by Raymond Bean
When it was time, I jumped up and announced, “Recess! It’s time for recess!”
Mrs. Cliff was at her desk, and the look on her face told me she didn’t appreciate the interruption. She stood and walked to the center of the room. “I’m aware of the time, Justin. Students in my class do not stand and shout whenever they feel like it. I’m sorry to inform you that you are the first student to cost the class a marble. Please go take one marble from the center jar and place it in the sad-face jar.”
I thought she was being a little harsh. It was time for recess. I think she was annoyed that I caught her mistake. We would have been late for recess if I hadn’t said anything.
The class lined up as I walked over to her desk to move the marble. I must have been rushing to get it in the jar and get outside because the next thing I knew, I was falling. It all happened in slow motion. The heel on my right sneaker scraped the floor, and then my left sneaker bonked off the leg of someone’s desk. I wobbled for a second and almost caught my balance, but it was too late. I landed right on Mrs. Cliff’s desk, crashing right into the jars. They launched across her desk and catapulted off the other side. The empty happy-face jar hit the floor like a bomb, and glass went in every direction. The sad-face jar hit Mrs. Cliff’s coffee mug. Her coffee spilled onto her desk, and the jar broke apart, sending glass across her papers and plan book. The middle jar with all the marbles looked like it might survive, but then a piece of one of the other jars clanked it, sending a crack running up the side. When the crack reached the top, the jar collapsed, and hundreds of colored glass marbles spilled out onto the floor. Each one shattered as it hit. It was like a mini fireworks show.
When it finally stopped, I was holding myself up on Mrs. Cliff’s desk. My hands were in a puddle of hot coffee. It was a miracle that I wasn’t cut.
“I’m okay,” I said.
“I’m not sure about that,” Mrs. Cliff said.
20
Payback
When I got home, Mom and Dad already knew all about the smash job I had done on Mrs. Cliff’s behavior jars. “What were you thinking?” Mom asked. We were in the yard, sitting at the table.
“I didn’t do anything wrong. It was these sneakers. I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck.”
“That’s a little dramatic,” Mom said.
“Mom, I fell getting on the bus, I fell getting off the bus, and I fell walking in class. I’m lucky I made it home in one piece.”
“I don’t think it’s the shoes. They are nice and sturdy. Maybe you’re walking lazy.”
“Walking lazy? What does that even mean?”
“Maybe you’re not lifting your feet all the way. You just need a little time to get used to them.”
Dad, who had been silent the whole time, finally said, “I can’t believe you broke the jars. She’s had those forever. Do you know they’re antiques?”
“I know. She told me all about it. Her mother was a teacher and used them in her class. She gave them to Mrs. Cliff as a gift when she became a teacher.”
“This is horrible,” Mom said.
“You’re going to have to replace them,” Dad said.
“It was an accident,” I reminded them.
“It may have been an accident, but you still broke them. Replacing them is the right thing to do. It’s going to have to come out of your savings.”
Great, I thought, now I’ll never get to Canada.
Dad got out his computer, and we looked online for jars that looked like Mrs. Cliff’s. After about an hour of looking, we found three jars that were pretty similar. We also found a set of old-fashioned glass marbles that looked pretty close to the ones I broke. The marbles and jar, together with shipping, cost forty-five dollars. I only had twenty-three in my savings account, so Mom and Dad paid the difference and said I owed them the rest.
21
Friday!
That night I fell to sleep pretty early. I couldn’t wait for the first week to be over. The bus driver made me sit behind her again because I forgot to have Mom write a note saying I didn’t have to sit in the front. I didn’t even mind so much because I had one thing on my mind, and that was getting to the weekend. That’s the beauty of Fridays: no matter how bad your week is, you know the next day is Saturday. And Saturdays mean freedom.
I gave Mrs. Cliff the apology Mom and Dad made me write. I told them I had apologized at school, but they made me write it anyway. I also explained that I had bought new jars and they’d arrive in the mail in a few days. She seemed like she was still pretty mad, but she said thank you, and we got on with our day.
