by Mary Amato
I am at home writing in this book! At night! I wanted to write down what happened today, but Mr. Pinkerton gave us so much work there was no free time at the end of the day. I asked Alexander if I should take this book home and he said yes. I’ll put it back in the classroom first thing in the morning.
Two big things happened today, both terrible. First, Mrs. Penrose was absent again. The second big thing happened at recess.
We went down to our spot to talk just like we did yesterday.
“Mrs. Penrose is definitely coming back tomorrow,” Jazmine said.
“You don’t know,” Isabella said. “Something with the baby might be bad.”
Her sentence made us all stop breathing for a second. Then Carly gave her a mean look and said, “I’m not in the mood for Debbie Downer.”
I was mad at Isabella for saying that about the baby, so I said, “Yeah, do us all a favor and look on the bright side for a change, Isabella.”
“Yeah. The baby is fine, so just keep it to yourself, Isabella,” Jazmine added.
“How do you know the baby is fine?” Isabella asked.
“Because we aren’t gloomy like you,” Carly said.
“But everything isn’t always happy all the time,” Isabella exclaimed. “Bad things happen. You can’t always fix them.”
The day was freezing, and we were all standing in a huddle between the merry-go-round and the pine tree. Isabella had her hood tight, so you couldn’t see any of her black curly hair.
Carly snapped, “What’s wrong with you?”
It was like a slap. Isabella’s round brown face got reddish on her cheeks. Her eyes got full of tears and she blinked. She was going to say something, and her breath made a puff of steam in the air. Then she turned and started walking silently up the hill toward the blacktop.
“I’m glad,” Carly said. “Nobody wants to be around a Debbie Downer.”
We just stood there and listened to Isabella’s footsteps crunch on the crust of the snow as she walked away.
And then Alexander whispered, “Remember?”
“Remember what?” I asked.
“At the end of second grade, Isabella’s mom had a baby who died. She was Isabella’s baby sister.”
Nobody said anything. Not even Carly.
Tee went up to be with Isabella. I wanted to go, but my feet froze to the ground.
When we came inside from recess, Jazmine gave Isabella her new purple glitter pen, which is Isabella’s favorite color. That gave Carly an idea. She got a purple friendship wristband from her cubby and put it on Isabella’s desk. Now I was more frozen, because I am usually the one to come up with great solutions fast.
I was also jealous, because I still want one of those wristbands, and I happen to know Carly has a box full of them in her cubby.
During science, I didn’t raise my hand once even though I knew all the answers. I kept staring down at the magnifying glass and the different objects we were supposed to be looking at so that I wouldn’t have to see Isabella and so that nobody else would see my face. Mr. Pinkerton didn’t even notice. My stomach started to hurt.
After science, Mr. Pinkerton asked Tee to collect all the magnifying glasses, and when she came to my desk, she whispered, “Maybe you could write a note.”
I looked up. She knew.
I grabbed a piece of paper. While Mr. Pinkerton was getting everything set up for social studies, I wrote.
Dear Isabella,
I’m sorry I was mean to you. If I had a baby sister who died, I would be sad. Bad things can happen and that is the truth and the truth is scary.
Your friend (hopefully),
I gave it to her when Mr. Pinkerton wasn’t looking. Then my heart stopped beating and I couldn’t breathe because she was reading it. I wanted her to turn around and smile at me, but she kept looking straight ahead.
Mr. Pinkerton asked everybody to clear their desks and get our maps workbooks, which are in a bin on the counter. Everybody got busy, putting away stuff and getting out the workbooks. And in the middle of that, Isabella walked past my desk and dropped a tiny folded note on it.
My hands were shaky when I opened it. And then I saw the words. “Thanks, Kristin. It’s okay,” she wrote. “Your friend, Isabella.”
I read it over and over. And then the lesson started and I had to look as if I were paying attention so I didn’t get in trouble. And even though Mr. Pinkerton said that the only thing that should be on our desks was our map workbook, I kept the note there. I put my left hand over it so I could hide it, and I swear I could feel the words coming up from the paper into my hand. Like the ink was warm.
We are all hoping, hoping, hoping that tomorrow when we walk in the door, Mrs. Penrose is back and the baby is okay and everything is normal.
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 20
Important Message from Omar
1.Terrible news this morning. Mr. Pinkerton is still here.
2.“I have been informed that Mrs. Penrose is having a medical emergency,” Mr. Pinkerton said. “I will be your teacher for the time being.”
3.Isabella whispered, “Omar, what does ‘time being’ mean?”
4.I whispered, “I don’t know.”
5.The room was more silent than blank paper.
6.I saw tears start to come out of Isabella’s eyes and Tee’s eyes, but they blinked them back inside.
7.We did morning work. Then we did afternoon work.
8.I’m writing this after school while I’m waiting for my bus to get called.
9.We have a lot of questions, and we have to wait all weekend! Is Mrs. Penrose okay? Is the baby okay? When is she coming back?
SUNDAY DECEMBER 22
This is Tee. Everybody let me take home the book and said I could start writing the WOW story in it, but I can’t stop worrying.
