Bobby Mumford raised his hand. In a flat voice he informed the class, “My cousin Earl has a friend and his uncle has a bulldog named Buzzy.”
“Ah, well, thank you for sharing that, Bobby,” Miss Zips replied. “I’ve told Lizzy and Kym that they will have to present their idea to Principal Tuxbury.”
Lizzy nodded, not sure if she was up for the task.
“You are going to have to really wow him,” Miss Zips said.
That was Miss Zips’s favorite expression. Wow me. She reminded the class, “That means, knock his socks off! Give it your best effort. I want you to astonish him. I want Principal Tuxbury to feel bedazzled, flabbergasted, stupefied, astounded, thunderstruck, and amazed—all at the same time.”
“That sounds exhausting,” Deon said, collapsing onto Connor’s shoulder.
While everyone laughed at Deon’s antics, one voice spoke up.
“If you ask me, it’s a terrible idea,” the voice said. All eyes turned to look at Suri Brewster, sitting in the back row. She sat with her arms folded across her chest, mouth tight, like she was sucking on a lemon.
“Thank you for speaking up,” Miss Zips said. “What are your objections, Suri?”
“Arnold has always been the school mascot. There’s no reason to change now.” Suri glared across the rug at Lizzy. “Everybody loves Arnold.”
Uh-oh, thought Lizzy. Trouble.
No one in room 312 dared cross Suri Brewster.
— CHAPTER 5 —
Problem on the Playground
Suri Brewster was small and wiry, with thick black hair and pointy glasses with purple rims. She had a way of leaning forward when she walked as if pushing against a strong wind, fists clenched. No one had named Suri the boss of the playground, the queen of room 312, or even the master of the universe. It only seemed that way. Suri naturally took charge.
Of everything and everybody.
During recess, she spied Lizzy and Kym by the climbing wall. Suri said “Harumph!” and marched over. Two other kids—Otis Smick and Rosa Morales—followed close behind.
“We don’t like what you’re trying to do,” Suri said. She stood with her feet apart, hands on her hips, a scowl on her face. The scowl wasn’t new. She was born with it. Suri often looked as if there was something sour in her mouth—a bad taste that pushed her lips outward.
“Oh?” Lizzy said.
“We don’t want a new school mascot,” Suri said. “There’s nothing wrong with Arnold the Armadillo.”
“Well, we were thinking—” Kym began.
“Everybody loves Arnold,” Suri stated.
“Not everybody,” Kym offered, in a faltering voice.
Suri crossed her arms. She glared at Kym.
“There’s nothing the matter with Arnold. Besides, we can’t be the Bulldogs. That’s from the University of Georgia. My father went there and I know.”
Otis Smick chortled.
Rosa beamed.
Kym didn’t know what to say.
She hadn’t heard about the Georgia Bulldogs before.
But Lizzy said, “The truth is, we haven’t decided yet.”
“Harumph.” Suri kicked at the dirt with the heel of her shoe. “I think Arnold is just fine. I don’t like change. Nobody does. It’s better when things stay the same. Arnold today, Arnold forever.”
“I’m somebody,” Kym finally said, her voice stronger. “There’s a lot of somebodies around here. You’re not the boss of us.”
Suri’s eyes blazed. The corner of her lip curled into a sneer. “I’ll fight this every step of the way,” she said. And then she turned to Otis and Rosa. “Let’s make like a tree and leave.”
Otis stood rooted to the ground, confused.
“Come on, Otis,” Rosa said.
A minute later, Connor and Deon joined the girls. “Whoa, what was that all about?” Connor asked.
“Trouble,” Kym uttered.
Deon watched as Suri climbed the monkey bars. “She’s a little scary,” he admitted.
Lizzy nodded. “This isn’t going to be easy after all. But we can’t let her stop us. We have homework to do.”
“Homework?” bleated Deon.
“We’re going to hit the library,” Lizzy said. “We have to think up a new mascot. Personally, I think bulldogs are too slobbery.”
“Suri doesn’t agree with us,” Kym said. “We have to come up with reasons to help change her mind.”
