by Rachel Vail
June 9, Wednesday
I decided, while I was walking Qwerty, to just go ahead and invite everybody I like to my birthday party. Boys, girls, I don’t care. After the gym humiliation probably none of them will want to come to my party anyway, so it really doesn’t matter.
The theme I chose is a farm theme.
I am not actually interested in farms but there was such a cool-looking rooster piñata in the cata log Mom showed me to choose from, I just went ahead and chose a farm theme. Mom ordered the stuff on the internet. She asked, “You sure?” right before she pressed SEND and that was when I remembered I didn’t even want a piñata.
But I said, “Yes, I am sure. I have been really wanting a farm theme.”
I don’t even know what activities you can have at a farm-theme party but it would have been too weird to suddenly be like, No, but can I just have the rooster piñata to keep?
On the other hand, since probably nobody will want to come to my party, I will be able to keep the rooster piñata all for myself.
Also the stack of paper plates with cows on them.
June 10, Thursday
I woke up feeling like I was falling off the rope. I knew it right then, before I even opened my eyes: I am never going to be brave enough to climb up that darn rope. I could feel the rough bits biting into my palms, and then as much as I tried to think about being safe in my bed for another hour still, my body imagined that rope swinging across the whole gym, with me dangling off it and everybody watching me not get up it until I fell off it.
I really needed Wingnut right then, so much, because all the other stuffties were just staying silent. Snakey was refusing to even look at me, his glassy eyes turned away. The Pillow of Honor sat empty beside me. Bananas tilted her head sympathetically, so I picked her up. She was the President of the Bed, I figured. Maybe she’d have some wisdom in that stuffed monkey brain of hers.
“I’m scared,” I whispered.
She looked at me like, Yeah, everybody knows that about you.
“I have to climb the rope,” I whispered. “Tomorrow is my last chance.”
So, Bananas was clearly thinking, climb it.
“Easy for you to think,” I said. “You’re a monkey. I’m not. And the other thing I am not is brave.”
Bananas shrugged. Like, So what? Like, Climb it anyway.
“Yeah, thanks for the advice,” I said, and tossed her down toward the foot of my bed. She landed upside down half over Snakey and half on Schicci.
I don’t know why I expected to get real help for a real rope and a real problem from somebody made of felt and stuffing and pretending, anyway.
June 11, Friday
“Only one kid still has to climb up the rope,” Mr. Calabrio announced, staring down at his clipboard. “Let’s all cheer for Justin!”
Oh, great. Awesome. Just what I needed.
“Justin Case! Justin Case!” some kids were cheering. Mostly the runny-aroundy boys. “Justin Case!”
I clutched the rope with my two hands.
“You can do it, Justin!” I heard somebody say. I opened my eyes, which made me realize they’d been closed. Right in front of me, across the mat, Daisy smiled. “You can,” she said again.
If my heart manages to break through my ribs and land on the mat between me and Daisy, I thought, I would probably be excused from rope climbing.
“Up you go,” Mr. Calabrio bellowed.
I’m scared, said my own voice inside my head.
That’s okay, answered Bananas’s voice. Climb up anyway.
I closed my eyes, clutched the rope, and bent my knees. The rope swung away but I grabbed it with my legs.
“Climb,” some kids yelled, while others kept going with “Justin Case! Justin Case!”
I let go with my left hand and, quick as I could, grabbed on above my right. Then I crunched my knees closer to my belly and wiggled up a little.
I can’t.
I waited to hear Bananas’s voice answer. Nothing. My fingers were starting to lose their grip.
I can’t, I thought again. I’m not brave enough.
Just as I was about to let go of the rope and fall down on the gym floor, I heard a different voice inside my head.
It was Wingnut’s, and it said, Pretend.
Pretend what? I asked the voice, while at the same time thinking this was a very bad moment to be having an imaginary conversation with a lost stuffed dog.
Pretend you’re brave.
I’m too scared, I answered, sliding down a little.