MONDAY, DECEMBER 23
Mrs. Penrose is not here again.
This morning Ms. Yang comes into our room.
“Mrs. Penrose sent me an e-mail and she wants me to share it with you,” Ms. Yang says. She reads.
Dear Boys and Girls,
This is Mrs. Penrose. I know you are all wondering what is going on. Last Tuesday night, I had to go to the hospital. The baby decided to come early. His name is Ryan. He is tiny and needs help breathing. His lungs aren’t ready for the world. He needs to stay in the hospital. I miss you all, but I need to stay here with him for now.
I don’t know how long I will be gone.
Please be helpful to your substitute and be good friends to one another. Within each of you is a flame, a passion for learning. Keep the flame burning brightly by reading and writing a lot.
Enjoy your holidays and don’t worry about me or the baby. We are in good hands. I will see you all sometime in the New Year.
Your teacher,
Mrs. Penrose
When Ms. Yang starts reading, her voice sounds shaky. Like she’s walking on a tightrope and about to fall off. Then when she gets to the last part, she starts to cry and her eyes get red all around the edges. I have to look at my shoelaces because her eyes make me want to cry. My shoelaces are dirty.
She gives the e-mail to Mr. Pinkerton.
“The baby was supposed to be born in March,” Kristin says.
Ms. Yang nods.
Nobody says anything.
She stands up and smiles, but it’s the kind of smile you do to stop crying. “I’m sure he’ll be okay,” she says. Her voice is still shaky.
After lunch, I find the e-mail in the recycle bin by Mr. Pinkerton’s desk. I don’t think important letters from teachers should be in recycle bins. I secretly take it out and tape it in this book.
I was going to say that I am afraid Mrs. Penrose is never coming back, but I am not going to say it. Good things can happen. Mali Koam wrote back. That was a good thing that happened, so a good thing could happen with the baby. When we get back from Winter Break, maybe Mrs. Penrose will be sitting at her desk. I hope so. (But I am still scared.)
—
What exactly are lungs? —
The part of your chest that fills up with air when you breath in.
—
Everybody should try to have happy holidays even though we are worried.
—
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 1
This is Alexander H. Gory, Jr., writing at twenty-one minutes after midnight. The New Year is officially here. I am in my bunk bed with my flashlight, a pen and this book. Fat snowflakes are falling outside as if the sky won’t ever run out of them.
My brother just fell asleep. They let us stay up to ring in the New Year. Being up late always makes me feel like I’m doing something against the law.
My parents are still downstairs clinking their glasses with our neighbors. The voices of the grown-ups are like another language because I can’t understand what they’re saying. They sound like elves living under my floor.
I have a confession. Even though the New Year is supposed to be a happy time, and even though it was fun to stay up late, I’m feeling sad because we missed the deadline for the contest, which was December 31st. Yesterday. I’m also feeling guilty because of what happened on the last day of school when we got that letter from Mrs. Penrose. At first I was sad and worried for her and the baby, but then I realized that we were going to miss the deadline for the contest, and I got a little mad at the baby for coming early. I feel terrible about that. A nicer person would just feel sad for the baby, not mad about missing a contest. I know Ryan didn’t come early on purpose, and I hereby want to take back my madness at him.
I have another thing to get off my chest. You know how I always want things to be suspenseful? I didn’t mean that I want scary things like this to happen. I still want suspense in stories, but in real life right now I want things to be okay. I want to go back to school and find out that the baby is all right. Tomorrow I shall sleep with all my fingers crossed, and I shall try to cross my toes, too, but I’m not sure they will cooperate.
THURSDAY, JANUARY 2
Even though I’m worried about baby Ryan, I’m also really disappointed about the contest. I wanted to win. I feel bad about saying that at a time like this, but it’s the truth and nothing but the truth. And that makes me feel badder worse.
—
The First Day Back
by Kristin
What Alexander wrote was brave. I was feeling guilty because the same thought crossed my mind for a split second. Why did that baby have to come early and mess up our story-writing project! And then I felt terrible.
Anyway, we walked in with our fingers crossed. But there was Mr. Pinkerton.
Nobody said anything out loud about it because we were too sad. Then Harrison said, “The air is so cold today, it makes my lungs hurt.” And that made me think about baby Ryan and his lungs, and I could tell everybody else was thinking about him, too.
The temperature is 11 degrees Fahrenheit and the windchill is minus 10. As my mom says, today is a day that could freeze the bark out of a dog, which means indoor recess with Mr. Pinkerton.
Mr. Pinkerton gave us three choices for indoor recess: play a board game quietly with a friend, read, or catch up on any work we didn’t finish. He didn’t say write, but he didn’t say no writing. I’m in the Good Book Nook writing in this book. Tee is over here now, and she’s whispering that she wants to write something, so hold on.
I wanted to say a thank-you to Isabella for rescuing the letter from the recycle bin and taping it in here. It helps to read what Mrs. Penrose wrote. This is the saddest time of my life. I cannot stop thinking about baby Ryan. I’ve been worried because it’s so cold outside, which means they can’t have any windows open and maybe his lungs need fresh air.
