by Louis Sachar
There were lots of rules in the library. No eating, no drinking, no yelling, no somersaults, and no hugging the walrus until after you checked out a book.
Mrs. Surlaw wheeled her book cart along a row of bookcases. She picked up a book, turned to the last page, and then put it on the shelf where it belonged. She took another book, checked its last page, and put that one in its proper place as well.
She heard the rumble of feet on the stairs, and the chirps and shrieks of young voices. This was followed by shushing sounds.
Mrs. Jewls’s class politely entered the library. They were scared of Mrs. Surlaw.
While the two adults greeted each other, the children scurried to different parts of the library. They had only fifteen minutes to choose and check out a book.
“Have you read The Pig, the Princess, and the Potato?” Leslie asked Jenny.
“Is it good?”
“Only the best book ever!”
Mrs. Surlaw smiled when she heard that. The only thing she loved more than books were children who loved books. She may have seemed severe on the outside, but inside, her heart was soft as a pillow.
Some libraries have separate areas for fiction and nonfiction. Mrs. Surlaw didn’t believe in that sort of thing. After all, who was she to decide what was true and what wasn’t?
She also didn’t believe in alphabetical order.
Her books were organized by number of pages. Skinny books were at one end of the library, and the fat ones were at the opposite end.
Along the shelves were number markers: 10, 20, 30 . . . all the way to 1,000. If someone in Mrs. Jewls’s class wanted to read this book, he or she could find it between the 180 and 190 markers.
Joy was looking through the books between the 40 and 50 markers. She had already read every book in the library with fewer than forty pages.
Allison liked long novels. She was looking through the ones that were between 230 and 240 pages.
Jason stood behind her, watching.
At last, Allison chose her book. It had 232 pages.
Jason took the one next to it, with 233 pages.
Allison scowled at him. She put her book back, and then chose one farther down the shelf, with 238 pages.
Jason put his book back too. He took one with 239 pages.
Allison pretended not to notice, even though she was burning inside. She looked at her book. “I think I already read this,” she said aloud. She returned it to the shelf. “La-di-da,” she said. “What book do I want to read?”
Suddenly she dashed to the end of the aisle, and around a corner.
Jason had trouble squeezing his book back into place. By the time he did, he couldn’t see Allison anywhere.
He went from one end of the library to the other, searching between the aisles. When he finally saw her, she was hugging the walrus. That meant she had already checked out her book.
He went to her. “Hey, Allison,” he said. “Can I see your book?”
“No,” she replied.
“How many pages?” he asked.
“I’m not telling you.”
“More than three hundred?”
“Maybe.”
“No way,” he said. “Even you wouldn’t read a book with more than three hundred pages.”
Allison shrugged.
“More than three hundred and fifty?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
“Five hundred?”
“Maybe.”
“Just tell me the title.”
“No!”
“I’m just trying to help you,” he explained. “Maybe I’ve already read it. I could tell you if it’s any good. You don’t want to read a five-hundred-page book if it’s boring, or has a bunch of kissing in it.”
Rondi finished checking out her book, and then hugged the walrus too.
“Let’s go, Rondi,” said Allison.
Jason watched the two girls leave the library.
He went to Mrs. Surlaw. “How many pages in Allison’s book?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, Jason,” the librarian told him. “That is confidential information.”
Jason sighed.
He returned to the bookshelves, wondering if Allison really chose a book with five hundred pages. It seemed impossible. Nobody could read a book that long, even if it had big print and short chapters.
Still he couldn’t be sure. Just to be safe, he chose a book with 510 pages. There was no way Allison chose a longer book than that! He started to bring it to Mrs. Surlaw.
But what if she did?
He put the book back, then found one with 573 pages. She couldn’t have chosen a book with more pages than that!
Again, he started to Mrs. Surlaw’s desk.
But what if she did?
He returned the book to its place on the shelf, and then chose one with 611 pages. A moment later he returned it.
No matter which book he chose, the same question kept returning.
But what if she did?
Finally, Jason chose the last book, on the last shelf, at the very end of the library. He had to hold it with both hands as he lugged it to the checkout desk.
The number on its last page was 999. The book made a loud thud as he plopped it down on the desk.
“Excellent choice, Jason!” Mrs. Surlaw said when she saw the book. “I know you will enjoy reading it.”
Reading it? He couldn’t even carry it.
Jason hugged the walrus.
13
Umbrella
Sharie liked walking in the rain. She liked stomping through puddles in her yellow rain boots. Most of all, she loved her umbrella, even if it did get heavy after a while.
Her umbrella was purple with green stripes. Or maybe it was green with purple stripes. She couldn’t be sure. The whole thing was covered with yellow polka dots of various sizes.
She liked listening to the raindrops bounce off of it. The harder it rained, the better the sound. She liked the feel of the smooth, curved wooden handle.
She was still a block away from the school when she heard the whoop-whoop. Now she was going to be late! She had done too much puddle stomping, and not enough straight-ahead walking.
She tried to hurry, but it was difficult to run while carrying her umbrella, especially in her yellow boots.