Mrs. Cliff told the class that she would keep track of behavior on paper until the new jars arrived. I was surprised that she accepted the jars. If I were the teacher, I wouldn’t make a kid spend all his money to pay for something that was clearly an accident.
Mrs. Cliff said, “It’s a very nice gesture, Justin, even though they can never truly be replaced.”
I feel the same way about my savings account, I thought.
Friday went by pretty quick. It was a normal day. After the soup mix incident and the jar disaster, it was nice just to have no major problems.
At the end of the day, Mrs. Cliff handed out permission slips for our first field trip. Nice, I thought, a whole day out of school! It was exactly what I needed, something to look forward to. The slip said the trip was scheduled for the following Friday. I was psyched because it was a trip to New York City. The trip included the Statue of Liberty, Times Square, and the Brooklyn Bridge. If that wasn’t cool enough, it said we were going to share a bus with Ms. Fiesta’s class. Awesome, I thought, I can hang out with my friends. It was the perfect end to a perfectly awful week.
Of course, I couldn’t have known then that it would be the worst field trip of my life.
1
Snake Bite
The morning of the field trip, I woke up early. Mom and Dad had given my pet snake away a week earlier, and I couldn’t get him out of my head. They gave him away because he got out of his cage and scared my sister Becky half to death on the first day of school. Somehow he managed to get into the bathroom cabinet. She got so freaked out when she found him that she sprayed him with hair spray. When I rushed in to save him, I accidentally knocked her, hands first, into the toilet.
His name is Mr. Squeeze, and he is by far the coolest snake in the whole world! My parents didn’t care, though. To them he was just a pain-in-the-neck pet that was causing trouble in their lives. If it were up to me, we would have given Becky away instead.
As bad as it was that Becky fell in the toilet, it was only part of the reason they sent Mr. Squeeze packing. It was when I threw a packet of powdered soup mix on my sister Mindy while she was in the shower that really sealed Mr. Squeeze’s fate.
Poor Mr. Squeeze has spent every day since at Dad’s friend Paul’s house. Unfortunately for me and Mr. Squeeze, Paul hasn’t been enjoying taking care of a boa constrictor as much as he’d hoped. He told Dad he’d only keep the snake for a few weeks. After that, he’d have to give it back to us, or we’d have to give it to a pet shop. My parents told me that we were not bringing him back home. The thought of someone else getting to keep my snake was driving me bananas. It was five in the morning. We weren’t leaving for the field trip until about six forty-five, and I was wide awake.
It was a perfect morning for finding snakes. The sun would be up soon, and it was really warm out. Mom said I couldn’t keep Mr. Squeeze. She also said I couldn’t buy a new snake. But, she never said anything about finding a new snake.
The trail behind our house leads right into the woods. If you know where to look, there are always some snakes hiding. I’m not sure why I love snakes so much, but I always have. I don’t understand why people like my sisters are so afraid of them. Unless they have venom, they’re completely harmless.
I checked all the places I’ve found snakes. Usually I find Garter snakes. They like to hide in piles of rocks or wood. It didn’t take long before I found a
pretty big one hiding behind a tree stump. I saw the tail first. It was next to a root and blending perfectly. To an inexperienced snake hunter, it would have looked like just a root, but I’m not inexperienced. I pounced on it, grabbing the tail. It immediately twisted to get away. Then it turned back faster than I expected and bit me on the right hand.
The bite was on that meaty part of my hand between the thumb and pointer finger. Garter snakes are harmless, but their bite stings like crazy. It also itches. I’ve been bitten a bunch of times, so I wasn’t freaked out or anything. I grabbed at him again with my left hand and then slid my right hand up his neck to get hold of his head. He opened his mouth to try to get at me, but the fight was over.
