For all those who have learned to cope without
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
1 Arithmetic Pizza
2 Only One Ms. Colman
3 The Substitute
4 The Surprising Awful Announcement
5 Promises
6 Karen’s New Teacher
7 and XX
8 The Dunce
9 Two Straight Lines
10 School Rules
11 Tricking Mrs. Hoffman
12 The First Trick
13 Underwear
14 The Worst Teacher Ever
15 Backward Day
16 The Big Rock Candy Mountain
17 A Present for Mrs. Hoffman
18 Good-bye, Mrs. Hoffman
19 Karen’s Last Surprise
20 Hello, Ms. Colman!
About the Author
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Copyright
Arithmetic Pizza
“One pepperoni, two pepperonis, three pepperonis, four — ”
“Natalie,” I said, “you do not have to count each piece of pepperoni. Just spread them around half the pizza.”
“Oh.” Natalie kept on working.
You will never guess where we were. We were in school. Our teacher, Ms. Colman, who is gigundo nice, was helping us to learn about fractions.
“I want you,” she had said to our class, “to divide into groups of three or four. Each group is going to make a pizza.”
“For real?” asked Hank Reubens. (Hank loves to eat.)
“Not at first,” replied Ms. Colman. “At first you will make pretend pizzas out of construction paper. Later you will make real pizzas, just like the paper ones you design. Then we will have a class pizza party.”
“Cool!” exclaimed Bobby Gianelli.
Ms. Colman is my most favorite teacher ever. I am glad I am in her second-grade class. Ms. Colman makes learning fun. How many teachers help you to learn about halves and quarters by letting you make pizzas? How many teachers wear a costume to your school Halloween festival? (Ms. Colman dressed up as a pencil.) Also, she lets us put on plays, she reads aloud to us, and she takes us on field trips.
Those are not the only good things about my teacher. She is also nice to kids. She almost never yells, and we can talk to her about anything — like divorce or a new baby or if we have a fight with our friends.
I know all about divorce. My parents got divorced. That was a few years ago when I was really little. Now I am seven, but I am still the youngest kid in Ms. Colman’s class. (I skipped into second grade early.) I guess I will always be the youngest in my class.
I leaned over the pizza to see what Natalie was doing. She had carefully spread paper pepperoni over half of it.
“Now,” said Nancy Dawes, “let’s put extra cheese on one quarter of the pizza.” (Nancy is one of my two best friends.)
“And let’s put olives on the last quarter,” suggested Hannie Papadakis. (She is my other best friend.) Hannie and Nancy and I are lucky to be together in Ms. Colman’s class. Unluckily, I cannot sit with Hannie and Nancy. This is because I wear glasses. I sit in the front row so I can see better. Hannie and Nancy get to sit together in the back row.
“Not olives!” I shrieked. “Olives are gross!”
“Indoor voice,” Ms. Colman reminded me gently.
Sometimes it is so hard to behave in school. It was especially hard on Paper Pizza Day. Paper Pizza Day was a Friday, and I was excited about Saturday. On Saturday my daddy was going to buy a van for his family, which is huge. He invited my brother, Andrew, and me to come with him.
“Today is Paper Pizza Day,” I sang, “and tomorrow is Van Day!”
“Karen,” said Ms. Colman, “will you come to my desk for a moment, please?” I left my pizza partners. I walked slowly to Ms. Colman. “What are you supposed to be doing now?” she asked me.
“Drawing a picture of our pizza,” I answered. “And not talking.”
“Right. Do you think you can calm down a little?”
“Yes,” I said. I returned to my group. I did calm down, even though I thought a lot about Van Day at my father’s house.
Ms. Colman is sooooo nice.
Only One Ms. Colman
My brother, Andrew, and I live at two houses. (Andrew is four, going on five.) We live at my father’s house, which is as huge as his family. That is why I call it the big house. But mostly we live at my mother’s house. I call that the little house.
