by Louis Sachar
“I handed that back yesterday,” Mrs. Jewls reminded him. “Didn’t you save the paper clip?”
“I guess not,” Joe admitted.
Bebe was finishing up the last part of her picture. “Paper clip, please,” she said, without looking up from her work.
“One for me too,” said Calvin.
Mrs. Jewls slammed her hand on her desk. “Do you think paper clips grow on trees?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said Calvin.
“I gave each one of you a paper clip at the beginning of the year. It was your responsibility to take care of it.” She opened her desk drawer, took out her paper clip box, and opened it. “There are only six left,” she said, shaking her head in dismay.
“Ooh, can I have one?” asked Joy. “I can’t find mine.”
Mrs. Jewls was too angry to reply. She moved to the front of the room. “You children are so spoiled,” she said. “Do you have any idea what it takes to make just one paper clip?”
She held up one of her last remaining paper clips. “Look at the perfect double loop. And the way it gleams in the light, almost like a mirror.”
Her anger seemed to melt away as she marveled at the magnificent metal masterpiece.
“It takes a lot of very talented people, and years of training and hard work,” she explained. “First, there’s the wire maker. Paper clip wire has to be just right, not too stiff, but not too wiggly either.
“Then there’s the wire polisher,” she continued. “That’s who gives the paper clip its special gleam. And the wire cutter, who cuts each wire to the precise length.
“And finally, and most important, the master bender. The bender carefully bends the wire into the perfect double loop.” She put her hand over her heart. “Sadly, in these rush-rush, hurry-hurry days, not too many young people study the art of paper clip bending. There are only a handful of master benders left in the whole world. And who knows, in ten or twenty years there might not be any. Everyone will have to switch to staples.”
“That is so sad,” said Dana.
Mrs. Jewls gave the paper clip to Dana. “Now don’t lose it!”
“I won’t!” Dana promised.
“Let me see,” said Bebe.
Dana proudly showed Bebe her new paper clip.
“It’s so beautiful!” said Bebe, admiring the double loops. “I never noticed before.”
“I’m going to be a paper clip bender when I grow up,” said Calvin.
Mrs. Jewls smiled at Calvin. She had never been more proud of a student.
5
Eric, Eric, and What’s-His-Name?
Oh, that’s right—Eric.
There are three Erics in Mrs. Jewls’s class: Eric Fry, Eric Bacon, and the other one—who everyone always forgets—Eric Ovens.
Eric Fry is strong and fast. He is usually the first one chosen when picking teams.
Eric Bacon is funny, clever, and just a little bit sneaky. Everyone in Mrs. Jewls’s class likes him, but no one completely trusts him.
Eric Ovens is kind, quiet, and 100 percent trustworthy. Sadly, that kind of person is often overlooked.
But not today, he thought as he sat at his desk, patiently waiting for Mrs. Jewls to finish taking attendance. Today would be his day of glory!
In his pocket was a plastic bag with eighty-three nail clippings!
Two numbers had been written on the blackboard: 71 and 2,677.
So far, the class had collected a total of 2,677 nail clippings. Seventy-one were the most brought in by any one kid.
They didn’t just have to be toenails. Fingernails counted too.
Eric Ovens took his bag out of his pocket and placed it on his desk.
“How many you got?” whispered Kathy, who sat next to him.
Eric didn’t want to jinx his big day by saying the number aloud. Besides, he knew Kathy would only say something mean, or mock him.
Mrs. Jewls closed her attendance book. “Anyone have any nail clippings this morning?”
Eric Ovens raised his hand.
“Yes, Eric,” said Mrs. Jewls.
Eric Ovens quietly pushed his chair back, but before he could get up, he saw Eric Fry already making his way to the front of the room.
“Forty!” Eric Fry declared proudly.
Eric Fry had kept his hand in a fist all morning. Everyone thought he was just trying to be tough. Now he opened his fist and let forty nail clippings fall into the collection bucket.
“Well done, Eric!” said Mrs. Jewls.
Everyone clapped their hands.
Eric Ovens smiled as he clapped his hands too. Eighty-three was more than double forty.
Eric Fry did the math on the board.
2677
+ 40
2717
“Halfway to a million!” cheered Stephen.
“Not quite,” Allison told him.
“Anyone else?” asked Mrs. Jewls.
Again Eric Ovens raised his hand, but Eric Bacon had already hopped out of his seat and was headed toward the front of the room.
He handed Mrs. Jewls a plastic bag full of nail clippings. “Three hundred and forty-nine!” he declared triumphantly.
The class went wild. Sharie gasped. Stephen fell out of his chair.
Eric Bacon danced around Mrs. Jewls’s desk, like a football player who had scored a touchdown.
Mrs. Jewls was skeptical of the spectacle. “I could count them,” she warned.
Eric stopped dancing. “Go ahead,” he challenged her.
Mrs. Jewls stared Eric Bacon in the eye. Eric Bacon stared right back.
Mrs. Jewls dumped the bag on her desk, and divided the clippings into four piles. She asked Dameon, Allison, and John to help. They each took a pile, and then Mrs. Jewls added their totals together.
“Three hundred and forty-nine,” she announced, “just as Eric said.”
Again, everyone cheered, and Eric Bacon continued his victory dance.
“How did you get so many?” Mrs. Jewls asked him.
Eric B. stopped dancing. “I went door-to-door, asking my neighbors,” he said.
Everyone laughed.
Leslie had sold wrapping paper door-to-door, but she couldn’t imagine asking people for their toenails!
