I’m so happy that I turn and share a grin with Siri right away. Jessica even claps for this news. But some students groan. Not everyone loves books and reading as much as I do.
“Let’s keep the comments to ourselves,” Mrs. S says with a little frown. “You will begin with reading a nonfiction book. You must choose a book about the natural world. This can include animals, plants, rocks, and insects. I have scheduled library time for tomorrow, so you can search for a topic that interests you. I will need to approve your title, as it must be at least one hundred pages long and nonfiction.” Mrs. S smiles at me then. She knows that I love reading and that I want to be a writer when I grow up.
We used to have a problem understanding each other, but all that changed a few weeks ago. I’d give the credit to my pickle cupcake for bonding us, except I think it was more than that. It was like we were introduced for the first time. Sometimes when my brothers Connor and Sam argue over a game of chess or even what to watch on television, my mom tells them to start over, which is Mom Code for “Stop fighting and rewind so you can begin again.” I think that’s what happened to Mrs. Sablinsky and me. We started over.
I imagine I am in a world made of food. I stand on a mountain covered in frosting with coconut sprinkles. Far in the distance, I can see Mrs. Sablinsky standing on a mountain covered with chocolate and cherries. We are so very far apart. When a giant gummy bear shakes her mountain and cherries start tumbling down, I run to the edge to help. That’s when I see the bridge between the mountains. It is made entirely of pickle slices. I start across the bridge, but one of the pickle slices slips loose and falls into the river of caramel far, far below. Before I fall too, I leap to the next slice and then hurry the rest of the way to save Mrs. Sablinsky and bring her to safety.
“Ruby, do you have a question?” Mrs. Sablinsky asks.
I realize that she is not on the bridge with me but in the classroom—and I am waving my arms in the air to keep my balance. Except that I am sitting in my seat in the middle of the room. And everyone has a supergood view of me. Oops. Sometimes my imagination gets me into some marshmallow-sticky situations.
Mrs. Sablinsky is waiting for me to say something (and everyone else is staring!), so I hurry to think of a question really fast. “What time are we going to the library tomorrow?”
My teacher sighs. I do have that effect on her. But at least she didn’t make her I-am-not-amused face. I have to admit, sometimes I come up with some really oddball questions. I have asked things like, “What time is it in Paris?” and “Why does the school ring a bell instead of banging a gong?”
Mrs. Sablinsky answers my question, even though it seems like she would rather not: “I have arranged for us to have library time tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.”
I am so happy that I completely forget about my embarrassing arms-waving-in-the-air moment. The library is one of my absolute favorite places. Jessica turns around in her seat to grin at me. She loves books as much as I do. Her ponytail swishes across my desk as she turns back to face the front of the room. (Ruby fact: My ponytails never swish. They bounce.)
“Part two of the assignment is writing the book report.” Groans around the room again. For some students, the next-worse thing to reading a book is writing about reading the book. For me, this is still in the best-assignment-ever category. Mrs. Sablinsky hands Will P a stack of papers. “Can you please help me pass these out to everyone?”
I bet if you took a poll of the class, mapped the answers out on a graph, and then turned the graph numbers into percentages, you would find that Will P passes out papers and gets to bring notes to the office more than any of the other students combined. Not that I’m jealous or anything. I’m not. I’m just making an observation. That’s all.
Will P is known for his supercool red glasses and his signature sock collection. Today, he is wearing socks with numbers all over them. Will never seems to wear the same pair of socks twice. Also, he doesn’t seem to have a problem matching up pairs. In my house, mismatched socks are the norm. Right now, I am wearing a sock with pink hearts on one foot and a sock with a dancing gorilla on the other foot. (The good thing is that no one except me knows because my green sneakers and pink laces cover the designs.)
I imagine I am on the Island of Unmatched Socks. This is where all the missing socks go when they disappear from laundry baskets and clothes dryers. The socks are all stacked up in giant piles like hills. There must be more than a million socks here. There are striped ones and white ones and even some with patterns like stars. I start sorting through the largest stack. After looking through hundreds that don’t belong to me, I find my missing dancing-gorilla sock. I even find my sock that has a pig on it that looks like a cow. I will never wear mismatched socks again!
“Ruby.” Will P is calling my name. I’m not on the Island of Unmatched Socks. I’m here at school. “Here you go.” He hands me the assignment.
“Thanks, Will,” I say as I set the paper on my desk. Then I pretend to tie my shoelaces so I can get a peek at the dancing gorilla and pink hearts. Yep, definitely not matching!
Mrs. Sablinsky moves to the middle of the room and stands right near my desk. “I am giving each of you a copy of the assignment so there is no confusion. On the back, you will see the exact format I would like you to use for your final paper. You will need to come up with one topic from the book that you would like to share. Then you will use facts from the book to explain the topic.”
She holds up a finished book report. “This is an example from one of my students last year. She did her report on horses—specifically, the way they arrived in North America.” There is a really fancy drawing of a horse on the front cover of the report. The rest is typed. That’s a good thing, because I’m way better at typing than writing by hand.
