by Brian Lies
She turned suddenly and gestured to the front row of the audience. “I’d like to invite up here Shirley Anne Vale, Mr. Walton McKenna’s granddaughter.” The room clapped politely as the elderly lady rose and walked slowly up the stairs to the stage.
“And Mr. Loomis, the owner of Quick Street Comics and Games.” The man with the ponytail took the steps two at a time.
“Hey, that’s Al!” some kid in the audience said.
“And finally, Skylar Morgan, from Mr. Binney’s fifth grade class.” The room of kids swiveled in their seats. Skylar froze until Jovahn literally pushed him down the aisle. The students in the audience rumbled. Skylar looked back, but Amelia and Jovahn waved him on. “He could at least close his mouth,” Kiera said with a smile.
Finally, Skylar made it to the stage. “It was Skylar here who first noticed the comic,” Mrs. Rivera said, placing her hand on his shoulder. “It’s been my experience that every student has a Knack. Sometimes it takes a while for us to discover it. One of Skylar’s many Knacks is noticing things that others might not. And that, along with his extensive comic book knowledge, led him to realize that we did, in fact, have a treasure in our midst. Mr. Loomis, perhaps you could explain?”
Al Loomis slicked his hair back to his ponytail and took the microphone. “Yeah. Um. That’s not just any comic. That’s a Superman comic. And it’s not just any Superman comic, it’s the first Superman comic. 1938.” The kids in the room were silent, still not understanding. But the adults—the teachers, the media—started buzzing. Al continued, “This issue is incredibly rare. And collectible. This one’s a little marked up, but the last first-edition Superman comic that was found in a quality similar to this one”—he held it reverently—“sold at auction for nearly a million dollars.”
Now the room exploded. Nutters hooted and hollered. Mr. Binney and Ms. Brumble hugged—in front of everyone. Jovahn stood and let out a whistle so ear-piercing that Amelia elbowed him and pointed at Malcolm’s cage. “Sorry, mousie!” Jovahn said, grinning.
Mrs. Rivera tried to get everyone’s attention. “Our school district foundation will handle the proceeds, but this discovery will do a world of good. We’ve set up a scholarship fund. With it, we’ll . . .” Her voice faded out as she realized no one was listening to her. Finally, she shrugged and flipped off the microphone. Grinning, she put her arm around Skylar.
Amelia stood up so Malcolm could see the room through his travel cage. And Malcolm stood on his hind legs to take it all in. His nutters. His school. His home. And even though his nutters would move on, he still had a summer with Amelia. And a new crop of nutters next fall—there was always a nutter who needed a friend, Aggy said. And there was you, Mr. Binney. And, of course, the Midnight Academy.
Way up on the darkened balcony, in the shadows, a flash of white caught Malcolm’s eye. He squinted. Was that the white tip of a cat tail? Snip—or rather, Blackberry—should be home at Kiera’s. Malcolm couldn’t quite make out who—or what—it was. But he hoped it was her.
After all, this was her school too.
Dear Readers,
I found the following note and story on my desk when I came in to work one morning. Who wrote it? Well, I have my ideas . . .
Enjoy,
Mr. Mark Binney, fifth grade teacher
Dear Mr. Binney,
You asked us how that ring came to be on your desk the morning after the Dedication Day carnival. You said we could leave you an anonymous note. That you just wanted—needed—to know. Well, it took a while, but here it is. Some parts you may recognize. Some parts might get you mad. But all of it is true.
A lot happens in school when the teachers aren’t looking.
Sincerely,
Your Student
Chapter 1
The Mouse
It began with a rat. There was also a glasses-wearing elderly iguana, a grumpy fish who could spell, a ghost in the clock tower, a secret message in the library, and a twisted evil that lived on the fourth floor of our school. But those’ll all come later. First, there was a rat: Malcolm.
I know this’ll surprise you, Mr. Binney, but yes, Malcolm’s a rat. I know because he told me so.1 Don’t feel bad about bringing him to our class thinking he was a mouse. He is small. And that pimply clerk down at the Pet Emporium just wants to sell anything. I know—once he tried to convince me a goldfish was still alive even though it was floating upside down!
Remember, too—back then, last fall, you were kind of . . . distractible. Like a kid listening to his mom while Cartoon Network is blaring. Hearing, maybe, but not really listening. I know why now, but still. That must have helped the clerk’s duplicity.2
So, I suppose, in an effort to get down the whole story, I should share how it happened. How Malcolm came to stay in Room 11 with us fifth-graders. I know you know this part, Mr. Binney, but I suppose it’s important to tell the whole story.
