you guys.”

  “We know that,” said Ella.

  “So what are you going to do?” asked Emma.

  “I don’t know!” said Monty.

  How come people expected him to do something, anyway? Overhead, a bunch of crows were zigging and zagging across the blue sky, and on the playground, more kids were racing toward Monty’s spot by the chain-link fence. Monty was glad to see Lagu heading over. He only felt medium-glad about Devin Hightower. Devin didn’t call him Waffles all the time, more like whenever he seemed to remember. Which was usually whenever Tristan Thompson-Brown was around. Which was why Monty wasn’t at all glad to see Tristan arrive.

  “Hey, Waffles!” said Tristan. He was wearing a winter hat so you couldn’t see his bright orange not-me hair. “How come you’re not babysitting today?”

  “They’re not babies,” said Monty.

  “They’re mini-waffles!” cried Tristan. “Get it? Waffles and his mini-waffles?”

  Monty bounced harder against the chain-link fence. So what if he had a few friends in kindergarten? At least they never called him Waffles. Half of Monty wanted to tell Tristan off, but half of him didn’t dare. The two halves started having a fight inside his head.

  Tell him to quit it.

  No way. Then he’ll know it bothers you.

  Way. Otherwise he’ll never stop.

  He never will stop.

  Make him.

  How?

  Monty kept bouncing against the chain-link fence. Tristan was calling him a name about not being able to make up his mind, and he couldn’t even make up his mind to tell him off! Monty was going through the argument with himself again, when the worst possible thing happened.

  Sierra stepped forward. Planting her red sneakers in the grass, his sister said, “Quit it, Tristan.”

  “What?” asked Tristan.

  “Quit calling Monty Waffles.”

  “Why?”

  “He doesn’t like it,” said Sierra.

  “He doesn’t care,” said Tristan. “It’s just a joke. Right, Waffles?”

  Everyone was waiting to hear Monty’s answer. Sierra and Jasmine. Ella and Emma. Devin and Lagu. Monty was waiting, too. What should he say? He felt his heart doing the alarm clock pound. Hurry up, hurry up! Then, like a real alarm clock, the bell rang to mark the end of recess, and all the kids lit off across the playground to get in line for lunch. Too late! Too late! He hadn’t made up his mind what to say to Tristan. And now Tristan would never stop calling him Waffles. Because that’s what he was. A waffler.

  So, my friend,” said Mr. Milkovich as the bus pulled out of the bus circle, “not such a good day?”

  Great, thought Monty. Apparently Mr. Milkovich was another one of those people who had X-ray vision when it came to seeing inside him.

  “Not really,” he admitted, staring out the bus window as the bus glided along. Across the road, the hill sloped down to where the gray ocean looked up at the gray sky. In a little while, Mr. Milkovich began slowing for the first stop. The stop signs came out from the sides of the bus, like wings, and the red flashers flashed. Traffic slowed, then stopped. From the back of the bus trooped some fifth-grade guys.

  “Bye, Waffles.”

  “Bye, Waffles.”

  “Bye, Waffles,” said the last one. “Bye, Mr. Milk.”

  Glancing at Monty in the mirror, Mr. Milkovich pulled the door shut and made the stop signs fold back against the bus. Monty felt as if he had X-ray vision now. He could tell from the look on the bus driver’s face what he was thinking: That’s one of your problems, right? The nickname? But Mr. Milkovich was too smart to say it out loud. He knew that would just make more trouble for Monty. Unlike Sierra.

  “I got same problem,” said Mr. Milkovich.

  “Really?” asked Monty, suddenly realizing how dense he had been. Maybe Mr. Milkovich didn’t like being called Mr. Milk for short!

  “But it’s only for sometimes,” said the driver with a shrug. “You know, sometimes it’s problem, sometimes no problem.”

  At the next stop Kieran, the littlest nut-free sister, came up the aisle and sang out, “Bye, Mr. Milk!”

  “Bye-bye!” said Mr. Milkovich to the little girl. “See you tomorrow!” To Monty he explained, “You see, it’s for sometimes no problem?”

  Monty got it. Kieran wasn’t trying to be mean. The fifth grader was. Just like Tristan. But how come Tristan was trying to be mean? Monty hadn’t done anything to him!

  Behind Kieran came her sisters, Kelsey and Katy, and Sierra, who was friends with Katy. The nut-free sisters got off the bus and Sierra sat down beside Monty. “Hey,” she said, heaving a big sigh. “What house am I at today?”

  “Dad’s,” answered Monty. “I’m at Mom’s.” Then he blurted, “Why did you say that to Tristan?”

  “I was just trying to help!” she said.

  “That’s like the opposite of help,” argued Monty. “He’s never going to drop it now!”

  “I just thought—it just makes me—” she began, then stopped and bit her lip, as if she was thinking. “I guess that was kind of stupid.”

  “Totally,” agreed Monty. “That was totally stupid.”

  Sierra didn’t argue about being stupid, which made Monty a tiny bit less mad. “So what are you going to do?” she asked. “Are you going to get a new Buddy?”

  “How can I?” asked Monty. “They all think I’m their Buddy!”

