by Lorri Horn
“What do you say, Karen? One game?”
“Oh, okay,” Dewey’s mom nodded and smiled.
Dewey sighed. No escape now.
Pooh Bear walked over with her pile of games, which she reached up to put onto the table. “Which one?” she asked excitedly.
“Oh, Jenga!” cried Stephanie. “I forgot we even had that game! Let’s play Jenga.”
“Good, Goooood,” chimed in Dewey. With Pooh playing, that should end in no time.
“Jenga it is.”
“Okay. You kids going to be upset if I do the dishes? I, for one, am tired and don’t want to face them later.”
“Aw, Kar, I’ll do them later,” insisted Don.
“Nice try, Mom,” teased Dewey. Dewey’s mom baked bread, read to them, and hung out, but she didn’t usually sit and play board games.
“I’ll build the tower,” said Stephanie, and she adeptly built the 54 blocks into a tall tower so they could play.
“Builder goes first.” Dewey’s dad gestured for her to start.
Stephanie easily slid out her first piece and placed it on the top. Dewey’s turn came next, and he had no problem doing the same. Everyone held their breath when it came to Pooh’s turn.
“Okay, now, I wouldn’t do that one, because—” Dewey’s dad just began explaining the physics of towers to her when the whole thing came crashing down.
“Well,” replied Dewey. “It’s been great.” He got up to go to his room. Stephanie started laughing, and Pooh, of course, burst into tears. Dewey’s mom put Pooh on her lap to soothe her.
“What? No! Don’t be silly, Dews! We’ll start again! You’re still learning, my little Padawan! Don’t you know that mistakes are the BEST way to learn?”
Pooh sniffled but started to look calmer as Dewey sat back down in resignation.
“Yeah,” reassured Stephanie. “I used to knock the tower down all the time when I was your age.” Then she kicked Dewey under the table.
“Ouch! Hey, why’d you do that?”
She looked at him, gesturing him as if to say, duh, your turn.
“Oh, right, that’s true. I didn’t even actually start playing until I was older, Pooh.” Then he added, looking at his older sister, “Okay? Geez, you didn’t have to kick me that hard!”
“Sorry!” she offered. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, just wake him up. He seemed so distracted.
Dewey’s dad said he and Pooh would rebuild the tower, and this time, Pooh would go first. Maybe that way, Pooh could be a scientific observer and watch and learn how they do it.
The game went on forever. Mom started to steam like a kettle left on the stove top. She wanted to blow her whistle at Dewey’s dad for starting this whole thing on a school night. At ten, she gave up and went up to bed. But the rest of them couldn’t figure out how to stop. Finally, at 11:45 pm, with Pooh now asleep on the couch and dirty dishes still in the sink, they agreed that if the game didn’t end soon, they would call it done at midnight.
“It’s 11:59, and it’s . . . done. Okay, we stop,” announced Stephanie sleepily. Dewey and his dad looked at one another.
“To the end?” asked Dewey.
“Loser does dishes for a week?” asked Dewey’s dad.
“In!” replied Dewey.
“You guys are nuts,” yawned Stephanie, picking up Pooh Bear. “I’m going to bed!”
Dewey and his dad sat there for another hour and a half. Each slowly pulling out one wooden block strategically, carefully, and then placing it on the top of the pile.
“How’s school going?” asked Dewey’s dad as he sat staring at the tower calculating his next move.
“Pretty good.”
“Anything unexpected happen in school today?” Dewey’s dad liked questions like that better than “how was school today,” because he sometimes got something better than “I dunno,” in response.
His dad slowly slid out his choice piece of wood. The tower wobbled slightly but held together as he paused and then placed it on top with a steady hand.
Dewey had already been thinking about which block he’d take next. He wondered how he might share with his dad Clara’s amazing 1,215 cookies, which caught him by surprise, or the poster idea that had made his friends laugh, or any of their plans.
