Karen's New Teacher, Page 3

  Everyone ran to me. Sometimes when I announce that I have an idea, the kids just groan and say, “Not another one.” But they figured that this idea had something to do with Mrs. Hoffman. And they were as desperate as I was.

  “What is it?” cried Ricky and Natalie and the twins, Terri and Tammy.

  Even Pamela said, “Yeah, what is it?”

  “We,” I began, “are going to get back at Mrs. Hoffman. We are going to play tricks on her.”

  “I’m not,” said Pamela.

  “What kind of tricks?” Bobby wanted to know.

  “Nothing too awful,” I replied. “Just sort of pesty. Pesty enough to give Mrs. Hoffman a hard time. She has not been very nice to us so far.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Bobby. “What kind of tricks?”

  “There are lots we can play,” I told my classmates. “We just have to decide which one to play first.” I talked about Sam’s tricks.

  By the time recess was over, we had a plan. But we did not have Pamela. She said she did not want to trick Mrs. Hoffman. Then she walked away.

  Oh, well.

  The bell rang. My friends and I walked to Mrs. Hoffman. Silently, we formed our two straight lines. We walked through the halls to our room. The older kids were probably staring at us again. But I did not notice. I was thinking about what was going to happen that afternoon. I was excited. And scared.

  When we reached our classroom, I snagged Pamela.

  “Don’t you want to — ” I whispered.

  “No!” hissed Pamela. She hurried to her seat.

  I wished Pamela would be part of our trick. But if she did not want to join us, that was okay. It was sort of too bad, though. Pamela did not even know that at exactly two o’clock something was going to happen.

  “Everybody in your seats, please,” said Mrs. Hoffman.

  I looked at her. I looked at her gray hair and her gray clothes and her frown. And I thought of something. I realized that I had never seen Mrs. Hoffman smile. Not once. Even Miss Pettig had smiled at us. I wished Miss Pettig could have been our substitute. A month of baby books and name tags would have been much, much better than Hatey Hoffman.

  “Take out your science books,” said Hatey.

  From 1:30 to 1:45, we took turns reading aloud. At 1:45, Hatey said, “Okay. That is enough. Now please close your books. Then answer the questions I have written on the board.”

  The paper-passer passed out paper. Nobody said a word. (Except for Hootie. He was whistling in his cage.) My friends and I wrote busily. We watched the clock on the wall. The little hand was on the two and the big hand was click, clicking toward the twelve. When the time was exactly two o’clock …

  BANG!

  Every kid in my class knocked his (or her) science book to the floor.

  “Aughhh!” shrieked Pamela.

  Hatey Hoffman jumped a mile. “Pick up those books at once!” she ordered. (We picked them up.) “I will not have such behavior in my classroom! Where are your best manners?” Hatey yelled for a few more minutes. But that was all she did.

  So what? I thought. I began thinking of the next way to trick Hatey.

  Underwear

  A few days later, Mrs. Hatey Hoffman gave our class another spelling test. Only this one was not a surprise. She had told us about it right after she finished yelling at us for dropping our books on the floor. So we had had plenty of time to study for it.

  But none of us studied except Pamela. This was because of our next trick.

  On the day of the quiz, Hatey told us to clear off our desks. This was a clue. It meant that the paper-passer should pass out paper. Hannie did her job. She gave me four pieces of paper. I took one and handed the rest to the person behind me. I could not look at Hannie. If I had looked at her, we would have laughed.

  When everyone had a piece of paper, Hatey said, “The first word is throw. Throw. John can throw the ball. Throw.”

  Hatey paused. She waited for us to begin writing. But my friends and I just sat in our chairs. Except Pamela. She scribbled something on her paper. She would not look at anybody else. When she finished writing, she folded her hands on her desk. She looked at Hatey. (I noticed that she did not smile.)

  After a moment, Hatey continued, “The second word is picture. Picture. He took my picture with a camera. Picture.”

  Once again, no one moved except Pamela.

  Hatey frowned. But she gave out all twenty spelling words. When Pamela had finished taking the quiz, Mrs. Hoffman took her paper. Then she collected the blank pages from the rest of us. She did not say anything.

