Every morning from that day on, Miss Charlotte invented a new episode of the jungle adventure. The rest of the day everyone worked on their projects.
And Mr Cracpote became more and more nervous and anxious.
He was worried sick, tore his hair out and bit his nails. Our head teacher was no longer content to press his fat nose against the glass pane in the door for a few seconds. He entered without knocking, at any old time.
One afternoon he opened the door when Fred – who is a bit of a boffin when it comes to everything mechanical, electronic, robotic or anything else that ticks – had just taken apart the classroom clock. Mr Cracpote’s face went crimson. With her soft voice Miss Charlotte reassured our head teacher that in an hour or two the clock would be on the wall again and its hands move like before.
Another time he came in when Matthieu and Julie were… kissing each other! Miss Charlotte quickly explained that the two lovebirds were playing a scene from Romeo and Juliet by Mr Shakespeare, which was true. Matthieu and Julie had even learnt their lines off by heart. But Mr Cracpote announced indignantly that nine-year-old children should not be kissing each other.
“Under no circumstances. Theatre or no theatre,” he added furiously.
A few days later miss Lamerlotte, who teaches next door, slammed the door in disgust. She’d come to borrow some chalk, but what she saw quickly made her forget why she’d come. Clémence was cleaning Miss Charlotte’s desk, which was covered in a puddle of green, smoking, foul-smelling froth that vaguely reeked of rotting eggs. Poor Clémence! Her scientific experiment had failed.
Tension in school was mounting day by day. Pupils from other classes were asking us no end of questions about Miss Charlotte, and a number of parents had rung the head master to ask for more information about the one they called “the alien”.
Maybe we should have stopped thinking up new projects for a while. But it was so exciting… And also, it was as if Miss Charlotte transmitted her energy to us. We all felt a bit more confident about ourselves. That’s what happens when you have a teacher who strolls through the corridor twittering to herself, with a huge hat on her head and a pebble in the hollow of her hand, without ever worrying about what other people might say or think.
Miss Charlotte had been teaching in our school for a month when, one Thursday afternoon, Mathilde Buisson’s mother came to fetch her daughter on the stroke of two to take her to the dentist.
The snag is that Mrs Buisson opened the door just when Thomas’s trained rat pulled off a stunt on the flying trapeze for the fourth time.
Thomas had been training his rat for weeks. He’d read various books on how to train animals and had built a flying trapeze, like the ones you see in the circus, but smaller and made from clothes hangers.
It seems Mrs Buisson can’t tell a rat from a dinosaur. She screamed so loudly when she saw Jojo (that’s Thomas’s rat’s name) that Mr Cracpote and a string of other teachers immediately came rushing to our classroom. Mr Cracpote didn’t want to listen to Miss Charlotte’s explanations and sent Thomas and Jojo home.
The next day, Benoît gave a presentation on life in the Middle Ages. He’d done masses of research. Unfortunately, Mr Cracpote had chosen the worst moment to spy on us again. Benoît explained how people of that period used to eat with their hands. To liven up his presentation he’d brought a shepherd’s pie and began to stuff himself in front of us, using neither knife nor fork. His hands, arms, cheeks, nose and even eyebrows were covered in mashed potato, with bits of corn and minced meat everywhere.
This time Mr Cracpote didn’t say anything. He simply shut the door behind him. But the way our head teacher acted didn’t bode well, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.
For a few days we didn’t have any trouble. The next Monday I’d forgotten my dad’s alarm clock in my desk. Alex had used it for one of his projects. The sound that thing makes is enough to wake a sleeping diplodocus. So I thought I’d better get it back as soon as possible.
It was only a quarter to five and the teachers’ cars were still parked outside the school. And yet the corridors were surprisingly deserted and quiet. Then I heard voices coming from Miss Lamerlotte’s classroom as I walked past. And through the little window in the door I saw all the teachers gathered around Mr Cracpote. All the teachers apart from one: Miss Charlotte.
I put my ear to the door to eavesdrop on their conversation. After a few minutes I nearly let out a cry. My legs started to shake.
I felt like making a dash for it, but I managed to get a grip on myself. I had to. I walked away slowly, without making the floorboards creak. But as soon as I’d reached the main entrance and shut the door, I ran as if all the panthers of the jungle were at my heels.
I rushed straight to Charles-Antoine’s house.
Chapter 6
Our Teacher Is a Fake!
I told Charles-Antoine everything.
Mr Cracpote had discovered that Miss Charlotte wasn’t a real teacher. She didn’t have any qualifications! She claimed to have worked in various schools that didn’t even exist. The head teacher was going to invite all the parents to a meeting the next evening. He wanted to sack Miss Charlotte.