I stuck him in the bag I had brought with me. In all the nature shows I watch, the explorer always sticks the snake in a bag. It works great because they get all calm. It’s a pretty awesome feeling catching a snake.
I was about to start looking for another one when I heard my mom’s voice echo through the trees. “Justin! Are you back there? We need to leave for your trip! We’re late!”
I looked at my watch and realized I’d been out looking for snakes for over an hour. It was already after seven, and the bus was set to leave from school at seven thirty. I’d been looking forward to the field trip all week, and I didn’t want to miss the bus.
“Where were you?” Mom asked when I raced into the backyard. “The girls and I have been looking all over the place.”
“I was in the woods,” I said.
“I can see that. You look filthy. Get inside and clean up, and please tell me you took a shower already?”
“No shower yet,” I said, running for the back door. “I’ll take one after the trip. We need to go.”
“At least wash your face. And get your lunch out of the fridge and put it in your backpack!” she said, running after me.
2
Lunch?
I put the snake in Mr. Squeeze’s extra tank, which was in my closet, turned on the heat lamp, and dropped a few crickets in. Then I placed the screen on top, grabbed my backpack, and sprinted for the car. I knew it would be a close call to make the bus. Mrs. Cliff, my teacher, definitely would not wait for us. At seven thirty, that bus was going to leave, with or without me.
We were headed to the Statue of Liberty, the Brooklyn Bridge, and Times Square. We were only two weeks into the new school year, and I was ready for summer vacation. This trip was going to be the perfect break from school.
When I got to the car, Becky and Mindy were already waiting in the backseat. Our car is a really small Honda Civic, and when we all have to get in together, it’s way too crowded. I usually end up sitting in the middle because I’m the youngest, and they love getting the window seats. Today I was jammed in the middle, as usual.
Being with my mom in the morning can be pretty stressful. She’s always in a huge rush. If you didn’t know any better, you might think she was being chased by villains or something.
We were halfway to school. It was ten minutes after seven when Becky grabbed my hand and asked, “What happened to you?”
Mindy took one look at my bite and slapped my hand away. “That’s soo gross!”
“What’s the matter?” Mom asked, looking back from the front seat.
“It’s nothing,” I said. “I got bitten in the woods. That’s all.”
“Ew! It looks like it’s a rat bite,” Becky said confidently.
“How would you know what a rat bite looks like?”
“What was it then?” Mom asked.
“It was just a small snake. I’m fine.”
“You tell me twenty minutes before we’re about to get on a bus to New York City that you were bitten by a snake?”
“Oh my God!” Mindy said. “You’re going to die. Mom, we have to go to the hospital!”
“I’m not going to die.”
“I’m calling the doctor,” Mom announced.
She scrolled through her phone to find the doctor’s phone number, and it hit me. I had forgotten my lunch. We were going on an all-day trip to the city, and I had nothing to eat.
“Mom,” I interrupted.
“I’m on the phone, Justin!” she said.
“I kind of forgot my lunch at home,” I whispered.
“Don’t kid around. I told you before we left to grab your lunch from the fridge.”
“Yeah…like I said, I forgot my lunch at home.”
3
Gas Station Sambo
Mom pulled into a gas station parking lot as if we were fueling up for a NASCAR pit stop. She was still on hold with the doctor, so she sent me into the convenience store of the gas station to get a sandwich.
“Really?” I asked. “You want me to get a sandwich from a gas station?”
“Go!” she demanded
The girls stayed with Mom and worried about my bite. I looked at the pathetic sandwich choices in the display case. All of them looked pretty nasty, but I knew I needed to get something. It was going to be a long day, and Mrs. Cliff had been very clear that no one would be buying unnecessary items on the trip. She said that if we wanted to spend our money in New York City, we could go back with our parents one day. When we were with her, we were not to buy anything, and that included food.
I heard a kid bought a hot dog on the trip last year, from one of those guys selling them on the street, and Mrs. Cliff slapped it out of his hands. They say it splattered all over the sidewalk, and she didn’t even say sorry. I wasn’t sure if I should believe it, but I wasn’t about to find out firsthand. Her message was clear: no buying stuff on the trip.