Malcolm’s story.
Malcolm doesn’t remember much before the Pet Emporium. Maybe he was born there. He does know that he used to be in a cage with lots of other rats. But they all got sold. People want their money’s worth, and the tiniest rat isn’t the one to pick. Of course, when you’re being sold as feeder rats, maybe that’s not the worst thing.
So, Malcolm was the lone rat in his cage when you walked in that day, Mr. Binney. You came in for fish food, but somehow you found yourself stopped in front of the “Pocket Pets” section, jiggling a little square box in your hands. Every few minutes, you cracked it open and peeked inside.
Malcolm was racing on his wheel. He’s very fast. Maybe you weren’t really looking at him, but you have to admit, there’s something about Malcolm that catches the eye.
The pimply-faced clerk noticed your pause. “Can I help you?” he asked. “Hey, don’t you teach at McKenna School? I used to go there.”
You jerked a little, snapped the box shut, and shoved it in your pocket. “Um—what? Yes, yes, I do.” You pointed at Malcolm. “Cute . . . mouse. That brown splotch on his back almost makes him look like he’s wearing a cape.”
“Mouse?” The clerk frowned and chomped on his gum. He glanced at the cage, then the frown switched to a slick smile. He slid in front of the sign that read RATS, $2.99 EACH and rolled his gum to the other side of his mouth. “Yes, he is a handsome one. You know, ra—mice make great classroom pets. And they’re quiet and don’t take up much room. Smart, too.”
You both watched as Malcolm started licking himself. All over.
The clerk cleared his throat. “And, well—clean.”
Malcolm finished grooming his tail. He considered your conversation. Whatever a “classroom” was probably was preferable to being sold to the next python owner.
Malcolm put his paws up on his food dish and stared at you. You’ve maybe never noticed, Mr. Binney, but Malcolm’s got very intelligent eyes. Shiny dark brown, like steaming coffee. He added a little squeak.
You nodded. “Yes. Maybe. What kinds of supplies would I need?”
The clerk cracked his gum and grinned. “Well, let me show you our selection of cages and water bottles over here . . .”
And that was how Malcolm came to live in Room 11 at McKenna Elementary School in Clearwater, Wisconsin. With a three-story deluxe cage, a fleece-lined Comf-E-Cube, a tail-safe plastic exercise wheel, and a drip-free, antibacterial water bottle.
By the way, Malcolm wants to thank you for all that.
Buy the Book
Visit www.hmhco.com or your favorite retailer to purchase the book in its entirety.
About the Author
As a kid, W. H. BECK read all the time—walking home from school, while brushing her teeth, under the table at dinnertime, and beneath the covers at night. Her dad always teased that she would be a librarian someday, and he was right. She lives in Wisconsin, where she shares the bookish life with her husband, two sons, and a big black dog.
About the Illustrator
BRIAN LIES is the award-winning author/illustrator of the
New York Times bestsellers Bats at the Beach, Bats at the Library, and Bats at the Ballgame. He has written and/or illustrated more than twenty books for children. Born in Princeton, New Jersey, Brian lives on the South Shore of Massachusetts with his wife and daughter.
Footnotes
1. “America the Beautiful: A Musical Road Trip Across Our Great States.”
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2. Hamster cheek pouches go all the way back to their shoulders, and Jesse made good use of his on Nosh and Fodder nights.
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3. Vast = huge, seemingly endless. Vocabulary from 2/11. What Kiera did not know about rats was vast.
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4. Dignity = worthy of respect. Not a vocabulary word, but maybe it should be, Mr. Binney?
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5. Decorum = manners, basically. Vocabulary from 9/18. Mrs. Rivera insists on decorum in her office.
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6. Amends = to fix a mistake. Vocabulary from 1/21. When Jovahn hurt Amelia’s feelings by teasing a little too much about her color-coded notebooks, he made amends by buying her a matching pencil for each one.
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7. Yes, Honey Bunny’s a he, despite the fluff-addled name the second-graders gave him. You should see his cage.
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8. Mrs. Snyder’s. But you don’t need to let her know that, right?
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9. That’s a whole ’nother story. A long one—a book, actually. Right, Mr. Binney?
