Poor old brand-new Ms. Diz.
I think maybe she forgot about our high spirits.
7
Mess Rehearsal
“First, I want all you bees to put on your antennae,” said Ms. Diz.
Real bees use their head bobbles to smell and feel things.
But ours were just made of pipe cleaners and Styrofoam balls. With glitter on them.
They were attached to a plastic headband thingie. Shaped like a great big upside-down U.
Last year the third graders used the bobbles for a play about butterflies.
So the headbands were a little stretched out by their gigantic third-grade heads.
When we were ready, Ms. Diz went to the music cupboard.
She handed each drummer two red tapping sticks.
We use the sticks for Music Time. They are our instruments.
Only really I would rather have a drum set.
Or a tuba.
“I know how much fun the sticks are, children,” said Ms. Diz. “But as you may recall, some of you got a little carried away yesterday.”
I think maybe she was looking at me.
But I wasn’t the only one who got in stick trouble.
Gus was the one who started the pretend sword fight.
I was Not Guilty.
Mostly.
“Our rhythm section sits in the chairs,” said Ms. Diz. “Nice and still.”
That was me. And Gus. And Dewan and Maria and Coco.
“All the other bees in the back row,” said Ms. Diz. “Standing up nice and tall.”
We got into our places.
Bees and bee drummers.
Bobbles and sticks.
We were ready for action.
“Okay, let’s sing nice and clear,” said Ms. Diz. “And no poking with the sticks.”
“How about swords?” Dewan asked.
“No swords,” said Ms. Diz.
“How about death rays?” Gus asked.
“No death rays,” said Ms. Diz. “When I count to three, start singing!”
Here is how our bee song goes:
Buzzy bees, fuzzy bees,
Look at us fly!
Bees are the best bugs!
You want to know why?
We make our own honey
and soar in the sky.
Can you do what we do?
We dare you to try!
“Great job!” said Ms. Diz when we were done. “Roscoe, you sound especially wonderful. But we need to hear the other kids too.”
“He’s blowing out my eardrums, Ms. Diz,” Coco complained.
“My head bobbles keep falling off!” Wyatt said.
Ms. Diz took a deep breath.
“I know the antennae don’t fit very well, children. Just do the best you can. Let’s try the song one more time. This time, let me hear those sticks pounding out the rhythm!”
We sang again. I was not so loud this time.
But if you ask me, they were missing out.
“Better,” said Ms. Diz when we were done.
“My bobbles keep falling in my eyes!”
Hassan said.
“Oh, dear,” said Ms. Diz. “Maybe we should just forget about the antennae.”
“But we have to have bobbles!” Coco cried. “Otherwise how will our parents know we’re bees?”
“You make a good point, Coco. Hassan, bring me your antennae,” said Ms. Diz. “Maybe I can tighten them up a little.”
While Ms. Diz worked on Hassan’s bobbles, Maria started tapping her sticks.
Dewan tapped along.
Gus tapped too.
On my head.
“Children,” said Ms. Diz. She was still trying to fix Hassan’s bobbles. “No tapping, please.”
We sat and waited. While we sat there, I came up with a new invention.
I put the rhythm sticks in my mouth.
I made them point straight down.
Ta-da! Walrus teeth!
I think when I grow up I may be a famous inventor.
Or else an ice cream truck driver.
Dewan and Gus laughed at my walrus teeth.
Maria put her sticks on her head. She looked just like an alien.
Even more people laughed.
Gus put his sticks up his nose.
He just looked gross.
Pretty soon we were all tapping and laughing and being walruses and aliens.
Except Gus.
He just kept the sticks in his nose.
“Children!” said Ms. Diz loudly.
But we couldn’t hear her very well.
What with all the tapping and laughing.
Gus held up one of his nose sticks. “I challenge you to a duel!” he cried.
“Yuck,” said Coco.
I jumped up on my chair.
So did Gus.
You can’t sword-fight sitting down.
We sort of forgot about the no-sword-fighting rule.
“Roscoe!!! Gus!!! Children!!!” Ms. Diz held up her hand and put a finger to her lips. “Quiet down NOW!”
We got very quiet.
Gus and I froze on our chairs.
Ms. Diz pointed to the doorway.
Mr. Goosegarden was standing there.
He is the principal. That is the big boss of the school.
He is mostly nice.
Unless you’ve been Making Bad Choices.
Then you have to sit in his office and think about your behavior.
When that happens, Mr. Goosegarden wears his I-mean-business face.
And right now, Mr. Goosegarden had on his I-REALLY-mean-business face.
8
How to Speak Teacher
“Children,” said Mr. Goosegarden. “I certainly hope you won’t disappoint your parents with this kind of rowdy behavior at the open house.”
Coco raised her hand.
“Roscoe started it, Mr. Goosegarden,” she said. “He made walrus teeth.”
Coco was not really being helpful. If you ask me.
“I’m sure Roscoe will remember that walrus teeth are not appropriate,” said Mr. Goosegarden. “And that chairs are for sitting. Not sword fighting.”
