Mrs. Kaufman went to the bathroom and got the thermometer. She took Cricket’s temperature and discovered that it was one hundred and two.
“But I’m feeling fine,” Cricket protested as her mother tucked her into bed.
“It may just be a twenty-four-hour virus,” said Mrs. Kaufman, trying to comfort her daughter. “You’ll probably be fine by the weekend.”
“I don’t care about the weekend,” said Cricket. “I don’t want to miss school tomorrow. And on Friday we are having the spelling bee.” Mrs. Kaufman pulled down the shade in Cricket’s room. “Rest for a little while,” she suggested. “I’ll get you an aspirin and some fruit juice.”
“I don’t want to rest,” Cricket protested. But she fell asleep without even eating any supper, which her mother said was proof that she was ill. On Thursday when she woke, her temperature was normal, but her throat was scratchy and her nose was running.
“Your fever is gone,” said Mrs. Kaufman, “but I’m still not allowing you to get out of bed. You’ll get better a whole lot faster if you just take it easy today.”
“But I can go to school tomorrow, can’t I?” Cricket begged.
“Schools sure have changed if you want to go that badly,” said Mr. Kaufman, coming into Cricket’s room to say good-bye before he left for work. “When I was your age, I used to pretend that I was sick just so I could stay home.”
“We’re having a very important spelling bee tomorrow,” Cricket explained. “I just have to go to school to take part in it.” She didn’t even care anymore about not getting a certificate for perfect attendance.
Cricket stayed in bed all day on Thursday. It was nice to have her mother bring her breakfast on a tray. Cricket decided to use this extra time to study more new spelling words. She asked her mother to bring her a dictionary, and she lay in bed propped up with two pillows. There were thousands of words in the dictionary and Cricket learned the meaning and the spelling of quite a few of them. Maybe it wasn’t so terrible staying home and being sick the day before the spelling bee, after all.
On Friday morning, Cricket jumped out of bed and started to get dressed. But her mother came into the bedroom, shaking her head. “Cricket,” she said, “it’s pouring rain outside. It would be very foolish for you to go outside in this weather. You will certainly have a relapse. Besides, you may still be contagious and spread germs to your classmates.”
“But I have to be in the spelling bee,” Cricket protested loudly.
“You’ll be in the next one,” said her mother. “I’m sure Mrs. Schraalenburgh will have more than one spelling bee. Maybe she’ll even have one every month.”
Cricket knew she couldn’t wait another whole month to show Mrs. Schraalenburgh how smart she was. If she didn’t go to school, Zoe would win. It was bad enough that Zoe brought all those soup labels to school and remembered how to pronounce hard words.
Cricket sat in her bedroom feeling miserable. She couldn’t go to school and her mother wouldn’t let her play with Monica in case she still had germs. Yesterday, being home and studying the dictionary had been fun. But what was the sense of studying more words if she wasn’t going to be in the spelling bee? Cricket reached for a book in the bookcase by her bed. She began turning the pages at random. She had read the book before, so she could skip around in it to her favorite parts. Last year her class had conducted a telephone interview with the author. Cricket remembered that after the interview was completed, Mrs. Hockaday had complimented her for asking the best questions. She turned the pages of the book, but she couldn’t concentrate. She kept thinking about the spelling bee she was going to miss.
Suddenly, Cricket had an idea. Why couldn’t she participate in the spelling bee over the telephone just the way the class had the interview last year? That way no one would get her germs, but she could still show Mrs. Schraalenburgh what a great speller she was.
She ran to her mother and explained her plan. “Would you call Mrs. Schraalenburgh and ask her?” she begged.
Mrs. Kaufman called the school. And in a very few minutes, the whole thing was arranged. In the afternoon, when it was time for the spelling bee, Mrs. Schraalenburgh would phone Cricket at home. Because there was a microphone attached to the telephone receiver at school, the whole class would hear Cricket’s responses when she spelled a word. It was a super plan.
