The Magical Ms. Plum (2 page)

Tashala handed over the pencil.

“Thank you, dear,” said Ms. Plum. “Now remember, you’ll have to take care of the horse.”

“Sure thing,” Tashala said, frowning a little behind Ms. Plum’s back. She didn’t like being told what to do, especially about cowboy things.

All the students looked at Ms. Plum again. And she said, “Certainly,” because she knew what everyone wanted to do. The kids jumped up and clustered around Tashala and her horse.

“You’re so lucky,” said Mindy Minn, who had known Tashala since kindergarten. Back then Tashala had called Mindy Miss Priss and had snatched away her pink-haired Troll doll.

Of course Tashala would get a horse, thought Mindy. Tashala always knew how to get her way.

All her life Mindy had wanted a horse—a real, live horse—but the closest she got was a blue plastic pony.

“Giddy-up!” Tashala said. And to everyone’s delight, he galloped around the room, his hooves rattling against the floorboards. When he got to the front of the room, he reared up for a majestic moment, pawing the air.

Everyone clapped.

“I wish I had a little horse,” sighed Mindy.

Tashala snorted. “Yeah, a pink-y horsey with purple hoovies. This here’s a real horse.”

Tashala wouldn’t even let Mindy pet the horse, because Mindy wore pink sparkly headbands and had a backpack decorated with prancing pink unicorns. Tashala hated all that pinky-pinkness. Not even a
cowgirl
would have anything to do with pink unicorns.

Tashala gave the horse some water and Oaty-O cereal for chow. Then Ms. Plum told Tashala to put the stallion away in her desk. Tashala’s desk was just big enough for the small horse.

Ms. Plum turned to the blackboard and wrote down their subjects for the year:

Tashala sat slumped down, her cowboy boots stuck out in front of her, looking as pleased as a gopher with a peanut.

Then Eric, who always had something to say, said, “P.U.! What’s that?”

“No talking, please,” said Ms. Plum.

But now all the kids were sniffing and making faces.

Eric pointed his nose in Tashala’s direction. “It’s
her
,” he announced. “Tashala stinks!”

“Do not!” said Tashala, but she was sniffing and frowning, too.

“We mustn’t be rude, Eric,” said Ms. Plum.

“But she smells like a barnyard,” said Becky. “Can’t you smell it?”

Ms. Plum sniffed carefully. “Open your desk, dear,” she said.

Tashala lifted the lid. “Yuck!”

The chestnut stallion had gotten rid of his Oaty-O’s the way all horses get rid of their oats. Manure lay all over the inside of Tashala’s desk. There was even a big steaming pile on her new notebook with the giant silver spurs on the cover.

The horse flicked up his tail and neighed a triumphant neigh.

“Now then, you need to clean that up,” said Ms. Plum.

“But it’s, it’s … poop!” protested Tashala.

“Indeed. And I think it’s time for more Oaty-O’s, too,” said Ms. Plum.

“But then he’ll … you know! Again!” cried Tashala.

“Well, he is a horse,” said Ms. Plum sensibly.

Ms. Plum handed Tashala a brown paper bag and a little scoop.

Holding the scoop as far from herself as she could, Tashala clumsily scraped up one of the piles and dropped it into the bag. She hurriedly scooped up another pile, but it fell and landed with a juicy plop on her new cowboy boots.

“Dag nab it!” she said. Then, to everyone’s surprise, she began to sniffle, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

Mindy raised her hand. “I could help Tashala clean it up, Ms. Plum.”

“I’m sure Tashala would appreciate that,” said Ms. Plum.

Mindy jumped up, took the scoop from Tashala, and quickly cleaned up the piles. She even cleaned off and shined Tashala’s boots with a paper towel.

Tashala sniffed. “Thanks, Mindy,” she whispered.

“I’ve changed a lot of diapers,” Mindy
explained. “I have twin baby brothers. They’re a couple of poop machines.”

“Now, don’t forget, Tashala, you’ll need to muck out your desk every few hours or so,” said Ms. Plum.

“Can I still help?” asked Mindy.

Tashala looked at Mindy Minn and then down at her little horse. “I think you should have him,” she said.

“You do?”

