by Rachel Vail
She said, “Well, I could add blood.”
Mom said no. Even when we explained that it could be fake blood.
So we worked on making Elizabeth a Qwerty costume.
It took a lot of glue and toilet paper, but it looked so good, I was thinking I might want to go as Qwerty too.
By then it was raining really hard and Mom was watching the news, which said there might be a hurricane. So all the soccer games were canceled and we got to spent the afternoon trying to de-toilet-paper Elizabeth and clean up this mess because what in the world were we thinking.
October 10, Sunday
It rained and rained all night and then all day. The wind slammed against our house so hard, Qwerty hid under me every place I sat. Elizabeth tried to explain the rain cycle to all of us again. We still knew it. Even Qwerty didn’t want to hear about precipitation, condensation, and evaporation again.
When enough was enough with the Rain Cycle song, Mom turned on the TV. A movie in the middle of the day. “Yay! Yay yay yay!” Elizabeth and I cheered. We had a little celebration parade around the living room before we sunk down on the couch to watch The Wizard of Oz.
Mom wasn’t watching that much because she kept checking weather news on her computer the whole time. And Dad was in the bedroom watching the football game.
But then the electricity went out.
We looked for flashlights for a while. Then we sat in the dark, listening to the wind screaming and also Dad yelling that he DID put the flashlights away last time and somebody else must have taken them.
Elizabeth and I decided to look upstairs because maybe we did take them. We couldn’t remember. We stuck together, because of the dark and the screaming wind and the yelling parents and especially because of the movie. Maybe The Wizard of Oz wasn’t such a great choice during a storm.
Elizabeth kept feeling the house starting to lift up into the air.
She also was absolutely sure she heard witch-on-a-bicycle music outside.
“It wasn’t,” I told her. “That wasn’t witch-bike music. Definitely not.”
I am pretty confident I was telling the truth. I might have heard it a little bit too, but maybe one of our neighbors was also watching that movie somehow despite the blackout. Or bike riding.
Or we were both just remembering the music or hearing an echo of it in our minds or something.
Probably that’s it. Though Mrs. Worthington in the dark house at the top of the Dead End does look a little witchy.
We went back downstairs with zero flashlights. Mom lit some candles.
We blew them out after one minute because Qwerty was in a rush to get everywhere at once. Elizabeth too. “Qwerty will not fit into the basket of my bike!” Elizabeth screamed.
“Everybody calm the heck down!” Mom yelled. “Right this minute!”
Elizabeth flew into Mom’s arms and knocked her onto the chair. Mom sighed and wrapped her arms around Elizabeth, who curled up tight there.
Mom smiled at me like I was so calm and brave, and like she felt proud of that. What I did not tell her was that I was just slower at figuring out where to go. Otherwise I might have been the one curled up in that lap of hers.
I just sat all alone on the couch in my own tight little scrunch.
“Okay,” Dad said. Sometimes he just says okay without knowing what is going on at all. “Okay.”
Even though it was dangerous, Dad decided he and I should put on our rain gear and head over to our store to put wood in the windows so they wouldn’t shatter.
I am not a big fan of doing stuff that comes in a sentence after the words even though it’s dangerous.
We had to use the windshield wipers on their fastest so they sounded like flink flunk flink flunk flink flunck! Dad didn’t even turn on the radio or sing.
After we got all the planks of wood in place in the front windows and made Xs with masking tape on the other windows, he put his hands on his hips and smiled at me. “Well,” he said. “Best we can do.”
He took down the jar of chocolate-covered graham crackers. Mom had made a fresh batch yesterday. Chocolate-covered graham crackers are our store’s top sellers after malt balls.
A newspaper review of our store that was in the paper three years ago mentioned the chocolate-covered graham crackers especially. There was a picture of the chocolate-covered graham crackers with Worth the trip! in a blotch of red next to them. There was also a picture of the four of us in front of the store, Elizabeth in Dad’s arms because she was so little and wouldn’t stop running all over the place while the photographer was trying to snap a picture. That was cool. I was famous for being in the paper after that for about a week or maybe two, in first grade.
