by Bonny Becker
Jeremy frowned.
“Speak to us of bleakness,” commanded Jeremy. “Speak of sorrow.”
“Pig snout,” said the raven.
Darma and Mindy giggled.
Jeremy couldn’t believe it. “That’s not what ravens say,” he complained.
The raven hunched its dark shoulders. It looked very gloomy and woeful on Jeremy’s shoulder, but no matter what Jeremy did or said, all it would croak was “Pig snout.”
Jeremy spent the whole morning with “pig snout” in his ear. The other students came over at break time and asked the bird questions just to hear it say “Pig snout.”
“What’s fifteen times three?” asked Eric.
“Pig snout.”
“What’s the capital of Japan?” asked Emiko.
“Pig snout.”
“Would you like a knuckle sandwich?” said Brad.
“Pig snout.”
But they needn’t have bothered. The raven was happy to say “Pig snout” anytime. Just at random, in the middle of nothing, he would say “Pig snout.”
He said it loudly. He said it softly. He murmured it. He squawked it in a sharp croak.
“Stop saying that!” Jeremy finally said.
“Pig snout,” whispered the raven in his ear.
“You stink,” said Jeremy.
“Piiiiggg snouuuut,” crooned the raven.
“You’re a big phony!”
“P-p-p-p-pig snout,” the raven rapped out.
“Why, I oughta—”
“Pigsnoutpigsnoutpigsnout,” the raven said really, really fast.
And then it happened … Jeremy started to giggle.
He squished his hands over his mouth, but he couldn’t stop. First the giggle was like a tiny bubble of air escaping from the side of his mouth. Then it was like a rippling stream. Then it was a laugh—a laugh so loud and hard that Jeremy buried his head in his arms, his chest shaking.
The raven complained with a loud “Pig snout!” And glared.
But Jeremy just kept laughing until it seemed every laugh he’d ever had inside was laughed out of him. Finally he raised his head from his arms, wiped the tears off his cheeks, and shook his head happily.
“Man, oh, man,” he said, smiling at Ms. Plum. “Pig snout?”
“Indeed,” said Ms. Plum with a smile.
And then she told him it was time for the raven to go back.
“Pig snout,” Jeremy said, closing the closet door with a little salute and a lopsided grin.
And the next day, Jeremy came to school in bright red high-tops and a tie-dyed T-shirt bursting with lemon yellow stars.
One December afternoon Ms. Plum walked over to the closet and opened the door. She didn’t go inside. Instead she held up one of her plums and called out, “Sweets for my sweets.”
Soon there was a sound of faraway voices and a faint creaking from the closet. The sound grew closer. Every eye was on the closet doorway.
Suddenly a band of miniature monkeys came striding forth, chittering and screaming. Half a dozen of the monkeys pulled a wagon filled to the brim with candy.
The little monkeys grabbed the candies and raced around the room giving them to the students. They weren’t like any candy the kids had ever had.
Tashala got a pink and white candy shaped like a rabbit. When she bit into it, it exploded like a cloud of cotton candy in her mouth, filling it with the taste of strawberries and cream.
Jeremy got a candy that looked like a zebra lollipop. When he stuck it in his mouth, he realized that each stripe had a different flavor.
“It’s chocolate. Hmmmm, no— butterscotch. Licorice! I don’t know what that one is, but it’s good!”
Carlos got a handful of tiny gumballs. At least they looked like gumballs—but a monkey grabbed one and heaved it at the ground, and it bounced around the room like a Super Ball. Then the monkey opened its mouth and the gumball landed inside. Score!
Carlos quickly tossed one of the balls. It caromed off the floor, the ceiling, a light fixture, Mindy’s desk, and when he opened his mouth, it hit his tongue and instantly dissolved into a taste of sweet lemonade with maybe just a bit of dust.
Every student got a different candy, and later, thinking about it, everyone felt they had gotten exactly the right candy for them.
As soon as the monkeys had given out their candy, they scampered onto Ms. Plum’s desk and eagerly took several plums from her basket. They piled them in the wagon and pulled it back into the closet. The door shut slowly behind them.
