The Fabled Fifth Graders of Aesop Elementary School
Read The Fabled Fifth Graders of Aesop Elementary School Online
Authors: Candace Fleming
For the endlessly energetic Patty Williams and her
talented WSIC Tech Team at Washington
Elementary School—thanks for the inspiration!
Hypermib… Um… Hypermob… Uh… Weird Body Tricks
The Case of the Fugitive Feline
All Tangled Up in Miss Turner’s Charms
ON THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL
, Mr. Harry Valentine Jupiter—Aesop Elementary’s only fifth-grade teacher—rose early. After brewing himself a cup of rose hip tea (harvested during his recent trek through the Andes Mountains), he sat down at his Tang dynasty writing table to review his class list.
Yes, they were all there—every single one of his students from last year.
These were the kids other teachers called “rambunctious,” “high-energy,” and even “naughty.” No one dared teach them.
“Not for love or money,” their former first-grade teacher, Ms. Bucky, had said. Her time with the children had left her with a tooth-grinding problem.
“Not for all the tea in China,” their former second-grade teacher, Mrs. Chen, had added. The muscles in her chin
still
twitched from the experience.
“Ye gods, no!” their former third-grade teacher, Mr. Frost, had yelped. “Another year with them and I won’t have
any
hair left!”
Only one teacher had been willing to take on these kids—Mr. Jupiter. He had journeyed with them through fourth grade. Now he looked ahead to fifth.
“It will be as thrilling as bungee jumping off the Empire State Building,” he told himself, “as challenging as discovering the lost city of Atlantis; as rewarding as catching (and releasing) the Loch Ness monster.”
Plucking a green feather from his Aztec headdress, he used his obsidian ceremonial blade to cut the feather’s tip into a pen point. Dipping the quill into his bottle of ox-gall ink, he opened his parchment grade book and wrote each student’s name with a flourish.
He paused a moment, sipping his tea and thinking. Then beside each name he added a few personal notes.
Ashlee Anderson
—Possesses the optimistic, encouraging heart of a cheerleader; is fond of unicorns.
Stanford Binet
—Always prepared—always! Never ceases to amaze me with the depth and breadth of his knowledge, which can make him a tad bit superior at times.
Bernadette Braggadoccio
—Her bold, brash, and blustering exterior conceals, I believe, a highly inquisitive mind. Just ask her!
Ashleigh Brown
—Ditto on the heart of a cheerleader and unicorn collecting. Why haven’t I noticed this similarity before? Hmmm …
Rose Clutterdorf
—Always a ray of sunshine in the classroom, despite her best efforts; and she always manages to smear and wrinkle whatever she comes in contact with.
Lillian “Lil” Ditty
—A poetic little soul, she hears the music in words; will burst into verse whenever the muse calls—in the middle of math, during a spelling test …
Emberly Everclass
—Disciplined, and until last year’s bout with chicken pox, had never missed a day of school; an analytical thinker, he loves reading, especially mysteries.
Jackie Jumpbaugh
—This girl plays a mean game of tetherball, and kickball, and basketball, and floor hockey, and … you name it, she excels at it.
Melvin Moody
—What to do about meek, overlooked Melvin? His classmates ignore him, but
I believe he has hidden talents; will he expose them this year? I’ll keep my fingers crossed.
Ernest Moomaday
—Rembrandt with crochet needles, he has a real gift with yarn; in a week this boy could cover a football field with a perfectly crocheted inverted-V-stitch cozy.
Humphrey Parrot
—Observant; a true mimic, perhaps his way of thinking things through, or … is it something else? Have Nurse Betadine check his hearing.
Rachel Piffle
—Shy, painfully shy, but you can see the intelligence in her eyes. Will she find her voice this year?
Missy Place
—Clever, but absentminded; loses everything … anything: mittens, textbooks, backpack, lunch box (we’ve yet to find that lunch box).
Hamilton “Ham” Samitch
—Has the appetite of a Saint Bernard—no doughnut is safe.
Victoria Sovaine
—Can be somewhat self-involved; has yet to discover her true inner beauty, but I have hopes.
Amisha Spelwadi
—Quick-minded and competitive;
school legend has it that she spelled the word
a-m-b-i-d-e-x-t-r-o-u-s
in her sleep during kindergarten naptime.
Calvin Tallywong
—Strangely fond of the taste of cedar—as in wooden pencils; bright but mathematically challenged.
Bruce Vanderbanter
—One half of the comedy team of Vanderbanter and Wittier; tossed out some of the best one-liners I’ve heard since I toured the Mongolian vaudeville circuit. I must work harder
not
to laugh at his jokes.
Leonard “Lenny” Wittier
—The other half of the above-mentioned comedy team; a quick, nimble mind—without a lick of discipline.
Ashley Zamboni
—I am told he can burp the alphabet, although I’ve not yet had the pleasure; a bit sensitive about his name, and with the middle name of Valentine, I understand.
Mr. Jupiter put down his quill and reread his notes. “Yes, they can be trouble,” he said to himself, “but …” He grinned. “I wouldn’t have
my
class any other way.”
Drying the ink with his blotter, he closed his grade book and put on his headdress.
Time to go to school.
MORAL: One man’s pain may be another man’s pleasure
.
A FEW HOURS LATER, AESOP
Elementary School’s faculty gathered in the teachers’ lounge for their annual Kicking-and-Screaming-into-the-New-Year breakfast.
