Martin Bridge: On the Lookout!

by Jessica Scott Kerrin

  “Well, not as much fun as the museum,” agreed Clark, “but —”

  “But what?” Martin snapped. “You don’t know how it feels to be left behind!”

  Cripes. As soon as the words were out, Martin knew he had gone too far.

  Everyone stared.

  Clark said nothing.

  Zoe shook her head and tsked. “Your mom’s here,” she said flatly.

  Martin followed her gaze out the window and saw his mom hurrying across the parking lot. He bolted for the door.

  “Oh, Martin,” said his mom as she hugged him. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”

  “Can we go home?” he asked, knowing the answer.

  “No, honey. I have to go back to work. But I’ll tell you what. This weekend, how about I take you to the dinosaur exhibit?”

  “Okay,” said Martin in a gulpy voice. He wanted to go, but it wouldn’t be the same without his friends.

  “I hear you’re in Mr. Horner’s class today.”

  Martin shuddered at the thought of going back.

  “Clark’s in that class, right?”

  Martin shot her a look. “Why?”

  “Well, he must be a very nice boy. He got Mrs. Hurtle to call and ask me to bring you a treat. He said you needed cheering up.”

  “He did?”

  Martin’s mom pulled two Zip Rideout Space Bars from her purse.

  “Here’s one for you. I thought you could give the other one to Clark.”

  “Thanks,” whispered Martin.

  After his mom left, Martin sat on the school steps and ate his gooey chocolate treat. It didn’t make him feel one bit better, so he ate the second one, too.

  When the bell rang, Martin plodded back inside. Mr. Horner taught a science lesson on composting, and everyone jostled to pile their lunch leftovers into a bucket of soil. Clark got to stir the concoction while the class squirmed and squealed in delight.

  Not Martin. He remained seated and studied the graffiti on his desk.

  After a lonely recess during which Clark was nowhere in sight, it was time for geography.

  “Pop quiz!” Mr. Horner announced, handing out stacks of tests to those in the front row. “Take one and pass the rest back.”

  Martin raised his hand. “Do I have to take the test, too?”

  “I’m sure you’ll do fine, Mr. Bridge,” boomed Mr. Horner. “It’s material you’ll remember from last year.”

  Martin looked at the questions. They were fill-in-the-blanks. The capital of China is ______. The capital of France is ______. The capital of Mexico is ______.

  Martin couldn’t remember. Panic made his stomach flip-flop.

  He scanned the list. It went on and on.

  Martin took a deep breath and picked up his pencil. He filled in some of the blanks, but not many.

  Never mind. Mr. Horner always included a bonus question. He would gain marks there. Martin read the question.

  Name the oceans of the world.

  Pacific. Atlantic. Indian. Arctic. Antarctic.

  Good. At least he remembered those.

  “Time’s up,” announced Mr. Horner. “Pass your quiz to your neighbor for marking.”

  Wanting nothing more to do with Martin, Zoe passed her test the other way. That left Martin with only one option.

  Clark.

  “Here, Martin,” Clark said, handing over his test. Martin took it and reluctantly gave his to Clark.

  Mr. Horner read out the answers one by one.

  Check. Check. Check.

  Clark was getting all the answers right.

  Check. Check. Check. Check. Check.

  He got the bonus question, too!

  “Okay, class. Now add up the marks.”

  It didn’t take long to add because Clark didn’t have a single wrong answer.

  When he got his test back, Martin’s ears burned. Getting the bonus question hadn’t been enough. Nine out of twenty was written neatly across the top of Martin’s quiz.

  Zoe leaned over to look. Then she whispered something to her neighbor. They giggled.

  Martin covered his test with his arms. What if everyone found out about his mark? It was probably the lowest in the class! Would that mean he’d have to stay in this grade for the rest of the year? That he wasn’t just left behind today, he’d be left behind forever? Cripes!

  Martin began to chew on an eraser.

