by Gary Paulsen
Mudshark had leapt to his feet. “That's it!” He beamed at Helen. “Don't worry about bringing the cat to school for your science project; I'll speak to Mrs. Downside about borrowing him. Kyle and I need to use Toby for a little while after school, too. And then—could you and Betty help me out? I'm working on an experiment of my own.”
This is the principal. Please refrain from distracting the hazmat crew the government has sent in. They are working to contain the dangerous material in the faculty restroom, sealing it in lead-lined containers before sending it to appropriate government agencies for classification and neutralizing. Oh, and Mr. Patterson was last seen heading up into the overhead heating and air-conditioning ducts in pursuit of the gerbil, so refrain from becoming distracted by the thumping and banging overhead. Thank you.
Mudshark sat at the library table the next day, looking at the parrot and listening to the low buzz around him; everyone was talking about the missing erasers, the art posters that had suddenly started to appear all over the school and the classical music wafting out of the custodian's room.
Mudshark noticed that the parrot, like him, seemed to listen to everything, cocking his head and closing his eyes, almost as if he were filing the words away. Like some sort of feather-covered computer.
“Hmmm …,” Mudshark said aloud, “feathers.” He closed his own eyes, remembering. A few tiny green feathers in the boys' room, a stray feather fluttering down the hallway … He opened his eyes, homing in on the open transom above the library door. He reached out and jiggled the door of the birdcage. It popped open.
Aha! So that was how the parrot collected information.
Mudshark looked over at Ms. Underdorf, who had her back to the room, her nose in a book. He stole a peek around the room, where everyone was deep into either whispered gossip or homework. Although improbable, it was likely that no one noticed the bird getting out of his cage and out of the library to stealthily patrol the halls of the school from time to time. Especially if it happened when the school was empty.
Like Mudshark, the bird paid attention to details and gathered information in a way that no one, not even Mudshark himself, had noticed.
“Well done, my good bird, well done,” Mudshark whispered approvingly. “But I'm the big fish around here, and more important, I can't let you see everything; that's no good.”
The parrot belched, ruffled his feathers and, with his beak, picked at the loose door of his cage. “Going. Walk. Shhhh.”
Mudshark quickly tied the cage shut with a piece of string he pulled out of his backpack. He knew that it was just a matter of time before the parrot noticed that the custodian was the person putting up the art posters and was responsible for piping classical music into the library, and then heard the talk about the erasers. Sooner or later the parrot might blurt out everything he knew about the custodian. And Mudshark didn't want a person who believed in beauty and peace in a zero-tolerance world to get in any trouble because of some bird. The delicate balance of his school must be kept.
But short of physical intervention—say, letting a Tasmanian devil into the library one night—how to shut the parrot up?
Mudshark listened to music drifting up the stairs from the basement and stared at the parrot and considered his options, and the field of possible partners and how he might most effectively utilize their particular gifts and strengths.
He let the energy in his mind jump around: the parrot … Kyle's magic … Bill's beautiful workroom and Ms. Underdorf's library … Betty Crimper's science projects … Helen and Toby/Mr. Cuddles … the cook's scary and disgusting recipes … the faculty restroom. Stop! Even Mudshark shied away from the thought of the faculty restroom.
He knew that the practice of free thinking, allowing random thoughts to drift through his mind undirected, would eventually lead him to the solution.
Operation Eraser Return.
He opened his eyes and said quietly, so that only the parrot could hear, “You, my fine feathered friend, are a problem about to be solved.”
This is the principal. I cannot stress strongly enough that, for your own safety and per the restrictions of Homeland Security, to whom, by the way, we'd like to offer a warm welcome, please refrain from going anywhere near the faculty rest-room. Oh, and great news about Mr. Patterson. While he still hasn't caught the gerbil, his application for another summer of teaching wilderness camp has just been approved. Way to go, Mr. Patterson! Thank you.
Kyle Robertson was outside the library door, hopping from one foot to the other. “So, Mudshark, what's the plan? Operation Eraser Return: that sounds like a good new trick!”
Betty Crimper stood next to Bill the custodian. Helen Cartwright held Toby/Mr. Cuddles's cat carrier. Ms. Underdorf was on the other side of Mudshark, eyeing the large cardboard box next to Bill.
The school day was over and all the teachers were in a meeting with the school board. The entire building was quiet and, except for the faculty in the cafeteria and Mudshark's team outside the library, deserted.
“Bill here,” Mudshark said, “for reasons of his own, is responsible for the temporary removal of all the classroom erasers. We need to return them this afternoon. Fast. And we need to make sure the parrot doesn't find out anything about this because he'll tell and then Bill will get in trouble.”
Helen, Kyle and Betty nodded and Ms. Underdorf looked at Bill sympathetically.
“Let's work together to make the parrot dislike answering questions about custodian or eraser, so that, if anybody ever does ask him about those two things, he won't know the answer.”
“Isn't he psychic, though?” Helen asked.
“No. He's just … observant. I want to make sure he doesn't observe the wrong things. Oh, and we also need to curb his wandering ways at the same time. So can you help me?”