While I was talking, I had been twisting Charles-Antoine’s bedspread. I was a little embarrassed when I saw the crumpled cloth around me. But Charles-Antoine smiled and took my hand in his. That felt good.
“We have to warn all the pupils!” he decided.
Charles-Antoine seemed sure of himself and very determined. He added with a firm voice:
“We’re going to save Miss Charlotte!”
That’s when I had an idea. I can’t remember how I thought of it, and I wasn’t sure if my plan would work, but never mind. We had to try something.
Once more Charles-Antoine heard me out without saying a word. He clapped his hands in approval and then he said:
“To work!”
We had a lot on our plate.
Chapter 7
A Dramatic Turn of Events
The next day all the pupils in the school received a letter for their parents: special meeting at 7 p.m. in the assembly hall. Things were going just as we’d hoped.
The pupils from Miss Charlotte’s class had already received another letter as soon as they’d arrived: a secret letter written by Charles-Antoine and me, addressing only them and not their parents.
Everything went according to plan.
During lunch break our class met in the little wood where Matthieu and Julie meet to kiss. I explained my idea, and together we created an action plan.
We agreed to meet again at 6 p.m. It was vital that our parents didn’t see us!
At around twenty to seven, Mr Cracpote went into the assembly hall with some of the teachers. Not long afterwards, the first parents arrived. At 7 p.m. the assembly hall was full.
Mr Cracpote repeated what he’d said the previous evening in Miss Lamerlotte’s classroom. Some parents loudly expressed their indignation.
“But that’s unacceptable!”
“That woman could be dangerous!”
“Something has to be done at once…”
“And more than just giving her the sack… We ought to sue her!”
Then Charles-Antoine gave the signal. The heavy red curtains opened up and the assembled parents saw Miss Charlotte’s whole class on stage, in front of them.
The pupils were waiting silently for their new teacher to arrive.
That was my plan. Instead of explaining to the parents that Miss Charlotte wasn’t dangerous and that we were very fond of her and that we’d learnt a million things with her, I thought we could show it to them. Just like at the theatre.
And I was to play the role of Miss Charlotte! I’d spent a good deal of the night turning the witch’s hat of my old Halloween costume into Miss Charlotte’s hat. Charles-Antoine had lent me one of his granny’s
dresses and a pair of hiking boots.
Now it was my turn. I had to go on stage and pretend to be Miss Charlotte. But then, in the wings, I panicked. I had a terrible stage fright! I nearly skedaddled.
Miss Charlotte’s future depended on me. I only had a few minutes to charm the parents. And, above all, to convince them not to sack our new teacher.
The audience was waiting, but I was planted to the spot, incapable of moving an inch. My feet seemed to have taken root. Then, to pluck up my courage, I lifted up my hat and took the little pebble from the top of my head.
It wasn’t Gertrude. It was just an insignificant little pebble. But I was so scared that it seemed better than nothing.
So I spoke to it.
“Hello… my pumpkin! Well, yes… I’m afraid. Silly, isn’t it? But that’s how it is… I’m afraid they’ll mock me… that they won’t understand me… I’m afraid they’ll sack me…”
It was the strangest thing. I felt I was becoming Miss Charlotte. I was tall and strong.
I put Gertrude back under my hat and walked calmly to the centre of the stage. There I strolled up and down a bit, smiling gently. Then I sat down behind Miss Charlotte’s desk and delicately took off my hat – like a witch’s hat but with a round top instead of a long, pointy one – and took my precious little pebble off my head. I caressed it a little. And I talked and talked and talked…
I poured my heart out to my pebble. I spoke loudly so that all three hundred people in the audience could hear me.
They had to understand. They had to realize what kind of teacher I was.
Afterwards I gently placed Gertrude on my desk. The second act was about to start. To prove to everyone that Miss Charlotte was a good teacher, I tested their spelling and maths.
My pupils were amazing. Thomas’s mother shouted: “Well done!” when her son correctly spelt “oesophagus” with “oe” and “ph”. And Aurore, who could barely do simple additions before Miss Charlotte’s arrival, managed to do four complicated multiplications in a row.
Three pupils presented their projects. But this time, no one threw a spanner in the works, as neither Mr Cracpote, nor the other teachers, nor the parents interrupted the presentations. Everything was explained to them properly. When Benoît did his thing again with the shepherd’s pie, a fair few parents laughed heartily.
To finish it off, I decided to improvise. We hadn’t planned a third act, but never mind! So, just like that, in front of everyone and without thinking or worrying about what they’d say or how they’d react, I invented a story. I don’t even know where it came from. Nor where it went… Once I’d finished my tale, I barely remembered any of it.
I was crawling on all fours through a narrow passage in a cave… When I shone my pocket light along the walls I could see millions of tiny and yet extraordinarily bright stones. I felt neither hunger nor cold.
