The Talented Clementine

by Sara Pennypacker

  For instance: exactly when we were all done with our meal and I was wondering about dessert, he magically appeared.

  “I recommend three desserts tonight,” he said. “The Boston cream pie, the crème brûlée, and the velvet chocolate cake are all especially good.”

  I could see my parents thinking, Oh, no, here comes the choosing thing.

  But while the waiter was describing the desserts to us, his pencil drifted down to my menu and tapped one of the desserts for just an instant. I looked up and he winked.

  “I’ll have the velvet chocolate cake,” I said.

  My parents made I-don’t-believe-it faces at each other. Then they ordered the other two desserts.

  My dad’s was crème brûlée, which is French for vanilla custard that’s been blasted on the top with a blowtorch. I am not even kidding about that.

  My mother’s was the Boston cream pie, which came decorated with clementine slices.

  “The clementine,” said the waiter, “is the sweetest fruit, is it not?”

  My mother laughed and nodded at me. “I’ve always thought so!”

  She took one bite of her dessert and then said, “I just can’t do it. I’m too full!”

  My dad took one bite of his dessert and he said, “Me, too. I’m stuffed!”

  Then they both pushed their plates over to me! So there I was at the Ritz-no-crackers restaurant, with three desserts!

  “I think this is the luckiest day of my life,” I told my parents.

  Then my mother whispered, “Take off your sneakers.”

  So I did. And then secretly, under the table, she took off her purple dragonfly not-very-sensible wow shoes and slid them over to me. And for the rest of the meal I wore them, which nobody knew because I kept them under the tablecloth, even when the waiter came over to bring me more whipped cream.

  Okay, fine. When the waiter came over to bring me more whipped cream, it is possible one of the dragonflies was peeking out.

  MORE HONORS AND PRAISE FOR CLEMENTINE

  A New York Public Library Book for Reading and Sharing

  A National Parenting Publication Gold Award Winner

  “Sara Pennypacker has created that rare marvel—a book about a little girl…who is utterly charming and beguiling not just for parents BUT FOR KIDS THEMSELVES.… This is an amazing, engaging book and should be an instant classic. I wish I had written it.”

  —Jacquelyn Mitchard, author of The Deep End of the Ocean and Cage of Stars

  “Frazee’s engaging pen-and-ink drawings capture the energy and fresh-faced expressions of the irrepressible heroine.”

  —School Library Journal, starred review

  “Pennypacker’s genius knack for tantalizing comic timing and expressive turns of phrase is augmented in no small way by Frazee’s equally comic, expressive illustrations.”

  —The Toronto Star

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND ILLUSTRATOR

  Sara Pennypacker is also the author of The Talented Clementine; Stuart’s Cape and Stuart Goes to School; Dumbstruck; and Pierre in Love. She was a painter before becoming a writer, and has two absolutely fabulous children who are now grown. Sara lives on Cape Cod in Massachusetts.

  Marla Frazee illustrated the second book in this series, The Talented Clementine. She is the author and illustrator of many picture books as well, including Walk On!, Santa Claus the World’s Number One Toy Expert, and Roller Coaster, and illustrated The Seven Silly Eaters and Everywhere Babies. Marla works in a small back ard cabin under an avocado tree in Pasadena, California.

  “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of…ouch!”

  There is a lot of poking that goes on in third grade. It was Norris-Boris-Morris. “Horace,” he whispered.

  “I’ll think about it,” I whispered back.

  Norris-Boris-Morris’s name is really Norris. I know that now. But in the beginning of the year, I used to call him all three “Orris” names because I could never remember which one was his. He liked that. And now he’s always trying to get me to add another one. Last week he tried for Glorris, but I said No. It has to be a real name.

  “Okay,” I said after the pledge. “Norris-Boris-Morris-Horace.”

  My teacher caught my eye and tugged on his ear. This is our secret code for Time to Be Listening. So I sat up and listened to him, even though it was just “Raise your hand if you’re absent” and “Who’s got milk money?” stuff.

  But right after that, it got interesting.

  “Clementine, would you please go to Principal Rice’s office to get her.”

  Whenever my teacher needs someone to run an errand to the principal’s office, he sends me. This is because I am so responsible. Okay, fine, it’s also because I get sent so often I could find my way with my eyes closed.

