Substitute

by Nicholson Baker

  “No!”

  “No, but you can if you don’t, and most of us don’t have clothespins on our noses, so we can smell things. Some of it’s good, some of it’s not so good. Does anyone have a dog? I love the smell of dogs’ paws.”

  “Me, too,” said January.

  “Ew,” said Angel.

  “What are the lines for?” asked Westin.

  “That’s where you can write something, like ‘I can see little baby birds in the nest.’ Or, ‘I can see cheese melting on the hot stove.’ Or whatever you can see in springtime.”

  “I’m going to draw a bumblebee,” said Westin.

  “What do we draw on the cover?” asked Angel.

  “Close your eyes and think, what is a picture of spring in your mind? It could be a puddle. Or when the grass finally turns green, and you lie on your back looking up at the clouds.”

  Ten seconds later Westin said, “Yay, I’m done with my first page: bumblebee.”

  “Can you help me spell a bird?” said Madeline.

  I wrote bird on the board.

  “I don’t know how to spell,” said Westin.

  “Well, spelling is something that you gradually learn over a long time,” I said.

  Abby drew several beautiful trees.

  “How do you spell bee?” asked Westin.

  “Guys, you don’t ask how to spell,” said Abby.

  That surprised me. “You don’t? Why not?”

  “Because that’s what Mrs. Price says,” said Abby.

  “Well, I don’t think it’s a bad thing to ask,” I said.

  “How do you spell peep?” asked Westin.

  “Peep is a wonderful word,” I said.

  “P-E-E-P,” said Ava.

  “Ooh, you are good,” I said. I wrote the word on the board.

  Jaydon wrote that he could see CC and hear S C E R N S. He’d drawn a brown circle in the middle of the paper. I asked him what the first word was.

  “Well, if you’re inside, and your mom baked cookies, you could see cookies.”

  “Okay, great. And I can hear . . . ?”

  “Screams, sometimes?” Jaydon had drawn a scream cartoon coming out of a mouth.

  “Ava just don’t want to do anything,” said Angel.

  “Don’t worry about Ava,” I said. “You worry about yourself. Each of you is in a rocket ship going to the moon of spring.”

  After I’d written bumblebee on the board, I went over to Ava. Her “In the Spring” booklet was blank. “Did you not want to do it?” I said. “What’s the deal? I don’t get it. I’m puzzled.”

  “She never does her work,” said Angel. “Ever.”

  Ava began shaking her head back and forth.

  “You’re smart,” I said, “you could blaze through it.”

  More head shaking from Ava.

  I asked her if she liked running fast.

  Head shake.

  Running slow?

  Head shake.

  Walking fast?

  Head shake.

  “Is this something that doesn’t interest you?”

  She nodded.

  “She just doesn’t want to do it,” said Angel. “She’s always like that.”

  “Well,” I said. “I guess you’d just prefer not to.” Ava nodded.

  Ava was obviously observant, an enthusiast of spring: she’d seen the white frog and the two baby flies killed by the bus driver. And she was a better reader and speller than the others. I told her she could get a book to read, but she didn’t want to do that, either. Instead, she got out her poetry notebook. Poor thing: she was already fed up with being asked to do inane worksheets and she was only in kindergarten. Twelve more years to go.

  I can smell my dog, wrote Abby. I can feel my mom.

  I can see the sun, wrote Angel. I can hear birds. I can smell flowers. I can feel the table.

  I can hear wind, wrote Rick. I can smell grass. I can feel air.

  “Beautiful,” I said. “Because when you move your hand, you feel air.”

  Madeline had drawn a wild strawberry plant. I can smell pizza, she wrote. I can feel sun. She said, “Cause when I put my hand up, it gets really hot.”

  I wrote pizza on the chalkboard.

  “Now what can I do?” said Madeline.

  “You can look in your poetry book,” I said.

  “Poetry journal,” corrected Madeline.

  I let everyone work for a while. “WE’RE GOING TO BE MAKING A LITTLE TRANSITION PRETTY SOON,” I announced.

