by Bill Harley
I put the shoes on. Then I took them off.
They didn’t look like stupid white sneakers anymore.
They looked like stupid black sneakers.
What a bozo!
4
Maybe There Was a Mistake?
I woke up on the first day of school feeling queasy. I’d been going to King Philip Elementary School forever, so I guess I shouldn’t have been nervous about the first day anymore. But I was. Even though it was the same old school, things were different.
Like knowing that I was going to have Mrs. Burke—and not knowing who was going to be in my class.
When I got dressed and put on my new sneakers, I realized Mom wasn’t going to like what I’d done. I hoped she wouldn’t notice.
Lucky for me, the first day of school was a big deal for my little sister, and she kept asking Mom for help getting ready. My brother and my dad left before I went down for breakfast. I thought I was safe.
Then, Mom noticed.
“What on earth did you do to your sneakers?” she asked.
Trick question! I knew there was no good answer.
“I don’t know,” I said, which is a good thing to say when adults ask trick questions.
“Oh, Charlie, why did you do that?”
“I wanted black ones,” I said.
She shook her head and started clearing away the breakfast dishes. She was slamming things around a little, so I knew she was mad.
On the bus, the Squid wanted to sit with me. “Why don’t you sit there and save a seat for Carla?” I said. “I’ll be right here behind you in the next row sitting with Tommy. They get on in two stops.”
“Okay,” she said, sliding into the seat in front of me. “I can’t wait to see Mrs. Dizzaz.”
“You mean Di-az,” I corrected her. Mrs. Diaz had been my teacher in first grade, and now the Squid was in her class.
She looked at me like I was making a joke or something. “That’s what I said—Dizzaz.”
I gave up and sat down. I couldn’t wait to see Tommy. He and I have been best friends since second grade. He is excellent at many things. He draws great cartoons. He can make his voice sound just like a sports announcer. He does a hilarious duck imitation. He can turn his eyelids inside out and it’s really gross and none of the grown-ups can stand it. But he also has a habit of blurting things out when it would be better to keep his mouth shut. Like the time he told my dad that we didn’t mean to let the air out of the car tire.
Tommy and his little sister Carla got on.
“Hey, Charlie,” he said. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“I know who I have for a teacher,” he said.
“Me too.” I suddenly got a really sick feeling because something occurred to me. We had always been in the same class. What if Tommy didn’t have Mrs. Burke?
“Who do you have?” he asked.
“You first,” I said.
“I got Mrs. L. Did you?”
I looked down at the floor. The engine roared and the bus bounced up and down. My stomach tied itself in a knot. I shook my head.
“No? You didn’t? Are you sure?”
I nodded. Now, even worse, I felt tears filling up my eyes. I didn’t want to cry so I looked out the window.
“Who’d you get?”
I gave Tommy a don’t-ask look. He slapped his hand over his mouth—he could tell just from the look on my face.
“Not … not Mrs. Burke?” he said.
I nodded again.
Tommy shook his head. “I can’t believe it.”
“Neither can I.”
“Maybe you can switch teachers?”
“I already asked my mom and she said that was ridiculous. I told her that I was allergic to Mrs. Burke but it didn’t do any good.”
“Did you tell your mom what happened?”
“No!” I said. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
“Well, yes,” he said. “That’s why we’re friends.”
That made me laugh, even though I knew I was going to die as soon as I got to school.
Then Tommy looked down and saw my sneakers. “Wow,” he said, “what happened to your shoes?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said. “All I can say is they didn’t have the black ones like yours, so I made some adjustments.”
“Oh,” Tommy said. Then he added, “They don’t look that bad.”
“Thanks,” I said, but I knew Tommy was just trying to make me feel better. That’s what best friends are for—when you do something that makes you look like a bozo, they tell you it isn’t that bad.
Neither of us said anything for a minute. I wondered if you could still be best friends if you weren’t in the same class. Then I thought maybe his mom would let him change to Mrs. Burke’s class, even though then we’d both be miserable. But at least we’d be miserable together, which is a lot better than being miserable alone.
“Maybe it’ll be okay,” Tommy said. “She was Teacher of the Year last year.”
“I think grown-ups give that award,” I said. “I know I didn’t vote for her.”
“Neither did I,” Tommy agreed. “But maybe she’s forgotten what happened.”
“Yeah, right. No way.”
“I know,” he said. “I was just trying to help.”
How could she possibly forget? I was so dead.
“But it was sort of funny,” Tommy said. “When you think about it.”
I thought about it.
Mr. Romano was the best third-grade teacher. Every Friday afternoon at the end of the day he would let us play games in class.
Once when Tommy and I were partners for Mystery Word, we had to go out in the hall while we waited for the class to decide on a secret word for us to figure out.
It took them a long time to decide, and we started messing around.
Tommy stepped on the back of my sneaker and pulled it off. Then he wouldn’t give it back.
I wrestled him to the floor and pulled off one of his sneakers.
We were both laughing.
Then he threw my shoe down the hall.
I threw his shoe, too.
