Karen's School

by Ann M. Martin

  Smelly old Mr. Howard.

  Smelly Mr. Howard

  One Monday morning when I walked into my classroom, I had a surprise. Guess who was already sitting at Ms. Colman’s desk. Mr. Howard. He was going to be our teacher for the next two weeks. Ms. Colman would not be our teacher at all. Bullfrogs.

  I sat down at my desk. My desk is smack in front of the teacher’s desk. In fact, they touch each other.

  “Good morning, Karen,” said Mr. Howard. He smiled at me.

  “Good morning,” I answered. Maybe Mr. Howard liked me after all. I could not tell. But I decided I would try to be nice to him.

  I moved to the back of the room. Hannie and Nancy were there. They were sitting on their desks and talking. Nancy was wearing a flowery dress with a wide lace collar. On her feet were her black tappy party shoes with bows. She had tied a ribbon in her hair.

  When Nancy saw me, she sighed. Then she said dreamily, “Just think. Two whole weeks with Mr. Howard.”

  “And Chocolate Factory Day,” I added.

  “With real chocolate,” said Hannie.

  “With Mr. Howard,” repeated Nancy.

  Soon Mr. Howard began to take roll. As I sat down at my desk, I told myself again to be nice to Mr. Howard. And to be polite. And to be a help. I decided to help him be just like Ms. Colman.

  During science, Mr. Howard asked Natalie to read aloud.

  I raised my hand right away and called out, “Oh, Mr. Howard, Ms. Colman doesn’t make Natalie read aloud unless she wants to. Because of her lisp.”

  “But I am asking her to,” said Mr. Howard.

  When art class was over, Mr. Howard collected the pictures we had colored of imaginary factories. He put them in our folders.

  “Oh, Mr. Howard!” I called out. “Ms. Colman always puts our pictures on the bulletin board. So we can be proud of them.”

  “The bulletin board is full, Karen,” said Mr. Howard.

  I turned around to look at Ms. Colman. She was sitting in the back of the room. She was watching Mr. Howard. But Ms. Colman did not look back at me. She began to write in a notebook. Anyway, she had not said a word all day. She was letting Mr. Howard be in charge.

  I decided that maybe Mr. Howard did not want my help.

  On Tuesday, I did not help Mr. Howard, but I was still trying to be nice and polite. I thought he would want to know that he had a stain on his necktie. It looked like tomato soup.

  “Mr. Howard?” I said. (I forgot to raise my hand.) “You have a stain on your necktie. You should probably wash it out.”

  Mr. Howard’s face turned red. But all he said was, “Karen, can’t you remember to raise your hand?”

  Then my face turned red.

  On Wednesday, I was a little noisy. (I got excited thinking about Chocolate Factory Day.) When I am noisy around Ms. Colman, she just says to me, “Indoor voice, Karen.”

  But Mr. Howard must not know about indoor voices. He said, “Karen Brewer, stop your shouting! I cannot hear myself think.”

  Humphh.

  On Thursday, I had a lot of ideas about Chocolate Factory Day. I kept calling them out. Do you know what Mr. Howard finally said to me? He said, “Karen, you are too noisy. Please keep quiet for the rest of the afternoon.”

  Smelly old Mr. Howard.

  Karen on Strike

  I decided I hated Mr. Howard. He was not just smelly. He was mean. I knew he did not like me.

  So I hated him.

  I wished the next week were over and he would go away.

  I wished I did not have to go to school until he had gone away.

  But I knew I had to go to school. I could not pretend to be sick for a whole week. Still — I did not have to talk to Mr. Howard, did I? After all, he had told me to keep quiet for the rest of the afternoon. Well, I would do better than that. I would keep quiet for the next week.

  I went on strike.

  At home on Friday morning, even before breakfast, I got out a piece of notebook paper. Then I found a red marker. In huge letters I wrote ON STRICK on the paper. That did not look quite right, so I found another piece of paper and wrote ON STRIKE. There. That was better. I folded the paper and tucked it into my backpack. I tossed in a roll of tape, too.

  “Karen, what are you doing?” asked Andrew. He was peering into my room.

  “I am going on strike,” I told him. Then I had to explain to him what that meant.

