“Roger that,” replied Mrs. Shorthand.
Minutes later, the janitor arrived. He tapped the jar with his screwdriver and mopped around the area.
But Ham was still stuck.
“Call Nurse Betadine!” he cried. “She’ll know what to do.”
ZZZ-CRACK!
Nurse Betadine strode into the classroom. She took Ham’s temperature and slapped a Band-Aid on the jar.
But he was still stuck.
“Call Miss Turner!” cried Ham. “She’ll know what to do.”
ZZZ-CRACK!
Miss Turner sashayed into the classroom. She spritzed the jar with perfume (“Love’s Life Scentence,” said Victoria with an approving sniff) and read a chapter from The Life of Melvil Dewey.
But Ham was still stuck.
A tear trickled down his plump cheek.
“Life is so unfair,” he moaned. “I waited so long to get my hands on these jelly beans, and now …” He gave a breathy sob. “Now I’ll never get to taste them.”
He watched, mouth watering, as Amisha popped a pink bean into her mouth. “Mmm, mmm, good.”
Emberly munched on a yellow one. “Yummy.”
Rachel licked an orange one. “Pffft.”
Ham gave another little sob. Then, from desperation, an idea grew.
What if I dropped some jelly beans? he wondered. Just a few … just enough to pull my hand out?
Slowly, carefully, he opened his fingers. Three green beans rolled back into the jar.
“That should be enough,” he muttered.
But his hand was still stuck.
He opened his fingers a little wider. Six orange beans fell back into the jar.
“Not the orange ones,” he moaned. “They’re my favorite.”
But his hand was still stuck.
He opened his fingers a little bit wider still.
Out fell seven green, eight red, and three yellow beans.
And out came his hand.
“I’m free!” whooped Ham.
Even better, in his palm he still held four green, two red, one yellow, and three black beans—half a handful. Popping them into his mouth, he chewed, swallowed, sighed. “Delicious.”
Then he looked longingly back at the jar. “Can we have seconds, Mr. Jupiter? Can we? Huh?”
“Don’t bean ridiculous,” replied Mr. Jupiter.
MORAL: Half a handful is better than none.
MISSY’S LOST MITTENS
MR. JUPITER’S CLASS WAS BUNDLING UP
for recess—parkas, snow boots, hats, and scarves.
Missy Place slipped on her zebra-striped jacket, then reached into her pocket for her black knitted mittens. She pulled out—
—a wad of used tissue and a lint-covered Life Saver.
“Oh, no!” gasped Missy. “Not again.” Dropping to her knees, she searched everywhere—inside the Polynesian ceremonial slit drums, under the stuffed giant sloth, behind the brass astrolabe, on top of the piranha tank, and even in the shrunken head collection. But it was no use.
“I’ve lost my mittens,” she wailed.
“Big deal,” said Victoria, shrugging. “After all, they weren’t special mittens, not like mine.” Victoria held up a hot-pink fur-lined pair. “Nobody’s mittens are as special as my mittens.”
“But they’re the thirty-seventh pair I’ve lost this week,” sniffled Missy.
“I guess that makes you a real loser,” said Victoria.
“Go away, Victoria,” said Rose. She patted Missy’s arm. “It’ll be okay.”
“No, it won’t,” moaned Missy. “My mom said if I lost another pair she was going to diaper-pin them to my sleeves like she does for Davie.” Davie was Missy’s little brother. He was in preschool.
Just then, Mr. Jupiter appeared. “Is there a problem, girls?”
“Missy’s lost her mittens,” said Rose.
“Again,” sighed Missy. She wiped her nose on her sleeve.
“Have you looked in the ceremonial slit drums?”
asked Mr. Jupiter.
Missy nodded.
“And under the sloth?”
Missy nodded again.
“And behind the astrolabe, on top of the piranha tank, and even in the shrunken heads?”
Missy sobbed, “I’ve looked everywhere.”
“Then there is only one place left,” said Mr. Jupiter. “Lost and Found.”
“Lost and Found?” shrieked Missy. “I can’t go to Lost and Found. I’ll get lost and I’ll never get found.”
“Nonsense,” said Mr. Jupiter.
“It’s true,” said Rose.