“Why did we get the candy?” asked Tashala.
“Because,” said Ms. Plum.
“Because we all did good on our spelling tests?” asked Becky Oh.
“Because it’s Friday?” asked Brad. “Because it’s almost Christmas?” asked Nadia.
No, said Ms. Plum. “Just because.”
“Why did the monkeys get your plums?” asked Lucy.
“Because they gave us candy?” asked Eric.
“Because they were cute?” asked Emiko.
“Because they go ape for your plums?” asked Jeremy. “Get it?” He snortled at his own joke. “Go ape?”
“Just because,” said Ms. Plum.
“Just because of what?” said Carlos. He didn’t like not knowing the exact answer to things.
Ms. Plum surveyed the class. Her students were finishing up their treats, licking their fingers and lips, and smiling happy smiles. She tilted her head. In the winter sunlight, the tips of her glasses sparkled like purple frost. She happily licked the plum lollipop the monkeys had given her.
“Just because,” she finally said to Carlos. “Sometimes, the answer is just because.”
Outside the windows of Ms. Plum’s classroom, the snow fell in easy swirls.
“Like popcorn,” wrote Eric.
“Like feathers,” wrote Darma, working on the snow poem Ms. Plum had assigned.
“Like happiness,” wrote Emiko.
“Like …” But Brad couldn’t think of what the snow was like except like snow.
He stared out the window and pretended to be thinking about his poem, but what he was really thinking about was the big snowball fight at recess.
The students weren’t supposed to have snowball fights, but the playground fell in a long slope toward the back parking lot. The teachers huddled by the warmth of the lunchroom doors, and most couldn’t see below the slope.
These fights usually involved fifth-grade boys, but Brad had joined in anyway. They put up with him because they could pelt him and he’d keep coming back. Brad was tough. “Like a Mack truck,” Brad’s dad said. Brad didn’t know exactly what a Mack truck was, but to be like a truck was really good, as far as Brad was concerned.
Out of all of Ms. Plum’s students, Brad was the only one who wasn’t sure he even wanted to get a closet animal.
The animals seemed kind of babyish—squirrels who did manicures, a talking parrot who didn’t really talk like a pirate, a pooping pony. The falcon had been cool and the raven made him laugh, but the falcon flew away and Brad sure didn’t need help laughing in class.
The monkeys had been the best, for sure. And to his surprise, when he turned back to his snow poem, he noticed one of them creeping out from the closet door.
Brad quickly looked around. Had anyone else noticed? All the other kids were working on their poems. Ms. Plum was staring out at the snow with a dreamy look.
The little monkey glanced around, its eyes bright with curiosity. Brad carefully lowered his hand by his desk and waggled his pencil with his fingers. He soon felt the monkey’s paws on his hand, grabbing for the pencil.
Brad scooped him up and gently slipped the monkey into the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt.
Glancing down, he saw that the monkey had positioned itself so it could peer out of his pocket. He seemed quite content.
I’m going to call him Chompers, Brad thought. Since no one else knows about him, maybe I could keep him.
Could he take the monkey out of the c
lassroom? Ms. Plum said the animals made their own choice. The little monkey had sneaked out of the closet. He must want to be free, Brad decided.
Brrinng!
The buzz of the recess bell cut into his thoughts.
He shrugged on his parka, carefully transferring Chompers to his coat pocket, and joined the line heading out of the classroom. Step one. There was Ms. Plum’s smiling face. Step two. There was the open door. Step three. He was out!
He slipped his hand into his pocket, and Chompers immediately jumped on it and scrambled up his arm to perch on his shoulder.
Could anyone else see him? The other kids in Ms. Plum’s classroom had scattered like … like what? Brad couldn’t think of how they’d scattered except like a bunch of kids at recess.
Brad raced for the back slope of the playground. He’d done it! He had his very own monkey!
“Look what I got!” shouted Brad, coming over the slope, skidding, and almost falling in the snow.
Chompers chattered excitedly and grabbed Brad’s ear to hang on.