Deon mused, “This reminds me of my birthday last year.”
Kym blinked.
Lizzy said, “What?”
Deon smiled. “I had to talk my parents into getting me a fat-tire bike for my birthday. It wasn’t easy. They said I was too young. They said I wouldn’t take care of it. They said it was too expensive.”
“Oh, I get it,” Lizzy said. “You had to come up with good reasons.”
“So what did you do?” Connor asked.
Deon’s eyes twinkled. “What I always do—I begged.”
“Classy,” Kym muttered.
— CHAPTER 6 —
At the Library
That afternoon, Lizzy, Kym, Connor, and Deon met at the town library. They sat around a horseshoe-shaped couch, before a small coffee table stacked with books. Deon suggested they should call themselves the WOW Kids in honor of Miss Zips.
“Say what?” Connor said.
Deon explained that WOW was an acronym. It was short for “Writing Our Wish.”
Deon looked at the others. “Catchy, huh?”
“Sure,” Connor said, flopping back on the couch. “Like the flu.”
“What about the BIG?” Kym said. “The Big Idea Gang? I bet Miss Zips would like it.”
“Not bad,” Deon said.
“Not bad is pretty good,” Connor clucked.
They got down to business.
“Remember what Miss Zips told us,” Lizzy said. “If we want to persuade people, like Suri or Principal Tuxbury, we’re going to need support. Facts. Not just opinions.”
Connor flipped through the pages of a book.
Kym opened a laptop.
Lizzy opened her notebook.
And Deon . . . just sort of chilled.
“You have to admit it, armadillos are cool,” Connor said.
Kym read from the National Geographic website. “Armadillo is a Spanish word meaning ‘little armored one.’”
Deon leaned forward, interested.
Kym said, “There are lots of different kinds. They like warm weather. Most armadillos live in South America.”
She frowned, searched for a different site. “The nine-banded armadillo has made its way into the southern United States,” she read.
“Not Connecticut,” Deon said, though he wasn’t exactly sure.
Kym scanned the laptop screen. “They’ve been found as far north as Missouri. But I don’t think there’s ever been an armadillo in Connecticut.”
“See what I’ve been saying!” Lizzy exclaimed. “We can use these facts in our presentation.”
“I could draw a map,” Deon offered. “I’ve got mad coloring skills.” He blew on his fingernails and rubbed them against his chest.
“Gross,” Kim said, eyes glued to the computer screen. “They eat bugs. Worms, maggots, snails, beetles.”
“Doesn’t bother me,” Deon said. “I’m still hungry. Seriously. Have you guys got any money? Maybe we could get some pizza?”
“No pizza, Deon. We have work to do. Food is all you ever think about,” Kym said.
Deon shrugged. “Sometimes I sleep.”
Kym laughed.
Connor had an idea. “You know what we need?”
No one knew what they needed.
Finally, Lizzy took the bait. “Okay, I give. What do we need, Connor?”
“A chart.”
“A chart?”
“Yeah, a chart. Like in that book the Zipster read to us yesterday,” Connor said.
“She’s the Zipster now?” Kym asked, eyebrows raised.
Conno
r shrugged. “What was the name of that book? About the girl who wants a pet giraffe?”
“One Word from Sophia,” Kym answered.
“That’s it!” Connor snapped his fingers. “Sophia knew how to persuade her parents. She didn’t give up. She made a graph. And, and—”
“—and she didn’t give up,” Kym said.
“Awesome, we’ll make a pie chart!” Connor exclaimed.
“You guys are making me hungry with all this talk about pie,” Deon muttered. “Has anybody got anything to eat?”
Lizzy reached into her backpack. She tossed a baggie of pretzel nuggets to Deon. She said to Connor, “Suri was right about the Bulldogs. They are the mascot for Georgia football. Not to mention the slime factor. Have you got any other ideas?”
“Hey, I still like the zombies,” Deon suggested.
Kym shook her head. “Get real, Deon. Principal Tuxbury would never let us.”
“Kym’s right. It would never fly,” Lizzy agreed.
Connor glanced at the window. The wind blustered. People hurried in and out of the library’s front doors. There was an old man dragging a wagon filled with books up the walkway.