Did you guess that the reason Andrew and I live at two houses is because Mommy and Daddy are divorced? If you did, you are right. But there is more to the story. Since I like telling stories, I will tell you the true story about my two families.
Once upon a time, Mommy and Daddy and Andrew and I lived together in the big house in Stoneybrook, Connecticut. Then Mommy and Daddy got divorced. Mommy moved into a little house nearby. She brought Andrew and me with her. Daddy stayed in the big house. (He had grown up there.) After awhile, Mommy and Daddy both got married again. But not to each other. Mommy married Seth. He is my stepfather. Daddy married Elizabeth. She is my stepmother. That is how Andrew and I got two families.
See, at the little house live Mommy and Seth and Andrew and I. And also Rocky and Midgie, Seth’s cat and dog. Oh, and Emily Junior, my rat. But Andrew and I do not live there all the time. Every other weekend, and on some holidays and vacations, we live at the big house. There are lots of people in my big-house family. There are Daddy and Elizabeth and Andrew and I. There are also Elizabeth’s four children. They are my stepbrothers and stepsister. Charlie and Sam go to high school. David Michael is seven like me. But we do not go to the same school. (David Michael goes to Stoneybrook Elementary. I go to a private school called Stoneybrook Academy.) Kristy is my stepsister. She is thirteen. I just love having a big sister. Especially one who is such a good baby-sitter. I also have a little sister. She is two and a half years old and her name is Emily Michelle. (I named my rat after her.) Daddy and Elizabeth adopted Emily. She came from a faraway country called Vietnam. When Emily came to stay, someone else moved to the big house — Nannie. Nannie is Elizabeth’s mother, so she is my step-grandmother. Plus, there are pets at the big house. They are Shannon, David Michael’s puppy; Boo-Boo, Daddy’s fat old tiger cat; and Goldfishie and Crystal Light the Second, two goldfish.
I have special nicknames for Andrew and me. I call us Andrew Two-Two and Karen Two-Two. (I did not think up the “two-two” part of the names myself. I got that from the title of a book Ms. Colman read to our class. The book was called Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang.) I call us two-twos because we have two of so many things. I have two bicycles, one at each house. I have two stuffed cats. (Moosie lives at the big house, Goosie lives at the little house.) Andrew and I have books and toys and clothes at each house. I even have a little-house best friend and a big-house best friend. Nancy Dawes lives next door to Mommy. Hannie Papadakis lives across the street and one house down from Daddy. Nancy and Hannie and I call ourselves the Three Musketeers. We have pledged that we will be friends 4-ever.
Most of the time, I feel lucky to be a two-two. But sometimes being a two-two is hard. After all, I do not have two of everything. I only have one pair of roller skates — which I am always forgetting and leaving behind at one of my houses. And I only had one Tickly, my special blanket. I always used to forget Tickly, too. Finally I had to cut my blanket in half, so I could have a piece at each house. Also, when I am at the big house, I miss my little-house family. And when I am at the little house, I miss my big-house family.
That is why I am glad there is only one Ms. Colman. I could not imagine having another teacher. Ms. Colman is gigundo wonderful.
The Substitute
&n
bsp; Monday morning. The weekend was over. Andrew and I had lots of fun helping Daddy pick out a new van. (We were not his only helpers, though. Elizabeth, Kristy, David Michael, and Emily had joined us on Van Day.) Now Nancy and I were on our way to school. We usually ride together. Mrs. Dawes was driving us.
“When do you think we will get to make our pizzas?” Nancy wondered aloud.
“I don’t know. Let’s ask Ms. Colman this morning,” I replied.
But Ms. Colman never came to school.
Instead, a substitute came. Ms. Colman was … sick.
Some kids like to have substitute teachers. Not me. I only like Ms. Colman. I was very sad. Our class would have to spend the day with somebody named Miss Pettig.
Miss Pettig was sitting at Ms. Colman’s desk when Nancy and I reached our classroom. I knew her name was Miss Pettig because of the message she had written on our blackboard:
Well, for heaven’s sake. The message looked like it had been written for babies. The letters were huge and round. Didn’t Miss Pettig know that some people in our class can even read cursive already?