Located in the school’s basement, Lost and Found was a graveyard of lunch boxes and Windbreakers, umbrellas and spelling books, colored pencils and macaroni art projects. The place was so dark, so big, so creepy that Aesop’s students stayed away from it the way fourth-grade boys stayed away from a Girl Scout meeting. And what happened to the kid who naively wandered into Lost and Found in search of his baseball mitt? No one knew for sure. But rumor had it that the skeleton hanging in the art/science room had once been a bright, happy, normal kid who’d had the misfortune of blundering into Lost and Found.
Now Missy begged, “You have to come with me, Mr. Jupiter. You have to!”
“Of course,” he replied.
After sending the rest of the class out to recess, Mr. Jupiter pulled a headlamp from his desk—“Left over from my spelunking days,” he explained—and strapped it onto his pith helmet.
Minutes later the two stood at the edge of Lost and Found’s vast, inky blackness. The light from Mr. Jupiter’s headgear barely pierced its gloom.
Missy’s heart pounded and she clutched Mr. Jupiter’s arm. “I don’t need my mittens,” she croaked. “Really, Mr. Jupiter. Let’s go back.”
But Mr. Jupiter just patted her white-knuckled hand. “Nonsense,” he said. “You must have your mittens or your fingers will freeze.” He stepped into the darkness that was Lost and Found, spelunked to the room’s center, and pulled on an overhead chain. The room filled with light.
Missy gasped.
The place looked magical—almost like Aladdin’s cave. Instead of heaps of gold and mountains of jewels, however, there were heaps of snow boots and mountains of bean bag animals.
And there wasn’t a skeleton in sight.
Missy’s fears vanished.
“Let’s get started,” said Mr. Jupiter, switching off his headlamp. “What do your mittens look like?”
Missy shrugged. “You know—the usual.”
Mr. Jupiter nodded and began digging through a nearby pile while Missy pawed through a box.
She found a paperback copy of Mr. Popper’s Penguins, a headless Barbie doll, and a pair of swim fins.
“Are these your mittens?” Mr. Jupiter suddenly cried. He held up a knitted gold pair covered in flashing pink sequins and shiny blue bows. When he tugged the left thumb, the mittens sang “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”
Missy was enchanted by them. They were special, even more special than Victoria’s. How she wished they belonged to her, but … “Mine aren’t as nice as those,” she confessed.
She and Mr. Jupiter went back to digging.
A dirty sock. Half a baloney sandwich. A cuckoo clock.
“Are these your mittens?” Mr. Jupiter asked a few minutes later. He held up a fuzzy pink pair that looked like two pink pigs. The pig mittens had eyes, ears, and a snout that oinked when Mr. Jupiter squeezed it.
Missy adored them. She desperately wished they were hers, but … “Those aren’t mine either,” she admitted. “Mine are black and knit and very, very boring.”
They dug some more.
A pencil case. A stringless yo-yo. A triceratops tooth.
“I wondered where that had disappeared to,” said Mr. Jupiter. He pocketed the tooth and kept digging. Soon he held up a plain black knitted pair. “Are these your mittens?” he asked.
Missy clapped her hands in delight. “You found them, Mr. Jupiter. Th
ank you!” She slipped them on.
“Perhaps,” said Mr. Jupiter with a smile, “you should have a few extra pairs in case you lose those again.” He held out the musical mittens and the pig mittens.
“But don’t those belong to someone else?” she asked.
“Believe me,” said Mr. Jupiter, “your honesty has made you the true owner of these mittens.”
Missy grinned, then eagerly stripped off her old pair and slipped on the musical ones. After tucking the others carefully into her coat pocket, she raced out to recess.
On the playground, Missy was the center of attention.
“Did you find any ghosts down there?” asked Humphrey.
“Any skeletons?” asked Lenny.
“Any trolls?” asked Calvin.
“Nope,” replied Missy. “But I did find these.” She held up her hands so that everyone could admire her new mittens.
“They’re so special,” said Amisha, touching the bright sequins.
Victoria’s eyes narrowed.
“Really special,” said Lil, tying one of the bows.
Victoria’s nostrils flared.
“The most special mittens I’ve ever seen,” said Rose. She hummed along with “Twinkle, Twinkle.”