This would be like the most amazing thing the fifth-grade boys had ever seen.
Only they couldn’t see it.
“What?” said Michael. “A new hat? Big deal.”
“Run!” shouted Ron, heaving a snowball at Brad and almost hitting Chompers.
“Hey, watch it!”
No one ever wanted to challenge Ron. He was the number one pitcher on the baseball team and led Ultimate Frisbee, too.
Even so, Brad crushed some snow into a ball and heaved it at Ron. Just as the snowball left his hand, Chompers leapt onto it.
Brad stared, his mouth slack, as his monkey rode the snowball right smack into Ron’s chest. Then Chompers was coming back toward him atop Ron’s snowball—coming straight at Brad’s face. But just before the snowball reached him, the monkey pushed off, sending the snowball harmlessly to Brad’s left and launching himself back onto Brad’s shoulder.
Chompers was chattering with joy. His eyes wild, his fur blown up like he’d touched a light socket.
So Brad, dodging snowballs, quickly scooped up another snowball and sent it flying.
Chompers rode with it. Amazingly, he even rose to his feet like a surfer on a surfboard.
And suddenly Brad could feel just what the monkey was feeling. He could feel the icy, crusty ball of snow wobbling under his toes. He could feel the wind whipping at his cheeks. He could feel how Chompers leaned this way and that, steering the snowball right into Ron’s face!
Bull’s-eye!
Ron clawed off the snow, revenge in his eyes. Brad started backpedaling as fast as he could. Ron rocketed a snowball straight at him.
But Brad knew that the monkey would push it away and Ron’s best throw would never hit him.
Now Ron was furious, and he waved away the other boys. This was just between him and Brad.
Five throws and it was over.
Throw number one: Brad to Ron. Result: A face full of snow for Ron.
Throw number two: Ron to Brad. A perfect missile of packed snow that at the last second swerved over Brad’s shoulder.
Throw number three: Brad to Ron. A high throw that looked like it would miss by a mile but instead veered this way and that (was there a wind up there?) and splatted onto Ron’s astonished face. Result: A lot of fifth-grade boys laughing their heads off.
Throw number four: Ron to Brad. Another missile. A heat-seeking missile. A Brad-seeking missile. A sizzling fastball that seemed to gradually slow, landing softly about three feet from Brad and then rolling to a stop at his feet.
Throw number five: Brad to Ron. A good, hard throw. And no matter how much Ron ducked and dodged, the thing seemed to follow. And for the fourth time Ron had to wipe cold, wet snow from his eyes.
Ron turned and walked up the playground slope.
“I’m done,” he said.
The rest of the fifth-grade boys clustered around Brad, walking with him back to the upper play yard, laughing and yelling about the best snowball fight in history.
“You turning out for baseball this spring?” asked Michael.
“Maybe,” said Brad, who hadn’t been planning on it. But now, with Chompers on his side, anything was possible.
It had probably been the best day of his life, Brad decided on the bus ride home.
He’d been a little worried that Chompers might disappear back into the closet after recess. Then he’d been worried that Chompers would disappear once he left the school grounds. But there he was in Brad’s coat pocket. He did seem a little sleepy, but who wouldn’t be after vrooming around on an icy snowball.
Brad hung out in his room with Chompers for the rest of the afternoon. But a little worm of worry began to curl and twist in his stomach. Chompers wasn’t looking so good. His bright eyes had become dull. He sat on Brad’s desk, staring at the falling snow.
Brad tried to feed him a banana, but Chompers wasn’t interested. He tried cheese, almonds, an Oreo. Chompers wouldn’t even try a taste.
“Don’t you want to stay, Chompers? Don’t you like it here?” Brad asked.
He stroked the tiny monkey’s back. “We could have so much fun,” Brad said. “Snowballs are nothing. Wait till you ride a Frisbee! And that supply closet is all dark. I mean it’s not like outside.”
Chompers sighed.
Brad swallowed.
And suddenly he had that feeling again, like he was Chompers. He felt like he was in the closet with his brothers and sisters, chattering and shrieking. Happy and excited.