“Where do we start?” Kyle said.
“With the cat.”
“You don't want Toby to, you know, like … hurt … the parrot or anything, do you?” Helen looked a little sick.
“No, of course not, we just distract the parrot with Toby. I'm sure the parrot hasn't seen too many cats before and he'll be curious and want to investigate. We go in the library, show the parrot the cat and then get the bird to follow Toby to the lab, where Betty can release some of her Odors to Repel at the same time that everyone says custodian and erasers over and over. That will plant a negative association in the parrot's head. With leaving his cage, too.”
“And cats,” Kyle said.
“Can parrots smell? I feel like I should know that,” Ms. Underdorf said. Mudshark noticed Bill patting her shoulder kindly.
Mudshark went on, “I read that the apparatus for detecting odors is present in the nasal passages of all birds.”
“But we're not hurting him, right?” Helen peered doubtfully at Toby/Mr. Cuddles.
“No! Think of it as aversion therapy. One whiff of Betty's formula should cure the bird of any interest in erasers and of his wandering tendencies. Maybe for life. Meanwhile, what he doesn't see, he can't tell.”
They all nodded.
“All right, then,” Betty said, “I'll go get set up. My science is stronger than something covered with feathers and a brain the size of a peanut.” Betty squared her shoulders and trotted off to the lab.
Helen, carrying Toby/Mr. Cuddles, followed Mudshark into the library. Mudshark removed the night cover from the parrot's cage, untied the string he'd left there before and set the door slightly ajar. When he saw the parrot fix his gaze on the cat, he nodded to Helen, who began walking slowly toward the door, looking back to make sure she had the bird's attention. The parrot squawked and said, “Hey, babe, wait up,” before nudging his door open and hopping out of the cage, onto the table and then down to the floor. Mudshark watched the bird jump and flap after Helen and Toby/Mr. Cuddles before he turned back to Kyle, Ms. Underdorf and Bill.
Ms. Underdorf was showing Bill the sketches for the new library, scheduled to be completed in five years. “ … After
, of course the athletic center is updated three more times and the soccer field has been AstroTurfed.”
Bill looked at the sketches and listened to her gush about the new automated book-handling system and the electronic blackboards—
“Wait!” Mudshark and Bill said at the same time. “Electronic blackboards?”
“Yes!” Ms. Underdorf said. “The library will be equipped with electronic blackboards instead of the regular old-fashioned chalkboards. There are styluses that can draw or write in different colors, and everything, every last mark, can all be saved on a computer.”
“It doesn't have to be erased?” Bill looked awestruck and Mudshark thoughtful.
“It can be erased, but whatever was there can be saved just like it was written on a computer, and brought back anytime you like. And if it works in the library they're going to incorporate it throughout the whole school system—that's the last item on today's board meeting with the faculty. It makes me crazy, but the library somehow always comes in last. I mean, really, is it necessary to have an Olympic-size curling rink before the library gets anything? Does the library have to fight for every penny?”
“I hear you,” Bill said.
“That”—Mudshark grabbed Kyle's arm—“might be changing. As soon as I can get Kyle to practice his misdirection on a couple of school board members … In the meantime, though, Bill, you and Ms. Underdorf take the box of erasers and head off to the west wing. Betty and Helen and Toby will need about half an hour with the parrot in the science lab on the east side. Meanwhile, Kyle and I head to the board meeting in the cafeteria.
“After tonight,” Mudshark added, “This school will never be the same!”
“Neither will the parrot,” Kyle said, “especially after he gets a whiff of Betty's invention.”
The yellow tape around the faculty bathroom was dragging on the floor and a clanging sound came from inside as Mudshark and Kyle headed to the cafeteria. Mudshark, after giving him last-minute instructions, sent Kyle along to the cafeteria without him. “I'll meet up with you!”
Mudshark gingerly poked his head in at the bathroom door and looked around. Mr. Thomas, the science teacher, stood in front of a row of sinks, a clothespin on his nose and a surgical mask across the lower part of his face, dumping a bucket into one of the sinks. A hissing cloud rose and surrounded him.
Mudshark coughed from the stench and Mr. Thomas turned toward the sound. “Oh, Mudshark”—his voice was muffled by the mask—“uh, hm, well … It's that Betty Crimper! I don't even know what she does in my lab but that young woman comes up with the most perplexing, noxious concoctions. I know, based on the raw materials she has to work with, that it can't be truly hazardous, but she does stink up my lab.” He looked around nervously. “You won't tell anyone, will you? I don't mean to discourage Betty's powerful scientific curiosity, and she's getting ready for a big competition this weekend, and I'd hate to put her off her research when we're so close to the end of her … um, experiments.”
“I won't say a word, Mr. Thomas. Are your eyebrows going to grow back, though?”
“Oh, it's temporary. I've lost and regrown them a few times. Hazard of the profession.”
