The Magical Ms. Plum (6 page)

“Look what I got!” shouted Brad, coming over the slope, skidding, and almost falling in the snow.

Chompers chattered excitedly and grabbed Brad’s ear to hang on.

This would be like the most amazing thing the fifth-grade boys had ever seen.

Only they couldn’t see it.

“What?” said Michael. “A new hat? Big deal.”

“Run!” shouted Ron, heaving a snowball at Brad and almost hitting Chompers.

“Hey, watch it!”

No one ever wanted to challenge Ron. He was the number one pitcher on the baseball team and led Ultimate Frisbee, too.

Even so, Brad crushed some snow into a ball and heaved it at Ron. Just as the snowball left his hand, Chompers leapt onto it.

Brad stared, his mouth slack, as his monkey rode the snowball right smack into Ron’s chest. Then Chompers was coming back toward him atop Ron’s snowball—coming straight at Brad’s face. But just before the snowball reached him, the monkey pushed off, sending the snowball harmlessly to Brad’s left and launching himself back onto Brad’s shoulder.

Chompers was chattering with joy. His eyes wild, his fur blown up like he’d touched a light socket.

So Brad, dodging snowballs, quickly scooped up another snowball and sent it flying.

Chompers rode with it. Amazingly, he even rose to his feet like a surfer on a surfboard.

And suddenly Brad could feel just what the monkey was feeling. He could feel the icy, crusty ball of snow wobbling under his toes. He could feel the wind whipping at his cheeks. He could feel how Chompers leaned this way and that, steering the snowball right into Ron’s face!

Bull’s-eye!

Ron clawed off the snow, revenge in his eyes. Brad started backpedaling as fast as he could. Ron rocketed a snowball straight at him.

But Brad knew that the monkey would push it away and Ron’s best throw would never hit him.

Now Ron was furious, and he waved away the other boys. This was just between him and Brad.

Five throws and it was over.

Throw number one: Brad to Ron. Result: A face full of snow for Ron.

Throw number two: Ron to Brad. A perfect missile of packed snow that at the last second swerved over Brad’s shoulder.

Throw number three: Brad to Ron. A high throw that looked like it would miss by a mile but instead veered this way and that (was there a wind up there?) and splatted onto Ron’s astonished face. Result: A lot of fifth-grade boys laughing their heads off.

Throw number four: Ron to Brad. Another missile. A heat-seeking missile. A Brad-seeking missile. A sizzling fastball that seemed to gradually slow, landing softly about three feet from Brad and then rolling to a stop at his feet.

Throw number five: Brad to Ron. A good, hard throw. And no matter how much Ron ducked and dodged, the thing seemed to follow. And for the fourth time Ron had to wipe cold, wet snow from his eyes.

Ron turned and walked up the playground slope.

“I’m done,” he said.

The rest of the fifth-grade boys clustered around Brad, walking with him back to the
upper play yard, laughing and yelling about the best snowball fight in history.

“You turning out for baseball this spring?” asked Michael.

“Maybe,” said Brad, who hadn’t been planning on it. But now, with Chompers on his side, anything was possible.

It had probably been the best day of his life, Brad decided on the bus ride home.

He’d been a little worried that Chompers might disappear back into the closet after recess. Then he’d been worried that Chompers would disappear once he left the school grounds. But there he was in Brad’s coat pocket. He did seem a little sleepy, but who wouldn’t be after vrooming around on an icy snowball.

Brad hung out in his room with Chompers for the rest of the afternoon. But a little worm of worry began to curl and twist in his stomach. Chompers wasn’t looking so good. His bright eyes had become dull. He sat on Brad’s desk, staring at the falling snow.

Brad tried to feed him a banana, but Chompers wasn’t interested. He tried cheese, almonds, an Oreo. Chompers wouldn’t even try a taste.

“Don’t you want to stay, Chompers? Don’t you like it here?” Brad asked.

He stroked the tiny monkey’s back. “We could have so much fun,” Brad said. “Snowballs are nothing. Wait till you ride a Frisbee! And that supply closet is all dark. I mean it’s not like outside.”

Chompers sighed.

Brad swallowed.

And suddenly he had that feeling again, like he was Chompers. He felt like he was in the closet with his brothers and sisters, chattering and shrieking. Happy and excited.

“You’re the coolest thing that ever happened to me,” Brad whispered, pushing back something that might have been tears.

The next morning, he hurried into class as soon as the bus arrived at school. He took Chompers from his pocket, opened the closet door, crouched down, and set him inside. Chompers immediately perked up. His eyes snapped with life; his fur glowed.

“Goodbye, Chompers,” Brad said quickly, before the little monkey disappeared.

Chompers turned and stared at him for a moment. Then he gave a big monkey grin and started to scramble up the shelves toward the sound of other monkey voices.

Brad suddenly knew that up there, back behind the markers and paper and glue, was a big place of open sky, green trees, and soft, warm breezes that felt like … that felt like home.

“Are you okay, Brad?”

Brad jumped. There behind him stood Ms. Plum.

“I—I lost something,” Brad said, standing up. “I was looking for it.”

“Here, I’ll help you,” said Ms. Plum, kneeling on the floor.

“Well, actually—” Brad started to say.

Ms. Plum stood back up, holding a brochure. “Here, perhaps this is what you need?”