Wow, I was Elizabeth’s now-age, then. I thought I was so old.
Chocolate-covered graham crackers are my favorite food after gummy worms. Sometimes I get one for a special treat. Today Dad gave me FOUR for being so helpful and brave.
I ate two—one in the store and one in the car. They were excellent. I gave one of them to Elizabeth when we got home because she is only a first-grader lap-sitter. It’s not her fault that she didn’t get asked to go to the store to help.
By then the lights had come back on, so she was watching a second whole movie, a cartoon one with no weather in it, but still, it was, like, a total of about a hundred hours of screen time for her. But I gave her one of my chocolate covered-graham crackers anyway, because I wanted to be a good big brother.
Also I knew that was the kind of thing that would make Mom and Dad really proud, sharing when you aren’t forced to. They love stuff like that. And I was getting a little addicted to hearing what a good boy I was. I admit it.
I saved the fourth one to give to Noah, because chocolate-covered graham crackers by my mom are his favorites too.
But even though Mom and Dad both said again what a great kid I am when they kissed me good night, I might not end up giving that chocolate-covered graham cracker to Noah. All my stuffties are having a meeting about if I am mean or doing the right thing if I keep it for myself.
It does not feel excellent to be leaning toward doing what Snakey thinks I should do instead of what Wingnut and Bananas think is right.
I might get up and eat that thing myself anyway. Even though I already brushed my teeth and it’s very late. That’s how rough I am feeling. Rough as the hurricane that blew itself out and knocked down so many trees.
Rough enough to eat my second-best friend (or is he?)’s chocolate-covered graham cracker RIGHT NOW.
October 11, Monday
Mr. Leonard says a good way to jump-start our creative writing is to make lists. I thought it was transition words. But I guess not anymore. Today we had to do a list of our top three worries and then share them with the writing groups we got put into.
My Top 3 Worries by Justin K.:
1. Getting eaten by a bullhead shark
2. Falling off a cliff
3. Brain rot from too much screen time
Noah’s Top 3 Worries:
1. Hurricanes that knock a tree onto his mom’s car
2. Diseases
3. Robbers
Cash’s Top 3 Worries:
1. Sleepaway camp
2. Sleepaway college
3. That Mr. Leonard is secretly an Evil Spy Warlord or possibly an Alien
October 12, Tuesday
My New Top 3 Worries:
Same as Cash’s, except for the one about Mr. Leonard.
I never thought of worrying about sleepaway camp or sleepaway college before today. But now I am making up for lost time on those worries. Also a little bit about trees falling on our car. And diseases. Plus Xavier Schwartz’s big brother.
Okay, maybe also a little that Mr. Leonard is an Evil Spy Warlord or Alien.
This might not have been exactly the type of jump-starting my life needed.
October 13, Wednesday
Mom said “Don’t be so silly, Justin—Mr. Leonard is just a teacher.” He is a very
quiet, smart, and strict teacher, it’s true. And very tall, and a man, but still, he is just a teacher. He doesn’t have mind control OR mind-reading powers.
I really don’t think he has any of those. I was just wondering what they thought. Dad thinks maybe Mr. Leonard is an alien.
I am 92 percent sure Dad was joking about that, and I do not get what he meant about I should bring Reese’s Pieces to school and see what happens, but I am happy to bring candy no matter what reason. You get big crowds around you for stuff like that, and in a very good way. But then he didn’t give me candy to bring.
Probably Cash is just kidding about the alien stuff too. He probably just wants to see which kids are goofy enough to fall for it. Xavier might be that goofy. Or else he just can’t help agreeing with Cash about everything. Like the rest of us.
Me and Cash and Xavier weren’t scared of the hurricane. Mr. Leonard’s mind-control tricks (if he really does have mind-control tricks, which he doesn’t) couldn’t make us think we were, at least so far.
