Never Race a Runaway Pumpkin (2 page)

When we walked into our classroom the next morning, there were pumpkins on Ms. Diz's desk.

A little one and a medium one.

Also there was an apple, a grape, a rock, and a quarter.

Not only that, Mr. McGeely, the janitor, was high up on a ladder in a corner of the room.

He was changing the long lightbulbs.

Pumpkins and lightbulbs!

It was going to be an amazing morning.

“Class, I know a lot of you were interested in the giant pumpkin Mr. Page told us about yesterday,” said Ms. Diz. “That's why we're going to learn about how to guess weight today. We call it
estimating.
”

Mr. McGeely climbed down from the ladder.

“Replaced all the burned-out lights, Ms. Diz,” he said.

“Wonderful,” said Ms. Diz. “It's much brighter in here.”

It was true. You could see all kinds of things.

On the floor I saw a black crayon and a ball of dust shaped like a kangaroo.

And then I saw a penny!

Right under Mr. McGeely's ladder.

Gus saw it too. He made a dive for it.

Gus was halfway under the ladder before I could grab his shirt.

“Gus, no!” I cried. “You can't go under a ladder! It's seven years of bad luck!”

“No, that's if you break a mirror,” Hassan said.

“I think seven years of bad luck is when you step on a crack,” Coco said.

“That's for breaking your mom's back,” Maya said. “Everybody knows that!”

“Excuse me!”
Gus interrupted. “We're talking about a free penny here!”

He grabbed for the penny. But I held on tight and slid him back.

“Maybe it's a lucky penny, Roscoe,” Gus said.

“But going under the ladder would erase
the lucky and turn it to unlucky,” I said.

“Hmm,” said Ms. Diz. “I think I see another wonderful learning opportunity.”

Two learning opportunities in two days!

No wonder Ms. Diz had such a gigantic smile on her face.

“Children,” said Ms. Diz. “Roscoe was worried that if Gus went under a ladder it would be unlucky. But believing that something can cause good luck or bad luck is what we call a
superstition
. Can anyone think of a good reason why walking under a ladder would make bad luck happen?”

“If there was a guy on it painting and the bucket of paint fell on your head,” Wyatt said.

“Well, yes,” said Ms. Diz. “That would
definitely be bad luck. But—”

Coco raised her hand. “I might have my room painted magenta,” she said. “That is what you get when you mix red and blue together.”

“Magenta is a very interesting color,” said Ms. Diz. “But let's try to stay focused on superstitions. Roscoe, what made you think that going under a ladder would be bad luck?”

“My Uncle Ed told me. He knows lots of good superstitions. And he gave me my lucky four-leaf clover. After I got it, the same day I found an old sucker in my pocket and it was only just a little bit fuzzy. So how lucky was that?”

“Pretty lucky,” Ms. Diz agreed.

But I had the feeling she was not a big fan of fuzzy suckers.

Ms. Diz drew a picture of a four-leaf clover and an umbrella on the blackboard.

“Some people believe things bring good luck,” she said. “And some people believe
doing certain things will bring bad luck. Like opening an umbrella in the house. Or breaking a mirror. But superstitions aren't based on fact, and they aren't real.”

“My mom broke a mirror in her purse,”
Maya said. “And then she tripped on my sister's skateboard and broke her toe.”

“But that could have happened even if she hadn't broken a mirror,” said Ms. Diz.

Emma raised her hand. “My neighbor had a black cat cross in front of her in the park. Then she went to a minigolf place and found a green beetle in her corn dog. She blamed the black cat.”

“And I'll bet you told her that didn't make any sense,” said Ms. Diz.

“No,” said Emma. “I told her not to order the corn dog next time. The very next day she fell in a mud puddle. And after that a skunk got in her kitchen and she had to move out of her house for a week because of the smell.”

“Wow,” I said. “Black cats really are bad luck!”

“Roscoe,” said Ms. Diz, “in many countries, black cats are considered good luck. But the truth is, black cats are not good luck or bad luck. Neither are green kangaroos or purple alligators.”

“I know you're the teacher and all,” I said, “but I'm pretty sure alligators don't come in purple.”

“Let's try this another way,” Ms. Diz said. “Emma, do you think the black cat caused your neighbor's problems?”

Emma made a not-sure look.

I know that look. I maybe even invented it.

“How many of you think the black cat caused Emma's neighbor to eat a green beetle and fall in a mud puddle and have a skunk in her house?” Ms. Diz asked.

We all raised our hands.

“How many of you think Maya's mom tripped on a skateboard because she broke a mirror?” Ms. Diz asked.

We all raised our hands again.

“How many of you think I should paint my room magenta?” Coco asked.

Ms. Diz had that I-need-a-nap look she sometimes gets, but usually not until the end of the day.

She took a deep breath. “Maybe we should move on to a different learning opportunity,” she said.

After school my mom picked up Max, my big brother, and me so we could go to the store to get new jeans.

All my knees had holes again.

My little sister, Hazel, was in her car seat. She was wearing fairy wings, her swimsuit, pajama bottoms, and yellow mittens.

The usual.

“Hazel, your socks don't match,” Max said.

“Neither do Roscoe's,” she pointed out.

“The red one is my lucky sock,” I said. “When I wear it on my right foot, something good always happens.”

“Remind me to wash that one of these years,” Mom said.

“So what good thing happened today because of your red sock?” Hazel asked.

