Startled, Humphrey looked up to find Mrs. Gluteal standing in front of him. “Humphrey Parrot,” she lectured. “Just look at this unhealthy mess—sugar, salt, fat! It’s all so bad for you!”
Like a buzzard, she swooped down and swept up his lunch. Only a lonely dollop of mayonnaise remained in front of him.
“But … but … I’m hungry!” wailed Humphrey.
“Of course you are,” said Mrs. Gluteal. “You’re hungry for something healthy. You’re hungry for real nourishment. You’re hungry for good nutrition. Therefore, Humphrey, I am going to make the supreme sacrifice. I am going to give you my lunch.”
She dropped a spinach salad topped with tofu and goat cheese in front of him.
“Enjoy,” she said, and she turned and walked away.
Humphrey’s friends gazed at the salad.
“Gross,” said Emberly. He took a happy bite of his own tuna pita.
“Super gross,” said Calvin. He merrily crunched on one of his cucumber slices.
“Super-duper gross,” said Ham. He joyfully slurped up some of the cook’s newest specialty—yak and cheese.
Humphrey’s stomach growled again.
Cautiously, he speared a tiny piece of tofu with his plastic fork. He nibbled.
“Not bad,” he said.
He took another, bigger bite.
“Not bad at all.”
He took several bites in a row.
“Strangely satisfying,” he declared.
He gobbled up the salad.
The bell rang.
“Recess!” hollered Humphrey. The salad had left him feeling unusually energized. “Who wants to play tetherball?”
“ME!” cried Emberly and Calvin in unison.
The boys headed for the blacktop.
But as they passed the teachers’ lounge, the door suddenly burst open and Miss Turner, led by Miss Fairchild, stepped out. Miss Turner had her eyes squeezed shut.
“Really, Paige,” Miss Fairchild was saying, “those fake eyelashes are lovely, but they’re bound to fall off if you flutter them so much.”
Through the open door, Humphrey spied Mrs. Gluteal. Mayonnaise dripped down her chin as she brushed chocolate crumbs from her mouth with bacon-greasy fingers. “Does anyone want a salty chip?” Humphrey heard her say before the door slammed shut. “They’re delicious.”
For a moment Humphrey stared at the door of the teachers’ lounge. Then he shrugged. “I guess Mrs. Gluteal hasn’t been listening to her own lecture. If she had been, she’d know—”
“You are what you eat!” cried Emberly and Calvin in unison.
High-fiving each other, the boys raced off to recess.
MORAL: Practice what you preach.
THE SPELLING GODDESS
MR. JUPITER’S STUDENTS WERE TAKING
their weekly spelling test.
“The first word,” said Mr. Jupiter, “is nincompoop. Nincompoop sounds like a naughty made-up word, but it is actually in the dictionary. Nincompoop.”
Ashlee A. moved her lips, trying to sound out the word.
Ashleigh B. shut her eyes, trying to see the word in her mind.
Ashley Z. stretched his neck, trying to see the word on Stanford’s paper.
“Ashley,” said Mr. Jupiter, “I hope I didn’t see you looking at your neighbor’s work.”
“I hope you didn’t either,” replied Ashley.
At her desk, Amisha Spelwadi wrote the word with quick, sure strokes. “Easy-peasy,” she said under her breath. She covered her answer with her arm.
“The second word,” said Mr. Jupiter, “is wildebeest. While hiking across the Serengeti, I was once attacked by a wildebeest. Wildebeest.”
Calvin chewed nervously on his pencil eraser.
Rachel frowned, wrote, and erased, frowned, wrote, and erased.
But Amisha didn’t hesitate. “Easier-peasier,” she said in a voice a bit louder. She wrote the word down, then held her head high. She wanted the rest of her classmates to know she wasn’t having any spelling trouble. She smiled smugly at Mr. Jupiter.
“The third word,” said Mr. Jupiter, “is gaseous. If you eat the cook’s hot lunch, you are bound to become gaseous. Gaseous.”
Jackie looked frantically around the room, hoping to see the word written on the chalkboard, a poster, a book spine, anywhere!
Rose gave a little sob.