“Yummy, yummy in my tummy,” chirped Miss Fairchild, the kindergarten teacher, as she popped a melon ball into her mouth. “Mmm-mmm-good.”
“Food, glorious food,”
sang the music teacher, Mr. Halfnote, as he spread cream cheese on a blueberry bagel. “May I have some more?”
“Chocolate,” grunted the gym teacher, Mrs. Gluteal, as she bit into a brownie. “Need chocolate.”
Mrs. Struggles, the school’s principal, strode into the lounge. “Twenty minutes until the bell rings,” she reminded them in her brisk manner. Then, pointing out the window, she added, “And look, our students are already arriving—bright-eyed and eager for another year of learning.”
The teachers looked.
Outside on the blacktop, chaos reigned.
Kindergartners picked their noses and shrieked, “Mommy!” First graders drooped and staggered beneath the weight of their school supplies. Second graders raced back and forth, snatching away hats and exposing fresh buzz cuts. Third graders smacked and pounded each other with their new backpacks, while fourth graders rolled their eyes at the younger kids and tried to look cool. All the while, parents—thrilled that summer vacation had finally come to an end—milled about, snapping pictures and beaming from ear to ear now that all was right with the world.
The sight made Mrs. Gluteal yelp, “Brownies! Where are those brownies?” She pushed her way to the table, only to discover that the serving trays were half empty. “We’re going to need more food,” she declared.
In a flash, the teachers shook out their lunch bags and cleared out their fridge. They fortified themselves with a cornucopia of cuisine—powdered doughnuts, chips and salsa, spinach quiche, leftover artichoke dip, low-fat frozen dinners, turkey chili, baked potato chips, salami and cheese, microwave pizza, raspberry truffles, party mix, chocolate kisses, pumpkin scones, and celery sticks (although no one touched those).
“Eat up,” advised Mr. Frost, the third-grade teacher. “We’re going to need every ounce of strength we can muster.”
For several minutes the only sound in the lounge was chewing.
Then Mrs. Chen, the second-grade teacher, dabbed a speck of tuna salad off her chin. “Things could be worse,” she said. “We could be teaching
fifth grade.”
The chewing ceased.
“Oh, my, yes … the fifth graders … oh, dear …”
Mrs. Fairchild let out a little sob.
Mr. Frost broke out in a cold sweat.
Mrs. Gluteal lost her appetite.
Fifth graders!
The very words struck fear into the teachers’ hearts.
Only Miss Paige Turner, the school librarian, remained unruffled. Taking a sip of her rose hip tea, she said, “Luckily, the fifth graders have the perfect teacher.”
“Hmph!” snorted Bertha Bunz, the lunchroom monitor. “Perfectly
weird
, you mean.”
“Now, now,” cautioned Mrs. Struggles. “Let’s not gossip about our colleagues, especially those who aren’t in the room.”
“Who’s gossiping?” replied Mrs. Bunz. “I’m just stating a fact. And the fact is Mr. Jupiter is weird—and his students are following in his weird footsteps.”
Mrs. Playwright, the drama teacher, nodded in agreement. “I heard that Mr. Jupiter spent his summer spelunking in Zanzibar.”
“Spelunking?” said the janitor, Mr. Swill. “Who spends their summer in a cave?”
“Weird!” everyone agreed—everyone, that is, except Miss Turner. She took another sip of tea and didn’t say a word.
“I read in the newspaper that he discovered a new species of blind cave slug,” added Mrs. Shorthand, the school’s secretary.
“Weird,” the others repeated.
Miss Turner took another sip of her tea and still didn’t say a word.
“He told me he designed and built his own biplane, then flew it across Africa to Zanzibar,” said Mr. Halfnote.
“And he flew solo except for a parrot he claims he
brought along because of its impeccable sense of direction,” added Nurse Betadine.
“Weird.”
“Just like his students,” declared Mrs. Bunz. “They deserve each other.”
At that precise moment a spectacular feathered headdress shaped like a toucan passed by the open window. Its orange and green plumage rustled in the morning breeze, and its hooked golden bill glinted in the sunlight. “Good morning, all,” called the toucan.
The teachers gaped.
“Is that Mr. Jupiter?” asked Mrs. Shorthand.
“Wearing an Aztec headdress?” asked Mr. Swill.
Mr. Jupiter waved to his fellow educators. Then he called over his shoulder, “Come along, class.”
Behind him, marching one by one like a line of baby ducklings, came the brand-new fifth graders. Each wore a headdress identical to Mr. Jupiter’s.
“Does this headdress clash with my outfit?” asked Victoria Sovaine.
“I don’t know about you, but I look like an Aztec princess,” replied Bernadette Braggadocio.
“I hope I don’t lose mine,” fretted Missy Place. “It’s still on my head, right?”
“Pffft,” said Rachel Piffle shyly.
“I think a crocheted ceremonial robe would really complete this outfit,” said Ernest Moomaday.
“Get serious,” snorted Stanford Binet. “Aztecs didn’t wear yarn. They wore gold and feathers.”
“Why do you always have to be such a Mr. Know-It-All-Smarty-Pants?” piped up Emberly Everclass. “Your attitude is a real mystery to me.”
“Yeah, a real mystery,” repeated Humphrey Parrot.
“You know, I might wear this headdress instead of my football helmet,” said Jackie Jumpbaugh.