Trevor Lee and the Big Uh Oh! Page 2
Next it was time for math. Finally! Math is the one thing I am good at. It’s what keeps me from jumping out the window every time The Boog turns her back. That and the fact we’re on the 3rd floor of the school building.
The Boog passed out our new math books. The kind you can’t write in. Unlike in 2nd Grade. Then she stood very still at the front of the room. And smiled. Like an ice cube with teeth.
“I have a surprise for you,” she said. “ I hear you all worked so hard in 2nd Grade. To learn how to add and subtract—all the basics. As a result, this year in math we will be focusing on something very grown-up. Word problems. Real life ways to use the math you have learned.”
“Say what?” I mumbled under my breath. “Does The Boog have moonshine in her Kool-Aid?” I couldn’t have been more shocked if she would have let a stinker after every sentence.
Math is NOT, and I repeat, NOT about words. It’s about numbers. 1, 2, 38, and everything in between. Word problems are like a big bowl of liver and spinach. They might be good for you. But you wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot pole. Ten foot… now that’s real-life math.
“Okay… well… let me give you an example,” said The Boog. Cause we were all staring at her like she had three heads. Two big ones and a little one with curly hair. “Let’s do a problem using fractions, since we will be learning a lot more about them this year.” Then she wrote one of those wordy word problems on the board.
“Lets read the problem together,” she said. “1, 2, Ready? Read.”
If a pie has 8 slices and my friend eats ½ the pie. What will I get?
Everyone started reading out loud. Except me. I just moved my lips up and down. Like a horse eating peanut butter. Unfortunately, when everyone stopped my lips kept moving. I wasn’t what you would call “paying close attention.”
“Are you chewing gum, Trevor Lee?” asked The Boog.
“No ma’am,” I said.
“Then what’s in your mouth?”
“I think a dead fly from the ceiling fell into it, ma’am.”
“Gross!” yelled Sally May and Sally Fay.
“Tastes like chicken,” I said. And licked my lips.
“Well, just swallow whatever it is,” said The Boog. “Do you need to read the word problem again?”
“No, ma’am,” I lied.
“So,” said The Boog, “If my friend eats half of this pie, what will I get?”
“A belly ache,” blurted out Pinky. “That is if you eat what’s left.”
“That might be true,” said The Boog. “But next time raise your hand. Anyone else? How many pieces of pie will I get to eat? Sally May?”
“My mother doesn’t let us eat pie, ma’am. She says if you eat a lot of pie, you’ll get fat.”
“Or the runs,” piped in Sally Fay.
Everyone nodded in agreement.
The Boog stomped her foot to stop our nodding. Then she yelled, “FOUR! I will get to eat four small slices of pie. Sugar-free. Organic. Low-calorie. Mother-approved. Fruit pie.”
Then she drew on the board. She said it was a pie. But it just looked like a lousy circle. And divided the circle-pie into eight slices. She asked Elmer to color in four of the slices. He complained it made him hungry. Finally, she asked us to count the slices not colored in. And she was right. There were four crumby slices left. I wondered if she would share them with us.
“See,” she said. “Fractions are as easy as pie.” Then she laughed at her own joke.
We stared in silence.
“Well, now it’s your turn,” she said. Then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Clearly glad the lesson was over.
The Boog handed each of us a page with five word problems on it. There were more sentences on this page than out-of-control kids on Halloween. What was I going to do?
I looked at the first problem. Then glanced over at Pinky. He wasn’t having a lick of trouble. In fact, everyone looked like they were enjoying these wordy problems. Impossible! I felt like I had stepped onto Pluto. Which isn’t even a planet anymore. If you can imagine that.
So, I went back to problem #1. I recognized a couple of the words. And crossed my fingers, toes, and eyes the rest weren’t important. Unfortunately, the words I did know didn’t give me enough clues. So, I decided to just add up all the numbers I saw, then divide in half. I spotted a 5, a 2, and a 3. That added up to 10. ½ of 10 was easy. 5. I scribbled 5 on my paper. As Mamaw
always says, “There’s more than one way to wash a stinky dog.”