We get to see a few more examples after that. Mrs. S even passes them around the room, so we can look through them if we want. One of the reports is about dinosaurs, and another is about roaches. The roaches report is something my brother Connor would write. It’s all about how strong the bugs are and how we can learn from them. Ewwwwww. I pass the paper on to Jessica really fast. She practically drops it on the floor as she flings it over to Daisy.
After that, we get time to finish our math homework. We are working on graphing, which actually isn’t so bad, considering that it’s math. Lucky for me, I solve the last problem just as the bell rings.
• • •
My heart skips a little bit when I see my grandma waiting for me in front of school. On the days my mom stays late at work, Gram is on pickup duty for me and my brothers, Sam and Connor. One of the things I love about Gram: she is always on time. She can’t stand lateness. I guess everyone has something that bothers them. I don’t have a problem with people being late, but I can’t stand it when someone tells me the ending of a book before I have read it. If I were a teacher, I would write my own Book Rules that every student would have to follow.
I am no longer me. I am Miss Starr, Teacher Extraordinaire. My classroom doesn’t look like an ordinary classroom with rows of desks and boards around the room. Instead, my classroom looks like a library. There are shelves of books weaving around the room in a maze pattern so books have to be discovered. My students are gnomes in super-trendy clothes. On the first day of class, I teach them my Book Rules. The most important three rules are:
1. Never tell someone the ending of a book before they have read it for themselves.
2. Remember that characters in books are real to readers and to authors.
3. Always read a book before seeing the movie version.
“Hi, pumpkin. How was your book club today?” Gram asks as she gives me a hug.
Wait a minute, what is Gram doing in my magical library classroom?
Answer: she’s not in my magical library classroom. The imagination bubble fades as I greet my grandma. “We had to cut the meeting short on acco
unt of a food fight at the other end of the table. Oh, and a mushy something landed in my hair.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetie pie.” Gram smooths my curls back from my face. I can tell she is looking for leftovers.
“I think we are going to try sitting at a different lunch table from now on.”
“Now that sounds like a very good idea,” Gram says. She takes my backpack and slings it over her shoulder, just as she always does. I am definitely one of those people who prefers when things are the same. I like to know what to expect—for instance, Gram wearing my backpack to the car. I don’t like when things go and change on me right when I get used to them. In a lot of books, things change so the characters can learn from new situations. This is one of those things that I enjoy reading about way more than experiencing.
Gram and I walk side by side through the parking lot. She puts her arm around me. “Are you in the mood for ice cream?”
“I am always in the mood for ice cream!”
“Then climb into my sleigh, and away we will go.” Gram waves her hand in front of her car like a magician, but I know she is really just unlocking the door with the button on her key.
Gram’s car is known as Grambus. It’s not really a bus—it’s Gram’s white SUV with a license plate that says GRAMBUS. Also, Gram’s car wears a costume for every season. Since it’s December, Grambus is wearing a pair of reindeer antlers on the hood and a big, red Rudolph nose on the front bumper.
I get into the back seat and buckle up. Gram and I have just enough time before we pick up my brothers to do special outings, like a visit to the library or going to my favorite ice cream shop, Ice Cream Heaven.
If you haven’t been to Ice Cream Heaven before, it’s this cuter-than-cute ice cream shop where the entire place is decorated in a sky theme, with blue walls and clouds everywhere. The ice cream comes in little clear-pink bowls, and the spoons start out as pink, but they change to purple when they get cold, which is so cool.
I hurry to the counter to look for my favorite flavor: chocolate chip caramel. But my eyes get sidetracked when I notice a sign—FLAVOR OF THE MONTH: UNICORN. The ice cream is light pink with little, curly sprinkles dancing around in shades of yellow, blue, and white. It looks delicious.
A whoosh of excitement flies through me like a bright-orange dragonfly. OK, I know people besides me and my friends like unicorns. I mean, everyone probably likes unicorns, right? What’s not to like about a magical animal that looks like a horse but has a swivel horn and makes an appearance in all the best books? But somehow, at this moment, it seems like the Flavor of the Month was created especially for me. Plus, it gives me a better-than-best idea about my new book report.
Which is why, without even trying a taste of the flavor, I completely abandon my signature ice cream. “May I have a scoop of unicorn ice cream with cloud topping?” I ask my grandma.
Her blond eyebrows rise up in surprise. “Instead of the usual? Well, if that’s the case, I will try something new myself.”
“Could I have a taste of the peach sunrise sorbet please?” Gram asks the girl behind the counter. But instead of trying it herself, Gram hands the tasting spoon to me. “Let me know if you think I should order this one today.”
The little spoon has a bite of pale-orange sorbet on it. I taste it. Yum.
I grin at Gram. “Most definitely.”
“A scoop of peach sunrise it is, then.”
After Gram pays for our ice cream, we find an empty gold table and sit down together. I pull out my spoon to check. Yep, it’s already turning from pink to purple. Then I take a bite of the unicorn ice cream.
“Well, how is it?” Gram asks me. She is waiting for my official verdict. I’m like a judge on Cupcake Champions (a cupcake baking show my brother Sam and I love to watch).