For lunch, Cricket’s mother opened a can of chicken-noodle soup. Cricket and Monica both had soup, and Cricket had another label to contribute to the school’s collection. Cricket took it without much enthusiasm. Since it was impossible to top Zoe’s two hundred and seventeen labels, it hardly seemed worthwhile for her to bother collecting any longer.
Finally, it was one-thirty. Cricket sat by the telephone waiting for it to ring. It was twenty minutes to two before Mrs. Schraalenburgh called.
“Some of the boys are concerned that you might cheat, since no one can see you,” the teacher told Cricket.
Cricket knew just who the teacher was referring to. “Tell Lucas that I never cheat,” she said. “I don’t have to. Cross my heart and hope to die.” She put her hand over her heart as she made her vow.
“I know that, too,” said the teacher. “But I wanted them to hear you say it. Now we are about to begin.”
Cricket listened as the teacher called on the students, one by one. The words were easy. Deceive. Cricket remembered the rule: “i before e except after c.”
Neighbor.
Julio misspelled that one. He had forgotten the rest of the rule: “i before e except after c or when sounded like a as in neighbor or weigh.
Basil. Cinnamon. Thyme. (Mrs. Schraalenburgh was using words from their reports as well as words from the regular spelling list.)
Dictionary. Cricket smiled to herself. The telephone was sitting on top of a bookcase and right in front of her eyes, she could read the letters off her parents’ dictionary. It was a good thing that it wasn’t her turn. It would have almost seemed like cheating, except that she already knew how to spell dictionary.
By two o’clock, there were only three contestants left in the spelling bee. Lucas, Zoe, and Cricket. The words were getting harder, but still Cricket could spell them with ease.
Constitutional. Responsibility. Administration. Imperfection.
Lucas was given the word prejudice. Cricket listened as he tried to spell it. She didn’t know that word either. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine it. If Lucas missed, Mrs. Schraalenburgh would call on her next with the same word. Cricket opened her eyes and saw the dictionary. If she opened it quickly, she could find the word. She knew that it started with pre.
“P-R-E-J-E-W-D-I-S-E,” Lucas spelled.
“I’m sorry,” said the teacher. “That’s incorrect.”
“Cricket. Can you spell prejudice?”
Cricket held out her hand to grab the dictionary. But she remembered her promise not to cheat. If no one saw her, what difference would it make? No one would know. Then she shook her head and lowered her hand. She would just make a guess. She was a natural speller. She would probably get it right, anyhow.
“P-R-E-J-U-D-I-S-E,” she spelled.
“I’m sorry, Cricket. That is not correct. If Zoe can spell it, she will be the winner. But if she can’t, we will have a three-way tie.”
Cricket held her breath. Please, please, let Zoe get it wrong.
“P-R-E-J-U-D-I-C-E,” Zoe spelled.
“Correct!” called Mrs. Schraalenburgh. “Zoe, you have won the spelling bee.”
There was a loud cheer in the classroom, and Cricket pulled the telephone receiver away from her ear so she didn’t have to listen. She felt the tears fill her eyes and then begin to slide down her cheeks. Why could that awful Zoe Mitchell spell prejudice if she couldn’t? Probably it was on her spelling list in her old school. It just wasn’t fair. The only good thing was that no one could see Cricket crying. That was the advantage to losing a spelling bee over the telephone.
Something else happened, however, t
hat was much worse than losing. On Saturday, Cricket’s father showed her a small piece at the bottom of the one of the pages in the Evening Star. It was part of the column that Zoe’s stepfather wrote three times a week. “Sometimes Crickets and bees don’t mix as well as they might like,” he had written.
The winner of yesterday’s spelling bee in Mrs. Schraalenburgh’s fourth-grade class was not Cricket Kaufman, who classmates said had always been the best speller in the class. The new champion in spelling is Zoe Mitchell. Her prize was a small pencil sharpener shaped like a globe.
Of course Cricket was furious. It was bad enough to lose the spelling bee and not to win the prize. Why did it have to be announced in the newspaper for everyone in the world to know?
“I don’t think everyone in the world reads this paper,” Mr. Kaufman said comfortingly.
