Cricket felt her face turning red with embarrassment. How could her parents have been so careless? It was awful to be the only guest at Zoe’s house before they were ready for company. She looked at Zoe’s stepfather. She just knew he would write about how stupid she had been about coming early. It would be in the newspaper for everyone to read.
She turned to him angrily. “Anyone can make a mistake, so don’t you dare write about this in the paper,” she said. “It wasn’t nice of you to do it before.” There, she had been thinking it and now she had said it.
“Here, this is for you,” she said, handing Zoe the wrapped package she had been carrying. Since she had already read it, she wouldn’t bother taking it home with her. She turned, looking for the door. She wasn’t going to stay at this brunch party and be laughed at anymore.
Zoe’s mother chuckled. “It looks like this young friend of Zoe’s is on to you, Ed.” She leaned over and kissed her husband. Then, turning to Cricket, she said, “We all live in fear of finding ourselves in the newspaper.”
Cricket didn’t think she looked very frightened at all. Zoe’s mother probably loved seeing her name in the newspaper all the time.
“Wait a minute,” called the older girl, grabbing Cricket by the sleeve of her sweater. “Since you got here so early, you can help us. We’ll never be ready in time otherwise. It takes Zoe an hour just to peel a single apple.”
“Why are you peeling apples?” asked Cricket.
“We’re making fruit salad for the first course,” said the girl. “My name is Halley. Who are you?”
“Cricket Kaufman,” said Cricket, identifying herself. She thought that Zoe was lucky to have such a nice older sister. If only Monica were this big, they could really have great times together now.
Mrs. Mitchell took Cricket’s sweater from her and gave her an apron to protect her jumper. “Why bother peeling the apples?” asked Cricket. “You can leave the skin on. Then the pieces look prettier and it saves time, too.”
“You’re right,” said Zoe, grinning. “I should have thought of that myself.” The girls set to work cutting up apples and slicing bananas. There were also oranges and grapes to add to the fruit salad.
As they were cutting up the fruit, Halley turned to Cricket. “Did it ever occur to you that your last name is Kaufman, but you are not a man. You’re a woman?”
“I’m not a woman,” said Cricket. “I’m a girl. I won’t be ten until January.”
“Yes, but your name shouldn’t be Kaufman. It should be Cricket Kaufperson.”
“Halley is very much into freeing our language of sexist references,” said Mr. Mitchell.
“Yes,” said Zoe. “She says things like ‘person-hole cover’ and ‘humankind’ and things like that.”
Cricket started to giggle. “Did you tell her that Lisa Benson is in our class? She should change her name to Lisa Benperson.”
“Or Lisa Bendaughter,” said Hailey.
“Or Lisa Bensibling,” Zoe added.
They started thinking of other names and words that should be changed. “Don’t waste time, girls, or we’ll never manage to be ready for the party in time,” said Mrs. Mitchell.
“You mean we won’t womanage to be ready,” said Cricket, and everyone laughed. She was feeling much, much better about being here.
When the Mitchell’s kitchen clock said five minutes to eleven and Cricket’s watch said five minutes to twelve, the doorbell rang. The guests were beginning to arrive. There was a good smell in the kitchen, which turned out to be two large pies that were in the oven. The pies were not like the fruit pies Cricket’s mother sometimes made. They were called “quiche” and the fillings were made of eggs and cheese.
They all had fruit salad and quiche and chocolate brownies and milk. No pickles, thank goodness. Afterward, Zoe brought out a tape recorder that belonged to her stepfather. There was a small microphone to speak into. “Everyone is to say one sentence and we pass it around and around,” Zoe instructed. “That way we can make up a story.”
“Let’s make up a spooky story for Halloween,” suggested Hope Dubbin.
“Yes, yes,” some of the other girls agreed. “I’ll go first,” said Zoe. “I was walking in the graveyard and it was dark and I could hear strange sounds all around me.”
She passed the microphone to the next girl. After a couple of giggles, the story continued. It didn’t sound like much when they passed the mike around but afterward, when all the pieces were played back, it was a great story.
“Too bad we can’t write reports for school this way,” said Connie.
When the Mitchell’s clock said that it was two and Cricket’s wristwatch said that it was three, the party was over.
“Good-bye, good-bye,” Zoe called as her guests were leaving. But to Cricket she said, “So long, Cricket Kaufperson. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Cricket smiled in return. She wondered if her parents had discovered yet that they had forgotten to turn the clocks in the house back an hour. And she wondered how they would feel about changing their last name. Kaufperson. It was really kind of funny. And the brunch hadn’t been so bad, after all. Maybe Zoe Mitchell wasn’t so bad either.
7
The
Imperfect/Perfect
Book Report
There was no doubt about it. Zoe Mitchell was just as smart as Cricket Kaufman. Everyone who had known Cricket since she had been the star of the morning kindergarten class, back when she was five years old, agreed. Finally, she had met her match.