Dragging a wagon?
Dragon a wagon?
Get real? Never fly?
Hmm.
“What about . . . dragons?” Connor offered. “You know, the imaginary creatures. They fly around and shoot fire out of their mouths.”
“We know what dragons are,” Lizzy said.
“Yeah we do, and they’re awesome!” Deon exclaimed. “I love it. What do you think, Kym?”
“A fire-breathing dragon would look hot on a T-shirt,” she conceded. “Dragons are really popular right now.”
“Good, it’s settled,” Lizzy stated. “We’ll go for the Clay Elementary Dragons. Beats an armadillo any day. All agreed?”
“Totally,” Deon said, slapping his hands together. “Now can we eat? Because I’m still seriously starving.”
— CHAPTER 7 —
Meeting with the Big Boss
The gang knew it was time to talk to Principal Tuxbury. Deon and Connor went to their teacher for advice. They told Miss Zips the plan. “Goodbye Arnold, hello dragon!” Deon explained.
Connor asked, “But how do we convince Principal Tuxbury? Do you have any secret tips, Miss Zips?”
Miss Zips smiled. “There’s no magic key, just hard work. If you can support your claim, he’s sure to listen. But first you’ll have to make an appointment to see him.”
“An appointment? Like at the dentist?” Deon asked.
Connor gulped. He did not have happy memories of the dentist. He imagined five fat fingers fumbling inside his mouth. He could almost hear the high-pitched whirr of a drill.
His face turned pale.
His gums hurt just thinking about it.
“I think it will be less painful than the dentist,” Miss Zips said, resting a hand on Connor’s shoulder.
“I hope so,” Connor mumbled.
“Now remember,” Miss Zips said. “When you want to persuade someone to do something, you make a claim and offer support. So you want a new mascot—why should anyone listen to you? What are your reasons? Then you must anticipate his objections.”
Deon’s eyes shot blanks.
“Anticipate objections?” Connor echoed.
Miss Zips smiled. “Think of it this way. Imagine that you want to go to the park, but your friend wants to stay home and watch TV. You have to try to get inside his brain. Ask yourself, ‘Why doesn’t he want to go to the park with me?’ Think of his possible reasons, or objections. It’s too far? It might rain? He has homework to do?”
“Oh, I get it,” Deon said. “I’d be like, dude, it’s beautiful out, we’ll go for a couple of hours, everybody will be there, and nobody cares about homework anyway!”
“What?!” Miss Zips’s eyes grew large.
“Just joking,” Deon said. “I’d tell him that there will still be plenty of time to do homework after dinner.”
Miss Zips nodded. “Good, I think you’ve got the hang of it. In the art of persuasion, you have to—”
“—anticipate objections!” Deon and Connor said in unison.
Miss Zips smiled. “Yes, you have to think about what his opposing claims might be and give him reasons to change his mind.”
“Whatever you say, Miss Zips,” Connor said. “Do you want to come with us? You could do all the talking!”
“Sorry, boys. You’re on your own,” Miss Zips said.
“That’s okay,” Deon spoke up. “We’ll get Lizzy to do it.”
* * *
The next afternoon, Lizzy and Kym sat in Principal Tuxbury’s office. The tips of their feet barely reached the floor. Deon and Connor stood behind them. They held a poster that showed the habitat of armadillos. It was a map of South America and North America. At the top, in bold letters, it read:
ZERO ARMADILLOS IN CONNECTICUT
NONE, ZIPPO, ZILCH, NADA!
Lizzy handled the explaining.
Principal Tuxbury sat in a brown, high-backed chair behind a big, cluttered desk. He listened, rubbed his chin, and murmured comments such as “Hmm” or “Ah, I see.”
Finally he leaned forward. He stared at the girls for a long minute without speaking. “So that’s what this is about? You want the school to go out and buy a new mascot? Is that it?”
Lizzy turned to Kym. Her stomach gurgled. “Well, not exactly . . . ,” she stammered. Something in his tone worried Lizzy. Doubt shook her confidence.
