Jake Drake, Teacher's Pet Page 3

  I stopped chewing and looked around the room. About half the kids in the cafeteria were staring at me. Staring at us. At me and Miss Cott. And I could see what they were thinking. It was all over their faces, as plain as grape jelly: Jake Drake is such a teacher’s pet that he even eats lunch with one!

  I finished my sandwich and then ate my two desserts so fast I didn’t even taste them. Then I looked sideways at Miss Cott and said, “Gotta go,” and before she could say anything, I grabbed my garbage and left. I went straight across the room, dumped my trash, and went out the side door to the playground.

  The first thing I did outside was take off the orange belt and stuff it into my pocket. Because Mrs. Karp never said I had to wear it during recess.

  Willie waved at me from the other side of the playground, and I ran over to meet him. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and birds were singing. It was a beautiful May afternoon, it was recess, and I had survived lunch. I started to feel okay again.

  Just before I got to Willie, three fifth graders jumped off the jungle gym and caught up to me.

  I stopped and said, “Hi.”

  The biggest kid looked familiar, but I didn’t know his name. He gave me this mean smile and said, “Hey, Garbage Guy—better put your little belt back on. I think I see some trash over there by the fence.”

  Then the one who was wearing a baseball hat said, “Yeah, and maybe you should get your fake horsie and ride it around the playground for us.”

  They laughed and high-fived each other, and all three of them got closer and started chanting: “Jake Drake! Jake Drake! Jake Drake! Jake Drake!” Then they got right up into my face. “Jake Drake! Jake Drake! Jake Drake! Jake Drake!” And I just couldn’t take it. So I grabbed the guy with the baseball hat and pushed him as hard as I could right into the other two kids. They weren’t ready for that, and all three of them lost their balance and fell down in a heap on the grass. And they stopped chanting my name.

  They began to scramble around, trying to get up, and I could see it was time to get out of there. I turned to run, but I bumped into someone. It was Mrs. Karp, standing right there, looking very tall and very angry.

  “What’s going on here? You boys, get up off the ground this instant!”

  Those kids had been mean to me, but still, I was the one who pushed first. I was the one who had started fighting. So I said, “Mrs. Karp, I . . .”

  And she said, “I know, Jake. You didn’t have anything to do with this. Of course not.” Then she frowned at the other kids. “You boys, follow me to the office. Now.”

  And as the fifth graders walked away behind Mrs. Karp, the one at the end of the line, the biggest one, turned to look at me. He narrowed his eyes and pointed at me, and I could see his mouth move. He didn’t make a sound, but I saw what he said. He said, “I’m gonna get you!” And I didn’t blame him. It wasn’t fair. I was the one who started fighting, but Mrs. Karp didn’t see it.

  Willie came over and said, “That was awesome! I thought we were going to have to fight all three of them at once!”

  I just nodded. Everything had happened so fast.

  Willie said, “But I don’t think I’d want to be you right now. That big kid? You know who he is, right?”

  I shook my head, and Willie said, “No? You don’t know who that is? That’s Danny Grumson, Ben’s big brother. He’s only the toughest kid in the whole school, that’s all!”

  And standing there on the playground with Willie going on and on about Danny Grumson, something suddenly became very clear to me: Being a teacher’s pet can be dangerous. Very dangerous.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  No More Mr. Nice Guy

  The second I got on my bus that afternoon, three or four kids in the back started chanting, “Jake Drake! Jake Drake! Jake Drake!” They probably would have done it forever, but the bus driver turned around and made them stop.

  I sat on a seat by myself. Alone. Just like at lunch, but without Miss Cott.

  When I got off the bus, I walked the rest of the way to my house. Alone.

  And I didn’t feel like a snack, so I went up to my room and I shut the door and flopped flat on my back onto my bed. Alone.

  I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. And lying there on my bed, I said what I always say when I feel sorry for myself. I said, “It’s not fair!”