“Nothing yet,” I admitted. “But if Mom will take us to the bookstore, I think something wonderful might happen.”

I gave Mom my sweetest smile.

It takes all my smile muscles.

“Mom, can we go to the bookstore after we buy clothes?” I asked. “I need to weigh a giant pumpkin.”

Mom looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Could you run that by me again?”

I explained all about the pumpkin and the bookstore and the school winning lots of books.

I kind of forgot to mention the part about me winning a googol pounds of candy.

Mom said yes. Not even “We'll see” or “Maybe some other time, Roscoe.”

We drove to a giant store called the Clothes Closet. It has pants and socks and underwear and other stuff that wears out.

It is also probably the most boring place on the planet.

Finally it was time for the bookstore.

Hilltop Bookstore was at the very tip-top of a big hill.

Mom parked the car at the bottom of the hill near a statue of our town founder, Thomas Toadswaddle.

It's a very big statue made of metal.

He is wearing an old-fashioned hat. And holding a porcupine.

Nobody knows why.

I guess he just liked porcupines.

We walked past the statue and up the hill. Max and Hazel and I beat Mom to the bookstore.

There it was at last. The giant pumpkin.

It was beautiful and big and very orange.

It was the size of a baby dinosaur.

Or maybe a teenager elephant.

We made
whoa
and
no way
sounds.

Max whistled. I tried to whistle, but my
whistle has more spit than whistle.

Then Hazel told Mom I was spitting on her.

Which was true. But it doesn't count as real spitting if it's whistle spit. And not on purpose.

When we got inside, the bookstore clerk said, “I saw you checking out our pumpkin. Would you like to guess its weight?”

“You bet!” I said.

“Just write down your guess, and be sure to include your name and phone number,” said the bookstore guy, whose name was Dan.

It said so on his name tag.

Sometimes knowing a little about reading comes in very handy.

“I guess fifteen pounds because that's how old Rachel is and she is my favorite
babysitter,” Hazel said.

“Okay, Hazel,” said Mom. “Fifteen pounds it is.”

Mom wrote down Hazel's guess for her.

Then Max wrote his.

Mom read the contest rules. “If one of you kids wins, you are all sharing the candy prize,” she said. “And you're making it last five years.”

“Mommy, can I look at the pop-up books?” Hazel asked.

“Sure,” said Mom. “Roscoe, we'll just be over in the children's books. Take your best guess, sweetie.”

I walked back and forth past the giant pumpkin.

I looked it up and down.

I knocked on it. I even sniffed it.

Max groaned. “Just write down some number, Roscoe. It's not like you're actually going to win.”

Big brothers should come with a set of earplugs.

It is hard to keep your candy-and-books dream alive when they are around.

I touched my lucky red sock for good luck.

Then I closed my eyes and waited to see if the perfect number popped into my brain.

But instead of a number, I thought of a fuzzy caterpillar.

Then I thought of a fuzzy panda bear.

Then I thought of a fuzzy—

Something was tickling my hand!

“Look, Roscoe!” Hazel said. “I found this kitty in the pop-up books!”

I opened my eyes. Hazel was holding a tiny kitten.

A real one.

A real, live BLACK CAT!

I jumped back.

WAY back.

“Hazel!” I cried. “That's a black cat!”

“Well, duh,” she said.

“Black cats are bad luck!”

“Roscoe,” said Mom, “that's silly.”

“Uncle Ed says if a black cat walks in front of you, it's bad luck forever,” I said.

“Sweetie, Uncle Ed is my brother and I love him dearly,” Mom said. “But he can be a little nutty sometimes. He's the only person I know who owns a pair of lucky underwear.”

“We call this kitty No-name,” said Dan.

He scratched the kitten behind her ears.

You could hear her purring.

It was an awfully nice sound to be coming from such an unlucky animal.

“We found her outside the front door yesterday morning,” Dan said. “We're hoping someone will want to give her a good home.”

Hazel held out the kitty. No-name rubbed her head on my arm.

“Somebody stop that thing!” I yelled.

I hid behind my mom.

That's what moms are for, after all.

“Please calm down,” Mom said.

I peeked around Mom. “Why was she rubbing on me?” I asked.

“She wanted to see what you'd taste like,” said Max.

“She was putting her scent on you,” Mom explained.

I sniffed my hand. “I don't smell anything. Except my peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich from lunch.”

“You can't smell anything, but she can,” said Mom. “And so can other cats. She's trying to say, ‘Roscoe belongs to me.'”

“Mom, can we take her home, please?” Hazel begged.
“Pleasepleasepleaseplease?”

“I'm not sure if Goofy would like that idea,” said Mom.

Goofy is our big white silly dog.

I do not actually know what his opinion is on cats.

“But Mom, she's so fuzzy and cute!” Hazel cried.

“I'll think about it,” Mom said.

Hazel kissed the kitty's face.

“Hazel,” I warned, “you're going to have bad-luck germs all over you.”

“It's time for us to go, Roscoe,” said Mom. “Did you make your guess about the pumpkin's weight?”

The kitten made a little squeaky
mew
sound.

“What was
that?
” I demanded.

“She's putting a curse on you,” Max said. But he said it too quietly for Mom to hear him.

I grabbed Mom's arm. “Mom, I really think we should get out of here,” I said.

I didn't care about the books for the school anymore.

Or even the candy for my stomach.

Not with that bad-luck kitty around.