He winked at me.
Mr. Goosegarden and I go way back.
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know there was a no-walrus-teeth rule.”
“That’s okay, Roscoe,” said Mr. Goosegarden. “I know you will come through this afternoon.”
He smiled at Ms. Diz. “Don’t worry,” he said. “The first year of teaching is always the hardest.”
Mr. Goosegarden waved good-bye. The door closed behind him.
Ms. Diz sighed.
She looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s way past time for reading groups. Let’s take off the head bobbles…. I mean the antennae. Just do the best you can this afternoon.”
She sounded sort of worn-out.
I felt bad about the walrus-teeth incident.
Like I said before, kids have so many rules to remember!
There are a gazillion things we are not supposed to do.
Who knew making walrus teeth was one of them?
After we put away the bobbles and sticks, we sat at tables for reading groups.
Reading is fun. But it can be very hard work.
You can get pretty thirsty trying to make those letters into words.
After I read four whole sentences, I went to the water fountain to get a drink.
The fountain is next to the art cupboard.
Just then, Mr. Frisbee came in. He is a kindergarten teacher.
“May I borrow some chalk?” Mr. Frisbee asked Ms. Diz.
“Sure,” said Ms. Diz. She opened the art cupboard. I could see the art supplies I’d brought.
Including Drucilla’s head.
And the don’t-you-dare glue.
Ms. Diz gave Mr. Frisbee a fresh box of chalk. “Here you go,” she said.
“How was the dress rehearsal?” Mr. Frisbee asked.
Ms. Diz whispered s
omething I couldn’t hear.
Then she laughed. “At this rate, I’ll be looking for another job soon!”
They both laughed.
But I was pretty sure it was worried laughing.
Maybe you are wondering how I could tell.
After all, teachers can be confusing.
Not as confusing as parents.
But still. Sometimes teachers have trouble expressing themselves.
Fortunately, I have served in preschool and kindergarten already.
Also Mommy and Me Music.
And Gymborama.
And my clay class, Pots for Tots.
So I am happy to explain teacher stuff to you.
Here is my Goof-Proof Roscoe Riley Teacher Translator:
I told you not to feed glitter to the goldfish.
Really, really SHHHH.
Take the Play-Doh out of your ear this instant!
I quit. Just like the kindergarten teacher.
It’s pretty easy to understand teachers. Once you get the hang of it.
I’m still working on figuring out how to speak Parent, though.
I thought about what Ms. Diz had said to Mr. Frisbee. At this rate, I’ll be looking for another job soon.
What if Mr. Goosegarden fired Ms. Diz? Just because of our rowdy behavior?
That would be awful.
After all, Ms. Diz is a great teacher.
Even if she is just a beginner.
Then I thought about my kindergarten teacher from last year.
The one who changed jobs after I painted the hamsters.
She works at an office now.
With no kids in it.
And no green hamsters.
How boring is that?
I could not let such a horrible thing happen to Ms. Diz.
9
Roscoe to the Rescue
Right after recess, it was time to get ready for the open house.
Ms. Diz and the room mothers set out chocolate chip cookies and cakes and pies on a big table.
And napkins and juice.
Those cookies looked DELICIOUS.
But I was too worried about the bee song to think about those delicious, chewy, chocolaty, melt-in-my-mouth cookies.
Well, almost too worried.
Ms. Diz arranged the chairs. Then she set out the sticks and the head bobbles on the counter.
“Your parents will be here in just a few minutes, children,” she said. “Check all the activity centers to be sure everything is nice and clean.”
“Ms. Diz?” called one of the room mothers. “Do you have any name tags?”
“I think I have some in the art cupboard,” said Ms. Diz.
She opened the cupboard doors. “Nope. No name tags. Let me see if they have any in the office. Children, I’ll be right back. Roscoe, why don’t you pass out the antennae? Dewan, you hand out the sticks. But no funny business. The rest of you finish cleaning up.”
Ms. Diz rushed out the door.
The art cupboard doors were still open.
I could see the don’t-you-dare glue I’d brought.
And just then I had a Super-Mega-Gonzo idea.
I went over to the cupboard.
All the kids were busy cleaning up blocks and puzzle pieces and crayons.
The room mothers were not paying attention to me, either.
They were busy mopping up a juice spill. It was caused by a flying LEGO.
I picked up one of the head bobbles on the counter.
I reached for the don’t-you-dare glue.
I tried to read the label.
It took a LOT of work to read it.
Bonds instantly and permanently, it said. Glues wood, metal, glass, and paper.
The label did not mention head bobbles.
I opened the glue.
I put a little on the headband.
And I popped those bobbles on my head.
I waited a few seconds.
Then I wiggled my head.
The bobbles stayed on!
Nice and tight. Just like real bee bobbles.
Perfect.
I put a few drops of glue on all the other bobbles.
Then I slipped the tube of glue into my pocket.
One by one, I passed out bobbles to all the kids.