That’s all I remember.
Oh, wait, no… There were… yes… yes… there were people. Men and women, and children too, no doubt. As tiny as mice, as baby mice even. No… tinier still. Elves? Goblins?
They were climbing a wall. They were connected by teeny-weeny cords.
I was fascinated.
Suddenly the earth trembled as if a sleeping giant were slowly waking up from a deep slumber. Were we in a cave, somewhere in another dimension, or simply in the belly of an ogre?
That’s when the wall began to crack and…
But none of that matters. What matters is that when Charles-Antoine drew the curtains, a heavy silence came over the audience. There wasn’t a single sound for about ten seconds. My heart was racing like mad.
Suddenly there was a ripple of applause. Phew! We’d done it! I was almost certain of it.
Mr Cracpote addressed the audience. And to be honest, I was rather impressed with him. Our head teacher said they shouldn’t take any rash decisions. He was going to meet with Miss Charlotte to clear up the business of her qualifications and, without forbidding her to teach “differently”, he’d recommend her not to “go too far”. That sounded like a good compromise to me.
“I am hopeful that we’ll find common ground,” he finally declared in his thick, serious voice.
This time round the applause came from behind the curtain. And a thunderous applause it was!
But Miss Charlotte’s story doesn’t end here.
Chapter 8
Lots of Kisses and a Fleeting Image
I should have been happy. All my friends congratulated me while we moved the desks back to the classroom next door.
Charles-Antoine walked me home, and we talked about new projects we could do, but my heart wasn’t in it.
Later, when I was lying in bed, I couldn’t sleep. There was one thing… a memory, an image… that haunted me.
Suddenly I cried out: “Aaaargh!”
For a brief moment I saw it again.
It had happened when I was telling my story, while I was playing the part of Miss Charlotte on stage. I was describing the cave with the sparkling walls when she appeared in the window, the middle one, high up on the side of the assembly hall.
I saw Miss Charlotte. She looked at me and smiled.
And then she disappeared.
I slipped on some clothes over my pyjamas and ran to the door. Outside the air was mild.
I nearly got lost. It was not a neighbourhood I’d been to very often. Certainly not at night! But it wasn’t long before I recognized Miss Charlotte’s street…
Charles-Antoine was there, outside the house, next to the garden gnomes. He’d guessed it too.
Our new teacher was gone.
She’d left during the meeting in the assembly hall.
I sat down next to Charles-Antoine. I gently put my head on his shoulder. There are moments when it’s very important to have friends.
Charles-Antoine held a sheet of paper in his hands. I slowly read what Miss Charlotte had written.
Dear friends,
I spent a couple a fabulous weeks with you. I thank you…
I would have liked to stay a little longer, but another school very far from here requires my services. Their Year 5 teacher has caught the whooping cough…
I know that you can manage on your own now. Each of you has tons of plans in his or her head, and you have millions of stories teeming in your brains. Talk about them to your next teacher. Don’t be afraid. I am sure that he (or she) will understand.
I will often think of you all, and I hope that every time you have a chat with your toothbrush or shoelaces you will think of me a little too.
A million kisses,
Miss Charlotte
PS: This afternoon I saw a young girl who looked a lot like me on stage in the assembly hall. I want her to have Gertrude. My poor pumpkin is tired of travelling… One day, perhaps, I’ll come back for her.
Charles-Antoine lifted up one of the garden gnomes, and there was Gertrude.
She looked very small and lonely. I took her in my hands and stroked her a bit.
Epilogue
Gertrude has been living with me for two months now. I talk to her a lot, every day. And every time I think of Miss Charlotte.
Sometimes I think I recognize our teacher in the street when I see an old, tall and skinny lady. I imagine her wearing a hat, like a witch’s hat but with a round top instead of a long, pointy one.
But each time I’m disappointed. It’s never Miss Charlotte.
At school a new teacher has taken her place. His name is Henri and he is very friendly. He even accepted that we work very hard in the morning in order to do things that are a bit wackier in the afternoon. But still, we miss Miss Charlotte.
A lot.
Soon school will be over. I can’t wait for the holidays to start. Henri is not coming back in September. Nor is our old teacher. She decided to spend a whole year looki
ng after her baby.
I’m wondering what our new teacher will look like. It would be amazing if Miss Charlotte were to return!
Sometimes, when I talk to Gertrude at night, I have the feeling that Miss Charlotte can hear me. Then I tell myself that maybe my original suspicion was correct: what if Miss Charlotte really did come from another planet? Maybe she’s travelling through space right now, billions of light years away. And yet she sees and hears everything thanks to her pebble.
I know that this may seem a little crazy. But can you really be sure?
THE END
The New Teacher Page 3