“Yes,” Kym spoke up. “And it’s not just us. A lot of students think it’s time for new ideas.”
Connor and Deon nodded encouragingly.
“Besides, the armadillo costume is ruined anyway,” Kym continued. “Now’s our chance to try something new.”
“And,” Connor spoke up, “you would never have to dress up as an armadillo again.”
“Hmmmm,” murmured Principal Tuxbury.
There was a gleam of light in his eye.
— CHAPTER 8 —
Suri Leads the Revolt
A flicker of a smile flashed across Principal Tuxbury’s face. He shut his eyes, as if imagining himself never—ever, ever—wearing that hot, smelly costume again.
“You make some good points,” he mused. “You’re right about one thing. We will have to purchase a new costume, regardless. The old one is already in the Dumpster. So what’s your idea for a new mascot?”
On cue, Deon dramatically tossed the old poster to the floor. Connor held up a new poster showing a drawing of a dragon. They had gotten the best artist in the school, Padma Bitar, to do it.
And it looked amazing.
“Meet Drake the Dragon,” Connor announced. “Pretty fierce, huh? Soon we’ll be known far and wide as the Clay Elementary Dragons!”
“No one will ever mess with us again!” Deon added.
Principal Tuxbury nodded. He pulled thoughtfully on his lower lip. “Very nice job, kids. You might be correct. Maybe it is time for a change,” Principal Tuxbury decided.
Noises started up in the hallway. Principal Tuxbury tilted his head. He listened. Voices argued outside his door.
“I can’t let you in,” his secretary said. “He’s in a meeting.”
“We demand our rights!” a girl’s voice exclaimed.
Kym looked at Lizzy. They knew the person who was attached to that voice. It could only be Suri Brewster—and she sounded furious. Meanwhile, the hallway noises got louder. Students were chanting in protest, “Arnold today! Arnold forever!”
Principal Tuxbury rose. He walked to the door, pulled it open, and stuck his head outside.
“We demand our rights!” Suri erupted. “Arnold the Armadillo has been the mascot for Clay Elementary for over sixty years!” she announced. “It’s tradition!”
“Calm down, Suri,” Principal Tuxbury said in soothing tones. “Please lower your voice. Come into my office and we’ll talk about it.”
In a moment Principal Tuxbury was back at his desk. Suri stood in front of it, talking a mile a minute. Principal Tuxbury frowned. It was as if a dark cloud had settled down over his head and now it had begun to rain. Once again, he murmured comments such as “Hmm” or “Ah, I see.”
It appeared Principal Tuxbury might be changing his mind. “Uh-oh,” Lizzy whispered to her brother.
“Are you finished?” the principal asked Suri.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
He looked at all five children gathered in the room. There was a sparkle to his eyes—a glint of pride. “Tell you what we’ll do,” he said. “We’ll have a school-wide election. The students can vote if they want to keep Arnold . . . or go with the dragon. Dudley, Daryl, Dougie, or—”
“Drake,” Connor corrected. “Drake the Dragon.”
“Ah, yes,” Principal Tuxbury said. “Drake.”
Lizzy exchanged glances with Kym, Connor, and Deon. She silently agreed with the principal. “We think an election would be good for school spirit,” she said.
Kym leaped to her feet. “A vote would be the American way!” She gestured to the flag in the corner of the room.
“It would be exciting!” Connor added, also rising.
Deon begun to hum the song “America.” My country ’tis of thee . . .
Suri scowled, unsure what to think. She had wanted Arnold the Armadillo, not a democracy.
“Yes, yes, an election—we’ll let the students decide,” Principal Tuxbury said. “I’ll speak with Miss Zipsokowski. So long as this doesn’t take away too much from class time, I can’t see the harm of it.”
“Oh, thank you!” Lizzy and Kym exclaimed.
Connor and Deon cheered.
The principal turned to Suri. “Does that sound fair to you? I don’t want to trample on anyone’s rights.”
Suri nodded without smiling. She had won the battle, but not the war. Outside in the hallway, a chorus of five voices continued to chant, “Arnold today! Arnold forever!”
The Worst Mascot Ever Page 2