The Fabled Fifth Graders of Aesop Elementary School (12 page)

MAY TURNED TO JUNE, AND AESOP
Elementary School buzzed with excitement. Fifth-grade graduation was just a day away, and everyone wanted to celebrate.

In honor of the occasion, Mr. Halfnote composed a special arrangement of “Happy Days Are Here Again” for armpit, washboard, and Burmese spectacled guinea pig.

Cook baked a triple-layer chocolate crawfish cake with the words
OH, JOY!
piped across the top in red frosting.

And Mrs. Gluteal, along with Mr. Frost and Mrs. Chen, performed a “happy dance” every day in the teachers’ lounge for two straight weeks.

“We can’t wait …”
Tap-tip-tap
.

“For them to graduate.”
Tippity-tap-tap-tap-tap
.

“You know,” said Miss Turner, “I’m actually going to miss them.”

Mrs. Gluteal quit tapping.

“In fact,” Miss Turner continued, “I’m going to miss
all
of you.”

“What are you talking about, Paige?” asked Ms. Bozzetto.

Miss Turner turned to Mr. Jupiter. “Shall we tell them, Harry?”

He smiled and nodded.

“Harry was told by scientists that chimpanzees can’t dance, so he’s off to Tanzania to prove them wrong,” she said in an excited rush. “And
I’m
going with him. After all, chimps need the Dewey decimal system just as much as they need the rhumba.”

“You mean you’re leaving Aesop Elementary?” gasped Mr. Frost.

“After tomorrow, my work here is done,” explained Mr. Jupiter. “It’s time to move on.”

“That’s right,” enthused Miss Turner, pumping her fist in the air. “Full steam ahead!”

For a moment, there was stunned silence as the teachers took in the news.

Then Mr. Halfnote pounded Mr. Jupiter on the back.

Miss Fairchild pecked Miss Turner’s cheek.

And Mrs. Gluteal cried, “Brownies for everyone!”

At the far end of the table, Mrs. Shorthand, the
school secretary, whispered into Mrs. Bunz’s ear, “After
these
monkeys, teaching chimps should be a breeze.”

“I’ve said it all along,” replied Mrs. Bunz,
“weird.”

That afternoon, the fifth graders cleaned out their desks and turned in their textbooks. Already Mr. Jupiter had packed up his smilodon teeth and shrunken heads; his Lungunga pig masks and his owl pellets. He had hauled away his mastodon skeleton, his Byzantine funeral urn, and his Venus flytrap. He had even given the guinea pigs to Mr. Halfnote. “I’m sure the three of you will be very happy together,” he had said.

Now teacher and students looked around at the bare walls and empty shelves.

“That’s it. The room’s clear,” Lenny declared. “All that’s left to do is graduate.”

“Then it’s
adiós
, Aesop Elementary, and
hola
, Aristophanes Middle School!” cried Bruce.

The fifth graders cheered and high-fived each other.

“Aren’t you excited too, Mr. Jupiter?” asked Rose, noticing his glum expression.

“I think the word
bittersweet
better describes my emotions,” replied Mr. Jupiter.

“Huh?” said Ham.

Stanford rolled his eyes. “Bittersweet,” he translated, “means bitter and sweet at the same time.”

“Like choco-roaches?” said Ham. “Mmm … bittersweet.”

Mr. Jupiter smiled. “Something like that.”

The next morning, Mr. Jupiter and his fifth graders—along with their happy parents and even happier former teachers—assembled in the auditorium.

Proudly, the children took their places onstage.

Mr. Jupiter smiled at Emberly’s shirt and tie, Amisha’s high-heeled sandals, and Bruce’s slicked-down hair. “Don’t you all look nice,” he said.

“You look nice too,” said Rose, who had managed to get to school that morning without smearing strawberry jam on her sleeve.

“Thank you,” Mr. Jupiter said, looking down at his brightly colored Akkadian ceremonial tunic. “A special occasion does deserve a special outfit.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Victoria as she adjusted her tiara.

Mr. Jupiter turned to the audience. “Parents and teachers,” he said, “thank you for attending this very special ceremony in honor of our children’s years at Aesop Elementary School.”

In her seat, Mrs. Bunz giggled.

“This ceremony, however, is not an ending, but a beginning,” continued Mr. Jupiter. “While our fledglings may be flapping away from
this
nest, they are soaring toward bright and glorious futures.”