But Amisha quickly scrawled the word on her paper. “Easiest-peasiest,” she said in a very loud voice.
Victoria shot her a dirty look.
But Amisha didn’t care. She was floating! Soaring! She was a spelling goddess!
She breezed through the rest of the words too.
Foofaraw.
Booby hatch.
Pogonip.
Cat.
Amisha was sure she knew them all.
I’m going to get the whole test right, she told herself. She began turning over in her mind what would happen when she received a perfect test score. My classmates will cheer, and Mr. Jupiter will declare me the best speller in the fourth grade. I’ll go on to win the school spelling bee, then the state spelling bee, then the national spelling bee! I’ll become such a famous speller that my face will be on the cover of magazines … newspapers … cereal boxes! I’ll be on talk shows and in commercials and I’ll become so famous that everyone will want to be just like me. Of course, Hollywood will make a movie of my life. With all my movie money, I’ll build a big castle, and I’ll have lots of puppies, and horses, and fancy butlers who’ll serve me chocolate milk shakes in crystal goblets. And I’ll travel around and around the world meeting kings and queens and princes. They’ll be so awed by my spelling skills they’ll make me an honorary princess. From then on, everyone will call me Princess Amisha. And I’ll wear a diamond tiara every day—even to school—and Victoria Sovaine will turn pea green with envy. And I’ll buy my friends diamond tiaras too, and Victoria will cry and wish she’d been nicer to me, but I won’t buy her anything. And then I’ll take—
Mr. Jupiter clapped his hands. “Please exchange your test papers with the person behind you,” he said.
Eagerly, Amisha handed her paper to Melvin, then accepted Lil’s.
Ooooh! She could hardly wait until the spelling tests had been checked.
Oooh! Oooh! She could hardly wait until everyone saw her perfect score.
Minutes later, Melvin handed back her paper.
No!
It couldn’t be!
But it was.
She had spelled cat with … a k.
With a sigh, Amisha opened her spelling book and began working on next week’s words.
Slubbering.
Podunk.
Tittle-tattle.
Dog.
MORAL: Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched.
FIRST KISS
IN JUNE THE FOURTH GRADERS FOUND
Miss Turner sobbing behind Love and Customs (Dewey decimal number 392).
“What’s the matter?” asked Missy. “Did you lose your mittens?”
“Did you catch the chicken pox?” asked Emberly.
“Did Melvil Dewey die?” asked Lenny.
“No, no,” sniffled Miss Turner. “It’s nothing like that.”
“Then what’s the problem?” asked Mr. Jupiter.
Miss Turner turned to him, her eyes shining with tears … and something more. “Don’t you know?” she asked in a voice throbbing with emotion. “Haven’t you guessed?”
“I can guess,” Ernest said.
“Me too,” Ham said, “and I’m only in fourth grade.”
Mr. Jupiter shot the boys a warning look. Then he said, “Children, go read a book, please.”
“Read a book?” said Amisha.
“And miss all the excitement?” said Lil.
Mr. Jupiter’s face turned stony. “Go!”
The children went—but only as far as Espionage and Spying (Dewey decimal number 327). They peeked around the bookshelf.
Mr. Jupite
r turned his attention back to the librarian. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Paige.”
Miss Turner burst into a fresh round of tears. “That’s exactly the problem,” she wailed. “You have no idea.”
Mr. Jupiter looked confused. “I still don’t understand.”
Bernadette looked at Victoria. “For a teacher, he’s not too smart,” she whispered.
“She’s going to have to explain it to him,” Victoria whispered back.
“Let me explain it to you,” sniffled Miss Turner.
“Told you so,” whispered Victoria.
Swallowing her tears, Miss Turner said, “All year I’ve tried to get your attention. I’ve bought new clothes. I’ve dyed my hair. I’ve even tortured myself with these teetering, too-tight shoes. But have you noticed? No! To you, I’m still that mousy librarian you met during your first week at Aesop Elementary.”
Mr. Jupiter looked even more confused. “Mousy?” he repeated. He shook his head. “I didn’t see a mousy librarian that first day. I saw an interesting woman.”
“You did?” said Miss Turner. She blew her nose wetly.
