by Barbara Park
All of them smiled and waved. “Hi, Junie B.! Hi!” they said.
I skipped around in a circle.
“See my outfit? I am a real professional lunch maker! See? I look just like Mrs. Gutzman!”
I showed them my sponge. “And look at this! I even have ’quipment!”
After that, I ran back to the sinks. And I showed them how I wiped the counter.
“Can everyone see me over here?” I asked. “I am the boss of this whole entire sponged area.”
After that, I zoomed to the napkins.
“Plus also, I am the boss of the napkins,” I said. “See how I stacked them? If I keep up the good work, someday I will be the boss of this whole operation, probably!”
Just then, May came in the door.
She did a mean laugh.
“You're not a real lunch maker, Junie Jones,” she said. “They're just letting you pretend. Don't you know that?”
All of a sudden, I felt steamy mad inside.
’Cause I am sick and tired of that dumb girl!
I stamped my foot real hard.
“Yes, I am, too, a real lunch maker!” I said. “Can't you even see my outfit, May? If I am not a real lunch maker, then how come I am wearing mitts and a hair net? Huh?”
May did not answer.
“I'LL TELL YOU WHY, SISTER!” I said. “’CAUSE I'M KEEPING HAIR AND GERMS OUT OF THE TUNA NOODLE STINKLE! THAT'S WHY!”
Behind me, I heard Mrs. Gutzman groan.
I turned around to see her.
Her face looked very sickish.
I turned back to Room One.
Their faces looked sickish, too.
One by one, all of them put their lunch trays back.
“I don't really feel that hungry anymore,” said Herb kind of quiet.
“Me neither,” said José. “I had a really big breakfast.”
Then, very slow, all of the children started backing out of the kitchen.
I watched them from the door.
They backed all the way to our lunch table.
Mr. Scary was waiting for them there.
He talked to them a minute. Then he came into the kitchen and talked to Mrs. Gutzman.
They whispered to each other for a real long time.
Also, they kept looking at me. And they wouldn't even stop.
My head got drops of sweaty on it.
I wiped it off with my sponge.
After that, Mrs. Gutzman closed her eyes again.
Then she walked to me very nice.
And she took away my sponge.
And she said my job was done.
I peeked my eyes at the clock.
It was almost two-fifteen.
Just one more hour before I could go home.
I tried to make the clock go faster with my eyes. It did not actually work that good.
Just then, there was a knock on our door.
Mr. Scary answered it.
“Why, hello!” he said.
“Why, hello yourself,” said a friendly voice.
And guess what?
It was Mrs. Gutzman!
She walked in the room with two boxes in her arms.
My heart pounded and pounded to see that woman. ’Cause what if she came to scold me?
I slumped way down in my seat so she couldn't see me.
Mrs. Gutzman set the boxes on Mr. Scary's desk.
Then she looked all around the room.
I slumped in my seat even farther.
Only too bad for me. Because Blabbermouth May pointed at me.
“MRS. GUTZMAN! MRS. GUTZMAN!” she hollered. “JUNIE JONES IS TRYING TO HIDE FROM YOU! SHE IS SLIDING DOWN IN HER CHAIR SO YOU CAN'T SEE HER! BUT I AM KEEPING TRACK OF HER MOVEMENTS!”
After that, I slid all the way to the floor under my desk.
I curled into a ball and hid my head.
Pretty soon, I heard feet walking to my desk.
I am getting used to that sound.
The feet stopped next to my chair.
I opened one eye and peeked out.
I saw the bottom of Mrs. Gutzman's white apron.
“Junie B.?” said her voice. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”
I didn't move any muscles.
’Cause maybe she would still go away, possibly.
“Junie B.?” said Mrs. Gutzman again. “I brought something for your class. Don't you want to see what it is?”
I shook my head real fast. “No, thank you,” I said. “I don't want to see it. And so you can be on your way now, please.”
I opened my other eye and looked at her feet. They kept on standing there.
Then, all of a sudden, I heard a loud groan. And what do you know? That woman squatted right down next to me!
I was shocked to see her.
“Mrs. Gutzman!” I said. “What are you doing down here?”