  He and Sierra were still talking about Mrs. Tuttle and the Buddy problem when the bus slowed down for Monty’s stop. Which was how he and Sierra got off at the same stop for the first time in—Monty didn’t know in how long. September and October, Sierra hadn’t ridden the bus because she’d gone straight to soccer practice after school. And ever since the Veterans Day parade in November, they’d been flip-flopping houses.

  It felt strange, going home together, for the first time in a long time. And in another way, it felt the opposite of strange, because they’d been going home together for years. Side by side, they walked along the brick sidewalk until they got to their mom’s. They walked past the sunflowers standing guard by the back door—by now squirrels had taken all the seeds—and went inside. Monty grabbed an apple and headed upstairs, with Sierra still following.

  He took the rat from its cage. “Want to hold him?”

  “Sure,” said Sierra.

  She sat down on a beanbag chair and Monty put the rat in her hands.

  “Want to feed him?”

  Sierra nodded, and Monty showed her how he bit off little nibbles of apple and fed them to the rat. Then he pulled a big bag from his top drawer and dumped the contents on his bed. His sister gasped when she saw the stash.

  “You still have Halloween candy?”

  “Just some.” He’d eaten all his favorites but still had some not-favorites left.

  “Sweet!” she said, looking longingly at the leftovers—gummy worms, sour balls, and butterscotches.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  He took his rat from his sister and perched him on his shoulder, and Sierra took a piece of licorice and settled back on the beanbag.

  “So,” she asked, nibbling away at th
e red rope of candy, “what’s his name now?”

  Monty put a gummy worm in his mouth. Then he put in a sour ball. Which was kind of gross. But kind of good, too. “Officer Samuel Scratcher McIntosh Whiskers the third,” he answered, his mouth full of sweet and sour together.

  “Officer Samuel Scratcher McIntosh Whiskers the third?” repeated Sierra, laughing. “You just gave him every name, because you couldn’t choose one? Good one!”

  “Yeah, it is,” boasted Monty, agreeing.

  Because Sierra hadn’t said good one in a mean way. She had said it in a nice way, like Kieran calling Mr. Milkovich Mr. Milk was nice, not mean. This was how after school was supposed to be. The rat balancing on his shoulder, hanging out. Sierra hanging out, eating candy.

  She finished her licorice and studied the last few pieces of candy on the bedspread.

  “Here,” said Monty. He took one more piece for himself, scooped up the rest and dropped it into her hand. “You don’t have to choose,” he said as he popped the last candy into his mouth.

  Sour lime burst onto his tongue and an idea burst into his brain. The Kieran-Winnie-Finn idea. “I’m not going to.”

  Sierra unwrapped the cellophane from a butterscotch. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “The candy, or a name for your rat?”

  “Neither,” he explained. “I’m talking about my Buddies. I’m not going to choose one. I refuse.”

  Sierra giggled. “You refuse to choose?”

  “I refuse to choose,” he agreed.

  “So you’re not going to be anybody’s Buddy?”

  “No,” said Monty, shaking his head. “I’m going to be everybody’s.”

  • • •

  Monty could hardly wait for recess on Tuesday, to tell them. But halfway through the next morning, Jasmine Raines gave a shout. “It’s snowing!”

  Mrs. Tuttle didn’t even try and stop everybody from running to the windows to watch the first snow of the year. Huge flakes were fluttering down from the sky. In five minutes a sprinkling of snow lay on the playground, like powdered sugar on a pancake. In fifteen minutes the snow was so thick it looked as if a whole box of sugar had been dumped on the pancake. And half an hour later Mrs. Tracy’s voice came over the intercom.

  “Due to the snow, we will have indoor recess today. Please dress for outdoor weather tomorrow. That means mittens!”

  Indoor recess? How was he supposed to tell Kieran, Winnie, and Finn about being his official Buddies at the Culminating Event tomorrow if they were all stuck inside during recess today? He was looking around the room, trying to plot his escape, when Mrs. Tuttle dashed any hope of that.

  “Monty,” she said. “I hope you’re going to make a good choice for indoor recess.”

  “I am,” he said.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Could I go to the library?” he tried.

  “No,” said Mrs. Tuttle, shaking her head. “You know the choices.” She started listing the acceptable activities—blocks, puzzles, markers and paper, playing a board game with a friend, or reading quietly by yourself—and warned, “If you can’t decide, Monty, I can decide for you.”

  Monty didn’t care what he did during recess—he just didn’t want Mrs. Tuttle picking for him. Scanning the room, suddenly another idea burst into his head, just like yesterday. Sweet! The ideas were coming thick and fast as snow.

  “Markers and paper!” he blurted. Because two kids were already at the markers and paper table: Jasmine and Lagu. And he needed to talk to them. Quickly Monty made his way over and sat down, and as quietly as he could, he explained his plan. He wanted Kieran, Winnie, and Finn to be his Buddies tomorrow. All three of them. He wanted them to stand with him while he told the parents about the books they had read, and he wanted them to sit with him and his parents during refreshments. And he needed Jasmine and Lagu to help get the message to them.