Mrs. Bunz giggled again.

“And so,” said Mr. Jupiter, “to commemorate this remarkable occasion, I want to present each of our graduates with a special award—a token, if you will, of my admiration and esteem.”

Mr. Jupiter moved to a table covered with papyrus scrolls. “These are made from scraps that I excavated during my last trip to the sacred Temple of Philae.” He coughed, trying to clear the lump that was growing in his throat, then added, “I crafted them with my own two hands especially for my students.”

Mr. Jupiter looked at Miss Turner. “Paige, will you help me?”

“Certainly, Harry,” she said.

Standing behind the table, she handed him the first scroll.

“Hamilton Samitch,” Mr. Jupiter called out.

Ham stepped forward.

“Ham, I present you with the Gastronomic
Philosophy Award,” said Mr. Jupiter, giving him the scroll.

Ham turned to Stanford.

“The science of good eating,” translated Stanford. “You’ve just received the Science of Good Eating Award.”

“Oh,” said Ham. “Mmmm.”

From the audience, Mr. Samitch shouted, “Can you hold your scroll a bit higher, Hammy?”

FLASH!

“Now can you and Mr. Jupiter shake hands?”

FLASH!

“Cheese,” Mrs. Samitch hollered out.

Ham pulled a round of cheddar from his pocket.

FLASH!

Then, glowing with pride and blinking rapidly, Ham groped his way back to his seat.

Miss Turner handed over the next scroll.

“Rachel Piffle,” called out Mr. Jupiter.

Rachel stepped forward.

Mr. Jupiter smiled. “Rachel,” he said, “I’m pleased to present you with the award for the Most Eloquent Use of Monosyllables.”

“Pffft,” said Rachel. “Pffft.”

She accepted her scroll, then, suddenly and unexpectedly, flung her arms around Mr. Jupiter.

“Pffft,” she said again.

And then … she whispered, “I’ll miss you, Mr. Jupiter.”

Breaking away, she rushed back to her seat.

Mr. Jupiter slumped and ran the sleeve of his silk tunic over his eyes.

“Harry,” said Miss Turner, “are you able to continue?”

Mr. Jupiter squared his shoulders. “I’ve faced monsoons, typhoons, and man-eating raccoons,” he replied. “I can get through this.”

Taking the next scroll, he said in a voice that still cracked a bit, “This year, the Dodecahedron Award for Advanced Mathematical Studies goes to …”

Stanford stirred in his chair, preparing to rise.

“Calvin Tallywong,” announced Mr. Jupiter.

“Calvin?” cried Stanford.

“Me?” cried Calvin as he made his way across the stage.

“Yes, you,” replied Mr. Jupiter as he handed over the scroll. “No one in our class has made more advancements, mathematically speaking, than you have.”

“That’s my boy!” shouted Mr. Tallywong from the audience.

“Get serious,” snorted Mrs. Binet under her breath. “I’ll be speaking to the principal about this.”

Onstage, Mr. Jupiter was ready to give the next award. “Stanford Binet,” he called.

Sulkily, Stanford came forward.

“Stanford,” said Mr. Jupiter, “you are indeed a stellar student. But there is one area in which you have truly excelled. That’s why I am presenting you with the E.L.T.I.E.P. Award.”

The other students looked confused.

“The
what
award?” Ham finally asked.

“The Excellence in Language Translation, Interpretation, Explanation, and Patience Award,” translated Stanford excitedly. “Can you believe it? Me? The E.L.T.I.E.P.!”

“That’s my boy!” shouted Mrs. Binet from the audience.

“Let me take a picture for you,” offered Mr. Samitch.

FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!

Bruce was next. He received the Rubber Chicken Award for Hijinks and Humor.

Emberly received the Solver of Enigmas, Conundrums, and Cat-astrophes Award.

And Ashlee A. and Ashleigh B. each received an award for Most
Cheer
-full Countenance.

“Rah, rah, sis boom bah!” cheered their families from the crowd.

And so it went. One by one, the almost–sixth graders accepted their awards.

Victoria won the Most Likely to Be Seen Draped in Organdy Award.

“That was obvious,” she sniffed.

Humphrey won the Echo Award for Repetition and Redundancy.

“Echo?” he repeated.