Mrs. Gutzman did not look comfortable.
“Please, Junie B. I need your help,” she said. “I brought cookies for your class today. But there's no one up there to help me pass them out.”
I rolled my eyes way back in my head. ’Cause that was not even the truth, of course.
“Yes, there is, Mrs. Gutzman,” I said. “There's lots of people up there to help you.”
Mrs. Gutzman shook her head. “No, no. You don't understand,” she said.
After that, she reached into her pocket. And she pulled out a pair of plastic mitts.
“I need a real helper, Junie B.,” she said. “I need someone with experience.”
Mrs. Gutzman smiled kind of painful.
“Please,” she said. “If we don't stand soon, I'm going to fall right on my keister, and you'll never get me up.”
I did a teensy smile. ’Cause that was a little joke, I believe.
Finally, I crawled out from my desk. And I helped Mrs. Gutzman stand up.
“I guess I can help you pass out cookies,” I said kind of quiet. “But some of these children are still very mad at me, you know.”
Mrs. Gutzman held my hand. “Yes, well, I think maybe I can fix that,” she said.
After that, me and her walked to the front of the room together. And Mrs. Gutzman showed everyone the cookies.
“Sugar cookies!” shouted the children. “Thank you, Mrs. Gutzman! Thank you!”
Mrs. Gutzman put her hand on my shoulder.
“Don't thank me, class,” she said. “Junie B. Jones is the one who reminded me to pay you a visit this year. She's the one you need to thank.”
For a second no one said anything. Then, all of a sudden, Herb hollered out thank you, Junie B. Jones! And then all of the other children hollered thank you, too!
I grinned real big. ’Cause those words felt happy in my ears.
After that, I hurried back to the sink and washed my hands. Then I quick put on my mitts and ran back.
Mrs. Gutzman gave me a thumbs-up.
“Ready to go, helper?” she said.
“Ready to go!” I said back.
And so then both of us passed out all of the cookies together.
And I did a perfect job!
And so here is what I am thinking.
I am thinking that maybe someday I won't be the Boss of Lunch after all.
Maybe someday I will just be the Boss of Cookies instead!
Because Boss of Cookies is the most delicious job I ever heard of!
Plus also, I will get to make all the cookie rules! And I have already thought of Rule Number One!
I wrote it in my journal so I won't forget it.
www.randomhouse.com/kids/junieb
BARBARA PARK is one of today's funniest, most popular authors. Her middle-grade novels, which include Skinnybones, The Kid in the Red Jacket, My Mother Got Married (And Other Disasters), and Mick Harte Was Here, have won over forty children's book awards. Barbara holds a B.S. in education from the University of Alabama. She has two grown sons and lives with her husband, Richard, in Arizona.
DENISE BRUNKUS'S entertaining il
lustrations have appeared in over fifty books. She lives in New Jersey with her husband and daughter.
Here's how you can write to Barbara Park:
Many of you have asked how you can write to Barbara Park. You can send your letters to the following address:
Barbara Park
c/o Random House, Inc.
1540 Broadway, 19th Floor
New York, NY 10036
A self-addressed stamped business envelope (size #10) should be included with all letters. Otherwise, a response may not be possible.
Teachers, if your whole class is writing letters, please send all of the letters in one package with the return envelope addressed to your school.
Text copyright © 2002 by Barbara Park
Illustrations copyright © 2002 by Denise Brunkus
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Random House, Inc., New York.
www.randomhouse.com/kids/junieb
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Park, Barbara.
Junie B., first grader: boss of lunch / by Barbara Park;
illustrated by Denise Brunkus.
p. cm.
SUMMARY: Junie, an outspoken, sometimes exasperating, first grader, is
thrilled when she is told she can help out in the school cafeteria.
eISBN: 978-0-375-89443-5
[1. Schools—Fiction. 2. School lunchrooms, cafeterias, etc.—Fiction.]
I. Brunkus, Denise, ill. II. Title.
PZ7.P2197 Js 2002 [Fic]—dc21 2001048983
RANDOM HOUSE and colophon are registered trademarks and A STEPPING STONE BOOK and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
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