He seized his chance.
Swooping down, he kissed Varicella SMACK! on her red-speckled nose.
“Yuck!” yelped Varicella.
“Oh, no!” shrieked Mrs. Zoster.
“So long, perfect attendance!” whooped Emberly. And he ran the rest of the way to school.
* * *
During morning announcements, Mrs. Struggles said, “Just a reminder that Nurse Betadine will be administering booster shots to the fourth grade. This will happen in two weeks.”
Two weeks?
Everyone but Emberly groaned.
During lunch, Mrs. Bunz bellowed through her bullhorn, “Listen up, fourth graders. You’ve just been picked as my new cafeteria helpers. You start in two weeks.”
Two weeks?
Everyone but Emberly moaned.
And during gym class, Mrs. Gluteal said, “Guess what, boys and girls? Our next physical fitness unit will be … ballet! Be sure to bring a pair of tights to class in the next two weeks.”
Two weeks?
Everyone but Emberly whined.
Later that day, during science, Mr. Jupiter clapped his hands. “Class, I have some exciting news.”
The fourth graders turned off their Bunsen burners and pushed up their safety goggles. They waited to hear the exciting news.
“We will be taking a field trip to the Esther C. Williams Public Natatorium, where we will conduct hands-on experiments with buoyancy and currents.”
The fourth graders were still waiting for the exciting news.
“Aren’t you thrilled?” asked Mr. Jupiter.
“I guess,” said Calvin. He shot a confused look at Missy.
“Maybe,” said Missy. Bewildered, she looked at Rachel.
“Pffft,” said Rachel. She slid down in her seat.
In the front row, Stanford raised his hand. “I’m thrilled,” he said.
“You’re annoying,” said Lenny.
“Little do you know,” sniffed Stanford. “Natatorium is the scientific word for ‘swimming pool.’ Mr. Jupiter is taking us to the swimming pool to learn about floating and splashing.”
“I might even teach you a few water polo moves,” added Mr. Jupiter. “After all, I hold the 1996 Water Polo World Cup.”
“Hooray!” cried Ashlee A.
“Whoopee!” cried Ashleigh B.
“This is going to be lots more fun than last year’s trip to the American Museum of Natural Gas!” cried Ashley Z.
“Yeah,” agreed Humphrey. “That trip really stunk.”
At his desk, Emberly decided this was the best day of his life—first the chicken pox and now the swimming pool!
Bernadette raised her hand. “When are we going?” she asked.
“In two weeks,” replied Mr. Jupiter.
Two weeks?
Everyone but Emberly cheered.
“I’m buying a new bathing suit,” said Victoria, “a blue one to match my eyes.”
“I’m bringing my inflatable alligator raft,” said Ham.
“I need a new nose plug,” said Melvin.
The others ignored him.
“Mr. Jupiter,” Emberly cried, “can we move the trip up? Can we go tomorrow, or … or … what about next month?”
Mr. Jupiter shook his head. “The details have already been worked out. Is there a problem?”
“No,” replied Emberly. He slumped in his seat. Maybe, he told himself, he wouldn’t break out with chicken pox. Maybe Varicella wasn’t all that contagious. But deep down, he knew the truth. In two weeks he’d be scratching and itching while his classmates splashed and swam.
His misery showed on his face.
“You look drearier than a rainy day,” said Lil. And she broke into verse:
“Down your sad face
A lone tear will trace
Until it reaches the place
Where unhappiness dwells.”
“Cut it out, Lil,” said Emberly. “I’m not in a poetic mood.”
“What’s the matter?” asked Calvin. “Don’t you like swimming pools?”
“I love swimming pools,” said Emberly, “but …”
Suddenly inspiration struck.
Emberly leaped to his feet. “Friends,” he said in his most persuasive voice—the one he had learned at the carnival last summer. “I have a secret to tell you.”
Curious, the others gathered around.
“On the day of the field trip, I will be doing something far more wonderful than swimming. I will be lounging on my couch in my pj’s, watching cartoons and doing … NOTHING!”
“Nothing?” said Victoria.