  And it wasn’t. I didn’t want to be a teacher’s pet. It just happened. I helped Mrs. Snavin with the computer—Bam!—teacher’s pet. I washed out a couple of paintbrushes—Bam!—teacher’s pet. I got whomped in gym—Bam!—teacher’s pet. Cleaned up trash, didn’t yell on the bus, helped that storyteller—Bam! Bam! Bam!—teacher’s pet.

  The teachers and even the principal—all of them thought I was so special, so wonderful.

  I sat up on my bed. Was I so special and wonderful? Of course not! No way. But, if that’s what all my teachers thought, then that’s how they were going to treat me. I’d be special, and sweet, a real trooper.

  It was so simple. If my teachers thought I was always so wonderful and so nicey-nice, I’d just have to prove they were making a mistake.

  Suddenly I felt great. I jumped off my bed and ran downstairs to get a snack. In the pantry I found a bag of chocolate-chip cookies and I piled about ten of them onto a plate. Then I poured myself a big glass of milk but the carton was really full and I spilled milk all over the counter. I started to grab a paper towel to wipe it up—but then I stopped myself.

  I smiled and I dunked a cookie into my glass and I crunched it, and I let the crumbs fall all over the place. And when I was done eating cookies and spraying crumbs around, I just left everything a mess. I didn’t even put the milk back into the refrigerator. And I said to myself, Now, if this was tomorrow and I was at school, I’d just walk away and leave all this!

  I grinned as I cleaned up the counter and put the milk away. Thinking like that was good practice.

  Because tomorrow I wasn’t going to be good and clean up after myself. I was going to be bad and rude and unpleasant and messy.

  Because on Wednesday, everybody at school was going to see a different Jake Drake.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Bad Jake

  On Wednesday morning as I got on the bus, the driver watched me climb up the steps.

  When I was right next to her, she gave me a big smile and said, “How’s my favorite little bus rider today?”

  I frowned at her and I said, “Terrible. And this bus smells bad!”

  The lady got this shocked look on her face. Then she pushed her lips together, turned her face away, and looked up into her big mirror. She shouted, “Hurry up and sit down back there!” Then she slammed the doors shut and grabbed the steering wheel.

  As I sat down, I didn’t know if I should feel bad or smile. But the important thing was this: That was one bus driver who wasn’t going to think Jake Drake was so nicey-nice anymore. And I thought, Maybe she’ll even send me to the principal’s office for being rude! And I was happy about that.

  Because that Wednesday, I had to be someone else, someone different. I was going to make some trouble.

  When I got off the bus, Willie was waiting for me. We started walking toward the playground because it wasn’t time to go inside yet.

  This first-grade boy ran right in front of us, and I stuck out my foot. The kid stumbled and rolled onto the grass.

  “Hey!” he yelled. And he got up and said, “That wasn’t nice!”

  I made this mean face at him, and I said, “Yeah? So what?”

  The kid was pretty little, so he just frowned and started running again.

  Willie looked at me funny. “You okay?”

  I said, “No, I’m not okay. All the teachers think I’m so nice, and all the kids think I’m a big teacher’s pet.” Then I stopped walking and I looked at Willie. I said, “That’s what they think, don’t they?”

  Willie scrunched up his face. “Well . . . I didn’t want to say anything, but, yeah. I heard some kids in my class talking abou
t you yesterday. They said you want all the teachers to think you’re perfect. They said . . . they said you make them sick. I . . . I was going to tell them it wasn’t true, but then Mrs. Frule looked at us so we had to shut up.”

  I said, “Well, don’t worry about it. Because I’m going to do something about all that. Today.”

  Willie looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’m going to show everybody that I’m not a teacher’s pet, that’s what.”

  “But how?” asked Willie.

  “I’m just not going to be so nice.”

  “You mean, like . . . like tripping that kid?” asked Willie. And when I nodded, he said, “But . . . if you do stuff like that, you’re gonna get in trouble.”

  I looked at Willie. And I smiled and nodded my head again.

  And Willie smiled too. “Ohhh . . . I get it.”

  Then the bell rang and kids started for the doors.

  Willie said, “Well, have a good day. I mean, have a bad day!”

  And I grinned and said, “Real bad!”