  Jasmine was covering her paper with rows of pink hearts, yellow smiley-faces, and multicolored rainbows. “Why?” she asked.

  “Because,” said Monty, “it’s snowing. So I can’t tell them at recess, right? So I need you to tell Kieran at lunch, and Lagu, you can tell Winnie when you guys get home, okay?”

  Lagu nodded, agreeing, but Jasmine made a scared face. “How come you can’t tell Kieran? You sit with her at lunch, too.”

  “Because that’s the only time I have to find Finn,” argued Monty. “Come on, Jasmine. You know it’s not fair.”

  Thinking, Jasmine added a row of daisy-shaped flowers. “Okay,” she finally said. “I’ll tell her.”

  Now Monty could hardly wait for lunch. When recess ended he filed down to the cafetorium with the hundred other kids who had second lunch. He put his lunch box on a tray and got a carton of milk and started wandering around, pretending to search for a seat. But really he was searching for Finn.

  The problem was, he wasn’t the only one wandering. Principal Edwards seemed to be doing one of her Every-Child-Known tours. She was walking up and down the rows of tables, greeting kids by name. Now her white head was swiveling toward him.

  Monty froze. Maybe if he held perfectly still, she wouldn’t see him.

  She saw him.

  “Montana!” she said, cheerfully. “How are you today?”

  Monty tried to act normal. He hadn’t done anything wrong, right? The principal was just saying hello. He managed to squeak out an answer. “Good.”

  “Let’s see, I remember,” said Principal Edwards. “You’re at the nut-free table, aren’t you?”

  “Nut-free,” he echoed, trying to agree with everything she said.

  The principal started walking with him toward the nut-free table. What was he going to do? Outside, big flakes of snow were still hurrying down. Hurry! Think! Lagu was going to tell Winnie, and Jasmine was going to tell Kieran. But what about Finn? If Monty couldn’t tell him, who could?

  Sierra.

  Sierra knew about the plan. Sierra was the kind of kid who could walk around the cafetorium without getting in trouble. Sierra could tell Finn.

  “First I have to see my sister,” he told Principal Edwards. “My twin sister,” he added, because one of the good things about being a twin was that most people wanted to know what having a twin was really like. Mentioning that he was a twin might just distract the principal from the fact that he wasn’t taking his seat at the nut-free table.

  It worked! Principal Edwards started asking the usual questions—who’s older? Do you ever have the same dream?—and Monty kept answering. Sierra was older. No, they didn’t have the same dreams. But meanwhile, soft as snow, he glided over to Sierra’s table. He took a plastic bag of carrot sticks from his lunch box and handed them to his sister, as if maybe they’d gotten into his lunch box by mistake.

  And silently he mouthed the words, Tell Finn.

  Wednesday morning the kids on the bus were wild. Apparently the first snow had made some parents decide it was time for warmer clothes, and kids were tossing their mittens back and forth across the aisle.

  “No throwing things!” shouted Mr. Milkovich.

  The bus chugged down the last leg of the route, alongside the hill that tumbled down to the ocean. At the bottom of the hill the snow-dusted domes of the sewage-treatment plant looked like huge snowballs. The domes made Monty remember “Hidden Treasures from Your Toilet,” which was still funny no matter what Mrs. Tuttle said.

  But what was Mrs. Tuttle going to say today? Yesterday Jasmine, Lagu, and Sierra had gotten the message to Kieran, Winnie, and Finn to come find him at the Culminating Event, because he was going to be their Big Buddy. Officially. Which wasn’t really true. He just wanted it to be true. But what if he got the kindergartners in trouble? That wasn’t cool.

  “So, my friend,” said Mr. Milkovich as the bus pulled into the bus circle, “today you are quiet. You have troubles?”


  Monty was sitting in his usual spot, right behind the driver. “Kind of,” he said, staying in his seat as the other kids plodded up the aisle and stepped off the bus. “I think I’m going to be in trouble pretty soon.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “The kind where people are mad at me,” said Monty.

  “So, it’s no problem for you,” said Mr. Milkovich. “You will—how do you say?—throw yourself on court.”

  “What?”

  Mr. Milkovich took his big hands off the steering wheel and tapped them to his big head, as if he was waking up his brain. “Yes, here we go! You will throw yourself on mercy of court.”

  “What?” repeated Monty. “How?”

  “If you are in trouble, confess. Beg for mercy.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Can you believe me?” asked Mr. Milkovich. “Where I come from, I was judge. So, listen. It’s good idea.”

  Monty stood and hefted his backpack onto his shoulder. “Mr. Milkovich, my friend,” he said, “have a good day.”

  Up in Mrs. Tuttle’s room the schedule for the day was written in blue marker on the whiteboard.

  9:30

  Mrs. Tuttle’s fourth-grade students to cafetorium

  9:45

  Mrs. Calhoun’s kindergartners to cafetorium

  10:00

  Families arrive

  10.15

  Musical entertainment by school band

  10:30

  Refreshments

  At nine thirty, right on schedule, Mrs. Tuttle clapped her hands. “One two three, eyes on me! We will now line up to go downstairs. As we walk through the school, our noise level will be at zero. Our hands will be at our sides.”