As I started problem #2, everyone around me began handing in their papers.
And then there it was. The most beautiful sound in the world. Better than a chorus of angels from heaven above. The end-of-the-day bell. My most favorite time of the day.
You’d think I’d be more excited. Especially since it’s my most favorite time of day. But, I wasn’t. Cause I still hadn’t decided on a plan. I had four more wordy problems to do. And The Boog was trying to destroy my love of the one thing worth coming to school for. Math. She was a one-woman, pink-lipped, sort-of-nice-smelling wrecking ball.
“What do I do now?” I asked Pinky.
“About what?
“About Family Night!” I said.
“Let’s sleep on it,” said Pinky. “Maybe the answer will come in a dream. I heard on TV people can solve their problems in their sleep. Unless they’re snoring.”
“The only dreams I have are of cows with polka dots chasing me in the field behind our barn,” I sighed.
“Oh, right,” said Pinky. “And those always end with you not drinking milk for a week.”
“Speaking of cows… it’s my turn to feed the chickens tonight. You know what that means.”
“Hippie?”
“Yeah. Hippie the Rooster. The evil ninja rooster out to destroy the world. One peck at my heels at a time.”
Life on a farm sure isn’t easy. Ever since Mother and Daddy got so busy, it’s been even worse. I’m beginning to think the only reason they had me is to do their work. To make coffee. To clean the house. To feed the chickens. To pull the weeds in the garden. Anything they don’t want to do.
“Good luck with that,” Pinky said and shook his head.
“What an interesting first day,” The Boog interrupted as we lined up to go home. “See ya tomorrow, Trevor Lee,” she smiled.
“I’ll discuss that with my parents,” I warned. And marched straight out the door.
Some days are worse than a pie made of toenails.
Chapter 4
M amaw was waiting for me at home. She has lived with us ever since Papaw passed away. Which is very different from passing a ball or passing gas. Although he did both of those really well, too.
“So, did you learn anything today?” Mamaw asked as she hugged me.
Mamaw hugs so hard I can’t hardly breathe. She says it’s so I can feel the love deep inside.
“I don’t think this 3rd Grade thing is gonna work out,” I answered. “Maybe I should be like home-schooled, but without the schooled. What was 3rd Grade like for you?”
“3rd Grade?” asked Mamaw. “Why Trevor Lee, I’m as old as the mountains. With these cobwebs in my brain, I can’t even remember yesterday.”
Mamaw liked to talk about school about as much as I did. In fact, I didn’t think I had ever heard her talk about it.
“What’s the problem, sweetpea?” she asked.
“Well, it’s these doggone long words when I try to read. They’re Enemy #2.”
“Enemy #2?” Mamaw asked.
“Yeah, well, Sally May is Enemy #1,” I explained. Mamaw shook her head like she understood.
“Heck, the short words aren’t that friendly either. It don’t make no sense. How come the letters ea in heat say “eeeee,” but in the word head they say “eh.” Who made up that rule? A drunk turtle?”
“Oh dear,” sighed Mamaw.
I put my head in my hands. “All this talk about reading has made me hungrier than a pig on a diet.”
“That reminds me,” I said. “Time to feed the chickens.”
“Now you stand up to that old rooster. You hear me?”
Standing up wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. I had a Stop, Drop, and Roll plan that I was working on. Like when there’s a big fire and the fireman’s ladder can’t reach you.
First I tiptoe as close to the chicken coop as I can get. When Hippie the Rooster spies me I freeze. Like a cherry Popsicle. Or a banana one. I like those, too.
Then I drop to the ground. So low I blend in with the grass. Like the bugs and worms. Careful not to eat any, though.
After that I roll to the chicken coop door. Hippie will just think I’m a tumbleweed. And pay no attention to me.