  When I got to Mrs. Snavin’s room, I threw my jacket into the bottom of my cubby, and then tossed my backpack onto the floor by my desk.

  I sat down in my chair and pulled a comic book out of my backpack. I had never read a comic book at school before. It was kind of fun.

  When she saw me, Mrs. Snavin came to the back of the room and sat down at the computer closest to my desk. She turned it on and fiddled with it for a minute or two. Then she said, “Jake, this math program is acting up again.”

  I kept reading my comic book. I pretended not to hear her.

  She kept tapping on keys, and then she put her hands in her lap and let out a big sigh. “Jake?” I could tell Mrs. Snavin was looking right at me. “Jake, what should I do?”

  Without looking away from my comic book I said, “Take a computer class.” That’s what I said. Rude. Unhelpful. And I said it loud enough so every kid in the class could hear me.

  The room got very quiet. My hands were sweating, and my fingers made spots on the paper of the comic book. Mrs. Snavin was getting furious, I was sure of it. She was getting ready to yell at me, tell me to put away the junk I was reading.

  Five seconds passed.

  Then Mrs. Snavin stood up slowly and walked over to my desk. I felt her standing there, a little too close. I gulped, ready for the worst. She reached out her hand to grab my comic book.

  Except she didn’t.

  Instead, she patted me on the head. “Jake, you are absolutely right! I’ve just been putting it off and putting it off, and now, thanks to you, that’s just what I’m going to do. I’m going to sign up for a computer class today—this very afternoon! Because if I can’t run the computers in my own classroom, then I guess I have no business using them. So we’ll just forget about the computers for a while. After all, who says we need computers to learn about number lines anyway? I have stacks and stacks of perfectly good worksheets. Jake, you’re wonderful! I don’t know what I’d do without you!”

  Ben Grumson gave me this dirty look. And so did about twenty other kids. Because now instead of using the computers for math, we were going to have to do worksheets. I mean, the math game was pretty stupid, but we still got to use a computer. Which is a lot better than worksheets.

  Then Mrs. Snavin said, “Jake, could you to go to the office for me and ask Mrs. Drinkwater for the community college catalog?”

  I just kept reading my comic book, and I said, “I’m reading.” Not nice at all. My hands were still sweating.

  And what does Mrs. Snavin say? Does she say, “Listen here, young man! You put down that trash and do what I tell you to!”? Does she grab me by the arm and say, “I don’t like the tone of your voice, Mr. Drake! We better talk to the principal about this!”?

  No. Right away Mrs. Snavin says, “Why of course. How rude of me. Here you are doing some extra reading before class even starts, and I’m interrupting you. You’ve always been such a good reader! I’ll send someone else.” And she did.

  That’s when I decided I would have to try harder. I wasn’t being bad enough.

  After attendance and the Pledge of Allegiance, Mrs. Snavin said, “All right, class. For reading today, let’s begin by talking about the story we finished yesterday. Let’s see . . . Karl, what’s one thing you liked about ‘Tom’s Pet Crow’?”

  Karl sat up straighter in his chair and said, “Well, I kind of liked the way Tom taught the crow how to . . .”

  Right while Karl was talking, I just butted in, and I said, “I didn’t like anything about that story.”

  Mrs. Snavin’s eyebrows went up. “Nothing? My goodness, Jake. You shouldn’t have interrupted Karl . . . but maybe you should tell us one thing you didn’t like.”

  I said, “The whole story was stupid. And boring. And I didn’t like it. At all.”

  “Well!” said Mrs. Snavin. “How about the rest of you? Is there anyone else who didn’t like the story?”

  I looked around, and almost every kid’s hand went up in the air. And I thought, Hey! Look! I’m a leader! They agree with me. And they can see that I’m not the teacher’s pet! Hurrah!

  Mrs. Snavin looked around, and then she looked at me, and she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. And I thought, Uh-oh. Now I’m going to get it!

  Then she smiled. At me. And she said, “Jake, you are so right! I didn’t like this story very much, either. That’ll teach me to pay more attention to what’s good and what’s not! So let’s skip ahead in our reading books . . . all the way to page 287.”