Mudshark waved goodbye to Mr. Thomas and headed off to the cafeteria. He stopped at a corner. Peering in one direction along the hallway, he saw Helen and Betty returning to the library. Betty carried the parrot. She and Helen still wore their protective goggles and face masks. Mudshark could hear a faint gagging sound coming from the cat carrier that Helen held, and the parrot, he noticed, had tucked his head under one of his wings. Mudshark glanced the other way and saw Bill and Ms. Underdorf scurrying in and out of classrooms, tossing erasers down the hall to each other as their box of stolen goods got lighter and lighter and the classrooms were once again fully stocked.
Mudshark smiled, nodded and ran to the cafeteria.
He arrived in the middle of Kyle's impromptu magic show for the school board members. Kyle was zipping several tricks past them—quarters, pulled from behind ears, winking in the light, silk scarves slipped from board members' sleeves, bunches of flowers emerging from one woman's purse—and once they were in what he'd called “observational confusion,” he threw in a side-focus, the magician's form of hypnosis, he explained, speaking fast and moving his hands quickly, so that whenever they heard the word athletic department they would think new library and electronic blackboards.
Mudshark grinned and flashed a thumbs-up to Kyle.
A sign on the library door read: ELECTRONIC BLACKBOARDS ARRIVING ANY DAY NOW!
Meanwhile Kyle's magic show had also affected the cook, who had been making crazy recipes that left everyone gagging and dizzy She was inadvertently misdirected so severely that she began to try regular menu plans, much to the relief of the entire student body. And the school nurse.
Ms. Underdorf and Bill were seen leaving the school grounds together each day after classes, talking about books and art, hurrying to get a bite to eat before heading to a play or concert.
Mr. Wagner was very grateful for the returned erasers. When he thanked Mudshark, he said, “Who took them, where you found them and how they were returned can be your little secret—no more questions. I'm just so happy that the erasers are back and the faculty washroom is less toxic and the cook is creating food that doesn't make people see colors anymore. Look—her first new menu!” He held it out and Mudshark read:
Prune Liver Surprise Cottage Cheese
Franks n' Brussels Sprouts Grilled Cheese
Salami Mint Whip Yogurt
“It's a tad … milky,” Mr. Wagner said. “But it's a start. She's returning to her roots—she grew up on a dairy farm.”
Yes, things were getting back to normal. Even the triplets had learned to dress themselves and sit quietly for upwards of thirty seconds at a time.
In truth, though, after the excitement of the erasers and the parrot, Mudshark was getting a little bored.
Until.
AFTERWORD
This is the principal. I am pleased to report that each and every classroom is fully stocked with erasers. The faculty restroom is safe for human use. That being said, would the custodian please report to the faculty restroom with a plunger and a mop? Today's hot lunch offering is cheese pizza, applesauce, green beans, chocolate pudding and two-percent milk. Our own Betty Crimper has taken first place in the Interscholastic Science Fair that was held this past weekend—way to go, Betty! Please direct your attention to the new electronic blackboards in the library; we will shortly be replacing the crayfish tanks in each classroom with these boards. I know that we are all sorry to hear that due to the custodian's allergy attacks, our library mascot, that weird … the parrot, has had to find another home. We are pleased, though, that Mrs. Downside has taken him in. Last of all, would Lyle Williams report immediately to the principal's office?
Mr. Wagner closed his door and looked at Mudshark with desperation and said, “You did so well on the eraser business…”
Mudshark waited.
“I wonder if you could help me with another problem.”
Mudshark nodded.
“We can't seem to locate Mr. Patterson. As near as we can figure, he's lost somewhere in the west wing, where he was last heard rumbling around up in the ductwork, hunting for the gerbil. He must be coming out, because somebody has been eating the sandwiches we put out each night, but we can't pin him down long enough to get him to emerge and start teaching again. I don't suppose you would mind looking into it, would you? Please? We must get our eighth-grade English teacher back in the classroom and out of the ductwork.”
Well, Mudshark thought as he headed for the west wing, this should be interesting. …
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Gary Paulsen is the distinguished author of many critically acclaimed books for young people, including three Newbery Honor books: The Winter Room, Hatchet, and Dogsong. His novel The Haymeadow received the Western Writers of America Golden Spur Award. Among his Random House books
are Lawn Boy; The Legend of Bass Reeves; The Amazing Life of Birds; The Time Hackers; Molly McGinty Has a Really Good Day; The Quilt (a companion to Alida's Song and The Cookcamp); The Glass Cafè; How Angel Peterson Got His Name; Guts: The True Stories Behind Hatchet and the Brian Books; The Beet Fields; Soldier's Heart; Brian's Return, Brian's Winter, and Brian's Hunt (companions to Hatchet); Father Water, Mother Woods; and five books about Francis Tucket's adventures in the Old West. Gary Paulsen has also published fiction and nonfiction for adults, as well as picture books illustrated by his wife, the painter Ruth Wright Paulsen. Their most recent book is Canoe Days. The Paulsens live in Alaska and New Mexico.
You can visit Gary Paulsen on the Web at www.garypaulsen.com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2009 by Gary Paulsen
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Wendy Lamb Books, an imprint of Random House Children's Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Paulsen, Gary.