  Were we in trouble? I could not tell. I knew we had done something that was wrong. But Hatey was not yelling.

  Later, just before it was time to line up to go to the cafeteria, Hatey handed back our papers. I looked at mine. At the top was a fat, red ZERO. I had never, ever gotten a zero in school. In fact, I almost always get one hundreds.

  I tried to see what Pamela’s score was, but Pamela stuffed her test paper quickly into her desk. I found out in the cafeteria, though. We all did. At lunchtime Pamela waited until Hatey had gone to the teachers’ room. Then she put her hands on her hips.

  “Guess what,” she said crossly.

  “You got a one hundred on your quiz,” said Tammy.

  “No, Miss Smarty,” replied Pamela. “Mrs. Hoffman gave me a forty percent. Forty! What was the point of taking that stupid test? I should have done what you guys did…. Mrs. Hoffman is awful.”

  I knew Pamela was on my side then. But I was still surprised by what happened that afternoon. We were supposed to be completing a science worksheet. The room was silent except for Hootie. After awhile, though, I thought I heard another sound. A humming. Sure enough, someone was softly humming the tune to the “Underwear” song, the song that begins, “Underwear, underwear, how I itch in my woolly underwear.”

  Pamela was humming! Slowly, the rest of us joined in. Our room sounded like a swarm of crickets on a summer night.

  Did Hatey tell us to be quiet? No.

  Did she ask us what had happened to our best manners? No.

  Did she yell? No.

  But at the end of the day, she gave us extra homework. We were supposed to complete some pages in our math workbook and our reading workbook. We were also supposed to write a 100-word composition. “You need practice,” said Hatey. “Your work is sloppy.”

  It was Thursday. The composition was due Monday.

  The Worst Teacher Ever

  I spent most of the weekend working on my composition. My friends and I had thought about not writing the composition. But we did not want to get any more zeros. What would Ms. Colman think when she came back?

  Besides, I had a great idea for my composition. Hatey had said we could write about anything. So this was the title of my composition: The Worst Teacher Ever. It was about a girl named Carrie who got a new teacher. The teacher was named Mrs. Hoff burger, and she was Carrie’s worst teacher ever. She made Carrie and her friends walk around school in two straight lines. She would not let them talk — ever. Once, she made Carrie stand in the corner.

  I checked my paper over three times before I copied it in ink. I made sure every word was spelled right. I wrote as neatly as I could, in cursive.

  On Monday I handed The Worst Teacher Ever to Hatey.

  On Wednesday, Hatey returned our compositions. She walked from desk to desk. As she gave back each paper, she would say, “Nice work,” or, “Pay attention to your spelling.” Mostly she said, “Your writing is sloppy.”

  When Hatey came to me, she placed my composition on my desk. But she did not say anything. She set her mouth in a line. I looked at the grade Hatey had written at the top of the paper. A big, red A. But she had not written any comment or made any notes.

  Hmm. What did that mean?

  The day went on. We went to the cafeteria. We played on the playground. We had science class and then some time to read. Just before the bell rang, Hatey got up from Ms. Colman’s desk. She stood
stiffly in front of my friends and me.

  “Class,” she began, “your compositions were quite sloppy — mostly. They were covered with eraser marks. Some of you even erased holes in your papers. Your handwriting was messy and hard to read. Several of you doodled in the margins. So I decided that it is time for you to learn to be neat. And the best way to be neat is to dress neatly. From now on, I expect every one of you to come to school dressed for learning, not for the playground. Nobody may wear jeans or sneakers. Girls may not wear pants.”

  Everyone groaned. I heard someone whisper, “I wonder if we could wear our slippers.”

  Hatey raised an eyebrow at us. We stopped talking.

  How mean. My paper had not been sloppy. Hatey had not even needed to correct anything. So why did I have to stop wearing jeans and sneakers?

  The next day, my friends and I wore our good clothes to school. (A fifth-grader asked us if it was class-picture day.) Nobody wore jeans. Nobody wore sneakers. The girls wore dresses or skirts. We could not do anything at recess. So we stood around in a bunch.