Nancy and I tiptoed into the room.
Miss Pettig saw us right away. “Good morning,” she said loudly. “My name is Miss Pettig. What are your names?”
“Nancy,” mumbled Nancy.
“Karen,” I mumbled.
“That’s just fine,” boomed Miss Pettig. “I am going to make a name tag for each of you. Then I will know your names all day.”
“We have to wear name tags?” squeaked Nancy.
“We can make our own,” I said.
I guess Miss Pettig did not hear us. She made the name tags anyway. She attached them to our fronts with big safety pins.
Later, when the bell rang, Miss Pettig stood up. “Hello, boys and girls,” she said. “I am your substitute teacher.” (Duh.) “Who can read what I wrote on the blackboard?”
I glanced at Ricky Torres, who sits next to me. (He wears glasses, too.) Everyone in our room could read what was written on the board. Ricky and I shrugged at each other.
Nobody did anything, so Miss Pettig smiled at us. “You must all be very shy,” she said. (I have never been called shy before.) “All right. I will read it to you.” Miss Pettig made her voice even louder. “ ‘Good morning, boys and girls! My name is Miss Pettig!’ That is what I wrote on the board. I am sure some of you are wondering where Ms. Colman is. She is not feeling well today. But she will be back tomorrow.”
Oh, thank goodness.
Here are some of the things we did with Miss Pettig on Monday:
We listened to her read a picture book called We Help Mommy. (Ms. Colman reads us big, long books like Mr. Popper’s Penguins.)
We did a worksheet. We had to cross out the things that did not belong. We used to do cross-out worksheets in kindergarten. (Ms. Colman gives us neat projects, like paper pizzas.)
We colored pictures of a farm. All of our pictures looked the same. Miss Pettig told us which crayon to use for each part. (Ms. Colman lets us make things whatever color we want.)
The only good thing about Monday was that it ended.
The Surprising Awful Announcement
On Tuesday morning, Nancy and I ran through the hallway in school. We are supposed to walk in the halls, but Nancy and I were in a hurry. We had to make sure that Ms. Colman had really come back. So we ran to our classroom. Then we stopped short.
“Cross your fingers,” I whispered to Nancy.
When our fingers were crossed, we peeped around the doorway.
The room was empty.
Yea!
We knew Ms. Colman was back. She almost never comes into our room until just before the bell rings.
Nancy and I waited for Hannie. When she arrived, the three of us sat quietly at our desks. “We do not want to give Ms. Colman a headache,” I said.
At last, someone tall entered the room.
“Ms. Colman!” I cried happily.
Ms. Colman smiled. (She also said, “Indoor voice, Karen.”)
The bell rang. Tuesday had begun. Ms. Colman sat at her desk. She looked a little tired. She must have caught the flu or something. After she took attendance, she stood up. “Class,” she began. “I have an announcement to make.”
I turned around and looked eagerly at Hannie and Nancy. We just love Ms. Colman’s Surprising Announcements. She is always making them, and they are usually fun.
But this one was awful.
“Class,” said Ms. Colman, “I have to tell you something. When I was absent yesterday, I went to the doctor. And the doctor says I need to have an operation. It isn’t serious. But I will have to miss about a month of school.”
Everyone began talking.
“An operation!” exclaimed Natalie.
“Are you going to the hospital?” Bobby asked.
“Are you coming back?” I cried.
“I will have the operation in the hospital,” said Ms. Colman. “I will stay there for a week. After that, I can rest at home. And then I will come back to school. While I’m gone, you will have a substitute teacher.”
“Miss Pettig?” asked Ricky. He shuddered.
“No. Somebody different. I hope you will like her.”
I hoped so, too. Then I realized that nobody could be worse than Miss Pettig.
“Unfortunately,” said Ms. Colman, “we will have to wait until I come back before we have our pizza party. But that will give us something to look forward to, won’t it? A special class party.”