Mr. Jupiter nodded. “Your wire-rimmed glasses reflected your intelligence, and your cardigan—the one with the apples appliquéd on it, if I remember correctly—matched your personality.”
“It did?” said Miss Turner. She dried her mascara-rimmed eyes.
Mr. Jupiter nodded again. “Honestly, Paige. I liked you just the way you were.”
“You did?” said Miss Turner.
“I did,” said Mr. Jupiter.
They gazed at each other.
“Barf-o-rama,” shuddered Ham. “I think they’re going to kiss.”
“I can’t watch,” groaned Jackie. She covered her eyes.
“Quick!” cried Humphrey. “Somebody warn Mr. Jupiter about cooties.”
But it was too late.
Mr. Jupiter leaned down and touched his lips to the librarian’s cheek.
“Awww,” cooed the girls.
“Blecch,” gagged the boys.
“I’ll never wash this cheek again,” said Miss Turner. “And tomorrow? I’m wearing my cardigan.”
MORAL: Appearances aren’t everything.
MR. JUPITER TAKES THE FIFTH
ON THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL, MR.
Jupiter’s students cleaned out their desks. They tossed out pencil nubs, gum wrappers, half-empty glue bottles, and tests with bad grades.
“Oh, look!” Missy suddenly shouted. “I found my mittens.” She pulled out thirty-six pairs of black knitted mittens.
“Oh, gross,” moaned Rose. “I found that first class picture.”
“Oh, joy!” cried Ham. “I found a green jelly bean.”
He popped it into his mouth just as Humphrey said, “That’s not a jelly bean. That’s a moldy piece of tofu from one of my salads.”
Ham smacked his lips. “It was still good.”
“I bet you’re going to be sick,” said Emberly. “I bet you’re going to puke the whole first week of summer vacation and not be able to go to the swimming pool.”
“That’s okay,” said Ernest. “He can always stay home and crochet with me.”
“Pffft,” said Rachel.
Nobody heard her.
“Yikes,” said Jackie. “I hope I don’t catch it. I catch everything, you know—baseballs, basketballs, Frisbees.”
“Get serious,” snorted Stanford. “You can’t catch food poisoning.”
Mr. Jupiter clapped his hands. “It’s time to collect the textbooks. Please pass your spelling manuals to the front.”
Amisha handed hers forward. “Goodbye, old friend,” she whispered.
“Now your math books,” Mr. Jupiter said a few moments later.
Calvin handed his forward. “Goodbye and good riddance,” he whispered.
“And now your organic geochemistry books,” Mr. Jupiter finally said.
“Hey,” cried Melvin, “I never got one of those!”
The others ignored him.
“Is everyone’s desk finally empty?” asked Mr. Jupiter.
“Mine is,” said Lil. And she waxed poetic:
“O empty desk,
Once full of books,
Now full of air,
You sit,
Forlornly,
Waiting for next year.”
The sadness of her poem touched the other students.
Gloomily, they looked around at the classroom’s bare walls and empty shelves. Mr. Jupiter had already taken home his collections of meteorites and Mexican jumping beans. He’d packed up his Tibetan prayer wheel and his Mongolian camel saddle. He’d even hauled away his army-ant farm and his anaconda skin. Now the place was merely a shell of its former self.
“I feel sort of sad,” said Calvin.
“Me too,” said Bernadette.
“Now, now,” said Mr. Jupiter. “It may be the last day of school, but it’s the first day of summer. Who has exciting plans?”
Ham’s eyes sparkled with happiness. “I’m spending two weeks with my grandparents in Hershey, Pennsylvania.”
“I’m going to modeling camp,” said Victoria.
“I’m getting my own subscription to International Geographic,” said Lenny.
“What are you doing, Mr. Jupiter?” Ashlee B. asked.
“I will be embarking on the greatest adventure of my life,” he replied.
“What’s that?” asked Jackie. “Touring America’s baseball parks?”
“No,” said Mr. Jupiter. “I’m going to Mars.”
“Mars!” the children gasped.
Mr. Jupiter nodded. “I’ve been invited by the International Space Academy to help establish a colony there. I’m hoping to open the first interplanetary elementary school in history.”
“Wow,” said Ashley Z. “That’s a lot for one summer.”