  We grumbled.

  “I hate my shoes,” said Ricky. “They pinch my toes.”

  “I hate my dress,” said Natalie.

  “What are we going to do?” asked Hannie.

  Everyone looked at me.

  “Don’t look at me,” I said. “I am out of ideas.”

  “But I’m not.” Pamela Harding was grinning. “I have a great idea.”

  “You do?” Bobby was so surprised that he almost fell over, even though he was standing still. “You do?” he said again.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “It’s this.”

  Pamela began whispering, and we all leaned in to hear her better.

  Backward Day

  The next day, my friends and I followed Hatey’s dressing rules again. The boys wore their good shirts and good pants and good shoes. The girls wore dresses or skirts or jumpers with party shoes.

  As soon as we got to school, we ran to the bathrooms. We changed our clothes.

  We put everything on backward.

  “See?” I said to Nancy as we admired our outfits. (We were in the girls’ room. We were looking at ourselves in the mirror.) “We are following all of Mrs. Hoffman’s rules. She said, ‘No jeans.’ She said, ‘No sneakers.’ She said, ‘No pants for the girls.’ And we are not wearing any of those things.”

  Nancy giggled. “What lovely ladies we are.”

  I was wearing a very fancy dress. It was supposed to button down the back. I had buttoned it down the front. And I had tied the sashes in a big bow — in front. Nancy was wearing a backward blouse and a backward skirt. She was also wearing a backward sweater. I had helped her button the sweater down her back.

  We had both put our shoes on the wrong feet.

  Just before we entered our classroom, I stopped. I turned my glasses upside down. Then I set them on my nose.

  We walked into the room. (We held hands because we were a teensy bit scared.) But for once, Hatey was not there. About half of our classmates were, though. And, boy, did they look silly! Ricky was wearing a suit. The jacket and pants were fastened in the back. Hank Reubens was wearing a softball cap. The brim was facing the back.

  “Mrs. Hoffman did not say, ‘No hats,’ ” he told Nancy and me.

  Natalie had combed all of her hair over her face. Then she had put on her glasses.

  I looked around the room. Where was Pamela? This was her idea. If she did not show up, I would —

  “Hello, everybody!” Pamela walked proudly through the doorway.

  She was dressed as a bride. Her shoes were on the wrong feet. Her gown was on backward. (She had to carry the train in front of her.) And the veil completely covered her face. I do not know how she could see anything.

  Everybody began to laugh.

  But suddenly we stopped. The room grew silent.

  Hatey Hoffman had arrived.

  Guess what she did. She laughed! “I have never seen a sillier looking class,” she said. She laughed some more.

  I was amazed. No yelling? No extra homework?

  My friends and I were pretty quiet all morning.

  But I was even more amazed that afternoon. I could not believe what happened when Hatey met our class at the end of recess.

  The bell rang. My backward friends and I ran to the doorway. We formed our two straight lines. Hatey was waiting for us.

  All of her clothes were on backward!

  We walked silently through the halls. We entered our classroom. And then … everybody began to laugh.

  Pamela raised her hand. “How do you like Backward Day?” she asked Mrs. Hoffman.

  Mrs. Hoffman shook her head. “Did you ever do this for Ms. Colman?” She was still laughing.

  I raised my hand. “We never had to,” I replied.

  “I see,” said Mrs. Hoffman. Suddenly she looked serious. But not cross. “Why is that?”

  “Because Ms. Colman does not have so many rules,” I said. “We can behave ourselves without rules. We are pretty good at it.”

  “Okay,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “Show me.”

  The Big Rock Candy Mountain

  The first school day after Backward Day was great.

  Guess what I noticed when I walked into our room — NO CHORE CHART. Mrs. Hoffman had taken it down. Even so, every single chore was done by the end of the day. (I cleaned Hootie’s cage. I do not like the mess. But I like Hootie.)

  When we came in that morning, we stopped talking. We walked silently to our desks. We got out our books and began to read.

  Do you know what Mrs. Hoffman said? She said, “Natalie. Ricky. Why are you two sitting so far back? All glasses-wearers come to the front row.” Then she said, “Hannie. Nancy. Why are you two sitting so far apart? Please move to the back row so you can be together.”