“You’re the coolest thing that ever happened to me,” Brad whispered, pushing back something that might have been tears.
The next morning, he hurried into class as soon as the bus arrived at school. He took Chompers from his pocket, opened the closet door, crouched down, and set him inside. Chompers immediately perked up. His eyes snapped with life; his fur glowed.
“Goodbye, Chompers,” Brad said quickly, before the little monkey disappeared.
Chompers turned and stared at him for a moment. Then he gave a big monkey grin and started to scramble up the shelves toward the sound of other monkey voices.
Brad suddenly knew that up there, back behind the markers and paper and glue, was a big place of open sky, green trees, and soft, warm breezes that felt like … that felt like home.
“Are you okay, Brad?”
Brad jumped. There behind him stood Ms. Plum.
“I—I lost something,” Brad said, standing up. “I was looking for it.”
“Here, I’ll help you,” said Ms. Plum, kneeling on the floor.
“Well, actually—” Brad started to say.
Ms. Plum stood back up, holding a brochure. “Here, perhaps this is what you need?”
Brad stared at the blue and white brochure. He hadn’t seen anything on the floor before. Then he saw the picture on the front: a guy launched into the air against a bright blue sky. It looked a lot like Chompers on a snowball.
Brad glanced at Ms. Plum. Did she know?
Underneath the picture were the words “Mad Monkee Snowboarding Lessons. Ever wanted to snowboard? Now’s your chance!”
Inside was information about costs and times and equipment.
Brad folded the brochure and stuck it in his pocket. He’d ask his dad about lessons tonight.
Brad looked at Ms. Plum again. She was busy marking some folders.
She knows, thought Brad.
And he said “Thanks” to no one in particular as he headed back out to the playground.
He ran for the slope to the parking lot and skidded down it. A couple of fifth graders were heaving snowballs, but Brad turned and climbed back up the hill. Skidded down it again, waving his arms for balance, trying to hold his feet close together.
Up and down, up and down, up and down—Brad practiced until the bell called him in to class.
On the bus, Carlos pretended to be reading his book, but really he was listening to Jeremy behind him, making jokes. Jeremy was like the funniest kid
in school now. Carlos grumpily propped his cheek against his fist. Everyone was getting something cool from the supply closet but him. Darma still got glue in her hair, but she and Mindy and Tashala were best friends. Eric was learning how to debate. Jovi stood taller and spoke louder in class.
It wasn’t fair. He did everything right. He was the best student. He was nice … mostly. He raised his hand the fastest, every time!
Ms. Plum just didn’t like him. She liked all the other kids, but not him.
“… to get to the other side!” Jeremy said, finishing his joke. And the kids around him burst into laughter.
Carlos didn’t laugh. He bent closer over his book and scowled.
They all thought they were so smart. He’d show them.
The next day at recess, he waited till everyone left the classroom. When he was sure he was alone, Carlos sneaked a look in Darma’s desk. There was a nice pile of pink bubble gum. He took one.
Then he peeked in Mindy’s desk. There was a note.
“Eric likes you! I just know it!” It was signed by Lucy.
When Darma and Mindy came in from recess, he was afraid they would somehow know that he had snooped. But they didn’t.
So, when no one else was around, Carlos started peeking in other kids’ desks and going through the pockets of their coats and looking in their book bags. Lucy had a note from her mom saying she needed to go to the doctor for a rash. Tashala had a picture of a horse in her desk, with horse names written all over it. Eric had Brad’s Game Boy, even though Carlos knew he’d told Brad that he’d left it at his house.
Carlos never tattled on anybody, but he liked looking at the other kids’ stuff and knowing things that they didn’t know he knew. He felt smarter than ever.
Emiko looked a little like Hip-Hop, the toad. She was squat and sturdy and wore thick glasses that made her eyes look bulgy. But even though some kids teased her, she was always smiling, because whatever you said, she took it as a compliment.
“Your eyes look like a frog’s,” Becky Oh said, feeling mean one day early in the school year.
“Thank you!” said Emiko. “Frog eyes are so sparkly.”
Everything was good for Emiko.