By the time she reached the outer edges of the school, the eight-minute warning bell was already clanging.
She counted the clangs and was disappointed when they stopped at eight. She was hoping for a porcupine.
Glancing down, she noticed the sidewalk around the school was dry. She stuck out one hand. The rain seemed to have stopped.
She tilted the umbrella a little to the side and looked up.
The Cloud of Doom had kept all the other clouds away, including the rain clouds. Sharie glared at the horrible cloud. It almost seemed alive as it turned and churned inside itself.
Suddenly a gust of wind tore the umbrella from her hand.
Horrified, she watched it bounce across the blacktop toward the school. She chased after it.
The umbrella hit the bike rack and stuck there for a moment. But just as Sharie got there, it swooped upward.
She jumped and managed to grab the curved handle.
The umbrella continued to rise.
She thought about letting go, but she didn’t want to lose her umbrella. She held on with both hands.
When she passed the second-floor window, she realized she probably should have let go sooner.
When she rose past the third floor, she wished she had let go at the second floor.
When she reached the fourth floor, she wished she had let go when she was back at the third floor.
By the time she reached the sixth floor, it was definitely too late.
Her left rain boot slipped off when she passed the ninth floor. She watched it fall the long way down.
Higher and higher, scarier and scarier. She passed the seventeenth floor, the eighteenth, the twentieth.
(There was no
nineteenth floor.)
She could see inside the classroom windows as she went past them. Some of the kids waved at her.
She couldn’t wave back. She couldn’t risk falling.
Although the alternative wasn’t much better. If she continued to hang on, she realized, she’d be sucked into the Cloud of Doom.
She passed the twenty-fifth floor, then the twenty-sixth, and the twenty-seventh. She knew the floor numbers by the teachers she saw through the windows.
At the thirtieth floor, she could see her own desk, next to the window.
The window was open.
She closed her eyes, then jumped.
A horn blared.
When Sharie opened her eyes, she lay sprawled across the top of her desk.
“Oh, you are here, Sharie,” said Mrs. Jewls. “Funny, I didn’t see you. I was just about to mark you absent. Were you sleeping?”
Maybe it was a dream. She hoped so. If not, her favorite umbrella was lost forever!
Her left foot felt cold.
On her right foot she wore a yellow rain boot, but on the left, just a thin red sock.
14
Mr. K and Dr. P
(Author’s note: Due to strict rules about confidentiality, and to avoid unnecessary embarrassment for those involved, the names of the characters have been omitted from this story. Please don’t try to guess.)
Mr. K headed up the stairs. He wore a paper bag over his head. It was ten o’clock in the morning. All the little brats—as he liked to call them—should be in class, but he wore the paper bag just in case he encountered a stray one.
When he reached the third floor, he tripped over the top step and fell onto the landing.
“I knew I should have cut out some eyeholes,” he said to himself. His knee hurt, but that was the least of his worries. He got back to his feet and limped up the stairs.
Actually, only one eyehole would have helped. His left eye was shut tight. His other eye was wide open. The eyebrow was raised in a constant expression of surprise.
By counting his steps, he knew when he reached the fourth floor. He felt his way to the door, then knocked.
“Yes, who’s there?” asked Dr. P from the other side.
Mr. K did not want to say his name aloud in case anyone was listening. He opened the door and entered.
If Dr. P was surprised to see a person with a bag over his head, he didn’t show it. He had been trained to keep a straight face, no matter what! Whenever someone came to see him, it was part of his job to act like everything was perfectly normal.
“Yes, what seems to be the problem?” he asked, stroking his beard.
Mr. K removed the bag.
“Yikes!” screamed Dr. P, throwing both his hands up in the air.
He quickly regained his composure. “So, why did you come see me?” he asked as he rubbed his beard.
Mr. K made an “uhhhh” noise as he pointed to his face.
“Your face is stuck?” said Dr. P.
Mr. K nodded.
“Please, have a seat.”
Mr. K sat on the couch.
Dr. P came closer to get a better look. He poked a puffed-out cheek. “Does this hurt?” he asked.
Mr. K shook his head.
“How about this?” He tugged on the tip of Mr. K’s tongue.
Again, Mr. K shook his head.
“Very interesting,” said Dr. P.
He walked to the bookshelf. “Hmm . . .” he muttered as he tried to find the book he needed. “This should do it!” he declared, removing a very fat book.
He bonked Mr. K on the top of the head with it.
“Uhh!” exclaimed Mr. K.
“Any better?” Dr. P.
“I bit my tongue,” Mr. K said without moving his lips.
“Hmm, this will be more difficult than I thought,” said Dr. P. He returned to the bookshelf, chose a different book, and brought it to his desk. He thumbed through the pages. “Cold feet . . . sticky fingers . . . ah, here we are, stuck face!”
He silently read to himself for a minute or two, then looked up and asked, “Did you have a pet when you were a child?”
Mr. K nodded.
Dr. P looked back at his book and read some more.
“A cat?”
Mr. K shook his head.
“A dog?”
He nodded.