Victoria ground her teeth and turned pea green.
The next morning just before recess, Victoria hid her hot-pink fur-lined mittens in the trash can.
“Mr. Jupiter,” she said with a little sob, “I’ve lost my mittens.”
Mr. Jupiter raised his eyebrows. “Indeed?” he said. “Then we’d better check Lost and Found.”
Smirking, Victoria followed Mr. Jupiter to the basement.
Mr. Jupiter began digging.
Victoria watched. She tapped her foot impatiently.
A few minutes later, Mr. Jupiter held up a glorious pair. Made of sleek white fur and trimmed in gold and pearls, they played Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony when the teacher shook them.
“Are these the mittens you lost, Victoria?” asked Mr. Jupiter. He watched her closely.
“Oh, yes!” trilled Victoria. “Yes.” Eagerly, she reached for the mittens.
“There they are,” cooed a voice from the doorway.
Victoria turned to see—
Was it?
Could it be?
It was!
It was Miss Turner looking—Victoria shook her head in disbelief—almost glamorous in a white fur coat trimmed in gold braid and seed pearls.
“You’ve found my mittens, you naughty kittens,” the librarian purred. She held out a bare hand to Mr. Jupiter. “Would you help me put them on?”
“Of course,” said Mr. Jupiter. He slipped first the right mitten and then the left onto Miss Turner’s hands. Like Cinderella’s slippers, they were a perfect fit.
“But … but … what about me?” wailed Victoria. “I don’t have any mittens.”
“How unfortunate,” said Mr. Jupiter. “I guess you’ll have to keep your hands in your pockets.”
Gnashing her teeth, Victoria huffed back up the stairs. But before going out to recess, she reached into the trash can for her old hot-pink pair.
“Oh, no!’ ” she wailed. “Mr. Swill emptied the trash!”
MORAL: Honesty is the best policy.
STICKS AND STONES
IT WAS VALENTINE’S DAY, AND MR.
Jupiter’s students were opening their cards.
Emberly opened one with a lollipop taped to it:
I’M A SUCKER FOR YOU!
He smiled across the room at Ham.
Jackie opened one with Cupid wearing a baseball glove.
HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY FROM A REAL GLOVER BOY!
She high-fived Humphrey. Bernadette opened an all-black one.
I SEE YOUR FACE WHILE I AM DREAMING, THAT’S WHY I ALWAYS WAKE UP SCREAMING!
She stuck out her tongue at Lenny.
Then Miss Turner pushed open the door. A blond vision in tight-fitting pink, she panted, “Don’t mind me,” as she struggled up the aisle toward Mr. Jupiter. “I’ve just got a little treat for your teacher.”
She dropped a heart-shaped box of chocolates, a big pink teddy bear, two dozen red roses, and a bouquet of helium-filled balloons that read BE MINE onto his desk. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she said between gasps for breath.
Mr. Jupiter smiled. “Thank you, Paige,” he said. “I have something for you, too.” He handed her—
“A stick?” said Miss Turner.
Mr. Jupiter nodded. “From the Polynesian commona-wanna-hugga-ya shrub. In Fiji this stick is a gift—a gift given only to good friends.”
“Good friends?” repeated Miss Turner. She blinked back a tear and touched the stick tenderly.
Mr. Jupiter nodded.
And Miss Turner pressed the stick to her cheek. “I’ll cherish it always,” she sighed. She floated out the door.
“I have something for each of you, too,” Mr. Jupiter said to the children after the librarian had left. He gave each of them—
“A rock?” said Calvin.
“Not a rock,” corrected Mr. Jupiter. “A pooka stone.”
“Huh?” said Ham.
“To the Baluba tribe of Hubba Island, the pooka stone is a symbol of deep affection,” explained Mr. Jupiter.
Suddenly red-cheeked, the children stared at him.
“I picked them up along the beach while visiting their chief over the holidays,” added Mr. Jupiter.
The children kept staring at him.
“Don’t you like them?” asked Mr. Jupiter.
Missy raised her hand. “Does this mean that you … um … love us, Mr. Jupiter?”
“I care about each and every one of you,” he admitted.
Embarrassed, the children wiggled in their seats.