I was already on Mrs. Cliff’s bad side ever since I fell into her prize collection of antique glass marbles the first week of school. She’d had them for about a thousand years, and I ended up breaking them. She was definitely holding a grudge, and I didn’t need any more problems.
I’m a pretty picky eater. So buying a gas station sandwich was not something I enjoyed. In fact, it completely grossed me out. The thought of where the sandwiches came from was enough to make me gag. I’d seen a reality TV show once that followed food from the warehouse all the way to the store. After seeing that show, I was sure whatever sandwich I picked had been handled by more germ-covered hands and disgusting creepy-crawlies than I could imagine. Mom honked her horn and waved for me to come. I closed my eyes and grabbed the first sandwich I touched. The label read Ham and Mayo Sambo. What can you do? I thought. I paid for my gross sandwich and hurried to the car.
“What were you doing in there?” Mom asked.
“They all looked gross. I couldn’t decide.”
“We’re going to miss the bus,” Mindy announced.
“What do you mean by ‘we’?” I asked. “This is my trip.”
The girls both smiled. “It’s our field trip now! Since you were running so late, Mom doesn’t have time to take us to school. We’re going to have to go on the trip too,” Becky said.
The girls are in fifth and sixth grade, and they go to a different school than me.
“Mom, they’re kidding, right?”
“I agreed to chaperone your trip, and the plan was to drop the girls off on the way to your school. I’m sure Mrs. Cliff will understand.”
“No, she won’t. She specifically said that siblings aren’t allowed. She told us that about a trillion times. Please, Mom! There’s got to be another way! Mrs. Cliff already doesn’t like me very much. This isn’t good timing.”
4
You’re on the Lame Bus
I was still trying to convince Mom that the girls couldn’t come as we pulled into the school parking lot. She had stopped listening to me minutes before we arrived.
There were seven classes going on the trip. I was really excited when I saw the coach buses lined up in front of the school. Usually we take the lame old yellow school buses on field trips, but since this was a long trip to New York City, the teachers had booked us the coach buses.
I was psyched because I’d never been o
n a field trip on a coach bus before. My friend Aaron’s older brother told me that coach bus trips are the best. They’ve got bathrooms and everything. He said kids sneak up into the luggage compartments when the teachers aren’t paying attention and hide. On a trip he went on once, a kid climbed up in the luggage compartment and fell asleep. He stayed up there the whole bus ride! I couldn’t wait to try it, even though it would be nearly impossible to have any fun with Becky, Mindy, and Mom watching my every move.
As we walked toward the buses, it was very clear that we were late. Mrs. Cliff was the only teacher standing on the sidewalk. She had a clipboard in one hand and a timer in the other. It was exactly seven forty.
I could tell that even Mom was nervous when she said, “Hi, Mrs. Cliff. I’m so sorry we’re running late.”
“These buses should already be in motion. There’s no time for excuses and stories,” Mrs. Cliff said. “Let’s get on the bus, and you can tell me all about it.”
She pointed toward a beat-up old yellow bus parked behind the sparkling coaches. I squinted to get a better look. My class was already on the bus. Mrs. Cliff led us along the sidewalk toward the yellow clunker. Mom explained to her that she was late because I’d been injured, and she had to bring the girls along. Mrs. Cliff didn’t seem happy about them coming, but she wanted to get on the buses and get out of there.
I looked up, and my buddy Aaron and a bunch of other guys from my football team were waving out the window of one of the coaches. Aaron mouthed, “What’s going on?”
I shrugged my shoulders. It didn’t feel real. It wasn’t at all how the trip was supposed to be going. I was looking forward to sitting with all my friends, goofing around, waving out the window to weird people in their cars, trying to get truckers to blow their horn. But none of that was going to happen because all my friends were on the awesome bus.