  “What’s a condition?” asked Madeline.

  “A transition is when you move from one thing, and you make a transition to another thing. Mrs. Willett is going to come in here at eleven thirty-five, so in about one minute.”

  “Who’s Miss Willett?” said Jaydon.

  “She is a . . .” I honestly didn’t know what she was, officially.

  “Writing teacher!” said Abby.

  “She’s a writing teacher,” I said. “So what Mrs. Price wants you to do is do a little stretch, use the bathroom, do whatever you need to do to get your ya-yas out before Mrs. Willett comes, so you can be attentive to her.”

  Hazel stood and tipped from side to side. Hartley hopped around. Westin went berserk.

  “Westin, you’re getting a little too wild there, man,” I said.

  Angel handed Ava the book of polished rocks to look at on her own. “I made Ava happy!” she said. “I made Ava happy!”

  “I love to see you smile,” I said to Ava.

  Mrs. Willett blew in, book in hand, Garrett, Noah, and Hazel following behind. “We’ll do a mini-lesson,” she said, “and then I’ll send them off to their seats for writer’s workshop. We’re working on how-to books.”

  “Can we still finish this?” Hartley asked me.

  “Just leave it right there,” I said, “freeze it in time, and gather around to listen to Mrs. Willett.”

  “OKAY!” contraltoed Mrs. Willett, to the assembled multitude. She was an extremely sure-of-herself woman with spike heels and a silk scarf. “January’s ready. I know you’re ready for writer’s workshop when you’re sitting, crisscross applesauce! Garrett’s going to come up here, I need to see him for a second.” She sat him down at her feet. “Westin, what are you waiting for? Just sit right down, because I want to get started with the mini-lesson! Westin!”

  I told Westin to cool it and asked Mrs. Willett if she wanted me to go or stay.

  “You can stay and kind of listen in,” she said, “and the two of us, when they’re writing, we go around if they need help stretching out their words.” She pointed around the double semicircle. “I see Garrett’s ready, and Rick, and Jaydon, and Madeline, and Angel. Hazel’s ready. What’s the problem over there? We don’t need folders right now, I just need you to sit and look at me!”

  January walked over to me. “I have black stuff behind this ear,” she whispered. “Can you send me to the nurse?”

  I whispered for her just to sit for now.

  “Mrs. Price has been busy!” Mrs. Willett said loudly. “Can everybody see this chart that she made?”

  Yes.

  “Yesterday she wrote the ideas on the whiteboard. Remember, with the marker? And then it looks like she copied it over and made a chart for us. So this is a chart to help us when we are writing our how-to books.” The chart said “Learning from a Mentor.” “Remember we talked about a mentor is somebody that can help us? There are people who can help us, and then there are books that are called ‘mentor texts.’” She held up a book. “This is one of our mentor texts. Number one, we can learn the title of a mentor text. The title tells what the book is about. Can everybody tell us? What’s this book about? You can all say it.”

  “Soccer.”

  “We learned a lot about soccer yesterda
y, reading this book. Number two, the pictures can teach us in a book. Number three, a list of things that you might need. In a how-to book you might have to tell the reader what they might need. And number four—that’s the new part today, that I’m going to show you! I’m going to go back into My Very First Soccer Game, by Alyssa Satin Capucilli.”

  “Capasilly!” said Noah.

  “I’m going to skip some pages. Here’s one I wanted to show you. Game time. Together we run and dribble. And pass. Our feet start and stop the ball. Teamwork! Is what soccer’s all about. Step one. Put the ball next to the inside of your foot. There’s the arrow. Two. Move the ball forward, back, or even side to side. Tap and run, tap and run. That’s called—?”

  “Dribbling!”

  “Dribbling. The author, Alyssa, did something on this page to help us. Something that’s new that we haven’t really talked about much, this year. Something that authors will do to help us. I see a couple hands. Garrett, that’s distracting me. Thank you. Look closely. I see a few more hands. Abby, what is something that you’re noticing?”