“Actually,” said Mr. Jupiter, “I’ll be on Mars for years.” He paused, then added, “Today is my last day at Aesop Elementary School.”
“No!” cried Missy.
“It can’t be true!” wailed Emberly.
“Now I feel really sad,” sobbed Calvin.
Stanford raised his hand. “Who’s going to be our teacher next year?” he asked.
Everyone knew that Mr. Lipschitz, the fifth-grade teacher, had decided to retire early rather than teach the upcoming class.
“Yes, who?” repeated Humphrey.
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Jupiter. “But I’m sure your new teacher will be a caring, loving person who will recognize each and every one of your unique qualities.”
At that moment, Miss Turner breezed into the classroom.
“Why so gloomy?” she asked when she saw the children’s faces.
“Mr. Jupiter’s leaving us!” blurted Rose. “He’s going to Mars.”
The color drained from Miss Turner’s cheeks. “But who will teach the children?” she asked.
The classroom door burst open, and in stalked a man dressed entirely in black and carrying a mysterious leather satchel. He glowered at the children from beneath bushy gray eyebrows.
And Mr. Jupiter turned as white as his whale tooth necklace. He ducked behind Miss Turner.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked.
“Shhh,” whispered Mr. Jupiter.
Miss Turner lowered her voice. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve stood at the edge of an erupting volcano,” Mr. Jupiter whispered frantically, “swum through shark-infested waters, survived an attack of killer bees. But there’s still one thing that strikes fear into my heart—”
“My name is Hermann Kinderschmacker,” growled the man.
“And he’s it,” squeaked Mr. Jupiter. He stuck his head under Miss Turner’s cardigan.
“I will be your fifth-grade teacher,” Mr. Kinderschmacker continued. He smiled menacingly. “And I have ways of making you behave.”
Rose gulped.
Rachel gasped.
And Mr. Jupiter whimpered.
The sound made Mr. Kinderschmacker turn. “Who’s there?” he demanded. “Come out at once.”
On legs that were weaker than Calvin’s math skills, Mr. Jupiter stepped out from behind the librarian. “H … h … hi there, Mr. K … K … Kinderschmacker.” He tried to sound nonchalant.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my old student, Harry Valentine Jupiter,” growled Mr. Kinderschmacker.
Mr. Jupiter tried to smile.
“Where’s your homework?” snapped the fifth-grade teacher.
“H … h … homework?” squeaked Mr. Jupiter. “It’s been twenty-five years since I’ve been in your class. I don’t remember any h … h … homework.”
“I do,” snarled Mr. Kinderschmacker. “You never turned in your final math assignment. We were studying decimals.” He took a step toward his former pupil. “What do you have to say for yourself, Harry Valentine?”
Mr. Jupiter searched his mind for an excuse, any excuse. “W … w … would you believe I lost it fighting this k … k … kid who said you weren’t the b … b … best teacher in the school?” he stammered.
“Hey, that’s my excuse,” said Lenny.
But Mr. Kinderschmacker sneered. “I never believe ANYTHING my students tell me. You know that.” And he snapped open his satchel and pulled out a fifth-grade math book.
At the sight of it, Calvin almost fainted.
“You will do page fifty-eight—now!” thundered Mr. Kinderschmacker.
“But … but …,” began Mr. Jupiter.
“No buts,” warned Mr. Kinderschmacker, “or else.”
Mr. Jupiter yelped, grabbed the book, and sat down at his desk. As he struggled with the first two hundred and fifty-seven math problems, Mr. Kinderschmacker turned back to the students.
“In my classroom you will work,” he barked. “Not only will you be expected to copy each of your spelling words five hundred times a week, but you will be required to turn in one hundred book reports a month, AND do six hours of homework each night.” He looked around the room. “Any questions?”
“Will we tell jokes?” asked Lenny.
“Absolutely not!”
“Will we get snacks?” asked Ham.
“Never!”
“Will we be given time to crochet?” asked Ernest.
“Don’t make me laugh!”
Missy turned to Rose. “I didn’t think he could laugh,” she whispered.
The Fabled Fourth Graders of Aesop Elementary School Page 10