A lot of girls and also Noah were still talking today about how scared they were during the hurricane. Cash said Mr. Leonard was mind-controlling them to think they were scared even if they weren’t.
I’m not so sure. Noah has been scared of weather his whole life.
October 14, Thursday
For homework last night, we had to write a personal essay about our experiences in the hurricane and then share it with the group today. I was in Group B.
Not because I am in the middle level of smartness. It’s not like with reading groups or math groups. It’s random.
We had to give constructive criticism on each other’s essays.
I spent a lot of time last night making lists of something personal that I was willing to have kids in my class read and criticize. Constructive or not, it’s still criticism. I used up a lot of pieces of paper and chewed the eraser off my pencil.
The one I chose from my list was about how scared my dog was. I know that is not about me personally, but I was out of time. Plus the eraser crumbles were very challenging to get off my tongue. So that was that.
All night I dreamed that Mr. Leonard and Qwerty were chasing me down hallways, and both of them were trying to bite me. It was not a restful night, which is why I looked like a zombie at school today.
A lot of the runny-aroundy boys are in Group B. They thought my personal essay was very funny. They kept saying to the girls in Group B, “Justin Case’s DOG was scared of the hurricane.” And then they were trying out howling like Qwerty until Mr. Leonard raised his right eyebrow. That thing is like a MUTE button.
After Mr. Leonard walked away, Xavier Schwartz whispered to Cash, “Was Mr. Leonard mind-controlling Qwerty?”
“He probably was,” Cash whispered back.
“Yeah,” Xavier said.
Group B’s constructive criticism of my essay was:
Qwerty is The Bomb.
Also that getting eaten by a bullhead shark is way scarier than a hurricane or if your teacher actually is an Evil Spy Warlord Alien.
Cash said, “You say that now.”
That shut us all up as completely as Mr. Leonard’s eyebrow.
October 15, Friday
I think I got the definition right, but the spelling wrong of the word kerfuffle. It means “a fuss” or “commotion.” But I am not sure how many dozens of fff’s it has. I just know it is Mr. Leonard’s favorite word, as in “Let’s stop that kerfuffle now, please.”
After that test, we were supposed to have Silent Reading Time. Well, all the other teachers in our whole school call it Silent Reading Time. Mr. Leonard calls it BOOOCH, which makes it sound way cooler, so everybody in 4-L looks forward to it.
BOOOCH stands for Books of Our Own CHoice.
And our favorite thing in the day is when Mr. Leonard, whose voice is usually very quiet and calm, yells, very loud and long, “BOOOCH!” We all get to run to the bookshelves or our backpacks and pick out our BOOOCHes and then flop anywhere we feel like flopping for a few excellent quiet reading moments. Even the kids who never liked reading before get very happy when Mr. Leonard bellows BOOOCH!
But today during BOOOCH, we got a choice of flopping with our BOOOCH books or using the time to work on our maps of the imaginary ocean floor.
That was a good thing because I had forgotten all about the map of the imaginary ocean floor. And the final project is due on Monday. I love BOOOCH, but Montana C. and I went with mapping.
We stared together at a blank piece of loose-leaf in Montana C.’s notebook. I wasn’t thinking about imaginary oceans, though. I was thinking, I wish Mr. Leonard would make up his mind about what we are supposed to be concentrating on. He says, “The key to success is Focus.” But as soon as I get focused on vocab or spelling things right or making lists or criticizing constructively, all of a sudden we’re supposed to be doing other stuff I don’t know how to do like long-dividing by three-digit numbers or playing recorder or Tug-of-War.
Or making maps of imaginary places with girls who say stuff like, “You should come over this weekend and we can work on our map—and have an air hockey rematch.”
And then dealing with boys who are all saying stuff like, “Ooooo!”
October 16, Saturday
A thing I love:
Winning soccer games.