And Melvin won the Junior Contortionist Award (with a gift card for a free bag of Twistorelli Pretzels).

He accepted his award with his toes.

Finally, just one student remained.

“Leonard Wittier,” called Mr. Jupiter.

Lenny stepped forward and looked up at his teacher.

“Leonard,” said Mr. Jupiter, his voice cracking with emotion, “I present this papyrus scroll to”—he took a steadying breath—“to the Most Improved Student.”

Lenny took the award. He searched his mind for a snappy comeback, a funny punch line, a clever zinger. But all he could come up with was “Gee … thanks.”

In her seat, Mrs. Bunz could barely contain her glee. “It’s almost over,” she squealed. “Any second now.”

Onstage, Mr. Jupiter struggled with his emotions. “And now,” he finally said, “by the power vested in me as your fifth-grade teacher, I declare that each and every one of you has met the requirements and conditions necessary to graduate from Aesop Elementary School. Therefore, it is my honor to be the first person to call you.…
sixth
graders!”

At his words, the auditorium erupted into joyous pandemonium.

The graduates tossed their scrolls into the air.

Their parents leaped from the seats and hugged each other.

And the armpit, washboard, and guinea pig band burst into “Happy Days Are Here Again.”

Then the teachers, parents, and band members all streamed into the lunchroom for cake.

Mr. Jupiter hung back. “I’ll meet you in there,” he said to Miss Turner. “I … I … just need a moment to compose myself.” He ducked into the prop room.

As for the brand-new sixth graders, after picking up their scrolls, they lingered onstage.

“So we did it,” said Missy.

“We’re graduates,” said Rose.

“Sixth graders,” said Amisha.

From the lunchroom came the sounds of celebration.

But onstage, all was quiet.

Finally, Ham said, “Bittersweet.”

“Uh-huh,” sighed Stanford.

And then Lil stepped forward. Raising an imaginary cup, she waxed poetic:

Touched by her words, the others all raised imaginary cups too.

Then, after a moment of silence, Bernadette said, “You know what I’ll miss most about Aesop Elementary School? Mr. Jupiter.”

Victoria suddenly burst into tears. “Me too!” she bawled. “Me too.”

Bernadette pulled a tissue out of her purse. “Here,” she said, handing it to Victoria, “your mascara is dripping all over your satin.”

“Who cares?” wailed Victoria. “Beauty isn’t everything.”

It was the perfect opportunity—a chance to fling a real zinger. But—

“This is no time for jokes,” Lenny said to Bruce.

Bruce nodded seriously.

“We’re all going to miss Mr. Jupiter,” Calvin spoke up. “But we’ll just have to look on the bright side. Now
that we’ve graduated, Mr. Jupiter can finally go back to his former life of big adventure.”

“Yeah,” agreed Lenny. “Mr. Jupiter’s ridden an ostrich across Kenya and floated weightless in orbit. Compared to that, two years with us must have been really, really boring.”

“On the contrary,” said Mr. Jupiter, stepping out of the prop room.

“Hey,” said Calvin, “you heard us talking.”

“Every word,” admitted Mr. Jupiter. “And I have a few things I’d like to add, if I may.” Pulling over a folding chair, he sat down with his former students.

“Adventures,” he began, “aren’t just about rafting down raging rivers and climbing up rugged mountains. They’re also about the people you’ve been on those adventures with—the Sherpa guides, the witch doctors …” He paused, then added, “The students.”

The sixth graders looked at each other, pleased.

“Do you mean that teaching
us
has been an adventure?” asked Lenny.

Mr. Jupiter smiled, his eyes shining. “My
greatest
adventure.”

“You were
our
greatest adventure too,” snuffled Victoria. She blew her nose with a loud, wet honk.

Mr. Jupiter grinned. “That’s lovely of you to return the compliment, Victoria, but I’m betting there are lots more extraordinary adventures ahead for each and every one of you.”

Both teacher and students reflected on their futures for a moment.

Finally, Mr. Jupiter broke the spell. “I’ve suddenly got a taste for some cake. Shall we?”

“But first,” called out Miss Turner as she made her way down the auditorium aisle toward the stage, “let’s take one last class picture.” She held up the camera she’d borrowed from Mr. Samitch. “Ready?”

Mr. Jupiter and his students wrapped their arms around each other and looked toward the librarian.

“Everyone say
adventure
!” shouted Lenny.