“Nothing,” repeated Emberly. “Now, I ask you—what could be better than that? Yes, you will have the pleasure of paddling around a pool for a few brief hours. But the rest of the week while I’m lounging, you’ll be getting shots, getting shouted at, and getting chapped from too-tight tights.”
“Icky poo,” shivered Humphrey.
“You can say that again,” said Emberly.
“Icky poo,” shivered Humphrey.
Emberly kept talking. “There is a way to save yourself from this misery. All you have to do is visit Varicella Zoster today—go right after school—and give the small tot a big kiss. In return, Varicella will give you a very slight case of the chicken pox. Once you’ve made this exchange, you, too, can stay home from school. What do you say, friends?”
“I say, ‘Sign me up,’ ” said Bernadette.
“I say, ‘Count me in,’ ” said Calvin.
“I say, ‘Baloney!’ ” cried Melvin. He elbowed his way to the front of the group. “You know what I think? I think you don’t really want to get the chicken pox now. I think if there was some way you could get rid of the germs, you would. I think you really want to go swimming, but since you can’t, you don’t want anyone else to go either.”
“Ignore him,” said Emberly.
But for once, the others didn’t.
MORAL: Misery loves company.
THE PROBLEM WITH BEING EARNEST
MR. JUPITER CLAPPED HIS HANDS.
“Class,” he said, “I would like you to meet Ernest Moomaday. He and his family just moved here from Kathmandu.”
The class stared at Ernest.
Ernest stared at his feet.
“Ernest,” said Mr. Jupiter, “why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself?”
Ernest didn’t know what to say. His knees were shaking and his throat felt dry as chalk dust. He kept his eyes on his shoes.
“Do you have any hobbies?” Mr. Jupiter asked encouragingly.
Ernest touched his vest. He had crocheted it himself, using a lovely ball of worsted-weight yarn and the difficult inverted V-stitch. Very few people knew how to do the inverted V. But then, very few people were as passionate about crocheting as Ernest. There was nothing he loved more than looping and hooking, looping and hooking.
“No hobbies?” Mr. Jupiter asked again.
Ernest glanced at his new classmates. Would they be interested in crochet? He doubted it. They would probably think crocheting was as dull as vanilla ice cream. Sighing, he looked back at his shoes.
“Do you like poetry?” asked Lil.
Ernest shook his head.
“Do you like sports?” asked Jackie.
Ernest shook his head.
“Do you like International Geographic magazine?” asked Bruce.
Ernest shook his head.
He felt like a loser. A weirdo. A bobble-head doll.
“What do you like to do?” asked Missy.
Ernest swallowed hard. He had to say something. Anything. But what? Frantically, he scanned the room. A poster listing water facts caught his eye.
WATER, it read, IS GOOD FOR DRINKING, BATHING …
“Swimming,” blurted Ernest. “I … I … swim!”
Swim? He couldn’t believe his own ears. He couldn’t swim. He couldn’t even float. He opened his mouth to take it back, but—
“Do you swim just for fun?” asked
Emberly.
“Or are you on a team?” asked Jackie.
Ernest looked around.
Amazing! His new classmates were looking at him with interest. They didn’t think he was dull. They liked him!
Ernest puffed out his chest. “Back in Kathmandu I was captain of my swim team. I shot through the water like a silver arrow. I won ribbons, medals, gold cups. I—”
“That is fascinating,” interrupted Mr. Jupiter. “But let’s find you a place to sit.”
“Here, here,” squealed Bernadette.
“No, by me,” hollered Lenny.
“I don’t suppose he wants to sit by me,” moaned Melvin.
Mr. Jupiter put Ernest in the empty desk between Humphrey and Amisha.
Then he clapped his hands again. “Class,” he said, “please take out your copy of Predicting, Inferring, Questioning, Visualizing, Determining Importance, and Making Connections Is Fun.”
“What’s that?” Ernest whispered to Amisha.
“Our reading book,” she explained.
“Please turn to the vocabulary words on page eight hundred seventeen,” Mr. Jupiter continued. “Who can give me the definition of goblet?”
Stanford raised his hand. “A small turkey.”
“Precisely,” said Mr. Jupiter. “Rose, can you tell me the meaning of the word harvest?”