Just as I let go, a teacher came out of her classroom.
And … the sneaker hit her in the head.
It was a complete accident. I would never hit a teacher in the head with a sneaker on purpose.
Guess who the teacher was?
Right. Mrs. Burke.
She was pretty surprised. I can see how anyone who got hit in the head by a sneaker in the school hallway would be surprised. Sneakers don’t usually fly down the hallways of schools.
She was also pretty mad. She picked up the flying shoe. Then she saw my shoe that Tommy had thrown and picked it up, too. She walked toward us. “Who threw this?” she growled, holding up Tommy’s shoe. I guess she didn’t ask about my shoe since it hadn’t hit her in the head.
“I did,” I said. I wondered if she was going to beat me with Tommy’s shoe.
“I threw the other one,” Tommy confessed. He didn’t have to say that. It sure didn’t help things much.
Because then she said the words I’ll never forget: “If I ever see you throw another shoe in school, you will stay in from recess for the rest of your life!”
The rest of your life is a very long time.
Especially if you’re eight years old, which I was at the time. If you lived to be a hundred, that would be ninety-two years without recess.
Then Mr. Romano came out of the classroom and Mrs. Burke told him what had happened and he took our shoes and gave them back to us and told us to sit down. We didn’t get to play Mystery Word anymore.
Mr. Romano didn’t say a word to us.
That’s how he usually was when he got mad. Sometimes when adults don’t say anything it’s worse than when they yell.
It was a bad day.
But I learned an important lesson that afternoon:
NEVER, EVER HIT A TEACHER IN THE HEAD WITH A SNEAKER. ESPECIALLY THE T
EACHER OF THE YEAR.
“Well, it isn’t funny to me,” I told Tommy, “now that I have Mrs. Burke for a teacher.”
Carla and the Squid, Tommy, and I got off the bus together at school and walked in through the front door. Mrs. Rotelli, the principal, and Mrs. Finch, the school secretary, were greeting everyone and telling them where to find their classrooms.
I already knew where mine was. Mrs. Burke’s prison.
There was also a lady to show the first graders to their classes. She took Carla and the Squid by their hands and led them down the hall.
“Hi, Mrs. Rotelli,” Tommy blurted out. “I think maybe there was a mistake. Charlie and I have always been in the same class together, and I’m pretty sure he couldn’t have Mrs. Burke. Can you check and see?”
Mrs. Rotelli stared at him for a second, then looked down at the clipboard. “He does have Mrs. Burke. Is there some reason he shouldn’t?”
Tommy glanced over at me.
I rolled my eyes. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?
“Um, no,” he said.
“Then I hope you have a good school year. Both of you boys can head to your classrooms.”
5
Surrounded
Mrs. Burke was standing outside her door. She was tall and her face was long. She looked like an egret—a bird with long legs that catches fish in the water.
I was the fish.
Her glasses had bright orange frames. Her eyes were looking right at me. I tried not to look back.
When I got to the door, I gave her a quick smile and tried to slip by.
She caught my arm with her bony fingers. Her bony firecracker-exploding fingers!
I didn’t mean to scream, but I did.
“AAAAAAAAAAAH!”
She let go of my arm and squinted at me. Her glasses fell off her nose and swung from the chain around her neck. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “What happened?”
“Um … nothing,” I said.
“Mr. Bumpers,” she said, “you walked in here like you were headed to prison.”
“Ummm … I … I …,” I stammered.
“Welcome to Mrs. Burke’s top-security penitentiary,” she said with an evil smile.
I looked at her. I’d never heard that word.
“Penitentiary means prison,” she said.
I knew it! And I was going to be locked up here for a whole year!
She looked down at the papers she was holding. I could see that the one on top was a seating chart.
I hate seating charts.
“Let’s see where your cell is going to be,” she said, squeezing my shoulder with her exploding fingers so I couldn’t escape.
“Ah, yes. I know all about you, Charlie Bumpers. I have a special place for you. You’re in the third seat in the second row.”
I nodded and started to walk toward my desk.
“Charlie,” she said to me.
I turned back.
She was looking at my feet.
“I’m glad to see you’re wearing both of your shoes.”
Alex McLeod was sitting in the front of the class. He was already having trouble staying in his seat. Mr. Romano used to say that Alex had “crazy legs” and that they had to move constantly or they would fall off.
One of his crazy legs stuck out and nearly tripped me.
“Charlie!” Alex said. “Where are you sitting? By me?”
“No,” I said. “Back there.” I walked down the aisle and sat in my seat. I put my new stuff in my desk very carefully.
Last year I got good grades on my final report card, but at the bottom Mr. Romano wrote that I had a hard time being organized. I remember his exact words:
Next year, Charlie should work harder on keeping things neat and orderly. This will make life easier for him and everyone else around him. I know he can do it.
My parents had read that to me. Three times.
I put the plastic pen and pencil holder in one corner of my desk and the big binder in the other. I put the scissors and notepads down near the bottom, right in the exact center.
Everything was perfect.
“Hi, Charlie,” Ellen Holmes said, sliding into the desk just in front of mine.