Finally, I jump up and dash into the coop, feed the chickens, then dash back to the house. It will help if I scream all the way back. Makes me run faster.
“Okay you ninja rooster,” I whispered. “Today I am king of the chicken coop.”
I tiptoed close to the coop. Careful not to make a sound.
Just as Hippie spotted me, I stopped. “What next? Oh, yeah. Drop, Trevor Lee. Drop!”
I dropped to the ground. Hippie’s evil head twisted back and forth. And back and forth. And then back. But not forth.
Now time to roll. Side over side. Side over side. Side over… ouch!… side. I hadn’t planned on all the little pebbles along the way. I would have more dents in me than my Uncle Lum’s old truck when this was over.
Suddenly, I felt something that wasn’t quite a pebble.
A peck!
And then another one. And another one. Hippie was on top of me. That crazy bird was attacking me.
I screamed and rolled. And screamed and rolled. And screamed some more. Kinda like a girl. But only higher. Since we’re friends I can trust you with that secret. Right?
Well, Hippie was fired up. His wings flapped as fast as my arms flopped.
I rolled with him on top of me until I rolled into the coop door.
“Today I am king of the coop,” I yelled through flapping wings. Then I sat up. Hippie now doing a rooster dance on my head. “Grab the coop door,” I reminded myself. “But open your eyes first, Trevor Lee.”
It helps when you talk to yourself in situations like these. No need to thank me for that advice.
I did finally get the coop door open, swatted off Hippie, and slipped inside. Slamming the door shut.
“I am king of the coop,” I crowed. My voice a bit crackly.
Hippie pecked at the door. Like an out-of-control jackhammer on high.
I turned around to face the hens. One hen laid half a dozen eggs in all the excitement. A few others ran to the back of the coop and squawked nervously. I could swear a couple rolled their eyes at me.
So I did it. Mission accomplished.
But… uh… oh. There was one big problem. The chicken’s food was in a barrel.
Outside the coop.
And there was no way I was going to leave this chicken coop. Not until Hippie left. And the way he was kicking up dirt outside the door, he could stay there until Christmas. In the year 3000.
I had twenty hungry hens eyeing me. And one angry rooster blocking me in.
On a scale of 1 to 10. With 1 being BAD. And 10 being DISASTER. Some days are a 721⁄2.
Chapter 41⁄2
O nce back in the house, Mamaw tried to cheer me up. By playing “He-Man of the World.” We started by doing push-ups. Mamaw got down on her knees. Like she was ready to say a prayer. And stuffed her dress between her legs.
“A He-Man can still be a lady,” she explained.
Then down-up, down-up, down-up. She finished three red-faced, grunt-filled push-ups.
I flopped down on the floor and did 3½. I didn’t want to show her up too bad. Plus I was a bit tired from my Hippie run-in.
The next round of the competition involved lifting. The heaviest thing in the room. Since that was Mamaw, we agreed to lift something more manageable. Barks-a-Lot, our stinky hound dog. He barely broke his snore as we took turns lifting him on and off the couch.
We were about to get started with the next round of the competition. Karate kicks. When I heard the car door slam. Mother was home. A few minutes later I heard Daddy pull in the driveway.
“How was your first day of school?” Mother asked. As she put down the bags of groceries.
“Okay.”
“What did you learn?” asked Daddy. Right behind her with another armful of groceries.
“Nothing.”
“You mean to tell me you spent all day at that there school and all you learned was nothing?” Daddy asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, who’s your teacher this year?” asked Mother.
“Miss Burger.”
“Oh that must be Dr. Burger’s daughter, Sunny,” said Daddy.
“Sunny Burger?” I asked. “Sounds like a breakfast sandwich at McDonald’s. I’ll have a Sunny Burger. Hold the pickle.”
Mamaw giggled so hard she snorted.
“I hear she’s real pretty,” said Daddy.
“Whatever.”
“Do you have homework?” asked Mother.
“No.”
“No learning and no homework,” said Daddy. “Did you really go to school today, Trevor Lee? Or did you and Pinky go fishing?”