“I don’t know,” replied Dewey, and he slid out the block piece easily and put it atop the others.
“Well, do you like your classes?”
“Yeah, mostly.”
“That’s good. I’m finishing up my student teaching with this group, then I’ll get another this semester. Too bad. I’m just finally getting to know this group.”
“Yeah, it will be better when you get to keep your own class, I guess . . . Dad?” Dewey continued. “Do you have anything you’re really afraid of? You know, like heights or snakes or something?”
Dewey’s dad had his chosen block partially out and stopped, leaving his finger on it. “Huh,” he said. “Interesting question.”
Dewey couldn’t believe the tower still held with the block piece part in and part out. His dad just sat there with his finger on the block, giving thought to Dewey’s question.
“You know, I don’t really think so. I know what you mean. My mother—Grandma—had a big fear of heights. You know, tall buildings, bridges, high heel shoes.”
Dewey laughed.
“No, she wasn’t really afraid of high heel shoes, but she didn’t even like much to climb up the slide with me when I was young, and she made Grandpa do that.”
“I get afraid at times. I can’t think of one thing that I’m afraid of in that way though.”
He slid out the block and flashed a smile at his success.
“You?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” replied Dewey. “Not like Stephanie and spiders. I don’t like them, but I don’t freak out like she does.”
Dewey inched out another block. He used just the tips of his fingers to grab it, and then he gently pushed it through the other side with one finger. The tower leaned precariously. The bottom level, which had begun solid, now stuck out all over the place. It stood taller than Dewey, and he had to stand on a chair now to place the next piece. It leaned far left too. Surely it would collapse soon.
“Fears are curious emotions,” Dewey’s dad said. He stood studying what his next move should be. “We have them for a good reason, you know. They protect us. You hear a strange thump in the dark, and you’re supposed to jump. When you see a dog with foam in its mouth growling at you, your head tells your body to run—your heart beats faster, sending blood racing throughout your body so you can take off.”
“I know—when Stephanie does that I always run,” chuckled Dewey. “But some people get afraid when the danger is not actually there, right?” continued Dewey more seriously.
“Those are phobias, not fears. More like Stephanie with spiders, I guess. Some spiders could be dangerous, I suppose. She’s more scared of the idea of spiders, but mostly they’re more helpful than harmful.”
“Oh, I get it. Like she’s not really going to bite me, even when she growls and foams at the mouth!”
“Right!” his dad agreed with a smile. “Can we knock this thing down already?”
“Yes! Please, yes!” laughed Dewey.
“Do you want the honor?” asked Dewey’s dad.
“Let’s both pull out a piece,” suggested Dewey.
They each pulled out a piece, and the tower crashed down. They looked at one another, afraid of getting in trouble for the loud noise they’d just made.
“Oh man, Dad, you’re gonna get it.”
“Fear. I feel it. Fear. And it’s real.”
“We’d better at least do the dishes,” remarked Dewey.
“Nah, it’s late. You go to bed. I got the dishes. Just put away the game for me.”
&nb
sp; “What are you going to tell Mom?”
“Son, you’ve got to face your fears. I’m going to tell her that I love her, and if I woke her up with that loud noise, I’m an inconsiderate lout.”
“Oh,” said Dewey, nodding.
“Are you kidding? I’m going to tell her I went to bed hours ago, and you kids must have made that noise.”
“What?!”
“Dewey, man, back me up here.”
“What? No! I don’t want to get in trouble. What happened to facing your fears head on?”
“I think admitting you have fears is a good first step.”
“Ugh. How about we tell her we went to bed hours ago and left the tower to show everyone in the morning, and it fell by itself?”
“GOOD! That’s very good! How’d you think of that? Impressive. Frightening, really! Don’t use that talent on me or your mother. Special reprieve. Mine. Not yours. Now get to bed. You’re going to be tired in the morning.”
Shark School
Oddly, Dewey didn’t wake up feeling tired. He felt eager to know why Mr. Snow had called. Plus, he felt energized by how much work remained for them to do in the garden.