  “I hope your strike works,” said Andrew.

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  When I reached my classroom, I taped the sign to my shirt. Then I folded my arms and sat at my desk.

  “Hi, Karen!” said Hannie when she ran into the room.

  I did not answer her, since I was on strike. But I did not want her to think I was mad at her, so I pointed to my sign.

  “You’re on strike?” said Hannie, and I nodded.

  “Hi, Karen!” called Ricky when he entered the room.

  I pointed to my sign again.

  By the time Mr. Howard showed up, half the class knew I was on strike. (Ms. Colman was not in the room. She was not going to come until the afternoon. She had said so the day before.)

  Soon Mr. Howard called the roll. “Karen Brewer,” he said.

  I did not answer.

  “Karen?” he said again. He was looking right at me.

  Hannie raised her hand. “Mr. Howard,” she said, “Karen is on strike.”

  Mr. Howard peered at my sign. His face grew red, but he did not say anything. He continued taking the roll.

  Guess what I did all morning at school. Nothing. I just sat at my desk. I did not talk, I did not work. At lunchtime I followed my class to the cafeteria, but that was only so I would not get stuck sitting alone in the classroom with Mr. Howard.

  After lunch came recess. And after recess, my classmates and I returned to our room. Ms. Colman was there. She was talking to Mr. Howard. When she saw me, she said, “Karen, I would like to speak with you, please.”

  Ms. Colman and I sat together at the back of the room. My teacher looked at my sign. She said, “I understand you are on strike.”

  I nodded. “Yes. And I am going to stay on strike all next week. I am going to stay on strike until Mr. Howard has left. I am even going to stay on strike during Chocolate Factory Day.” (I hoped I would ruin Chocolate Factory Day for Mr. Howard.)

  Ms. Colman did not look happy. “I am afraid you may not do that, Karen. If you do, you will need to talk to the principal. And I will have to call your parents. School is a place for working, not striking. I would like you to try to get along with Mr. Howard.”

  My mouth dropped open. Go to the principal’s office? Ms. Colman had never, ever said anything like that to me. So I told her that my strike was over. But I was not sure I meant it.

  The Flunk-Outs

  Another big-house weekend had arrived. It was time for two more days of Miss Karen’s School. I wondered whether my students would remember to come. I wondered whether they would bring their homework.

  By 10:05 every one of my students had arrived.

  Not one of them had brought his homework.

  “In real school you have to bring in your homework!” I cried. (I was still mad at Mr. Howard, and my mad feelings were spilling over.) Andrew raised his hand. “I will remember to do my homework tonight.”

  “I hope so,” I told him. (Andrew stuck out his lower lip, but I did not pay any attention to that.) “Okay. Reading time,” I announced. “The big kids will work with me on flash cards. Emily and Sari will work with Miss Hannie on their letters.” I paused. Then I added, “Not on My Little Ponies. Reading is fifteen minutes long.”

  After reading came art. “Today,” I said, “we are going to color pages from my coloring book. Please use the colors I tell you to use.”

  “Excuse me, Miss Karen,” said Hannie. “Why do they have to use the colors you say to use? Why can’t they choose their own colors?”

  “Hannie,” I whispered loudly. “Leave things to me. I am
the teacher. And you are just my helper.”

  Hannie did not answer. But I think she stuck her tongue out at me. I turned around fast, trying to see. But she was already handing out crayons to my students.

  “Now, everybody,” I said, “make the tops of the trees green and the trunks brown. Make the grass green, too.”

  “I want to make the top of my tree red,” said Callie. “The tree outside my window is turning red.”

  And Hannie said to me, “Karen, Emily and Sari are not coloring. They can’t. They are just scribbling. Emily is scribbling with Dusty Rose, and Sari is scribbling with Burnt Sienna.”

  I sighed. I did not know what to do. Finally I let the scribblers scribble, but I told Callie she had to color her tree green.

  When art was over, I read a book to my students. It was called Outside Over There.

  After that it was time for writing. I handed out tracing worksheets. The big kids were going to trace the alphabet again. Sari and Emily were going to trace shapes.

  Andrew pouted when he saw his worksheet. “Letters again?” he said.