If you weren’t scared, Wingnut’s voice answered mine, you wouldn’t need to be brave.
I couldn’t argue with that. So I decided to do what Wingnut suggested.
I’m brave, I pretended. I’m as brave as Xavier Schwartz. I wiggled up a little. I’m as brave as Gianni Schicci. I wiggled up a little more. I am way braver than Noah, and Bartholomew Wiggins. I am braver than cute little Montana B. and Willow, braver than Carlos (as well as more freckly), braver than stuffy-nosed Penelope Ann Murphy. I am braver than Daisy, way braver. She is nowhere near as brave as I am. I am braver than Montana C.! Well, maybe not braver, but almost as brave . . .
And then I realized people were cheering. I gripped the rope hard and that’s when I felt it: something smooth wrapped around the rough rope. I opened my eyes and stared at the piece of white tape—under my fingers.
I did it!
I really did it!
I climbed the rope!
I looked down at everybody, all my cheering friends, and saw the tops of their heads. Way down under my sneakers.
It turns out climbing down is not part of the test. Jumping off, or maybe it was falling, is okay, too. Better than okay, actually. Great.
June 12, Saturday
All day I kept thinking, I did it.
A couple of times I thought, I’m hungry or, I wish I could have unlimited screen time or, I wonder how fish clean themselves, but then I went right back to I did it!
June 13, Sunday
Elizabeth lost her tooth but kept it (in her hand) this time. It didn’t hurt, she explained to Mom and Dad, because it had tightened up and then reloosened, which gives you a pain-free tooth-losing experience. They started to argue but she held up her hand and said, “Justin explained the whole thing to me already.”
She looked pretty cute sitting there so serious, with that big space in the front of her mouth. Then she said, “Well, I guess I accomplished my kindergarten goal.”
Mom asked, “Oh? What was your kindergarten goal, sweetheart?”
“Improve my scissor skills and lose some teeth,” she said. “And I sure did both!”
“You sure did,” Dad said, then turned to me. “Did you have a third-grade goal, Justin?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“You can think about it,” Elizabeth suggested, “and get back to us.”
June 14, The Last Monday of Third Grade
We had to sign up for what to bring in for our class party on Friday, the last day of school. I signed up for gummy bears. The gummy bears from our store are the best; everybody says so. I sign up for that every year.
This is going to be a big week of parties: Wednesday, my in-school birthday celebration. Thursday, student council party. Friday, last day of school party. And Saturday, my actual birthday party.
It turns out everybody is coming.
Well, everybody except Penelope Ann Murphy, who has to go to her aunt’s wedding. Which is fine. If I had to get one no, she would be my first choice.
Kind of funny when I remember how I used to feel about Xavier Schwartz and Gianni Schicci.
June 15, The Last Tuesday of Third Grade
We were playing Perilous Penguins from Pluto at recess. Xavier and Montana C. and I were all hiding in the shade of the big willow tree on the upper playground.
“Nobody can catch us,” Montana C. whispered.
“We rock,” Xavier whispered.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
<
br /> Then we ran out and chased everybody until we got to the next level, which was Muckraking Monkeys from Mars.
June 16, The Last Wednesday of Third Grade
My mom came with cupcakes, even though my birthday is not until Saturday. Last year I didn’t get a party in school and apparently Mom could tell I was disappointed about that. She said I wasn’t very “subtle” about my feelings about it, which means please stop talking about that, Justin, you are driving me nuts.
So this year she came in and gave out the cupcakes while I sat on the stool in the front of the classroom. Everybody sang “Happy Birthday” and didn’t take a bite until I made my wish, blew out the candle, and bit mine first. Then, with frosting on their faces (except Montana B., who is a very neat eater), they raised their hands to tell me why they were happy I was born.