“Hi, Ellen,” I said. I was glad she was in front of me. Ellen is funny and kind of smart, and she spends most of her time drawing horses. She collects little plastic horse models and has a million books about horses. Last year she kept one of her horse books on her lap and read it while everyone else was doing math.
Josh Little sat at the desk on my right. One day in second grade, in front of the whole school, Mrs. Rotelli used him as an example of someone who was polite. I felt sorry for him. No one wants a principal to point out how polite you are in front of everybody.
Then a kid I’d never seen before sat on my left.
“Hi,” I said. “My name’s Charlie. Are you new?”
He just nodded.
He was wearing glasses with black frames and his clothes were all new. His shirt was tucked into his pants. He looked very neat, like someone who would take a bath without being told.
His sneakers were new, too.
They were exactly like mine.
Except he hadn’t colored them with a marker and they were still white.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
He said something that sounded like “Achetore.” He held up his notebook and pointed to his name printed in big letters on the front.
“Oh,” I said. “Hi, Hector.”
He gave me a little wave and looked back down. He seemed kind of shy. “I just moved here,” he said, without exactly looking at me. He just kept staring down at the stuff in his desk.
I decided not to tell him he would’ve been better off staying wherever he was before.
Far from Mrs. Burke.
“Good luck,” I said, nodding toward her desk. “We’re all going to need it.”
His face broke out into a big smile, and then he covered his mouth with his hand like he was smiling too much and his face might fall off.
I leaned over and whispered to him, “Watch out for Mrs. Burke.”
He shrugged. “It’s okay.”
That’s what he thinks, I said to myself. But then, he did look like the kind of kid who always did what he was supposed to do. He’d probably never have to stay in from recess.
When Hector finished organizing the things in his desk, he just sat there, not saying anything.
He’s not messy, I thought. And I’ll bet he’s smart, too.
Now all the desks in my corner were taken, except the one right behind me. I wished Tommy was in my class and that was his seat.
I heard a loud voice at the front of the room.
Samantha Grunsky.
Boogers!
Samantha Grunsky has been in my class every year. She’s the kind of kid who always reminds you how smart she is. She drives me crazy.
Last year in social studies I did my report on the rainforest. I spent a lot of time making a rainforest in a terrarium. I worked on it for a whole month.
Samantha Grunsky did the rainforest, too. But her parents ordered actual rainforest plants for her and she typed out this really long report herself. When we brought our reports in, she pointed out to Mr. Romano that I had spelled “arboreal” and “nocturnal” wrong on my poster.
Samantha Grunsky is a bozo. Even if she is smart.
She turned down my aisle and walked toward me. “Oh, no,” she said. “Look who I’m sitting behind.”
“Oh no,” I said. “Look who I’m sitting in front of.”
She crossed her eyes at me. “I’m sure Mrs. Burke made a mistake giving me this seat. Once she gets to know me, she’ll see that I should be in a seat near the front so she can call on me easier.”
I looked at everyone around me, and then I looked at Mrs. Burke. I remembered what she’d said to me when I came in: I know about you.
Right then I realized what Mrs. Burke was doing. She had surrounded me wit
h kids who were really neat and behaved all the time and always did what they were supposed to do, because she wanted me to be neat and good, too.
Hector the New Kid was probably put there because he didn’t talk much and never did anything wrong. I looked over at him. He was staring at my shoes.
I wondered if I was going to have to throw one at him to make him stop gawking at them.
This was going to be a long, long year.
6
Does Anyone Know Where Chile Is?
Alex McLeod was almost destroyed by Mrs. Burke’s exploding fingers that morning.
We were doing math problems at our desks and he got up and started talking to Dashawn Tremont.
“Alex!” Mrs. Burke called out. POW! POW! POW! Her finger snaps echoed across the room.
Everyone looked up.
The snaps worked like magic. Alex ran back over to his seat and started writing like a maniac.
“Listen, class,” our teacher said. “Rule number one in Mrs. Burke’s empire: Stay at your desk unless you have permission to get up.”
Empire! She called it her empire? I knew it. She was a dictator and we were her slaves!
Right before lunch, Mrs. Burke had the new kids in class introduce themselves. There were three in all: Hector, a girl named Candy Carlofsky, and a boy named Trevor David. First, Mrs. Burke asked Candy to stand up and tell the class where she’d moved from and if she had any brothers or sisters or pets. Then she did the same for Trevor.
It was Hector’s turn to talk next. He was looking down at his desk. His right knee was jiggling like mine does sometimes when I’m in the doctor’s office waiting for a shot.
“Class,” said Mrs. Burke. “I have a question for you. Anyone but Hector may answer it.”
Everyone looked at Hector. His ears were turning red around the edges. He took off his glasses and wiped them off with a little cloth.
“Does anyone know where Chile is?” Mrs. Burke asked.
I thought of something hilarious and raised my hand before Samantha could get hers in the air.
“Yes, Charlie?” Mrs. Burke said.
“It’s where it’s cold. Where it’s chilly all the time.”