  Mrs. Hoffman changed our seats all around. We were back in our old places. Ricky was next to me. Hannie and Nancy were next to each other. Everyone was where they belonged.

  The bell had not rung yet. So I pulled Doctor Dolittle out of my desk. My friends opened their books. The room was quiet again.

  “Ahem,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “Something is wrong. I do not hear any noise. School has not started yet. Why are you so quiet?”

  I grinned. I put away Doctor Dolittle, even though I had reached a very funny part. I turned to Ricky. “Nice suit,” I said.

  “Nice dress,” Ricky replied.

  Everyone else was talking, too. But no one was running around. No chairs were knocked over. Nobody was fighting or throwing spitballs.

  Mrs. Hoffman smiled at us. Then, slowly, her smile turned into a frown. She bent down. She looked at our feet. Then she straightened up.

  “Boys and girls, you are awfully dressed up,” she said. “I do not see any sneakers. I do not see any jeans. And all the girls are wearing dresses.”

  I raised my hand. “Mrs. Hoffman?” I said. “Could we wear our regular clothes tomorrow? I promise we will not erase any holes in our papers.”

  “You may wear your … regular clothes,” replied Mrs. Hoffman.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  The bell rang. Our day with Mrs. Hoffman began. She did not have to yell at anybody. She did not have to send anybody to the corner. Best of all, when we lined up to go to the cafeteria, Mrs. Hoffman raised her eyebrows.

  “Why are you standing in two lines?” she asked us.

  We formed one line. We walked down the hall. We were quiet and orderly.

  Nobody made fun of us.

  * * *

  The afternoon went as well as the morning. The second day went as well as the first. And at the end of the second day, Mrs. Hoffman surprised us. She reached into Ms. Colman’s closet. She pulled out a guitar.

  I never knew Mrs. Hoffman could play the guitar.

  But she could.

  She taught us a new song. It was called “The Big Rock Candy Mountain.” I liked the song a lot. (This made sense. I like to sing,
and I like to eat candy.)

  When we had learned all the words to the song, Mrs. Hoffman said, “Wonderful! You are very nice singers. We will sing for fifteen minutes at the end of each day if you behave as well as you have been behaving.”

  I raised my hand. “Thank you,” I said.

  Mrs. Hoffman smiled. Then she said, “By the way, I certainly liked the sound of ‘The Big Rock Candy Mountain’ better than the sound of ‘Underwear.’ ”

  A Present for Mrs. Hoffman

  One day, Mrs. Hoffman said, “Well, boys and girls, this will be our last week together. Ms. Colman will be back on Monday.”

  That was hard to believe. Ms. Colman had been away for three and a half weeks. Seven days from now, she would be sitting at her desk again.

  I could not wait! Ms. Colman would be all well. School would be the same as before. Ms. Colman would read to us. She would make Surprising Announcements. We would have our pizza party at last.

  Then I realized something. I would miss Mrs. Hoffman’s guitar. I would miss singing with Mrs. Hoffman at the end of the day.

  At recess, I called to my classmates, “Come here for a sec!”

  Everyone gathered around me. Pamela Harding joined them. She had not been quite so mean since Backward Day.

  “Friday will be Mrs. Hoffman’s last day,” I said.

  “Duh,” replied Bobby. (He can be so rude.)

  I ignored him. “I was thinking,” I went on. “I will kind of miss singing ‘The Big Rock Candy Mountain’ after Mrs. Hoffman leaves.”

  “I will miss her guitar,” said Ricky.

  “I will miss Mrs. Hoffman,” said Hannie.

  “Maybe we could do something nice for her,” said Nancy. “Maybe we could give her a going-away party. I bet she would like that.”

  “Yeah!” I cried. “We could have refreshments.”

  “We could sing,” said Ricky.

  “We could give Mrs. Hoffman a present,” I added.

  * * *

  We were very busy the next few days. We talked to the room mothers. They said they would make punch and cake. They would buy napkins and stuff. They would bring everything to school on Friday afternoon. We could surprise our teacher.