Gianni is happy I was born because I am smart so when he didn’t know an answer, he copied what I had written down. Ms. Termini dropped her mouth open at that. Montana B. thinks I am funny and sweet. Penelope Ann thinks I am kind and she is also happy I made it up the rope; she had all her fingers crossed for me. Montana C. said I am fun and a fast runner. Xavier Schwartz said, “I am happy Justin Case was born because he is my friend.”
June 17, The Last Thursday of Third Grade
We got certificates.
Also, pizza.
Turns out it was kind of a good thing to be a good class representative.
Especially because I didn’t mess up in any major way, as far as I know.
And also because there were ice-cream sandwiches.
June 18, The Last Friday/Last Anything Day of Third Grade
I woke up because of the booming. I thought maybe our house had exploded. It was dark in my room so I had to feel around with my hands while my eyes adjusted to being open, in the dark, in the middle of the night. The ceiling hadn’t collapsed on me, apparently. All my stuffties were where they were supposed to be (well, except of course Wingnut) and everything was still and quiet.
Must’ve been a bad dream, I told myself when a flash of light lit up my room (especially Snakey’s glassy uneven eyes), and two seconds later, Ka-Blaragh! went the thunder.
Just a storm, I explained to myself. Nothing to worry about.
And those noises downstairs? Those are probably just part of the storm, too. Even though they are in the kitchen. And they sound like somebody slamming stuff around in there. I don’t need to worry, I told myself.
I was sitting bolt upright in my bed by then, chewing on my blanket.
Qwerty will scare away any bad guys, I reminded myself. That is the whole point of Qwerty. Or at least the whole original point.
Flash of light, another booming crack of thunder, then more stuff being banged in the kitchen.
Or maybe it was a clomping sound.
Bad Boy!
And then I heard the scariest sound of all. It was Qwerty, whimpering like when he got porcupined.
All my stuffties looked terrified. Even Snakey. Especially when I edged toward the ladder.
I explained that I had to go see what was happening to Qwerty. I promised to be careful. But I had to go.
Snakey smiled at me, showing his venomous stuffed teeth. He understood.
I crept down the stairs, skipping the third one because it squeaks. I flattened myself against the wall between the living room and the kitchen, took a deep breath, and peeked around the corner. There was garbage thrown all around the kitchen. The garbage can was on its side and the white liner had been ripped apart.
I whipped my head out of there and noticed that one of Mom’s Valentine pillows from the couch had been destroyed—all the stuffing was spread around the living room and the velvet outside was scattered in strips.
But no sign of Bad Boy. Or Qwerty.
I strained my ears, listening. It was hard to hear anything over the pounding of my heart but eventually I heard one little whimper. It was coming from downstairs.
In the basement.
Oh, great.
I tiptoed slowly down the stairs. If Bad Boy wanted to mess up our house, throw our garbage around, and ruin one of Mom’s favorite new red velvet pillows, okay.
But he was not allowed to torture my dog.
On my way down the stairs there was another lightning/thunder explosion. That did not help my nerves one bit. In fact, I had to stop and sit down on the steps. Just give me a second to collect myself popped into my head, and as I was trying to remember where I had heard that phrase, I was interrupted by more whimpering from the basement.
Okay, okay, I thought. And step-by-step went closer to it.
I didn’t want to turn on the basement light because that would wreck my surprise attack on Bad Boy. But I did grab the flashlight from where it was plugged in right near the washing machine. I turned it on and pointed it at the basement floor.
And then I stopped. To listen, I told myself. But I knew it was also to try to gather some courage.
I heard some breathing. I couldn’t tell if it was human breathing or dog breathing, but I knew where it was coming from.
Behind The Boiler.
“Qwerty,” I whispered. Dogs have better hearing than people. I had to gamble that Qwerty would hear me before Bad Boy.
He whimpered but didn’t budge.
I took a step closer. Then another. Then another.
Qwerty was whimpering louder and louder, and then his huge tail started thumping as he peeked out and saw me. I knew if Bad Boy was back there with him, about to dump him in The Boiler to Boil him, this tail thumping would alert him and I’d get Boiled, too. I had to decide quick whether to run back upstairs to safety.