A thing I no, thank you:
My dad, who is the coach, picking up a boy named Cash instead of a boy named Justin—and calling the lifted boy Champ and Atta Boy, which are what he should call me even if that other kid is better at kicking a soccer ball.
Also riding a scooter. Cash and Xavier Schwartz and Gianni Schicci and Sam Pasternak and Montana C. all ride scooters. Cash said I could have a turn on his, but I almost fell over in one second of trying.
Maybe if I had my own scooter, I could practice in private before I try it out in front of people. But Mom said, “We’ll see, buddy,” about that, which means That looks way too dangerous so no way, buddy.
October 17, Sunday
Here is what my first draft map of the imaginary ocean floor looked like:
Here is what Montana C.’s first draft of the imaginary ocean floor looked like:
Here is what our final draft map of the imaginary ocean floor looked like:
Oil pastels are the most awesome crayons ever. In my family you have to put down newspaper because they make such a mess and then after five minutes Mom says, Okay, let’s put these horrible things I never should have bought away in the high-up cabinet and try to get the stains off the table now.
It is not our fault newspaper sometimes slides.
But at Montana C.’s house there is a worktable in the basement, and all the pastels you want anytime you want to use them right out there where kids can reach them, in a can, and you don’t even have to clean up the stains afterward. And there weren’t even any first-graders there because they had their soccer game to go to.
Our map is the kind that has bumpy bits. We made them out of rubber cement and two pieces of used bubble gum. We each chewed one and then stuck it to the map.
Luckily, I am a good gum-chewer, so I did add something constructive to the project.
If we don’t get the best grade Mr. Leonard ever gave for a map of an imaginary ocean floor, we will both die of shock because, seriously, this is the best thing EVER. Better than if you could do wheelies on your scooter. Better than gummy worms, maybe.
The chewed-up gum part is a secret just between me and Montana C. We will never tell anybody ever.
October 18, Monday
Noah worked alone on his project. His project was:
A blank blue poster board with a big papier-mâché fish taped on top.
It took me some time, but I thought of a positive statement to start my constructive criticism of that off with. As we were arranging our projects on the tables, I whispered to Noah, “That’s a really cool-looking fish, Noah.”
Noah smiled really big. “Thanks, Justin. I worked on it all wee
kend. It’s a Sloane’s viperfish. Is that your project?”
I nodded.
“It’s very … bumpy.”
“Yeah.” I am not sure if bumpy counts as a positive.
“What’s it made of?”
“Never mind that!” I leaned close to Noah’s ear so nobody would hear. I didn’t want him to get in trouble. “There’s still time,” I whispered. “You could quickly just draw on the poster board.”
“Draw what?” Noah asked.
“A map!” I yanked Noah’s shirt to pull him a little away from all the other kids listening. “We were supposed to make a map of an imaginary ocean floor. That was the assignment, Noah. Mr. Leonard said—”
Noah interrupted in his booming voice, “The Sloane’s viperfish holds the world record for largest teeth relative to head size in a fish.”
“Okay,” I said.
Noah crossed his arms, like he’d won.
“You’re a Sloane’s viperfish,” Xavier Schwartz said to Noah.
“No, he’s not,” Cash said.
I smiled at Cash because, well, that was nice, I thought. Standing up for Noah like that. Even though Noah has never been very nice to Cash.
But then Cash said, “He’s the opposite of a Sloane’s viperfish because he has the hugest head of any kid I ever saw.”
“And the littlest teeth,” Xavier Schwartz added.
Noah just stood there blinking for a few seconds, and then he stomped away, leaving his papier-mâché Sloane’s viperfish staring at us like it might bite our heads off.
October 19, Tuesday
Top ten things I am worried about, Science Project edition:
1. Standing at the front of the room next to Montana C. and speaking up.
2. What are we going to say if anybody asks, “Is there any chewed gum on there?”
3. Because I promised Montana C. that I would never tell anybody that.
