by Lorri Horn
“Oh, yes, veeeery nice. Yes, tha-nk you, Jo-a-nna,” drawled Mrs. Décorder. “Wh-oo would like to be next? Of course, sunny yellow daffodils are a wonderful sign that spring has arrived. There’s the Golden Ducat, the Petit Four, oh! What about the Rip Van Winkle! There’s a variety! Oh, trumpeter flower! Hear my call! Time, time in-deed.
“Who else would like to read?” She barely paused long enough to call on someone and went on waving her arms up and down as she spoke. “Sun up. Sun down. Sun up, sun down. Day, night. Oh!” she caterwauled running across the room grabbing into thin air as if to catch it. “There goes a second! Oh, wait! There goes another one. Shh!” she lowered her voice. “No one talk. Quiet now . . . oh my, a minute has passed never to return!”
Bryan tore out a piece of paper from his binder and his hand scribbled: “TIME: AT EXACTLY 10:32 EVERYONE PICK UP THEIR SCIENCE BOOKS AND DROP THEM ON THEIR DESKS TOGETHER. PASS IT ON!”
He tapped Ryan on the shoulder and off it went. It was 10:28.
“So, who else will read what they’ve written?”
No one volunteered.
10:29.
“Who else? Will.”
“Um, okay,” replied Will.
Mrs. Décorder just stared back at him with her red painted lips, her green pants, and her red hair spiked a bit like a rooster’s comb, so Will began to read.
“When I think of time—” Will read his story about being late to elementary school two years ago because of construction for a new metro line. Bryan found it about as riveting as flossing his teeth, but he and the whole class sat on edge watching the second hand of the clock move. 10:31.
10:32.
On the dot, the whole room shook like a bomb hit it as every kid—except for poor Will—dropped their science book on their desktop.
A two second pause hung in the air, and then Mrs. Décorder yelled, “DR-OP! COVER!” and dropped to the floor, crawled under the desk, and folded her arms to cover her head.
Silence.
Then came the giggles and a few suppressed chuckles.
After a few moments, Mrs. Décorder came out from under the desk and smoothed her disheveled clothes back into place.
She took out her apple, sat down, and munched on it at her desk. “I think,” she muttered, “it’s time for a break.”
Sealing It Up
Dewey determined that he could seal up the entrances to their attic office, and he could prevent mice from entering through the ducts or the kitchen. All the cracks, holes, and openings had to be sealed with cement, metal, or caulk. But most importantly, the cookies, and the ingredients Clara baked them with, needed to be stored in sturdy closed containers.
Okay, thought Dewey. Doable.
“I need a couple days, Clara. I’m going to make sure the office is 100% sealed up and mouse-proof, so you don’t have to worry,” Dewey declared to Clara on Facetime.
Clara was touched. She usually handled the office and facilities.
“Thank you, sir,” she blushed, though Dewey couldn’t see the pink rise to her cheeks because she hadn’t turned on her camera. “I don’t know why I dislike them so. I always have, though.”
“No worries, Clara. I got this,” Dewey assured her.
“How are things going with Mr. Frenchie?”
“He’s coming by again soon, actually. I have a lot to catch you up on! Can I see Wolfie?”
Clara turned on her camera and picked Wolfie up onto the couch.
“Wolfie? Hey, Buddy!”
Wolfie looked around the room and out the window, totally baffled. He knew the sound of Dewey’s voice and kept looking around for him.
He jumped down and waited at the door.
“No, Wolfie. I’m here, on the computer! Come here!”
Wolfie’s ears went up at the sound of Dewey’s voice, but he quickly got bored and left the room.
“Sorry, sir.”
Dewey laughed. “That’s okay. But I need to get you guys back here. This is terrible! Oh, I think I hear Bryan coming. I’d better go.”
“Okay, Boss.”
“We’d better get you back here soon,” Dewey repeated.