Brad stared at the blue and white brochure. He hadn’t seen anything on the floor before. Then he saw the picture on the front: a guy launched into the air against a bright blue sky. It looked a lot like Chompers on a snowball.

Brad glanced at Ms. Plum. Did she know?

Underneath the picture were the words “Mad Monkee Snowboarding Lessons. Ever wanted to snowboard? Now’s your chance!”

Inside was information about costs and times and equipment.

Brad folded the brochure and stuck it in his pocket. He’d ask his dad about lessons tonight.

Brad looked at Ms. Plum again. She was busy marking some folders.

She knows, thought Brad.

And he said “Thanks” to no one in particular as he headed back out to the playground.

He ran for the slope to the parking lot and skidded down it. A couple of fifth graders were heaving snowballs, but Brad turned and climbed back up the hill. Skidded down it again, waving his arms for balance, trying to hold his feet close together.

Up and down, up and down, up and down—Brad practiced until the bell called him in to class.

On the bus, Carlos pretended to be reading his book, but really he was listening to Jeremy behind him, making jokes. Jeremy was like the funniest kid in school now. Carlos grumpily propped his cheek against his fist. Everyone was getting something cool from the supply closet but him. Darma still got glue in her hair, but she and Mindy and Tashala were best
friends. Eric was learning how to debate. Jovi stood taller and spoke louder in class
.

It wasn’t fair. He did everything right. He was the best student. He was nice … mostly. He raised his hand the fastest, every time!

Ms. Plum just didn’t like him. She liked all the other kids, but not him
.

“… to get to the other side!” Jeremy said, finishing his joke. And the kids around him burst into laughter
.

Carlos didn’t laugh. He bent closer over his book and scowled
.

They all thought they were so smart. He’d show them
.

The next day at recess, he waited till everyone left the classroom. When he was sure he was alone, Carlos sneaked a look in Darma’s desk. There was a nice pile of pink bubble gum. He took one
.

Then he peeked in Mindy’s desk. There was a note
.

“Eric likes you! I just know it!” It was signed by Lucy
.

When Darma and Mindy came in from recess, he was afraid they would somehow know that he had snooped. But they didn’t
.

So, when no one else was around, Carlos
started peeking in other kids’ desks and going through the pockets of their coats and looking in their book bags. Lucy had a note from her mom saying she needed to go to the doctor for a rash. Tashala had a picture of a horse in her desk, with horse names written all over it. Eric had Brad’s Game Boy, even though Carlos knew he’d told Brad that he’d left it at his house
.

Carlos never tattled on anybody, but he liked looking at the other kids’ stuff and knowing things that they didn’t know he knew. He felt smarter than ever
.

Emiko looked a little like Hip-Hop, the toad. She was squat and sturdy and wore thick glasses that made her eyes look bulgy. But even though some kids teased her, she was always smiling, because whatever you said, she took it as a compliment.

“Your eyes look like a frog’s,” Becky Oh said, feeling mean one day early in the school year.

“Thank you!” said Emiko. “Frog eyes are so sparkly.”

Everything was good for Emiko.

A freezing cold day was as fun as a snocone.

A dark, damp day smelled cozy.

A bad grade on a paper was marked in a pretty red.

Ms. Plum said Emiko saw the world through rose-colored glasses.

“Her glasses look regular-colored to me,” said Tashala.

“It means she sees everything like it’s better than it really is,” said Carlos.

“I think that would be kind of nice,” said Nadia.

“But it could be dangerous,” Lucy said.

“Can I try your glasses on?” asked Darma. But wearing Emiko’s glasses only made things blurry and gave Darma a headache.

When Ms. Plum asked Emiko to go to the closet for more pink paper for making valentines, everyone knew Emiko would get a cute animal.

“Something soft and fuzzy,” Jeremy predicted.

“A pretty one,” agreed Jovi.

“A bunny.”

“A puppy.”

“A-a-an alligator?” said Brad.

Because that’s what Emiko brought out of the closet. A very cross-looking alligator straining at a leash made of rope.

“Isn’t he darling!” cried Emiko.

“Tell me, since when is a scaly old alligator darling?”

“Alligator?” said Emiko. “What alligator?”

“Uh, there. On that leash in your hand,” Eric pointed out.

Emiko looked down. “You mean my poodle?”

“Poodle!” Mindy threw up her hands. “You think that’s a poodle?”

Emiko smiled happily. “I’ve always wanted a poodle just like this, with fluffy white fur and a pink, sparkly collar. Oh, look, he wants to be petted.”

The alligator lurched toward Brad’s foot, snapping his jaws viciously.

Brad jumped back just in time.

The gator turned and hurtled himself at Tashala, who scrambled atop her desk chair a hair ahead of his jaws.

“Look, he wants to play,” cried Emiko. “Here, Bubbles. That’s a good Bubbles. Yes, you are a good doggy. Mmmm. Mmm. Mmm.”

Emiko bent down and urged the alligator toward her with little kissy sounds.

“Watch out,” said Carlos. “He’ll bite your nose off!”

But before the alligator reached her, he lunged at Eric’s hand. Eric scrambled onto his chair, too.

Emiko giggled, as if Bubbles had done something sweet.

“Come on, Bubbles. Let’s go for a walk,” Emiko said. Then she looked at Ms. Plum. “Can I show him around?”

Ms. Plum, who was intently working on her valentines for the class party, glanced up
and nodded. She seemed surprised to see several kids on top of their chairs.