“Something a farmer wears to cut down corn,” answered Rose.
“Very good,” said Mr. Jupiter.
In the back of the room, Humphrey moved his chair next to Ernest’s. “Until you get a book, we can share,” he said.
Ernest smiled. He was glad everyone seemed to like him. Or at least they liked Ernest the exciting champion swimmer. He wondered if they would like Ernest the boring crocheter.
Over the next few days, Ernest fell into the fourth-grade routine—music with Mr. Halfnote every Tuesday; gym with Mrs. Gluteal every Wednesday; library time with Miss Turner every Thursday.
“Who’s that?” asked Ernest the first time he saw Miss Turner. She was wearing a clingy green dress, tall green sandals, and dangly green earrings. Beneath the library’s fluorescent light, her bright blond hair shimmered as she flitted from Fiction to Biography to Book Return.
Lenny looked up from the latest issue of International Geographic. “That’s just the librarian.”
“She doesn’t look like a librarian,” said Ernest.
“But she acts like one,” said Bruce.
“Shhhh,” said Miss Turner.
“See?” said Bruce.
Ernest adjusted to Mr. Jupiter, too.
“Are you really an honorary member of the Athabascan tribe of Alaska?” he asked his new teacher one day.
“I certainly am,” replied Mr. Jupiter. He pointed to a corner of the classroom. “And there’s the totem pole to prove it.”
Ernest even grew comfortable with his new classmates. And when Ernest felt comfortable, he crocheted—book covers, desk doilies, backpacks.
“This is beautiful,” said Missy, holding up a glue bottle cozy in a crisscross design. “Where’d you buy it?”
“Yeah, where?” asked Ham. “I want one.”
“I’d rather have one of those seat covers,” said Emberly.
“Not me,” said Victoria. “I want one of those hanging scissors holders. Except I want mine in blue to match my eyes.”
Ernest’s heart leaped with joy. They liked his creations. Maybe if he told the truth, it would be okay. But before he could speak, Mr. Jupiter clapped his hands.
“Just a reminder,” he said, “our field trip is tomorrow. Everyone should dress appropriately.”
All the fourth graders except Emberly whooped.
He scratched his left arm, his right ear, and his tummy.
Ernest turned to Humphrey. “Field trip? What field trip? Where?”
“To the natatorium,” said Humphrey.
“Huh?” asked Ernest.
“The swimming pool,” translated Stanford.
“Sw … sw … swimming pool?” stammered Ernest.
“Aren’t you thrilled?” asked Rose.
“Yeah,” said Jackie, “we’ll finally get to see you shoot through the water like a silver arrow.”
Ernest pulled the collar of his hand-crocheted sweater over his head. “I’m doomed,” he groaned.
The next morning, the fourth-grade classroom bulged with beach bags, foam footballs, inflatable rafts, kickboards, and nose plugs. Ernest shivered and pulled the bathrobe he had crocheted tighter around him.
“Oooh,” said Victoria. “That’s stunning. Where’d you get it?”
But before he could tell her, Mr. Jupiter said, “Quickly, class, let’s take attendance. Is anyone absent?”
“Emberly is,” said Ham.
“Too bad,” said Mr. Jupiter. He wrote down Emberly’s name, then said, “Anyone else?”
“Rachel,” said Bernadette.
“Pffft,” Rachel said. She snapped Bernadette with her beach towel.
“Oh, look,” said Bernadette. “Rachel just walked in.”
“Anyone else?” asked Mr. Jupiter.
“Nope,” said Lenny.
“Nada,” said Bruce.
“Nary a one,” said Lil, and she waxed poetic.
“We are all here,
With smiles, bag lunches,
And loads of good cheer.”
“Then let’s head for the bus,” said Mr. Jupiter. His flip-flops snapped, and the Dipsy Duck swim ring around his waist squeaked as he led the way.
Ernest found a seat next to Humphrey.
“I can’t wait to see you shoot through the water like a silver arrow,” Humphrey said.
Ernest couldn’t answer. His tongue was too thick with fear. Clutching his hand-crocheted towel like a security blanket, he slid down in his seat and prayed for an earthquake … an alien invasion … a flat tire.