  Which I tried once. You’d be amazed at how many bruises you can get from just one water fountain.

  When I got to Principal Rice’s office, she stuck out her hand for a note from my teacher to tell her what the problem was.

  “Nope, no little chats today!” I told her. “Today I’m just here to bring you back to our classroom.”

  “Oh, right,” she said. “It’s time.”

  As we walked down the hall, I reminded her that I hadn’t been sent to her office for a little chat on Friday, either. “Did you miss me? My teacher said I had a red-letter day. He said I was really getting the hang of third grade.”

  “I did notice you didn’t come in, Clementine,” Mrs. Rice said. “In fact, I heard you had a very successful week. Congratulations. Your teacher said you and he were really in sync these days.”

  “In sink?”

  “In sync. It means you work well together. You understand each other.”

  Back in the classroom my teacher sat down at his desk and let Mrs. Rice take over, because she is the boss of him. But he was smiling. Mrs. Rice was smiling, too, when she said, “Class, we have some news to tell you.” This tricked me into thinking it was good news.

  “As I’m sure you all know,” she went on, “your teacher has a special interest in ancient Egypt.”

  We knew that, all right. Mummies and sphinxes and pyramids were scattered all over the classroom, and for the past month, everything had been Egypt this and Egypt that.

  Which I was glad about. My last year’s teacher had been nuts about Ye Olden Prairie Days. This would have been okay except she only liked inside stuff…making bonnets and cooking johnnycakes. I wanted to do some Ye Olden Prairie Days outside stuff, like lassoing buffalo and digging for gold and catching outlaws drinking beer in saloons. But my last year’s teacher said, Nope, it was bonnets and johnnycakes and sitting in your seat all day. Besides, she said, all that other stuff was from Ye Olden Wild West Days. Just remembering how boring last year was practically made me fall asleep.

  But I didn’t, because I wanted to know what the good news was.

  “When I learned that this year’s Adventures for Teachers program was an archaeological dig in Egypt,” the principal continued, “I nominated your teacher.” Mrs. Rice looked proud of herself, but I didn’t see what was so great yet. “And I am delighted to tell you that over the weekend, we learned Mr. D’Matz is a finalist!”

  When Principal Rice said our teacher’s name, all the kids sucked in their breath at the same time. This is because “D’Matz” is almost a swear. Actually, it’s almost two swears. If you say the first part wrong, it could sound like a word that also means a wall that holds back water. If you say the second part wrong, it could sound like a word that also means a donkey. But no one would think you meant those words.

  On the first day of school, I was trying so hard not to make a mistake with either part of his name that I made a mistake about both parts. I am not even kidding about that.

  At recess, I apologized and explained that I only said his name wrong because I was so worried about saying his name wrong. Mr. D’Matz said he understood and besides, it was bound to happen one day.

  But since the
n, all the kids just call him “Teacher.” We aren’t taking any chances.

  I guess Mrs. Rice didn’t care about making a mistake. She probably thought, So what if I get sent to the principal’s office? I live there!

  “Mr. D’Matz will be leaving after lunch today— he’ll spend the week with the Adventures for Teachers Committee. But we’ll see him again on Friday at the statehouse. There’ll be a ceremony there to name the winning teacher, and we’re invited. Then, if he’s chosen, Mr. D’Matz will fly off to Egypt for the big adventure.”

  We all sucked in our breath again when she said his name, and so I almost missed what she said next. But I heard it: “Which means he will be gone for the rest of the year.”

  Mrs. Rice went on talking, but my ears were so full of gone for the rest of the year that I couldn’t hear anything else.

  I looked over at my teacher. I waited for him to jump up and say, “Nope, sorry, Mrs. Rice. I can’t go away for the rest of the year because I promised to be here. I stood right in front of my students and said, ‘I will be your teacher this year.’ It’s still this year, so I have to stay and be their teacher. I won’t break my promise.”

  But he didn’t do that. He just sat at his desk smiling at Mrs. Rice!

  “This is a Tremendous Opportunity,” Principal Rice was saying in her capital-letters voice. “We should all be very proud of Mr. D’Matz.”

  All the kids clapped and made faces like they were happy about the Tremendous Opportunity and proud of our teacher. Not me. I don’t think breaking a promise is a reason to be proud of someone.