  “Um, the person is kicking the ball,” said Madeline.

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Willett. “The pictures match the words, right, Abby? We have talked a lot about that this year—that pictures teach us, and we need our words to match our pictures. I’ll give you a hint. This is something new that she did that’s in the words. Abby.”

  “Teamwork!” said Abby.

  “Yes! What did she do to the word teamwork?”

  “Teamwork is to work together,” said Abby.

  “It means work together. And look at this. I’m going to read it. Teamwork is what soccer’s all about. This word, teamwork, starts with what letter?”

  “T!”

  “Yes, a T! Look at how it’s been printed in the book, compared to the other words in that sentence. January, what do you notice?”

  “It’s blue,” said January, “and all the other letters are black.”

  “Noah? Wait, January. Noah? Why did you move? You couldn’t see? Okay. So, January, say it again.”

  “Because it’s blue,” said January, “and all the other words are black.”

  “I can’t see,” said Jaydon.

  “January, sit down,” said Westin.

  “She was showing us,” said Mrs. Willett. “She can sit down after.”

  “See right there?” said January.

  “Do you see the blue letters that January was talking about? Westin, why do you think Alyssa C., the author—why do you think she put teamwork in blue? In a different color?”

  Westin said, “Because teamwork means you’re like, um, cleaning up?”

  “Yep, helping,” said Mrs. Willett. “Working together as a team. But I’m wondering why is it in blue?”

  “Uhhhh,” said Westin.

  “Why do authors do that? Rick?”

  “They’s on blue teams,” said Rick.

  “Could be that they’re on the blue team,” said Mrs. Willett. “Abby?”

  “Because teamwork is a really special thing,” said Abby. “You have to really do it.”

  “Right! It’s a really special, important word, teamwork. And we call that ‘bold.’ Can everybody say ‘bold’?”

  “Bold!”

  “Important parts in bold.” She pointed to Mrs. Price’s chart, where that statement was item number 4. “So sometimes, Hazel, authors will put those important words—guys? I’m going to wait. That’s distracting, Westin. I saw that Mr. Baker already spoke to you about that once, right? So now this is the second time. When authors want us to really remember something, that’s very important in a how-to book, sometimes they’ll put the word in bold. Either in dark black or in another color.” Mrs. Willett showed us several more bolded words in the book. “Is writing words in darker pencil, or even with a different-colored pencil, is that something that you might try, with some important words? In your how-to books?”

  Silence.

  “Give me a thumbs-up if you think that you might go through your how-to book today, and with some important words you might try to make them bold.”

  Thumbs went up.

  “Excellent! Excellent. Now I’m going to say a word, and if you think it’s a really important word for a how-to book, and should be in bold, give me a thumbs-up. Or thumbs-down if it shouldn’t. The first word is the. Is that a really important word? We need the word the, but in a how-to book is that going to really tell us how to do something?”

  No.

  In a book about flying a kite, she said, was string an important word? Yes, maybe it was. Hazel’s how-to book was about giving a party. Was a an important word in that book? No. How about balloons? Yes. “So you have to really think,” Mrs. Willett said. “You don’t want to put every word in bold, but it’s just something you can think about. Hands down for a minute, January. Do you have to put words in bold in your how-to book?”

  No.

  “No, this is just another strategy that you might want to try as a writer today. Because, Mr. Baker, wait till you see their how-to books!” She asked everyone to look through their how-to books and see if they wanted to add anything more, or if maybe they wanted to put some words in bold. “Now Mr. Baker and I will come around, like Mrs. Price and I do, but let’s tell him, what do you do if you need some help?”

  “You raise your hand,” said Hartley.

  “Yes. Because if everybody comes up to us, we can’t help everybody at once. Questions. Ava?”

  “What if everyone raises their hand?”

  “If everyone raises their hand, what I’ll usually do is I’ll say, ‘I’m helping Ava, and then, Abby, you’re next.’ And then you have to be patient. Because there’s a lot more of you, and there’s only two teachers.”