Hassan tried on his bobbles.
He didn’t notice the little drops of don’t-you-dare glue.
“Hey,” said Hassan. He shook his head. “Weird. My bobbles are staying on!”
“So are mine,” Maria said. “Ms. Diz must have fixed them.”
I handed bobbles to Gus and Dewan.
They were playing swords again.
“Gus!” I said. “No swords! This open house has got to be perfect.”
“They’re not swords,” he said. “They’re lightsabers.”
“Here,” I said. I put the bobbles on his head.
And gave the last pair to Dewan, who put them on.
“Hey,” said Dewan. “My bobbles aren’t bobbling!”
Mission accomplished, I thought.
Roscoe to the rescue!
10
Bee-having
Ms. Diz came back with the name tags.
She was not happy to see Gus and Dewan playing swords again.
“Drummers, settle down,” she said firmly.
“My bobbles are staying on, Ms. Diz,” Maria reported.
“And so are mine,” said Coco.
Ms. Diz looked surprised. “Hmm,” she said. “That’s good news.”
Just then Coco’s mom and dad arrived. “Smile, everyone!” said her mom. “We’re recording!”
Coco’s dad was holding a silver camcorder.
All the other moms and dads began to come in.
They smiled and talked and waved and shook hands.
While Ms. Diz was busy saying hello, Gus pointed his stick at Dewan. “I am Zorro!” he yelled.
“I am Darth Vader!” cried Dewan.
“Duel to the death!” Gus shouted.
They were going to have a hard time sitting still for the bee song, I thought.
And then I had another Super-Mega-Gonzo idea.
Sometimes my brain amazes me.
I went over to the drummer chairs.
I looked around. Nobody was watching me. And Mom and Dad weren’t there yet.
I pulled out the don’t-you-dare glue. And I put a few drops on each chair seat.
I smiled a proud smile.
The bee song would go perfectly.
Ms. Diz would keep her job.
And all because of me.
“Roscoe! Hello, Pumpkin!” someone called.
It was Mom.
She was carrying her banana-avocado-raisin cream pie.
It is not really okay for moms to call you “Pumpkin” in front of your classmates.
But that’s all right. Sometimes parents forget to follow the rules too.
My dad was right behind her.
He was carrying Hazel.
Hazel only goes to preschool half a day.
Little kids have it so easy.
“What’s on Roscoe’s head, Mommy?”
Hazel asked.
“These are my bee bobbles,” I said proudly.
I wiggled my head. They stayed put.
I am a genius, I thought.
Ms. Diz clapped her hands and put a finger to her lips.
“Parents, please find a seat. We have an exciting performance planned for you!”
All the moms and dads sat down.
They had to squish into our little bitty chairs.
They looked pretty silly.
I was glad no one tried to sit in the chairs I’d glued.
“Places, everyone,” said Ms. Diz.
The bees lined up.
The bee drummers sat down.
Right on the glue.
All except Gus.
“There’s something on my chair,” he complained.
“Probably your own nose goo,” said Coco.
Gus sighed. He sat down with a plop.
“As you may know, we’ve been studying insects these past few weeks,” Ms. Diz said.
Suddenly Mr. Goosegarden appeared in the doorway.
“Hello, parents!” he said. “I’m just passing through. Didn’t want to miss hearing my favorite beehive perform!”
Mr. Goosegarden looked at all of us.
One eyebrow went up.
Just like my dad’s.
I wonder if there’s a school where they learn that eyebrow move.
Ms. Diz made a noise with her throat. Her face was a little pink.
Or maybe green.
I think that’s called stage fright.
“As I was saying,” she said. “We’ve been learning about insects. Especially bees. And now we have a song we’d like to perform for you.”
Hazel made a buzzing sound.
All the parents laughed.
Everyone thinks she’s adorable.
It’s disgusting.
“All right, children,” said Ms. Diz. She made her voice a whisper. “We are going to do this just right this time!”
She looked over at the drummers.
Even Gus was sitting perfectly still.
Not that he had a choice.
“One, two, three!” said Ms. Diz.
We all sang loud and clear. And pounded nice and steady.
When we were done, the parents cheered and clapped.
Someone even whistled.
“Bravo!” a dad yelled.
Coco’s mom wiped tears from her eyes.
“Can we have cookies now?” asked Hazel.
Ms. Diz looked very happy.
And she wasn’t pink or green anymore.
Mr. Goosegarden grinned. “Children, I knew you’d come through. That was just perfect. I must say that I loved the way you BEE-haved.”
Everyone laughed at his bee joke.
Because you have to laugh when it’s the principal.
Mr. Goosegarden gave Ms. Diz a thumbs-up sign.
That means GOOD JOB.
Also YOU WON’T HAVE TO GO WORK IN A BORING, HAMSTER-FREE OFFICE.
He gave us all a big wave.
And then he left.
I couldn’t stop smiling. Everything had gone perfectly.
Never Glue Your Friends to Chairs Page 2