  “How did we all do?” Mr. Horner asked jovially.

  The class murmured back.

  “Zoe,” called Mr. Horner. “Any problems?”

  “I got sixteen,” answered Zoe brightly. She shot Martin a wicked smile.

  Mr. Horner followed her gaze and turned to Martin.

  “Mr. Bridge,” he inquired. “I trust you did well?”

  “I … I …,” stammered Martin. Once again, he wanted to crawl under a desk.

  “I marked Martin’s test,” Clark piped up. “He really knows his oceans.”

  Martin looked closely at Clark. Was he making fun of him?

  But no. Clark merely smiled.

  “Well then,” boomed Mr. Horner. “Why don’t we start packing up? The day’s almost over.”

  Martin folded his test again and again until it was a tight square. Then he shoved it into his pocket along with the two chocolate bar wrappers.

  The end-of-school bell rang. After making sure Zoe was nowhere in sight, Martin sidled up to Clark in the coatroom.

  “Thanks,” he whispered. “You know. About my test.” He handed back Clark’s eraser.

  Clark pocketed it and shrugged.

  “But you …,” fumbled Martin, desperate for Clark to forgive him. “You did really well.”

  “You mean for someone left behind?” asked Clark quietly.

  Martin stared at his feet while Clark looked him over.

  Finally, Clark spoke. “Look, Martin. I do know how it feels to be left behind, so I made you something at recess.”

  Martin watched in awe as Clark pulled the most exquisite T. rex from his knapsack. It was made entirely of tape. He handed it to Martin.

  “Thanks,” said Martin, his voice full of surprise.

  Clark turned to go.

  Martin cupped the dinosaur in his hands and examined it from all sides. Clark’s gift was as thoughtful as two Zip Rideout Space Bars. As wonderful as remembering all the oceans. And as precious as a forgotten permission slip.

  “Wait!” said Martin, looking up.

  Clark paused, one hand on the door.

  “My mom’s taking me to the dinosaur exhibit this weekend,” Martin said in a rush, “and it would be great to bring a friend.”

  Clark turned around with a wide smile, as if knowing where Martin was headed.

  Martin pressed on, his voice now full of hope.

  “Would you like to come?”

  Polly

  “Have a seat, boys,” ordered Mrs. Hurtle curtly, pushing her half-moon glasses up on her nose.

  Martin hesitated. He had never heard the school secretary use that cross tone with him and his friends before. She nodded to the bench outside Principal Moody’s door, then returned to the work that cluttered her desk.

  Having been dismissed, Martin had no choice but to lead the way to the bench. Alex and Stuart plunked down beside him.

  Once they were settled, Martin glanced up to make sure Mrs. Hurtle wasn’t looking, then leaned over and whispered, “Well done!” But he didn’t mean it. He just wanted to remind Alex and Stuart of Polly, their beloved class parakeet.

  “Well done!” she’d say over and over, just like their teachers did.

  Polly was the reason they were in trouble.

  Martin replayed the terrible scene in his head. The
y had come into homeroom before the first morning bell so that Alex could show them his new Zip Rideout comic. Polly squawked from her cage when she saw them, which reminded Stuart that he had crackers in his lunch bag. While Stuart dug the crackers out, Alex came across a mysterious container in his desk.

  “What’s this?” he asked as he pried off the lid.

  A rotten smell filled the room like a low note on a piano long after the key has been played. It was last week’s half-eaten tuna sandwich.

  “Phew!!” yelled Martin, and he ran to the window. As he pushed it wide open, something flapped by his ear.

  He whirled around.

  There stood Stuart by the empty birdcage, its door as agape as Stuart’s mouth. Stuart was still holding out the crackers.

  “Polly! Polly!” Martin called frantically.

  “Well done!” was Polly’s fading response. “Well done!”

  Up, up, up she flew, squawking and flapping, until she was only a speck in the blue sky.

  And then there was just blue sky.