“Gee,” Rose finally said. “All we got you was this stupid valentine.”
She handed him a card that read:
WE LOVE TO “B” YOUR “A” STUDENTS.
It was signed by everyone in the class.
Too choked up to speak, Mr. Jupiter placed his hand over his heart and wrestled with his emotions. At last he managed to sniffle, “I’m deeply moved by your outpouring of affection. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
For several seconds, teacher and students smiled stupidly at one another.
Then Mr. Jupiter broke the spell. Picking up the box of candy Miss Turner had given him, he said, “Chocolate, anyone?”
Ham hurried up the aisle.
MORAL: No act of kindness—no matter how big or how small—is ever wasted.
MARCH MADNESS
MARCH WAS TESTING TIME AT AESOP
Elementary School.
“Everyone take out a number two pencil,” directed Mr. Jupiter.
Calvin raised his hand. “Are we being given the I.S.B.N.A.C.T.’s?” he asked.
“No, no,” corrected Bernadette. “These are the Y.M.C.A.G.R.E.’s.”
“Actually,” said Rose, “they’re the H.I.J.K.L. M.N.O.P.’s.”
In the back row, Stanford snorted. “Get serious,” he said. “We’re taking the E.S.B.A.F.C.A.E.F.G.A.E.’s, otherwise known as the Every State Basic Abilities and Fundamental Cognitive Assessment of Essential Fourth Grade Achievement Evaluation Test.”
“Whatever,” shrugged the others.
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Mr. Jupiter. “Still …” He looked around the room. “Does everyone have a pencil?”
The children nodded.
“Then I suppose we should get started,” he said.
And for the rest of the month, the fourth graders did nothing else.
MORAL: Time is often wasted on things of little consequence.
CATCH!
EMBERLY EVERCLASS HAD THE BEST
attendance record at Aesop Elementary School. Since his first morning in kindergarten, he hadn’t missed a single day—not one.
“Don’t you ever get sick?” asked Rose one afternoon.
“Nope,” said Emberly.
“D
on’t you ever go on vacation?” asked Amisha.
“Nope,” said Emberly.
“Don’t you ever play hooky?” asked Lenny.
“Nope,” said Emberly.
But all these questions made Emberly start to think about it.
And the more he thought about it, the more he realized the truth:
He would have traded all his perfect attendance medals for just one single day off.
He could just see himself lounging on the couch in his Incredible Hunk pj’s, watching cartoons, doing … NOTHING!
“Beautiful,” he sighed.
“I know I am, but what are you?” asked Victoria.
“Absent,” vowed Emberly.
The next morning before school, Emberly gave an award-winning performance. He cough-coughed. He sniff-sniffled. He pretended to wheeze as he groaned, “Ohhhhh, I’m soooooo sick.”
His father wasn’t fooled. “Get moving,” he said. “You don’t want to be late.”
Besides having perfect attendance, Emberly was always punctual.
“What’s a guy have to do to get a day off?” he muttered.
Minutes later, he was out the door.
A block from school, he saw Varicella Zoster and her mother playing in their front yard. The three-year-old, he noticed, was covered with red spots.
“What’s wrong with Varicella?” he asked Mrs. Zoster.
“Stay back!” warned Mrs. Zoster. “Varicella’s sick. She has chicken pox.”
“Catch!” cried Varicella. She tossed a ball to Ham.
Emberly dodged it. “She doesn’t look sick,” he said. “Except for the spots.”
“She doesn’t feel sick, either,” said Mrs. Zoster, “but the little darling can’t go back to nursery school until her spots form scabs.”
“No school!” chirped Varicella.
“No school?” Emberly asked curiously. “Why not?”
“Because she’s highly contagious,” explained Mrs. Zoster. “If Varicella went to school now, in two weeks’ time the rest of her class would come down with the chicken pox.”
“Two weeks!” chirped Varicella.
Mrs. Zoster nodded. “That’s how long it is between the time a person is exposed to the chicken pox and the time they break out.”
Emberly wondered what he would be doing in two weeks. Looking into his future, he saw the usual—book reports, spelling tests, organic geochemistry.
The Fabled Fourth Graders of Aesop Elementary School Page 8