“I don’t think even half the people in town will read it,” her mother said. “This isn’t real news. It’s a human-interest column and it just tells little local stories to amuse people.”
Cricket just knew that if she ever won a spelling bee or did anything else better than Zoe, it wouldn’t get into the newspaper. Why should Zoe’s stepfather think it was amusing to write good things about Cricket Kaufman? So Cricket was angry at Zoe and at Zoe’s stepfather and at herself. If she hadn’t been so clever to think of entering the spelling bee over the telephone, Zoe would still have won. But at least Cricket Kaufman wouldn’t have been able to lose.
6
The
Brunch
In the middle of October, when everyone else was thinking about Halloween, Zoe Mitchell arrived in class carrying a pile of white envelopes. Cricket watched as Zoe went up to Mrs. Schraalenburgh’s desk and whispered to her. The teacher said something in return, but Cricket could not hear. All morning, Cricket wondered what secrets Zoe and the teacher had. And finally at lunchtime, she came right out and asked her classmate.
“What’s inside all those envelopes you brought to school this morning?”
Zoe smiled. “They’re invitations. I wanted to give them out right away, but Mrs. Schraalenburgh said I had to wait till it’s time to go home.”
“What sort of invitations?” asked Cricket. “Is it your birthday or are you having a Halloween party?”
Zoe shook her head. “My birthday is in February and a Halloween party is for babies. I want to have a more grown-up sort of party. So I’m giving a brunch. It’s going to be on the last Sunday of this month and all the girls in our class are invited.”
When Zoe said that, Cricket knew that there was an invitation in the pile for her. She was relieved to know that she had been included among the guests, even though she couldn’t help disliking Zoe so much. How could she possibly like someone who was as smart as she was? Someone who was always working so hard to be the teacher’s pet.
Cricket thought about Zoe’s party. She had never been invited to a brunch before and it was just like Zoe to think of doing something so different. Brunch is a meal in the late morning between breakfast and lunchtime. Sometimes on Sundays, Cricket’s mother served brunches. She would make waffles or popovers, and the family would eat them late in the morning and then skip lunch.
When the dismissal bell rang that afternoon, Mrs. Schraalenburgh nodded to Zoe. Looking very important, Zoe took her pile of envelopes out of her desk. She removed the rubber band that held them together and then, as the class filed out of the room, she handed one to each of the girls.
“Thank goodness boys didn’t get those envelopes,” said Lucas Cott as he looked over Cricket’s shoulder. They were standing in the hallway outside the classroom and Cricket was reading the invitation.
It’s a party!
Sunday, October 26, 11 A.M.
At the home of Zoe Mitchell.
123 Fourth Street.
“It’s a brunch party,” Cricket told Lucas.
“One of these days I’m going to have a party just for boys,” he said. “It’s going to be a lupper or a sunch.”
“I never heard of a lupper or a sunch,” said Cricket scornfully.
“It’s part lunch and part supper!” shouted Lucas and he charged down the hall.
Cricket caught up with some of the other girls from her class. “Are you going to go to Zoe’s party?” she asked.
“Sure,” said Connie. “I want to meet her stepfather. Maybe he’ll write about me in his newspaper column. Then I’ll be famous.”
“My parents go to brunch parties sometimes,” said Hope. “But I’m never invited. I always have to stay home with my big sister. This time, they’ll have to stay home instead!”
So even though she didn’t really like Zoe Mitchell, Cricket decided she would attend the brunch party, too. She might not like Zoe, but she knew she would have felt terrible if she hadn’t received an invitation like all the other girls. Last year, she hadn’t been invited to a single birthday party. She hated it when the girls in her class giggled together at lunchtime, talking about parties or other activities in which she had not been included.
On Sunday morning, October 26, Cricket woke early. She put on her favorite red corduroy jumper and a blouse that was white and had red and blue polka dots on it. Her father said she looked very patriotic in that oufit. Cricket liked it because she thought it made her look pretty.