In some ways, it made Cricket feel strange not to be the best student in the class. But at the same time, she worked harder than ever and found that she liked school better and better. She was learning so many new things. It was hard to decide if it was because now she was in fourth grade or because she was working not to let Zoe get ahead of her. Lucas Cott was smart, too, but it wasn’t the same thing. Maybe it was because he was the smartest boy in the class and she had been the smartest girl. Now, whenever test papers were handed back, Cricket craned her head to see what mark Zoe had gotten. Almost always, the two girls had performed equally well.
Mrs. Schraalenburgh beamed proudly at them both when they each got 100 percent on the fractions test in arithmetic. But she also congratulated Julio for improving his score. When Cricket walked to the back of the room to use the pencil sharpener, she was able to see that Julio had almost as many problems wrong as he had gotten right. Mrs. Schraalenburgh was a funny teacher. She always said she was proud of all her students and to prove it she never singled one person out above the others. Maybe that was why it wasn’t quite so bad that Zoe Mitchell was such a good student. If Cricket wasn’t the teacher’s pet this year, neither was Zoe. No one was. With a different “personality of the day” selected each morning, and students like Julio being congratulated even when they could only answer half the questions, everyone was treated equally.
Still, when Mrs. Schraalenburgh said that once a month everyone had to write a book report, Cricket was delighted. She loved reading and a book report would be fun for her to write. She would do one that was so much better than everyone else’s that Mrs. Schraalenburgh would have to admit that she was the very best student in the class. Although Cricket was pleased with the new assignment, there were loud groans from the back of the room.
“Quiet!” Mrs. Schraalenburgh scolded. “If you have something to say, raise your hands and I will call on you.” She looked at Lucas, who had made the loudest groan.
“Don’t you like to read, Lucas?” asked the teacher.
“Sure,” said Lucas. “But I don’t like writing book reports.”
“A book report is a way of sharing something that you have enjoyed with rest of the class,” said Mrs. Schraalenburgh. “It should tell your classmates whether or not they, too, should read that book.”
Lucas did not look convinced. Cricket knew he read a lot of books. She saw him checking them out of the school library when the class had library time. But she a
lso knew he was lazy about doing homework. She, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to begin. She would make the best book report that anyone ever did. Then, perhaps finally, Mrs. Schraalenburgh would know what a great student she was.
Cricket had read so many books since the school year had begun that at first she couldn’t make up her mind which to use for her report. Finally, she decided to write her report on the book that she had given to Zoe. It was Dear Mr. Henshaw, by Beverly Clearly. It was too bad she couldn’t find a copy of it in the library. But Cricket remembered the story very well, and she thought she could write a report from her memory. Her memory was very good and it had been only a couple of weeks since she had read the book.
Cricket sat down and wrote, covering both sides of a sheet of loose-leaf paper as she told all about the book. Then, very neatly, she copied it over. She used a razor-edged marking pen that she had bought with her allowance last week. The letters came out clear and neat, but near the bottom of the page, she made a mistake. Cricket didn’t want to have any crossing-out on her report. So she took a fresh piece of paper and copied her report over again, very slowly this time so that she wouldn’t make another error. When she was finished, it looked beautiful. It was the neatest piece of homework that she had ever done.
Then, to enhance the report, she decided to make a special cover for it. She took two sheets of red-colored paper. With her pencil and a ruler, she drew lines across the top of the page. She did it very, very lightly so that afterward she would be able to erase the lines. Then, using the block letters that they had been learning to do in art class, she wrote the title and the author.
Dear Mr. Henshaw, by Beverly Clearly.
Book Report by Cricket Kaufman.
Underneath, she drew a picture of a boy sitting at a desk and writing. People who hadn’t read the book might think it was supposed to be a picture of Cricket writing her book report, but if you read the book or at least read Cricket’s report about it, you would know that it was supposed to be Leigh Botts, the main character in the story. He was always writing letters to his favorite author, who was named Mr. Henshaw. Cricket colored in the picture with her markers, and she erased the lines from the top of the paper.
Cricket had her own stapler. She used it to staple the top cover and the back cover to the page with her report. When she was finally finished, it was time for bed. She had missed her favorite Thursday evening television program. But she was so proud of her completed book report that she didn’t even mind. Wait until Mrs. Schraalenburgh sees my wonderful report, she thought. She knew that the teacher would have to be very impressed with her careful work.
The next morning Cricket proudly handed in her report.
“You didn’t tell us we had to make covers,” said Connie Alf when she saw Cricket’s masterpiece.
“We didn’t have to make covers,” said Julio. Cricket looked at the paper he was putting on the teacher’s desk. Wait until Mrs. Schraalenburgh saw that he had written a report about Mr. Popper’s Penguins, which she read to them at the beginning of September. It was cheating to write a report about a book that you hadn’t even read. Listening didn’t count. And besides, everyone in the class already knew about the story. Julio will be in big trouble, Cricket decided.
“I wrote about the book that you gave me,” Zoe whispered to Cricket as she put hers in the pile. “It was a great book and it was fun to write about it.” She smiled at Cricket. But Cricket did not smile back. It hadn’t occurred to her that Zoe would use the same book that she did for her report.
“How long was your report?” Cricket asked her.
“It was all one side and a little bit of the other side of the paper,” said Zoe.