“Did you love your dog?”
Mr. K’s head didn’t move at all. A tear trickled out of his eye and dripped down his face.
“Excellent!” declared Dr. P. “I think we’re making real progress.”
He shut the book, scooted his chair up close, and leaned toward Mr. K. “Look into my eyes,” he said.
With his one eye, Mr. K stared at Dr. P.
Dr. P stared back.
He held up a gold chain with a green stone attached. He let the stone swing gently back and forth between them. Their faces were so close, the stone kept barely missing their noses.
“I’m going to take you back to another time and place,” said Dr. P. “You are just a young boy, playing with your dog in your backyard. Your grandmother smiles from the kitchen window. A pie is baking in the oven. You can smell cinnamon.”
Mr. K’s nose twitched.
“Now your grandmother is outside, holding the pie. She asks if you want some.”
Mr. K’s tongue remained sticking out. However, it slowly moved from one side of his mouth to the other.
Dr. P noted the breakthrough.
“But instead of giving you a piece of pie,” he said, “she smashes it in your face!”
Mr. K’s mouth popped open. Then his face snapped back into place.
His eyebrow lowered. His eye opened. His cheek unpuffed. His tongue went back inside where it belonged.
“Why did she do that to me?” he cried.
Dr. P handed him a tissue.
Mr. K wiped his eyes, and then cleaned the imaginary pie off his face. He stood and straightened his suit.
“You won’t tell anybody anything about this, will you?” he asked.
“Everything that happens inside this office is strictly confidential,” Dr. P assured him.
Mr. K left the office feeling as dignified as ever.
Dr. P leaned back in his chair, with his hands behind his head. He felt very satisfied. It’s not every day that he gets to help someone as important as Mr. K.
Dr. P’s tongue was sticking out.
His left eyebrow was raised. His right eye was shut tight. And it looked like he was trying to swallow a tennis ball.
15
The Unbreakables
It’s bad enough when two friends fight. It’s even worse when three friends pick on a fourth.
Joe and John were best friends.
“Shut up!” said Joe.
“You shut up!” said John.
Rondi and Allison were best friends.
“May I borrow a pencil?” asked Allison.
“Here, stick it up your nose!” said Rondi.
Maybe it was because they were worried and anxious about the Cloud of Doom looming above them. Maybe it was because their fingernails and toenails were growing too fast. For whatever reason, the longer everyone spent beneath the Cloud, the crabbier they got.
Maurecia, Joy, Deedee, and Ron were more than just best friends forever. Their friendship was so strong, they called themselves the “Unbreakables.”
Every morning, they met before school by the flagpole. They had a special four-handed handshake. Each would hold out one hand, and they’d lock thumbs to pinkies. Then they’d raise and lower their hands three times and shout, “Unbreakable!”
The lunch bell kaboinked four times, and the Unbreakables headed down the stairs together.
“I wonder what we’re having today,” Deedee said.
“Didn’t you count the kaboinks?” asked Maurecia.
“Spaghetti and feetballs,” said Joy.
“Ooh, I like those,” said Deedee.
“You would,” said Ron. “T
hey smell as bad as your feet.”
He held his nose.
“My feet don’t stink,” said Deedee.
Joy held her nose too, and said, “Not to you, but to everyone else!”
Maurecia and Ron laughed.
They entered the cafeteria. Deedee took a tray and pushed it to Miss Mush. The lunch teacher handed her a plate of spaghetti topped with a foot-shaped meat patty.
Deedee set the plate on her tray, next to her history book. She was careful not to spill any feetsauce. Her half-finished homework was folded inside the book. It was due after lunch.
She sat down with the others at one of the long tables. She cut off a piece of a feetball, swished it around in the sauce, and ate it.
“You eat the heel first?” asked Maurecia.
“So, what’s wrong with that?” asked Deedee.
“It’s gross!” said Ron. “You’re supposed to start with the toes!”
“Who says?”
“It’s just how it’s done,” said Joy. “Ask anyone.”
“You don’t know everything!” Deedee said angrily as she shook her fork at her friends.
A bit of sauce dropped on her paper.
“Now look what you did!” she accused them.
“You did it to yourself,” said Joy.
Deedee tried to wipe it up with her napkin, but that only made it worse. “Now I have to start all over!” she complained.
Deedee remained in the cafeteria long after her friends left to go play. She still had one question to answer, and one last toe to eat.
It didn’t seem fair that her friends were outside playing, while she was stuck inside.
“Stupid Ron,” she muttered. “Stupid Maurecia. Stupid Joy. They’re the ones with stinky feet!”
When at last she finished, she put her dishes in the dish tray, and dumped her trash. She hurried out of the lunchroom, and down the stairs.
Once outside, she saw them playing three-square, and wasn’t sure if she even wanted to join them.
Suddenly, her face filled with horror. “Oh, no!” she called out, and then pulled her hair with both hands.
She didn’t have her homework, or her history book! She turned and ran back into the building.
Miss Mush and Mr. Pepperadder were busy wiping the counter with dishrags when Deedee came rushing up them.