In the next bedroom, she could hear Monica talking to herself. Monica didn’t really talk yet, but she made a lot of sounds and sometimes Cricket was sure she could understand real words among the sounds. Cricket went into Monica’s room and tickled her little sister through the slats in the crib. Monica pulled herself up to a standing position.
Cricket wrinkled her nose in distaste. Even though she loved her little sister, sometimes she couldn’t stand the smell. She was sure that when she was a baby she never smelled like that. Mrs. Kaufman came into the bedroom.
“You look lovely,” she said, smiling at her older daughter.
Cricket beamed in agreement.
“Did you wrap the present for Zoe?”
Cricket had told her mother that she didn’t need to bring a present because it wasn’t a birthday party. But Mrs. Kaufman had insisted that birthday or not, it was a friendly gesture to bring at least a small gift.
So Cricket had chosen a paperback from the children’s books department at the local bookstore. It was a book that she had wanted to read anyhow, and so Cricket had read it yesterday, being careful not to bend any of the pages or soil the book in any way.
“It’s all wrapped,” said Cricket.
“You’d better have some juice and a piece of toast or something. They may not serve food right away,” said Mrs. Kaufman.
“I’m not hungry,” said Cricket, but she obediently drank a glass of orange juice. She was a little worried that they might serve sour pickles at the brunch. But she had already decided that she would just say “No, thank you.” No one could make her eat them, and there had to be other things at the party that would taste better.
Zoe lived only a few blocks away. Cricket declined her father’s offer to drive her there. She liked walking by herself and wanted to feel important when she went to Zoe’s brunch party. Only babies needed to be taken places by their parents.
As she walked along the street, crunching leaves under her feet, Cricket wondered about Zoe’s family. She knew that Zoe had a big sister. She wondered what Zoe’s stepfather was like. Maybe he walked around with a pad and a pencil, taking notes about things to write in his newspaper column.
Cricket wondered if he would report on the brunch. She wondered what else Zoe had told her stepfather about her. Zoe always acted friendly toward Cricket at school, but Cricket was sure that it was just an act. If she didn’t like Zoe, she was sure that Zoe couldn’t really like her.
It was very quiet at 123 Fourth Street. Cricket decided that she must be the first guest to arrive. She rang the bell and waited. No one answered the door and so she rang the bell again. She heard steps and a woman wearing a bathrobe opened th
e door. For one horrible moment, Cricket thought she had come on the wrong date. She knew this was October 26, but maybe the invitation had been for the last Sunday in November and not October. Or maybe she had come to the wrong address.
“Are . . . are you here for Zoe’s party?” asked the woman.
Cricket nodded her head with relief.
“Come in,” said the woman. “You’re a little early and we’re not quite ready for guests yet, I’m afraid.”
Cricket looked at her wristwatch. It said exactly two minutes to eleven. Two minutes was early, but not that early. She followed the woman past the dining-room table, which was laid out with a tablecloth and place settings and a huge jack-o’-lantern in the middle. (Even though Zoe had said Halloween was for babies.) They went into the kitchen, where Cricket saw Zoe mixing something with an egg beater. She was wearing a big apron over her dress. There were also a man and an older girl in the room, cutting things up.
“One of your friends arrived a bit early,” said Zoe’s mother.
Cricket glanced down at her watch again. It said exactly eleven o’clock.
“I’m not early,” she protested. “I’m the first one here, but everyone else is going to be late. It’s eleven o’clock.”
The man began laughing. “We didn’t think of that, Zoe!” he crowed.
Everyone in the kitchen was laughing except Cricket. She didn’t know what the joke was.
“Look at the time,” said Zoe, pointing to the kitchen clock on the wall. The small hand was pointing to the ten and the large hand on the twelve.
“But it can’t be,” said Cricket. Her watch ran on a battery and she had gotten it for her last birthday. It always kept perfect time. How could it be wrong now?
“Last night was the time to set clocks back an hour. In the spring we lose an hour to Daylight Savings Time and in the fall we gain it back again,” Zoe’s mother explained. “Your parents must have forgotten to change the clocks at your house.”
Teacher's Pet Page 4