Cricket began to feel better. Her report was longer and her report had a fancy cover. Her report had to be a lot better than Zoe’s. In fact, having another report on the same book to compare with hers would make Mrs. Schraalenburgh realize all the more how much effort Cricket had put into the assignment. She smiled at Zoe. It was a good thing that they had both written about the same book, after all.
Mrs. Schraalenburgh took all the reports and put them inside her canvas tote bag. “I’ll take these home to read over the weekend,” she promised. “On Monday, I’ll give them back and we’ll share them together.”
All weekend Cricket glowed inside as she thought about her wonderful book report. She just knew that her teacher was going to love it. She couldn’t wait until they were returned on Monday. Mrs. Schraalenburgh would probably write on the report how fabulous it was.
The reports were not returned to the students until after lunch on Monday. Cricket could hardly sit still as the teacher walked about the room handing them back. She decided that she would try and keep a straight face. It would be hard not to grin from ear to ear when she was reading the teacher’s comments. But on the other hand, it would look as if she were showing off when other students such as Julio got bad marks on their reports. She held her breath as Mrs. Schraalenburgh stood at her desk and sorted through the remaining papers in her hand.
“Here’s yours, Cricket,” said the teacher. She patted Cricket on the back. “I’m sure you’ll do better next time, so don’t worry too much about your grade.”
Cricket couldn’t imagine what the teacher was referring to. There was nothing written on the red cover of her report, but when she opened it up, she saw a B— written on the top of the page. Cricket couldn’t believe it. How could she possibly have gotten such a low mark? This was an A + report. It didn’t make sense. Then Cricket noticed that on the inside of the back cover, Mrs. Schraalenburgh had written a message.
It is careless of you to misspell the name of the author whom you are writing about. The author of this book spells her last name CLEARY. Also, the award that this book won is called the NEWBERY Medal, not NEWBERRY. If you read your report over, you will see that you said the same thing three different times. It is better to say what you have to once and not bore your readers. I am glad you liked this book and I am sure next time you will write a better report to prove it.
Cricket’s eyes blurred with tears. She couldn’t believe it. Mrs. Schraalenburgh didn’t like her report. So what if she had spelled the author’s name wrong? What did it matter? She had never said that spelling was going to count in their book reports.
“I am going to have a few people read their reports out loud to share them with us now,” said Mrs. Schraalenburgh. “Let’s start with Julio,” she said.
Cricket blinked back her tears. If she had gotten a B —, Julio must have gotten a D.
“I gave Julio an A for his report,” the teacher said as Julio walked proudly up to the front of the room.
“Even though Julio wrote about a book that we have already read and talked about in class this year, he has captured the humor of the story and what he has to say about the book will make anyone who hasn’t already read it want to read it,” she said.
Julio cleared his throat and waited until he had everyone’s attention. Then he read his report. It was short, Cricket noted. But he made everyone laugh when he reminded them of one of the funny scenes in the book.
“Suppose you wrote about a book you didn’t like,” said Connie.
“Why would you bother to do that?” asked Mrs. Schraalenburgh. “If you didn’t like the book, you should have stopped reading it and looked for another one.”
All the children looked at each other. They had never heard a teacher say that you should stop reading a book.
“Do you know how many books are in the school library?” Mrs. Schraalenburgh asked.
“One hundred,” guessed Julio.
Cricket raised her hand. She had once asked the librarian, so she knew the correct answer.
“Many, many more than a hundred,” said Mrs. Schraalenburgh.
“Two hundred,” someone called out.
“No speaking out,” Mrs. Schraalenburgh reminded the students. “Cricket, do you know?” asked the teacher.
“Eight thousan
d,” she said.
There were loud gasps. Eight thousand was a big number.
“That’s right,” said Mrs. Schraalenburgh. “And don’t you think that if there are eight thousand books right here in this school building you could find one that you would like? So why would you waste your time reading a book you don’t like?”
“But if we have to make book reports every month from now on, we’ll need to find more than one book,” Lucas pointed out.
“That’s right,” Connie agreed.
“I suspect that if you gave it a try, you could find many, many books that you will like among the eight thousand books in the school library. And what about the public library? Do you know how many books they have there?”
“Eight thousand,” someone guessed.
Mrs. Schraalenburgh shook her head. “The next time you go, ask the children’s librarian how many books are in the collection there,” she said.
“And next time, Julio will write about a new book. One that he hasn’t read or heard read to him before,” Mrs. Schraalenburgh added. “Right, Julio?”
Julio grinned at the teacher. “Right,” he said. “I want to see if I can make an A every time.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Mrs. Schraalenburgh.
Next she called on Zoe.
Zoe went to the front of the room and began reading. Cricket was surprised to hear her name in the report. Zoe read, “I picked this book because it was given to me by my friend Cricket Kaufman. At first I thought I wouldn’t like it because it was all in letters. But before I knew it, I was right in the middle of the story of Leigh Botts and his problems . . .”
Cricket could hardly believe that Zoe considered her to be her friend. Just because she gave her that book it didn’t make them friends. That hadn’t been her idea. Her mother had insisted that she bring a gift when she went to Zoe’s party. And now Zoe had gotten an A writing about it when Cricket had only got a B—. It just didn’t seem fair.
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