Fishing. Why hadn’t I thought of that?
“I’m not feeling so well,” I answered. “May I go to my room?”
“Yes, honey,” said Mamaw. “I’ll call you down when supper’s ready.”
I ran upstairs to my room. Just as I shut the door, I heard Mamaw say my name through the vent. Sounds from the kitchen rise up through it and into my room. If I lean my ear right next to it, I can hear whatever Mamaw, Mother, and Daddy say in the kitchen. Even if they’re whispering. It’s how I almost always find out my birthday present before the big day.
“Was it that bad?” asked Daddy.
“He didn’t give any details,” said Mamaw. “But when he got home he looked like a cat with no meow. ”
“I wonder if it’s the reading thing again. I thought the help he got this past summer would get him caught up,” said Daddy. “Have you heard him read lately?”
“No,” said Mother. “I barely had time to buy his new school clothes.”
“Well, what are we gonna do?” asked Daddy.
“We can’t afford to pay for a tutor,” said Mother. “Maybe we should talk to Miss Burger. See if he needs to go back to 2nd Grade.”
I slammed the vent shut. I had heard enough.
The thought of leaving 3rd Grade. Without Pinky. Well, it was just too much. I crawled into bed. And put the covers over my head.
Chapter 5
“W hat happened to your face?” asked Pinky the next day at school.
“Hippie.”
“So the plan worked?”
“Not exactly. Mamaw had to rescue me. It took a big broom and a little cussin’.”
The Boog’s eyes got real big when she saw me, too. Like a monkey at the zoo. The ones with the puffy red butts.
“Welcome back, Trevor Lee,” she smiled.
I gave her the face.
It looked something like this.
“I hope those scratches clear up before Monday,” she said.
“Why Monday?”
I shouldn’t have asked.
“’Cause Monday is Picture Day,” The Boog answered. “These are the pictures we’ll be showing on Family Night.”
Pinky grabbed his head.
Last year Pinky’s mom had what his dad called a “hairy-brained” idea the day before Picture Day. To give Pinky a perm. She always did the same with Pinky’s sisters.
Well, the perm didn’t quite take. But the picture sure was taken.
I had to help Pinky to his desk as he was
a bit shaken by the news.
“Please sit, children. We have a special day today,” announced The Boog.
Now this can’t be good. Special is teacher code for “boring.”
“Today I will assign my special helpers for the week.”
See.
Big whoop.
“And, I will assign the parts each of you will read on Family Night.”
No she didn’t.
“Excuse me,” I said, raising my hand. “My parents can’t come to Family Night, so I won’t need a part. Thank you anyway, ma’am.”
“I didn’t send home a letter about Family Night yet, Trevor Lee,” said The Boog. “So how do you know your parents are busy?”
“I told them all about it,” I answered. I’m a quick thinker.
“And what night next week did you tell them Family Night is taking place?” asked The Boog.
“Uh… .”
The Boog hadn’t actually shared that piece of information with us. Think, Trevor Lee. Think fast!
“I told them it was probably every night, ma’am. And they said, ‘Oops. Sorry.’”
The Boog walked toward me. Her shoes clicking on the floor. Like a giant cockroach in heels.
“Every child in this class will be reading a part for Family Night,” stated The Boog. “Including you.”
And then she did it. She pointed at me. Even I know that’s rude.
The Boog went on to explain what we would be doing over the next two weeks to prepare for Family Night. In addition to taking class pictures, we would be going on a field trip and doing some interesting writing about it. “Interesting” was her word. Not mine. All of these things would be shown on Family Night as an example of what we are learning and the “wonderful experiences” we are having in 3rd Grade. Again, her words. Not mine. She emphasized that we were to put our best foot forward. To make a good impression as the year began.
Since Mamaw says I have two left feet, I guess it doesn’t matter which foot I put forward. Or backwards. Or slide side-to-side. So I ignored her last comment about the feet.