  “Yup,” I replied. “Letters make words. And you are the one who wanted to learn to write words,” I reminded him.

  “I know,” said Andrew. “But I do not want to trace anymore.”

  “Then how are you going to learn to write?”

  “I don’t know. But no more tracing.”

  “No tracing for Callie and me, either,” said Keith. He crossed his arms.

  I crossed my arms, too. “All right,” I said. “Then I am flunking you. All of you.” I glanced at Sari and Emily. “Sari and Emily, too,” I added. “Because they are not tracing. Everybody gets an F today.”

  “You mean we are flunk-outs?” cried Andrew.

  I nodded my head firmly. “Yes.”

  “But I am only four!” said Andrew.

  “Sorry,” I replied. “Okay. I guess school is over for today. Your homework is to practice writing your names. See you tomorrow.”

  “Maybe,” said Keith and Callie.

  Andrew on Strike

  I do not know if Andrew did his homework on Saturday night. I did not pester him about it. I had decided that if he was going to be in real school, then he should remember to do his homework himself.

  On Sunday morning I walked Emily into Miss Karen’s School. I sat her in her place on the floor.

  “Now we just have to wait for the other students,” I told her.

  At ten o’clock sharp, Hannie came over. She brought Sari with her. Hannie and Sari and Emily and I waited for five minutes.

  At 10:05, I said, “Andrew and Callie and Keith are late. I will go find Andrew.” I paused. Then I added, “I hope he did his homework.”

  I was just about to step into the hall when I heard footsteps. Then my other students entered the room. They walked silently to their table.

  “Good morning,” I said as they sat down.

  At first they did not answer. Finally Andrew said, “We are on strike.”

  “On strike?” I repeated.

  “On strike?” said Hannie. “You mean like when Karen was on strike in Mr. Howard’s class on Friday?”

  Andrew did not say anything. Neither did Keith and Callie. They just sat at their table with their hands folded.

  I decided to pretend they were not on strike.

  “Okay,” I said. “I will now take attendance. When I call your name, raise your hand and say, ‘Here.’ ” (To be on the safe side, I started with the little kids.) “Emily?” I said.

  Hannie nudged Emily. She helped her raise her hand. “Here!” said Emily.

  I called Sari’s name. Hannie nudged Sari. “Here!” said Sari.

  I called Andrew’s name. No answer.

  “Callie?” (No answer.) “Keith?” (No answer.) “Does that mean you are absent?” I asked. I thought Andrew might laugh at my joke, but he did not. Neither did Callie or Keith. I glanced at Hannie. She shrugged.

  “Well,” I went on, “today we will have writing first. Who remembered to do their homework?”

  After a pause, Hannie said, “I do not think you gave any homework to Sari and Emily. So they did not do any.”

  “Right,” I agreed. “Andrew and Callie and Keith, did you practice writing your names? … Come on, did you?”

  Still they would not answer me. They would not even look at me.

  “All right. I will work with Sari and Emily,” I said. I sat on the floor with them. Hannie sat next to me. “Are you ready to try tracing some fun letters?” I asked.

  Sari and Emily had found three old Barbie dolls. Sari was patting their hair. Emily was putting one in a baby doll’s bed.

  “No dolls now,” I told my students. “Time to work.” I took Emily’s doll out of the bed. I moved it away from her.

  “Mine!” shrieked Emily.

  “Not now. Okay. If you do not want to trace, you can practice learning your letters. Emily, Sari, what is this letter?”

  “Play doll?” asked Sari.

  I sighed. Then I stood up and looked around the classroom. Three of my students were sitting, doing nothing. One of them was playing with a Barbie doll. One was crying. (Emily.) It was not much of a school.

  “All right,” I said. “School is closed.”

  “Good,” said Andrew. He and Keith and Callie ran out of the room. Hannie led Emily and Sari out. And I hung a Closed sign on the door.

  Karen Is Mean

  I decided my school was a flunk-out. My school, my very own school.

  After Hannie and my students left, I stood in the hallway. I looked at the Closed sign hanging on the doorknob. The sign made me very sad, so I walked away from it.