His dad had already gone to work, and his mom didn’t mention last night’s game at breakfast, so Dewey figured they’d gotten away with it.
As he readied to walk out the door, Dewey kissed her on the cheek and almost made a clean escape, when she chirped, “Dad told me you guys stayed up late and had fun last night. I’m glad. You’ll be tired tonight. Come home early.”
So he had told her after all.
“Okay,” he agreed as he walked out the door.
“Wait,” she called after him. “You forgot your toast.” She stuck a piece of toast with avocado on it out the door after him with one hand and patted him on the head with the other. Dewey headed off to school as quickly as he could, chewing on the toast as he walked, his mind full of ideas and things to do.
When he got to school, he headed straight over to Mr. Snow’s room.
“Mr. Snow?” Dewey stuck just his head in the door as if somehow just one body part would be less of an interruption.
“Dewey, come in. I’ll show you what I’m doing.” He waved Dewey over to the page open on his computer.
“We’re going snorkeling with sharks.”
“What?” asked Dewey, surprised.
“Yes. I’m arranging a field trip for the students and me. Of course, you’re invited. I found a place that does expeditions with leopard sharks. They are perfectly harmless, and there’s no better way to get everyone over their fear than by getting up close and personal.” Mr. Snow took a deep breath of air in and slowly let it out.
“Facing your fears,” suggested Dewey quietly.
“Yes, gradually. We won’t jump in right away, but we’ll get there. I think this is going to be a good thing for all of us.” Mr. Snow spoke to Dewey as he worked from his computer, arranging some of the details.
“Wow,” Dewey uttered, trying to picture folks afraid of sharks swimming with them.
“How do you get everyone to swim with the sharks if they’re so scared of them?” asked Dewey.
“Here, look at this program. They do it gradually. First the instructors are going to come in and teach us about why the leopard sharks can’t harm us. They also cover why all sharks aren’t something for us to fear. Then we get to go out to them, view them, and eventually touch and snorkel with them.
“So,” he added, “I hope you got my message. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” replied Dewey, in a reverie. It looked like he’d solved the teacher problem after all.
When he walked out to check the benches, only Seraphina had arrived.
“Hey Dewey,” she greeted him, looking up from sketching in her notebook. A cold wind blew, and her hair kept whipping her face. “Catch you up?” she asked.
“Yup,” he replied, sitting down beside her. “Burrr, it’s cold this morning.”
“I know!” she agreed. “It made me think about how we’d better get this whole thing rolled out soon before it starts to get too cold and rainy.”
“Ha! Rain. We’d be lucky to get some rain around here,” scoffed Dewey as they had been suffering from a drought in California for quite some time.
“Still, I think it’s better not to take chances.”
“Still, it’s better to get our vending machine back as soon as possible!”
“True,” Seraphina agreed. “Well, we’re in good shape. We’ve got the supplies we need—more than enough cookies, that’s for sure. We have the poster campaign, thanks to a certain someone . . .”
“Thank you, thank you,” Dewey took a small bow, accepting credit for his part of the plan.
“The ‘real garden’ is going to be planted this weekend with student and parent volunteers, so I think our move must be on Sunday night. We want them to arrive to a flourishing vending machine garden Monday morning.”
“Oh, that’s a quick turnaround.” Dewey looked up from his phone, which shouldn’t have been out. The bell rang. “But I agree. Talk more at lunch. Where’s Colin? He’s always late! He’s going to get detention!”
“Help me pack all this stuff up, would ya?”
They started to pack up her planning materials but got distracted talking again about the plans.
The second bell rang. “Ack! We’re going to be late!” exclaimed Seraphina, gathering up her stuff. “Just go straight to the garden at lunch, and we’ll finish these blueprints there.”
“K,” Dewey called over his shoulder as they both headed off tardy to class.