Tashala straightened her shoulders. “Fair is fair. It’s the cowboy code.”

Mindy carefully lifted up the stallion. He seemed calm and happy in her arms. She took a deep breath of his dusty, oaty horse smell.

“Can I give him a name?” Mindy asked.

Tashala swallowed and nodded. She knew it was going to be the pinkest name ever.

And it was. But when Mindy announced that the horse was named Sir Prance-alot, Tashala squashed back her wince and gave Mindy a hearty cowboy slap on the back.

Mindy gave her such a hearty arm punch back that Tashala almost fell off her chair.

“Oh my gosh! Sorry! I have four older brothers,” Mindy explained.

“No harm done,” said Tashala, rubbing her arm. “You pack quite a wallop there, Mindy.”

“Why, thank you,” said Mindy, blushing a pretty pink.

And suddenly they both grinned.

At recess, Lucy and Nadia ran up to their friend Madison
.

“You won’t believe what happened in Ms. Plum’s class today!” Lucy said
.

“It was amazing,” said Nadia, her eyes wide
.

And Lucy tried to say, A little horse came out of the closet. It fit in Mindy’s arms!

But somehow out popped, “Horses poop!”

“So?” said Madison
.

Lucy tried again. Her lips twisted and her tongue curled. She seemed to be trying really hard to say something. But out came, “Horses, they poop!”

Lucy looked at Nadia
.

Nadia tried to say, It was brown with a black mane. It was real, but it wasn’t scary like a real horse. It was as small as a cat
.

But out came, “Horses poop a lot!”

Then she and Lucy nodded hard
.

Madison stared at them like they were crazy
.

Lucy looked at Nadia, and Nadia looked at Lucy. All they could do was smile. The secret smile of those who had Ms. Plum
.

Eric Soderberg had the fastest mouth in Ms. Plum’s class. You had to be fast when there were eight people in your family all talking at once at the dinner table. Eric was the youngest Soderberg, so at home he barely ever got a word in edgewise.

At school it was different. Eric talked all the time and was always “stepping on other people’s lines.” That’s what Ms. Plum called it. She said it meant that Eric was always finishing up other kids’ sentences, giving their answers, and finishing their jokes.

That morning during break, Brad tried to share his new joke.

“Where do crocodiles keep their money?” he asked.

“In a riverbank,” Eric said quickly.

And everyone laughed like it was Eric’s joke.

Ms. Plum looked up and asked, “Who can get me some lined paper from the supply closet?”

Carlos’s hand shot up first.

But Ms. Plum crooked her finger at Eric.

Carlos started to say, “Hey, that’s—”

“Not fair,” Eric finished for him. “Sorry, dude.”

Eric grinned and went to the supply closet. He opened the door and stepped inside. He took a deep whiff of the yummy, nameless smell and picked out five sheets of lined paper. Next to the stack of paper he saw a little green parrot staring at him. The parrot had bright black eyes and a red spot on his head. Was he real? The parrot cocked his head left, and then right. He was real!

“Wow!” said Eric. “That’s so—”

“Awesome!” squawked the parrot.

Then the parrot fluttered up to roost right on top of Eric’s head. Eric could feel the claws digging into his scalp.

“Don’t bite!” squawked the parrot.

That’s just what I was thinking, thought Eric, but even so, having a talking parrot was worth the risk.

“Look what I found!” cried the parrot as Eric hurried from the closet.

Eric had been just about to say that very same thing.

“Cool!” said the kids.

Ms. Plum smiled cheerfully, took the lined paper from Eric, and nodded for him to sit down.

Eric caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror at the back of the room. The parrot on his head made him look like a pirate.

“Ahoy, mateys!” screeched the parrot. For such a little bird, he was awfully loud.

“We will now review some important facts and statistics,” said Ms. Plum.

The class sat up straighter. Ms. Plum’s important facts and statistics weren’t like anybody else’s.

“How many people in the world have the same birthday as you?” she asked.

Eric raised his hand. He always had his hand up to answer class questions, even when he wasn’t really paying attention. But before he could make up an answer, the parrot squawked, “I can see Becky’s underwear!”

Becky glared at Eric.

“The parrot said it,” cried the parrot.