  I sat in my room for a while. I read a chapter in a book. I drew a picture with my markers. Then I looked at my watch. It was still only eleven-thirty in the morning. The weekend was not over. All of Sunday afternoon was left, plus a teeny bit of the morning. Maybe I could find someone to play with me. I wandered downstairs. I wandered onto the front porch. Hannie was probably at her house. She would play with me.

  Just as I was about to run across the street, Hannie’s front door opened. Out came Hannie … and Nancy. What was Nancy doing at the Papadakises’ house? Why hadn’t she and Hannie called me? The Three Musketeers always play together. Oh, well. Maybe they were on their way over to the big house. I waited for a moment. No. My two best friends sat down together under a tree.

  “Hey! Hey, you guys!” I shouted.

  Hannie looked up. “Hi,” she said.

  “Come on over here!” I called.

  Hannie and Nancy glanced at each other. Finally Hannie said, “No thanks. That’s okay.”

  “Well then, I will come over there,” I said. I dashed across the street. “Why didn’t you want to come to my house?” I asked my friends.

  Hannie and Nancy looked at each other again. Then Nancy said, “Karen, I do not really want to play with you today.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I am mad at you.”

  “Mad at me? What did I do?”

  “You were not very nice to Mr. Howard on Friday. I did not like your strike. You hurt Mr. Howard’s feelings,” said Nancy.

  “But he is not nice to me!” I cried.

  Nancy shrugged. “Everyone else likes him.”

  “So?”

  “So are you going to be on strike next week, too?”

  “I don’t know. I have not made up my mind yet,” I said.

  “Because if you are on strike, you will ruin Chocolate Factory Day.”

  “I know,” I replied. I grinned.

  “Well, excuse me, Karen, but I am looking forward to Chocolate Factory Day,” said Nancy. “I do not want you to ruin it. If you ruin it, you ruin it for me and everyone else. You are being mean. And you are being especially mean to Mr. Howard.”

  “Why are you taking his side?” I yelled. “I thought you were one of my best friends. Best friends are supposed to take the same side.”

  “H
ow can I take your side when you are being stupid?” asked Nancy.

  “Stupid? I am not being stupid!”

  “Are too.”

  “Am not.”

  I looked at Hannie. She shrugged. “This is your fight,” she said to Nancy and me. “I am striking the fight.” She closed her mouth.

  I turned back to Nancy. I narrowed my eyes. “Mr. Howard is not nice. He is not fair. And his hair smells.”

  “Karen,” said Nancy, “why don’t you just go home?”

  So I did.

  A Good Teacher

  I ran across the street. I ran across our lawn. I ran through the front door of the big house and all the way up the stairs to my room. Then I flopped on my bed.

  I held Tickly in one hand and I hugged Moosie with the other. I cried a little bit. When I finished crying, I grumbled to Moosie. “Nancy is horrible. She is a meanie-mo. She is my best enemy, not my best friend. We should kick her out of the Three Musketeers. Mr. Howard is horrible, too. I do not care what Ms. Colman said. I am going to be on strike again tomorrow. And Andrew — ”

  “Karen?”

  I glanced up. Kristy was standing in the doorway. “Hi,” I said.

  “Is something wrong?” Kristy wanted to know.

  “Is something wrong?” I repeated. “Every-thing is wrong.”

  Kristy sat next to me on the bed. “Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked. She picked up one of my dolls and began to braid its hair. “Well,” I said slowly. “It’s school. Real school and Miss Karen’s School. They are both a big mess.”

  “What is the matter with Miss Karen’s School?” asked Kristy.

  “Nobody will listen to me. Nobody will do what I say. I am in charge!” I cried. “My students do not do their homework — ”

  “You assigned homework?” said Kristy.

  I nodded. “The first time I made Andrew do his. But he does not remember on his own. Neither do Callie and Keith. And they will not color their pictures the way I say to, or practice tracing their letters. Plus, I made a schedule, but the kids will not do their tracing during tracing time. The big kids want to do other things, and the little kids keep playing with dolls and stuff.” I paused. “So yesterday I flunked everyone for the day. And today, Andrew and Callie and Keith were on strike. They just sat at their table. They would not even talk. Finally I closed Miss Karen’s School.”