How could I look forward to a party when Ms. Colman was going to go to the hospital? When she was going to have an operation?
I decided that this was the worst day of my life.
* * *
When school ended, I walked sadly to Ms. Colman’s desk. “I wish you didn’t have to go into the hospital,” I told her.
“Me, too.”
“I don’t want you to go away.”
“I don’t want to go away, either. But I have to. I have to get well. It will only be a month, Karen. Four and a half weeks. Then I will be back.”
I gave Ms. Colman a big good-bye hug.
A month seemed like forever.
Promises
I was not very happy that afternoon.
When Midgie nudged my knee with his cold nose, I shouted, “Cut that out!”
When Rocky went tearing through the house and ran across my feet, I shouted, “Stop that! Do you hear me?”
When Andrew asked me if I would play with him, I said, “Shut up! That is the fourth time you have asked me to play with you. Leave me alone!”
“Mom-meeeee!” wailed Andrew.
Mommy came into the kitchen. “Karen,” she said, “please apologize to Andrew.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“For … ?” asked Mommy.
“Sorry for being cross and for telling you to shut up.”
“Okay,” said Andrew. But he was crying a little.
“Karen, why are you so angry this afternoon?” Mommy wanted to know.
“I just am. That’s all.”
“Are you angry because Ms. Colman is leaving?”
“NO!” I stomped upstairs to my room.
* * *
I stayed in my room until suppertime. Then I went downstairs long enough to eat dinner. I hardly talked at all during dinner. (That was not like me. Usually I talk, talk, talk. Seth calls me his chatterbox. That would make sense if boxes could talk.)
After dinner, I went right back to my room.
I closed the door.
I felt like being alone with Goosie and Tickly. But a few minutes later I heard a knock, knock on my door.
I hoped Andrew was not out there. If he asked me just one more time to play with him I would —
“Karen?” It was Mommy.
“Come in,” I said.
Mommy and Seth both came in. They sat on my bed. I sat between them.
“Do you want to talk about Ms. Colman?” asked Mommy.
“I don’t know.�
�� I thought for a moment. Then I said, “I do not like it when people go away. Or animals.”
“That can be hard,” agreed Seth.
“It seems like someone is always going away. You and Daddy got divorced,” I said to Mommy. “Amanda Delaney moved to a new town. Nannie had to go to the hospital for awhile. Louie died.” (Louie was David Michael’s first dog.) “And Crystal Light died.” (She was the goldfish I had before I got Crystal Light the Second.)
“Those were not good times,” said Mommy. “But think of this. You are still here. You survived all those things. And Ms. Colman is coming back, you know.”
“Promise,” I said.
“We cannot promise,” Seth told me.
“What if something goes wrong?” I asked.
“I think everything will be okay,” said Mommy gently. She stroked my hair. “Remember how worried you were when Nannie went to the hospital? And then she got well and she came home. In time for Christmas.”
I nodded. “I remember.”
“Another thing,” said Seth. “Just because Ms. Colman is in the hospital, does not mean you have to be out of touch with her. You could send her get-well cards.”
“I could call her on the phone!” I exclaimed.
I felt better. But just a teensy bit better.
Karen’s New Teacher
On Wednesday, Nancy and I rode to school together. Mommy drove us.
“What do you think she will be like?” asked Nancy, on the way.
“The substitute? I hope she will be like Ms. Colman,” I answered.
“No one could be like Ms. Colman,” said Nancy.
“I know. I was just hoping.”
When we reached Stoneybrook Academy, Nancy and I tiptoed along the hallway again. We peeked into our room.
A lady was sitting at Ms. Colman’s desk.
“She looks mean,” I whispered to Nancy.
“Yeah.”
The lady’s hair was gray. So were her clothes. Ms. Colman wears bright, cheerful colors. And she does not have one single gray hair. (Even though grown-ups sometimes say to me, “Karen! You are giving me gray hair!”)
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