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!
It tastes even better than it looks. I decide to give her my opinion using my fake British accent. It sounds way more professional than my regular voice. “I would say that it is a splendid combination of sweet and tart that reminds me of strawberry lemonade. Absolutely brilliant.” My accent is pretty good, if I do say so myself. I’ve read a lot of books by British authors, so that helps.
“Then I’m glad we came here today.” Gram reaches over to give my hand a little squeeze. “So, tell me all about school.”
I take another bite of my ice cream before launching into the details in my regular voice. “This week the Unicorns are reading From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.”
“Oh, I remember your mother loved that book when she was young.”
I nod. “There was a lot to discuss. Only Siri seemed sort of sad today. I asked her if everything was OK, and she said it was, but it seemed like maybe she wasn’t telling me the truth.”
Gram takes a spoonful of her sorbet. Then she says, “Sometimes being a good friend means being patient. When Siri is ready to talk, she will know where to find you.”
Gram always has the very best advice. She’s right—when Siri is ready to talk, I will be there to listen. I just hope she’s ready to talk soon, because misunderstandings between friends can really take a story in the wrong direction. (I know this from personal experience.)
“Have you thought about what you’re making for my cookie party?” Gram asks. Every year, my grandma has a party where she invites family and friends to bring cookies to share. No one wants to bring an ordinary cookie, no matter how tasty it is. So each year, the cookies get more and more creative.
“Sam and I want to make something together. We haven’t decided what to bake yet. Mom is making her famous chocolate chip cookies.” (Factoid: my mom makes the world’s best chocolate chip cookies. Really and truly!)
“After your pickle cupcakes, I’m expecting something very unusual.” Gram winks at me. I know she doesn’t really like the idea of nontraditional flavors, but the wonderful thing about Gram is that she’ll support my ideas anyway. “It’s time to go get your brothers,” she says as she takes our empty pink bowls to the recycle bin. “On the way, I’ll tell you about how George managed to eat your grandfather’s entire plate of spaghetti last night.”
I laugh as I walk with my grandmother to the parking lot where Grambus is waiting. I love hearing my grandma’s stories about Abe’s dog-brother George and the messes he makes at my grandparents’ house. I can’t even imagine what life would be like if we had adopted George instead of Abe!
My family is sitting around the dinner table eating pasta. George, who looks just like Abe but is way more of a troublemaker, is sitting underneath the table just like Abe does when he waits for morsels to drop onto the floor. Except George doesn’t like to wait. Instead, he bounces up and down, tilting the table left and right. The plates slip right off the edges, and George slurps up the pasta before the dishes crash to the ground. We try to catch the plates but end up slipping around in the pasta sauce that is now all over the floor. Sam and Connor grab for me as I slide into Mom. Dad reaches for Mom just as we crash into her. All five of us land in a heap. George happily licks our faces.
Chapter 3
Unicorns Are Real, Aren’t They?
On Wednesday morning, at exactly 8:55 a.m., Mrs. Sablinsky rings the little bell on her desk.
“Please finish up and put away your journals. We are heading to the library in five minutes to choose your books for the new assignment.”
I am right in the middle of a journal entry about my friendship with Siri, so I finish the last sentence. It says:
Siri and I even have plans to go to the same college in New York City and then live together in a very cool apartment, where she will have a fashion studio, and I will write my novels.
I draw a picture of a book next to the last word. Drawing books wherever and whenever possible is my new thing. I’m getting really good at it. My sketch looks like this:
Then I put away my journal a
nd my favorite green pencil. Will P is just putting away his journal too. We are usually the last two students to finish creative writing.
“I’m thinking about a report on dinosaurs or polar bears,” Will P tells me. “So I prepared for both.” He points to his dinosaur socks.
I don’t spot any polar bears on the socks—just raptors, a Tyrannosaurus rex, a Brontosaurus, and a Triceratops. (I know. I am sort of an unofficial dinosaur expert on account of my brother Connor.) Dinosaurs and polar bears are not the same species, unless there is something I don’t know. “Um, I’m pretty sure those are just dino socks.”
“Not exactly,” he says. He leans over and rolls the dinosaur socks down. He is wearing his polar bear socks underneath his dinosaur socks.
“Now that is impressive.” I grin at Will. What he doesn’t know is that seeing not one but two pairs of matching socks really amazes me—probably even more than his matching the socks with possible book topics. I decide to share my wonderful idea for a book report subject with Will. I take a big breath. “I’m searching for a unicorn book.”
“Unicorns?” His face squelches up the way it does when he can’t figure out the answer to a math problem (which has actually only happened once). “But they’re not real.”
“I would have to disagree with that statement.” I cross my arms in front of me and stand up a little taller. “Unicorns are real.”
Will pushes his red glasses higher on his nose and then crosses his arms exactly like mine. He isn’t giving up on this. “Have you ever seen one?”
I am not budging either. Sometimes the best way to answer a question is with another question. “Have you ever seen a dinosaur?”
Will shakes his head. “Dinosaurs are extinct.”
The Great Museum Mix-Up and Other Surprise Endings Page 2