But he had no such luck.
Minutes later, the bus dropped the kids off at the pool.
“Geronimo!” shrieked Bernadette, and she cannon-balled into the water.
“Banzai!” cried Amisha, and she belly-flopped into the water.
“Watch this!” cried Melvin, and he did a reverse with a one-and-a-half somersault and three twists into the water.
The others ignored him.
On the edge of the pool, Ernest mustered all his courage and dipped his big toe just as Jackie raced up beside him. “C’mon, the water’s fine.” She slapped Ernest hard on the back.
Ernest teetered on the brink, then—
SPLASH!
He fell in.
Ernest thrashed, flapped, floundered. “Help!” he sputtered. “I can’t swim!”
The others shot through the water like silver arrows. Heaving Ernest up and onto the side of the pool, they gathered around as he lay gasping for air.
Everyone could see the truth at a glance.
“I guess this means you don’t swim,” said Jackie.
“I guess,” said Ernest when he was finally able to speak.
“What a big fake,” muttered the others.
“Pffft,” scolded Rachel.
Then Missy said, “Tell the truth. Is there anything you like to do?”
Ernest took a deep breath. “I … I … crochet.”
“Crochet?” repeated Humphrey.
Ernest nodded.
“As in bathrobes and book covers and glue bottle cozies?” asked Victoria.
Ernest nodded.
“Can you teach us?” begged Calvin. “I want one of those vests, too.”
Ernest nodded.
Yes, he felt like a bobble-head doll.
But he felt like a winner, too.
MORAL: Those who pretend to be what they are not, sooner or later find themselves in deep water.
HUMPHREY’S LUNCH
EVERY SPRING DURING NATIONAL
Nutrition Week, Mrs. Gluteal gave a lecture on healthy eating.
This year was no exception.
“Gather around
,” said Mrs. Gluteal when Mr. Jupiter’s class stepped into the gymnasium. She pointed to a gigantic food pyramid taped to the wrestling mat.
“Not again,” moaned Humphrey Parrot. Then, in perfect imitation of the gym teacher, he said, “ ‘Food is the fuel that runs our engines.’ ”
Rose giggled.
“ ‘You are what you eat,’ ” Humphrey continued.
Lenny laughed.
“ ‘Food,’ ” added Humphrey, “ ‘it does a body good.’ ”
“Humphrey,” said Mr. Jupiter, “sit down, please.”
Humphrey joined the rest of the class on the polished wood floor. He had a perfect view of Mrs. Gluteal’s hair-stubbled knees.
“Food,” began Mrs. Gluteal, “is the fuel that runs our engines.”
Humphrey’s eyes glazed over. His stomach growled, and his thoughts strayed to lunch.
He had packed it himself.
“Can you make your lunch just this once?” his mom had asked that morning. “I’ve got an early meeting, and I’m already running late.”
“Sure, Mom,” he had replied.
“And don’t forget the carrot sticks,” she’d called as she hurried out the door.
Humphrey detested carrots.
Now Mr. Jupiter tapped him on the shoulder, and Humphrey suddenly found himself back in the gymnasium.
“You are what you eat,” Mrs. Gluteal was saying.
Mr. Jupiter leaned close. “Are you paying attention, Humphrey?” he whispered.
Humphrey shrugged. “I know all about good eating,” he whispered back. “This is the third time I’ve heard this lecture.”
“You know what they say in Bora-Bora,” replied Mr. Jupiter. “Tapiti maita vau, or ‘Three times is a charm.’ ”
Humphrey’s stomach growled again.
“So in conclusion,” said Mrs. Gluteal, “food. It does a body good.”
The bell rang.
“Lunchtime!” whooped Humphrey.
At the long lunchroom table, Humphrey elbowed between Calvin and Emberly. Eagerly, he opened his Eleanor Roosevelt lunch box. Out came a can of orange soda, a package of salty chips, a chocolate cupcake, and a bacon sandwich on white bread slathered in mayonnaise.
He lifted the sandwich to his lips.
“Poison!”
The Fabled Fourth Graders of Aesop Elementary School Page 9