Before I could think, my hand raised the flashlight to shine it in Bad Boy’s eyes.
He wasn’t there.
I shined it all around, behind that grumbling Boiler, over by the shelves, back toward the washer and dryer. No sign of Bad Boy.
“Come out, you coward!” I yelled to him. “What are you scared of? Me?”
Qwerty crawled toward me on his belly, crying, and rested his head on my bare foot.
“Well, I’m not scared of you, Bad Boy!” I yelled. “You leave us alone!”
Still nothing, no response. “Some bad guy you are!” I yelled. “Scared of a kid in pajamas with a flashlight? Scared of the most worried kid in the whole third grade?”
He was gone.
My flashlight flashed across a dark little lump behind The Boiler. I pointed the flashlight right at the lumpy little thing. It wasn’t moving. Neither was I. I made myself take a step closer to get a better look, but I couldn’t tell what it was. The fire in the bottom of The Boiler flashed threateningly. I squinched my eyes closed and, trying not to shake too much, reached carefully behind The Boiler. My heart was pounding so hard as my fingers touched something slightly squishy and damp. I took a deep breath and grabbed it.
It was Wingnut.
Qwerty whimpered and nudged me with his nose but I was busy.
“Wingnut!” I whispered. He had dirt smudged all over him and his front left paw was chewed away and his nose was hanging by a thread. Also, he smelled terrible.
I hugged him close anyway, right up to my face. “You look a mess, Wingnut,” I whispered to him. “But I have never been so happy to see somebody in my whole life.”
I sat down on the floor holding Wingnut and petting Qwerty, who was shaking all over. “What are you scared of, you silly dog, huh?” I asked him. “Bad Boy?”
Then the thunder rumbled again and that huge dog jumped into my lap, almost knocking me over, his whole body shivering.
“The thunder?” I asked.
He whimpered.
I held him close and explained the rain cycle to him until he calmed down.
Then we went upstairs and the three of us—me, Wingnut, and Qwerty—went to sleep in the lower bunk until it was time to wake up for school.
In the morning we had to rush, my least favorite activity. Mom and Dad blamed the destruction of t
he garbage and the pillow on Qwerty, who, I have to admit, did look awfully guilty.
Dad said some dogs get crazy scared during thunderstorms. Elizabeth said she gets a little scared during them, too.
“Not me,” I said.
Mom and Dad smiled proudly at me. Dad said they’d see about some repair work during the day on Wingnut, which made Elizabeth do a victory dance about the fact that I had found Wingnut again.
And then I had my last day as a third grader.
Four kids tied for June Superstars. I was one of them. I got a squishy face shrunken head as a prize, which was worth the wait. Ms. Termini came around and gave every student a private compliment during our class party. The compliment I got was “I learned more from you than you learned from me this year, Justin.” I tried to assure her I learned stuff, too, like 3 × 8 and don’t hang by my knees, but she was already on to Gianni Schicci. I have no idea what compliment he could have gotten.
Because what I was doing was noticing that it was three fifteen. So third grade was officially finished.
June 19, Saturday
My party was good.
Even though Mom didn’t let us put eggs inside the rooster piñata. Dad pointed out that roosters actually can’t even lay eggs, but Elizabeth agreed with me that it would be so great to have eggs come falling out of the bottom of the rooster when it got smashed.
Mom even said no to a compromise of hard-boiled eggs.
Other than that, the party was good.
So now I guess I am a fourth grader, or at least a fourth-grader-to-be. As we were brushing our teeth tonight, Elizabeth asked if I’d figured out what my third-grade goal was. I said yes, but I was keeping it to myself.
“Did you achieve it?”
“I think so,” I said.
“Was it finding Wingnut?” she asked.
“Sort of,” I told her. “I think I found Wingnut partly because I had achieved my goal, maybe.”