  While we were flipping pages, Mrs. Snavin said, “Now, this is a longer story, so you won’t have time to finish it during reading time. But you can take it home and finish it tonight. And I hope you’ll like this story better, because, like Jake says, a story should never be boring or stupid. Right now, I want everyone to take out a piece of paper and write down three ways you think ‘Tom’s Pet Crow’ could be better.”

  All around the class, kids were groaning and giving me dirty looks. Because now we had to do some writing. And we had homework, and it was all my fault. Plus, Mrs. Snavin was still smiling at me and saying how smart I was.

  And I was starting to wonder, How bad do I have to be to make her stop treating me like her little sweetie pie? Because being bad isn’t as easy as some kids make it look.

  A little later during art class, Miss Cott came over and looked at the painting I was making for Mother’s Day. She stood there a minute, and then she said, “Jake, that is so sweet! I think that’s just about the sweetest Mother’s Day painting I’ve ever seen!”

  Before art, I didn’t know how I was going to be bad in Miss Cott’s class. But when she said that, I knew just what to do. I grabbed the bottom of my painting and I pulled the paper out of the clips on the easel. I ripped it up and I said, “Well, I think it’s a rotten painting!” Real loud. And then I grabbed the little brush I had been using and I snapped it right in half.

  Miss Cott stood there with her mouth open. Every kid in the class was looking at her, waiting for an explosion. Then she took a deep breath and sat down in a chair. She started nodding her head. Then in a soft voice she said, “Class, I want you all to pay attention.” Which is something she didn’t need to say. She was still nodding her head. I thought she was going to start screaming any second. She looked around at the class and said, “Jake has just been very brave. You see, I said I liked his painting, and what did Jake do? He tore it up! He knows he can do better work than that, and he’s not afraid to tear up his work and start over! Jake, I think you might be the best art student in this whole school!” And then Miss Cott smiled at me like I had just painted the Mona Lisa or something. So art class was a bust. I was still the teacher’s pet.

  One of Mr. Collins’s big rules is “Never Swing on the Ropes.” So what did I do at the beginning of gym class? I swung on the ropes, and I yelled, “Yahoooo!” while I was doing it. And when Mr. Collins came through the doorway and saw me,
what did he do? Did he come and grab me? Did he shake his fist at me? No. He grinned. Then he said, “I was wondering who’d be the first kid to break that rule this year. I love a kid who’s got some spirit, some backbone! The rest of you kids could take a lesson from Drake here. Okay, trooper, off that rope, and give me five push-ups. And the next kid who swings will do thirty push-ups and thirty sit-ups, so the rest of you, don’t get any ideas.”

  Then at lunch when I handed the orange belt to Mrs. Karp and said, “I don’t want to wear this anymore,” did I get in trouble? No. Mrs. Karp patted me on the head and announced something to everyone in the cafeteria. She smiled at me and said Jake Drake was being very unselfish. She said Jake Drake wanted to share the fun of wearing the lunch patrol belt with someone else. And then she gave the belt to Ben Grumson. Who did not smile at me.

  And no one was happy with me during afternoon math time, either, because we all had to do three worksheets. Instead of using the computers. Because of me.

  So by the end of school on Wednesday afternoon, I was ready to give up. All day I had been about as bad and rude as I knew how to be. And it hadn’t done any good. I was still the teacher’s pet. Every teacher’s pet.

  After school as I got on the bus, this wave of lemon smell rolled down the stairs at me. Then I saw three yellow air fresheners hanging from the back of the driver’s seat. Before I could get past her, the bus driver grabbed me and gave me a big hug.

  She said, “After what you said this morning, well, I went right out and bought these things for the bus. And when I went to take care of my little grandson today, he climbed up on my lap and he said, ‘Gamma mells good!’ Isn’t that the cutest thing you ever heard?!” Then the lady hugged me again. With everyone watching. And she said, “You’re still my favorite little passenger!”

  No doubt about it: I had a one-way ticket to Petsville.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Bad Dream, Good Idea