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10. A secondary one that Aggy probably didn’t know about was that Jesse could stuff seven french fries in his mouth at once. Billy was training to beat that.
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11. Whimsical = unpredictable, unusual, playful. Vocabulary from 1/19. (Not a typical kindergarten vocabulary word—how did Aggy know?) Sometimes Skylar’s math facts were a little . . . whimsical.
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12. The Academy handbook has a whole section on various uses of “tools” found at school—usually found in Ms. Brumble’s swept-up piles at the end of the day.
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13. It’s true—iguanas have a third eye on the top of their head! You can’t really see it, but it senses light and predators. And Aggy can also smell through her Jacobson’s organ in her mouth. Who knew?
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14. Impromptu = spur of the moment. Vocabulary from 12/17. Most of Jovahn’s day—from puddle-jumping to flinging french fries at lunch—could be considered impromptu.
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15. If nutters did have Knacks, then Kiera’s might be a super-sense for secrets of any kind.
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16. We know you said he had to stay in his cage, and usually Amelia is such a good listener. But sometimes there’s hearing and sometimes there’s listening. And sometimes there’s hearing and listening, but doing what you need at the time anyway.
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17. Subtly. From the word subtle, which was our actual vocabulary word from 12/14. Slight, a little, barely noticeable. Not to be rude, but Mrs. Findlay’s perfume is anything but subtle. Seriously. It’s a good thing Harriet and her allergies aren’t in that room.
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18. This was something that Malcolm and Jovahn had in common. Amelia, on the other hand, preferred to weigh the options. Come to think of it, she and Aggy would get along great.
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19. Most people do not know this, but rabbits are nocturnal.
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20. Snip—this is almost too horrible to write—is the reason Beert and Hestia lost their first nest of owlets. It is possible that Malcolm is not the only critter at McKenna who still dreamed of Snip.
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21. Omni = omnivore. An animal that eats both plants and meat—like humans.
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22. Because Malcolm wasn’t ever going to forget about those stars. Even if he couldn’t see them, he’d Know they were up there.
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23. Do you recognize what kind of critter this was? Malcolm didn’t know at the time, but Beert and Honey Bunny told him all about raccoons later.
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24. Amelia had nearly fainted when she realized she hadn’t checked the yearbooks out from the library because of the yowling. She made Jovahn go down at recess time with her to fix it.
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25. Malcolm happened to know what both of these things were thanks to (1) frequent visits to Mrs. Findlay’s music class (via Amelia’s hood) and (2) a rather unfortunate science fair project that Michael brought in. That patch of hair grew back nicely, didn’t it?
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26. For what it’s worth, candied beets are a mistake wherever you put them. Skylar, however, had potential.
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27. The collar had been put on her as a kitten, but then when she had been lost (or forgotten, depending on who you asked), she had grown and it hadn’t. Malcolm had been the one to gnaw it off her.
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28. Quandary = dilemma, problematic situation. Vocabulary from 2/22. Normally, Malcolm’s biggest quandary was which to eat first: Jovahn’s Pop-Tarts or Amelia’s graham crackers. Crumb, did he long for those simpler days.
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29. There were plenty of other markings, however. Mostly, the usual: crayon, pen, pencil, but even some of the rare ones—sticker, whiteout, and one that Malcolm was pretty sure was grape juice.
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30. Which Jovahn had invented. But you probably knew that.
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31. Vocabulary from 3/1. Chaos. I know we are not supposed to define a vocabulary word with another, but chaos and pandemonium are really the only way to describe what happened that night. Unless you want me to use a simile. The crowd was like popcorn popping. Screaming popcorn.
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32. Malcolm knew of matches from science experiments. He also knew what burning erasers smelled like. And melted plastic. Those were not supposed to be part of the science experiments.
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33. There have never been two members of the Elastic Order of Suspenders at the same time. But the Midnight Academy is also pretty sure there’s never been a teacher engaged to a custodian at McKenna before, either. And they couldn’t decide on which one of you. So, there you go.
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34. Reunion = when people who have been separated for a period of time come together again. Example? Read on.
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35. Unfortunately, Mrs. Snyder had been unable to close it ever since Michael had opened it to see the cat weeks earlier.
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1. This’ll come later, too. Just wait.
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2. Duplicity = dishonesty. Extra credit spelling/vocabulary word from Nov. 18’s list. See? You thought our brains were like holey buckets, that nothing stayed in them. Not true. At least for most of us. Maybe it’s true for Kiera.
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