  Martin slowly backed away from the window, eyes wide in disbelief. He loved Polly.

  Cripes, everyone did. And the tragic news had traveled fast. It felt like the whole school had lined the halls to watch as the boys reported to the principal’s office.

  Martin shook his head at the memory of slinking by all those hostile crossed arms. He squirmed on the hard, unforgiving bench beneath him.

  When the principal’s door swung open moments later, Martin jumped.

  “Come in,” Principal Moody growled.

  Martin shuffled in first, followed by Alex, then Stuart. They lined up in front of Principal Moody’s desk. He did not invite them to sit. Instead, he launched right in.

  “I am very disappointed. Polly’s been with our school for as long as I can remember.” He scratched his gray beard.

  Martin hung his head. His friends did, too.

  “Who had rotting food in his desk?”

  Two fingers pointed at Alex.

  “Who let Polly out of her cage?”

  Two fingers pointed at Stuart.

  “Who opened the window?”

  Two fingers pointed at Martin.

  “Well then! Since you’ve all had a hand in this, it’s a detention for everyone. Report to the study hall at lunch.”

  Alex groaned. They played soccer at lunch, and he was their team’s star player.

  “Make that two detentions each,” said the principal, giving Alex a level stare. Then he shuffled through a pile of papers, already moving on to the next problem of the day.

  The boys filed past Mrs. Hurtle, heads still down. But in the hallway, Alex shoved Stuart. “Why’d you go and open Polly’s cage?”

  Stuart shoved back. “Why’d you smell up the class?”

  “Stop it! Both of you!” snapped Martin before either of them could mention his part with the open window. He whirled to face them. “We have to find Polly!”

  Alex and Stuart shot each other sideways looks, but neither spoke. Martin knew what that meant. They thought finding Polly was hopeless.

  The second period bell rang before Martin could say he disagreed, and his friends escaped down the empty hall. Martin hung back, listening sadly to the echoing footsteps until they were gone.

  Gone, like Polly.

  Martin trudged to class, only to find Alex and Stuart pressed against the blackboard, staring at a sea of angry faces. All conversation had stopped. Nobody moved. Then Laila Moffatt got up and rattled the parakeet’s empty cage.

  Martin gulped as he and his friends quietly slid into their desks. There they squirmed and picked at their fingernails until Mr. Duncan, the language arts teacher, walked in carrying a stack of papers.

  “Take your places, everyone,” he said.

  Laila gave Polly’s cage one last shake before returning to her seat.

  Mr. Duncan began to walk up and down the aisles, handing back last week’s quiz.

  “Well done,” he said kindly when he came to Martin.

  Martin barely glanced at his test. Not even a good mark could cheer him up today. And it was hard to concentrate as Mr. Duncan reviewed spelling rules.

  “I before E except after C.”

  At least Martin knew that one by heart.

  So did Polly.

  Polly recited spelling rules with the class all the time. She would even call them out during spelling bees. Sometimes she’d help too much, and Mr. Duncan would have to cover her cage so she’d nap.

  Martin looked over at Polly’s empty cage and her folded blanket near the window. His stomach tightened at the quietness of her corner.

  The next thing he knew, the bell rang and their math teacher walked in.

  “Let’s keep working on our multiplication table,” said Mrs. Chesterton.

  Together, the class called out equations while she pointed to numbers on the blackboard.

  “Four times four is sixteen. Four times five is twenty.”

  “Well done!” cheered Mrs. Chesterton.

  Martin remembered how Polly repeated the multiplication table in that squawky voice of hers. She never made mistakes. Smart bird.

  But not that smart.

  Why hadn’t she turned around and come back when she heard Martin calling? Martin could still see her, a little bundle of brightly colored feathers flapping high beyond the schoolyard.

  Then recess came. Martin spent the entire time on the lookout. He wandered along the school fence, searching the empty sky. Alex and Stuart followed, still grumbling about detention.