Love,
My mom says milk makes bones grow. Can’t there be some food we can give to baby Ryan to make his lungs grow? I’m going to pass this book around and we can all write down our ideas.
—
Yo, maybe fizzy stuff would work? All those bubbles fill up your insides with air and make you burp.
—
This is not a funny time, Nick.
—
Actually, I wasn’t trying to be funny.
—
I think the baby is probably getting oxygen through a tube or a mask. My grandpa had that.
—
In the movies they breathe into somebody’s mouth to make the oxygen go in. Maybe they should try that, not just once, but every day until his lungs are bigger. Tee is right, this is the saddest time.
—
I just want that little baby to be all better.
—
Maybe Mrs. Penrose could bring Ryan to school and we could all take turns breathing fresh air on him.
—
People don’t make oxygen. People make carbon dioxide. So I don’t think breathing on him would help. But plants make oxygen. Remember the leaf experiment we did? When we cut our leaves and put them in those cups of water and left them in the sunlight, all those little bubbles appeared in the water. That was because the leaf was making oxygen from the sunlight. They make oxygen all the time. We just don’t usually see it. We could surround his little crib with plants. The walls could be crawling with vines!
Signed,
To the Whole Class,
1.Remember that the longer we let the plants sit in the sunlight, the more bubbles.
2.Maybe Ryan just needs time and then little by little he’ll be okay.
3.This is also reminding me of the thing my dad has by our fireplace. It is called a bellows. He says fires need oxygen in order to live. When the fire starts to die out, he blows air on it with the bellows and then the wood starts to glow red and then pretty soon a little flame leaps out and the fire starts again.
4.Maybe we could tell the doctors about the bellows and they could make an invention like it to help.
Sincerely,
I hope baby Ryan is in a really big room with lots of plants and lots of sunshine. Recess is over, but let’s all write more tomorrow.
—
FRIDAY, JANUARY 3
Something bad happened yesterday with this book, and it’s my fault. Here’s what happened.
I couldn’t wait until recess to write, so during math I went to the Good Book Nook to get a tissue and slipped this book under my shirt while Mr. Pinkerton was plugging in the projector.
Nick saw me and waved at me to pass the book to him. I passed the book to Omar because he sits between me and Nick. Omar nervously threw the book back at me, but it landed on Tee’s desk with a thunk because she sits behind me.
Mr. Pinkerton saw it. “What’s going on, Tee?” He walked over and picked up our book. “We’re doing math right now. Is this your math book?”
Tee was too scared to even talk.
Nick said very loudly, “It’s my—”
“I didn’t ask for a comment from you, Nick,” Mr. Pinkerton said.
Then Harrison tried. “He was just trying to—”
Mr. Pinkerton held up his hand. “Enough. Right now we’re doing math. Period.” He put our book on his desk.
Carly raised her hand.
“Is your question related to math?”
“No,” Carly said, and put her hand down.
At recess, we all met by the pine tree. Everybody was mad at me for getting the book and at Omar for throwing it and at Mr. Pinkerton for being so mean.
“I’ve had it with Mr. Finkerton,” Carly said. “I’m going to demand that he give the book back.”
“Don’t make him mad,” Isabella said.
“CBC,” Jazmine said. “Compliment before criticism.”
“I’ll be charming,” Carly said.
When we went back to the room, she marched right up to Mr. Pinkerton and smiled. “We all like your glasses, Mr. Pinkerton,” she said.
“Thank you.” He looked confused. I don’t think he gets a lot of compliments.
“You know that?” Carly pointed to our book. “We were just wondering if you could put it back
in the Good Book Nook. We would like very much to write in it when our work is done and during indoor recess and after school while we’re waiting for the bus. We use it to practice our spelling and many other educational things.”
He picked up the book. “You can write in it on Fridays at the end of the day if you have your work done,” he said. “But I’m keeping it here.” He opened Mrs. Penrose’s desk drawer and dropped it in.
That’s it. One lousy day a week.
Today is Friday. I got my work done so I could ask for the book. Other people want to write in this book, but the bell is about to ring. I’m sorry that I took up all the writing time, but if I didn’t get this off my chest I would explode into a million bits.
Farewell,
Carly just walked around and silently gave everybody (except for Mr. Pinkerton, of course) a friendship wristband for free. We all put them on. We are united. Thank you, Carly. (I really wanted one, but I didn’t have the money.)
FRIDAY, JANUARY 10
The Very Bright Writers of Delite vs. Mr. Finkersnot
A WOW Story by Slick
At Delite Elementary School, there was a classroom full of very bright writers who wanted to write in their book. But a grumpy substitute named Mr. Finkersnot took the book away.
One frosty day, the students had a meeting by the old pine tree.
“How can we get rid of Mr. Finkersnot?” a girl named Krusty asked.
“I have a friend who can help,” a boy named Elaxander said. Then he closed his eyes and whispered, “Come here now,” in a spooky voice.