  Angel had a question—did every important word have to be in bold?

  “No,” said Mrs. Willett. “It’s up to you. You’re the writer. You might just pick a couple. Hang on, Garrett, we have a couple more questions. Hands to yourself, Garrett.”

  Abby wanted to know what to do if a friend asks for help and you help them and they keep asking for help.

  Mrs. Willett said, “I’d just use my words and say, ‘I helped you, now you need to do some work, and if you need more help, raise your hand for the teacher.’ Okay. Great. If you have your writing folder already at your table, you may go start writing. If you need to get your writing folder, you may make a line and get your writing folder.”

  How-to books were in progress concerning How to Fly a Kite, How to Give a Party, and How to Brush Your Teeth. Most of the topics came from a list of ideas in the worksheet packet.

  “I don’t brush my teeth,” said Jaydon. “I do, but I don’t have time every day.”

  Madeline was working on How to Go to the Beach. Westin was doing How to Make a Sandwich. Abby was working on How to Make Friends. Noah was working on How to Walk Your Puppy. The first thing to do, Noah said, when you’re walking your puppy is “tell your parents.” I showed him how to write PARENTS. Rick was explaining how to go on a ride at Funtown. I showed him that the E in RIDE makes the I long.

  January raised her hand and I sat down next to her. She hadn’t opened her writing folder. “My ear really hurts,” she said. “In this spot right here.” She pointed to her tiny ear, around which her thin blond hair flowed.

  “Hm,” I said. “It looks a little red.”

  “Can I go to the nurse? With my friend? It feels like it’s bleeding.”

  “Is it a bug bite?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “It didn’t start hurting outside, it started hurting when we were reading. There are some black spots when I—when I—”

  “I think you have some sand in your ear,” I said, peering. “Is that it, maybe? You feel the grinding grainy parts? If you check with the nurse, she’ll probably say it’ll feel better a
little later, and she’ll send you back.”

  “Can I just go?” said January. “She might just give me something or she might just take a look.”

  That made sense. “Do you know the way?” I asked.

  “Yes. Sometimes people bring us. They stay there, and then they bring me back.”

  “Can you go by yourself?” I asked. “Because there’s a lot of work going on right now.”

  “I’m going to ask if somebody will take me,” said January.

  Mrs. Willett said that January needed a note for the nurse. I found the nurse forms and wrote a note: “January says her ear is hurting and hopes you can take a look. Thanks!—Nick Baker (sub).”

  “My stomach hurts,” said Angel.

  “Well,” I said, “keep an eye on it, if it’s possible to keep an eye on your stomach, and if it starts to hurt—”

  “It does.”

  “Hang in there. January has hung in there for a couple of hours. Try to drink some water. Usually if you drink some water it makes it feel better.” Angel had a long drink at the drinking fountain by the bathroom door.

  Hazel wanted Mrs. Willett to help her with the spelling of teeth, but Mrs. Willett was, like many reading teachers, a believer in the primal importance of do-it-yourself phonetics, which supposedly built self-esteem and independent thinking habits—even when a kid was obviously eager to know what the real spelling was. “Just write the letters for the sounds you hear,” she said.

  Dissatisfied, Hazel came over to me. “I have a question,” she said. “I wish my mom was here, because she helps me do my work faster. I don’t know what letter makes the sound ‘th.’” She’d written HOW TO BRS YOUR TEE.

  The end sound in teeth was spelled with a TH, I said. Why not tell her, if she was curious? It was a useful sound to know.

  Garrett wanted to spell help. Mrs. Willett helped him figure out the H. “What vowel says ‘eh’?” she said. “Eh, eh. It’s either A E I O or U. Eh, eh.” Garrett finally guessed E. Then L. Then P. “Great! Garrett is stretching out his words, and he’s hearing the sounds and then writing the letters down! Nice, nice. Noah and Westin, I want you to focus on your own how-to books. I’m going to go help Madeline.”