Enchantingly Late
“Miss Johnson. You seem to be running a bit late today. Have you the appropriate paperwork to excuse your dilatory arrival?” asked Mrs. Brady as she wiped her nose and slid a tissue into her sleeve. She spoke slowly and deliberately, nodding her head between each word.
“Yes, Mrs. Brady. I mean no, Mrs. Brady.” Seraphina’s face grew hot. “I mean, I am sorry I am late. I don’t have a note.”
“Thank you, Miss Johnson. Then you will find the supporting paperwork available to you in the principal’s office.” She turned her back to Seraphina and went back to the class.
It looked like a tardy might land on her spotless record for the first time.
“Hahaha!” she laughed aloud when she got to the line, immediately feeling better. Colin and Dewey were already waiting there to get their own readmit slips. Colin hadn’t even been to class yet, and Dewey had been asked to leave class and get a readmit, as well.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she greeted them. Her mom’s good friend used that expression. She liked it.
Dewey laughed when he saw her. “Guess you didn’t make it either.”
“You know what I’ve never quite understood,” posed Colin, “asking us to leave class to let us be in class. Now that just makes zero sense. We are late, so they want to make us later?”
“I have no idea,” shrugged Dewey. “Who knows why they do the things they do around here?”
They got readmits and returned to their respective classes. Seraphina entered hers feeling less embarrassed than when she had left, probably because of the time shared in line with her friends.
She handed the note to Mrs. Brady who slowly paced while reading aloud from a section of their book. Seraphina sat down, looked to Lola sitting next to her for the page number, and found her place.
“Now I wonder who might tell me why mushrooms suddenly make an appearance right then?” Mrs. Brady asked.
No one said a word.
“Right then. How about it? Our hero has dismounted his horse, walks through the woods, and suddenly, the author sees fit to describe in detail—what?—mushrooms! Say more, someone. Kindly elucidate the author’s intent.”
Okay, thought Seraphina. She’d been l
ate and lost points today. Let’s give it a go. Up crept her hand before the rest of her arm could stop her.
“Yes, Miss Johnson?”
“Well, mushrooms are like little toadstools in the fairy world, I think. So, they can be sort of magical.” Seraphina’s intonation rose, beginning with “so,” and peaked at the end, giving a tentative sound to her response.
Mrs. Brady closed her eyes and took a slow, long deep breath. “Ah, the world of folklore and the supernatural. Now, support this contention.”
Uh oh, thought Seraphina. I’m in too deep. She looked again at Lola sitting next to her for help.
“What kind of words might you expect to read if we’re delving into something associated with fairies?” Mrs. Brady prompted. She dabbed the tip of her nose with her tissue and replaced it in her sleeve.
“They won’t be found on Miss Bevel’s countenance,” added Mrs. Brady as Seraphina continued to look to Lola for help.
Seraphina stared back down at the book, but everything looked like a jumble of black print.
“Miss Johnson,” reiterated Mrs. Brady. “What kinds of words do you expect to find if we are looking for words associated with fairies as you, noted?”
“Magical?” Seraphina replied, going back to what had already worked once.
“Yes. Now, to the text. Are there any magical words there?”
Oh! Oh! Seraphina looked back to the text. What had been just a bunch of black and black and black on a page suddenly took on meaning. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “It says here that ‘The morning mist enchanted him slowly, dropping a grey veil over his eyes.’ So, that makes the mist almost like a woman who is covering his eyes so he can’t see, and setting up to trick him or something. And ‘enchanted’ is a magical word.”
“Nice, very nice,” smiled Mrs. Brady warmly as she nodded and dabbed her nose with her tissue.
Seraphina relaxed in her seat and let out a sigh. She’d been so distracted lately that she hadn’t been doing enough of this in class. She really did like to get answers right.
Big Sunday Planning
“I feel kind of bad,” shared Seraphina later that afternoon at Colin’s as they organized their Sunday night plans. “I kind of like the idea of the new garden.”