  By the time Martin entered the art studio for the last class of the morning, his stomach was a tight ball. And although the walls were covered with colorful paintings, all he could see was gray.

  “Let’s review the color wheel,” said Mrs. Crammond as she poured paint into trays. The class gathered around. “Blue and red make …” She pointed to Alex.

  “Purple,” he muttered.

  “Red and yellow make …” She pointed to Stuart.

  “Orange,” he mumbled.

  “Yellow and blue make …” She pointed to Martin.

  “Green,” said Martin wistfully. Polly was all those colors.

  “And that’s the color I want you to work with today,” said Mrs. Crammond. “Use as many shades of green as you can in your pictures. Begin.”

  Martin picked up his paint tray and paper and quietly slipped to the far corner of the studio. Then he stared at his blank sheet for a long, long time.

  Later, Mrs. Crammond walked about admiring each student’s work.

  “Well done.” She nodded to Alex, who had painted a bright green soccer field with two teams battling it out for the championship.

  “Well done.” She nodded to Stuart, who had painted an ominous green dinosaur he had seen at the science museum.

  She stopped when she got to Martin.

  “It’s beautiful, Martin,” she said in a hushed voice. She stood close to Martin as they studied his painting. The class gathered around and solemnly nodded at his tribute.

  Martin had painted a picture of Polly with her exquisite emerald green feathers.

  On the way to detention, Alex stopped Martin in the hall. “I really liked your painting,” he said.

  “Me, too,” said Stuart. “Maybe you could put it up by Polly’s cage. You know, for all of us to remember her by.”

  Martin smiled at the compliment. And then it came to him.

  “I know what we can do!” he exclaimed. “Let’s use my painting to make a lost-and-found poster. Then we’ll have copies made and put them up all over the neighborhood!”

  “Bingo!” said Stuart.

  “Maybe we can work on it during detention,” suggested Alex. “And I’ll call my mom to see if you can both sleep over. That way we can put up the posters tonight.” Alex lived only a few blocks from the school.

  “If we bring our bikes,” added Stuart, “we can cove
r more streets.”

  They rushed to study hall. There sat Mrs. Hurtle at the teacher’s desk. It was her turn to be the monitor.

  “Can we work on a lost-and-found poster?” Martin asked eagerly. Alex and Stuart pressed in beside him for an answer.

  “Great idea!” chirped Mrs. Hurtle in her old, familiar voice. “Let me know if you need any help.”

  Alex led the way to a corner of the room and pulled three desks together.

  “Here,” said Martin, rooting through his knapsack for a pen and paper. “You have the neatest printing.” He handed the supplies to Stuart.

  “Okay,” agreed Stuart. “Tell me what to write.”

  “Lost,” dictated Martin. “One parakeet. Answers to the name Polly.”

  Stuart began to write in big letters.

  “L … O … S … T,” he spelled. “How’s that?”

  “Perfect,” said Martin. Underneath he glued his picture of Polly.

  “How will people tell her apart from other parakeets?” asked Stuart.

  “Polly’s smart,” said Martin confidently. “Write ‘Knows spelling rules.’”

  “And the multiplication table,” added Alex, “and the color wheel.”

  Stuart wrote as fast as he could.

  “Now add the name of our school,” said Martin. “And the phone number at the bottom.” He was surprised at how quickly the poster was coming together.

  Stuart held it up for them to see.

  This will work, thought Martin.

  Shouts drifted through the window from the soccer game outside. But even Alex ignored the noise. Instead, he and Stuart nodded intently as Martin reviewed their plan to put up the posters that evening. And knowing that they had a plan made the rest of the school day bearable.

  “Hi, guys,” Martin called out as his dad helped him unload his bike and sleeping bag at Alex’s house after dinner. Stuart was already there.

  “Got the posters?” asked Stuart.

  “And the duct tape,” said Martin, holding up his knapsack. “This stuff sticks to everything!”