“It’s easier than asking for money,” said Eric. “Everyone was happy to donate.”
He erased the number 71 and put 349 in its place. Then he did the math.
2717
+ 349
3066
“Almost a million!” Stephen called out.
“Not even close,” muttered Allison.
Mrs. Jewls told Eric Bacon to take a Tootsie Roll Pop from her coffee can.
He took one. Then, when she wasn’t looking, he took another.
“Anyone else?” asked Mrs. Jewls.
Eric Ovens sat glumly at his desk.
“Raise your hand,” urged Kathy.
“Why bother?” he muttered.
Kathy got up from her seat and stood next to him. She grabbed Eric’s arm and raised it for him. “Eric Ovens brought a whole lot!” she announced.
“Bring them on up,” said Mrs. Jewls.
He had no choice. “It’s just eighty-three,” he said, and then emptied his bag into the nail bucket.
“That’s the second most ever!” shouted Kathy. She started clapping.
Amazingly, everyone else clapped too.
They were still clapping as he did the math on the board.
3066
+ 83
3149
“That’s closer to a million!” exclaimed Stephen.
Everyone cheered.
Even Allison couldn’t argue with that.
6
Oppositosis
Eric Ovens wasn’t the only one who had noticed that Kathy had become nice. Others, too, began to notice her odd behavior.
“I like your picture,” Kathy told Bebe.
“What’s wrong with it?” Bebe asked.
“Nothing,” said Kathy. “
It’s perfect. You are very talented.”
It took Bebe a moment to realize that Kathy hadn’t insulted her.
Mrs. Jewls also noticed the change. “Kathy, will you come here, please?” she asked.
Kathy approached her teacher’s desk. “Yes, Mrs. Jewls?” she asked.
Mrs. Jewls smiled. “You have been doing very well, Kathy,” she said. “I’ve noticed a real improvement in your work, and in your attitude.”
“That must be because you’re such a good teacher,” said Kathy.
“Well, thank you,” said Mrs. Jewls. “But there’s a tiny little problem. I’m having a hard time reading your homework.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at it,” said Mrs. Jewls, showing Kathy her most recent homework assignment.
“What’s wrong with it?” asked Kathy.
“First thing we learned in psychiatrist school,” Dr. Pickle said as he patted D.J. on the head.
“My hiccups are all gone!” D.J. told Kathy.
“Who cares,” Kathy grumpled.
“Would you mind stepping inside my office, young lady?” asked Dr. Pickle.
“But he’s the sicko!” said Kathy, pointing at D.J.
“Please,” said Dr. Pickle.
She entered the counselor’s office. “That beard is really ugly. I guess your face must be even worse, huh?”
Dr. Pickle didn’t get angry. He just stroked his beard and said, “Very interesting.”
Kathy sniffed. “Smells like pickles,” she commented.
“Very interesting, indeed,” the counselor said, and then asked her to sit down.
Kathy sat on the couch. “Lumpy,” she complained.
“I’m going to try a little experiment,” said Dr. Pickle. “I’m going to say a word, and then I want you to say the first word that pops into your head.”
“Stupid!” said Kathy.
“I haven’t started yet,” said Dr. Pickle.
“Sloppy!” said Kathy.
Dr. Pickle realized he had better hurry up and get started. “Cold,” he began.
“Hot,” Kathy replied.
“Hard.”
“Soft.”
“Skinny.”
“Fat.”
“This is kind of fun, isn’t it, Kathy?” asked Dr. Pickle.
“No, it’s boring,” said Kathy.
“Worse than I thought,” said Dr. Pickle. “I studied your condition in psychiatrist school. “I’m afraid you have a bad case of oppositosis.”
“No, I don’t. You do!”
Dr. Pickle stroked his beard.
Unfortunately, there was no known cure for oppositosis. Other psychiatrists had tried to help their patients learn to be kind and think positively.
Dr. Pickle knew that would never work on Kathy. He had his own theory, however. He could try to turn her opposites into double opposites.
He opened his desk drawer and took out his pickle-stone and chain.
Kathy watched the green stone as it gently swung back and forth. She fell asleep on the count of five.
“Can you hear me, Kathy?” he asked.
“And I can smell you too,” she replied.
“You are looking into a mirror,” he told her.
“I’m looking into a mirror,” Kathy repeated, eyes closed.
“Tell me what you see.”
“I see a beautiful girl with black hair,” she said. “And I see a funny-looking man with a pointy beard.”
“Very good,” said Dr. Pickle. “Now I want you to reach out and touch the mirror.”
Kathy slowly moved her arm.
“But as you try to touch it,” said Dr. Pickle, “you’ll discover the mirror isn’t solid. Your hand will go right through it.”
Kathy stuck her hand out farther. “That’s weird,” she said.
“Now stand up, and walk through the mirror.”
Kathy stood up. She took one step, then another. She hesitated for a moment, and then took one last step.
“Amazing!” she exclaimed.
“You are on the other side of the mirror,” said Dr. Pickle. “What do you see?”
Kathy looked around. “Nice office,” she said. She sniffed. “Smells nice too.”
“I’m glad you like it,” said Dr. Pickle. “Would you like to sit on the couch?”
Kathy sat back down. “Very comfortable,” she noted.
“When I count to three, you will wake up. But you will still be on the other side of the mirror. One . . . two . . . three.”
Kathy opened her eyes.
“How do you feel?” he asked her.
“Fine, thanks,” said Kathy. “How are you?”
“Very well, thank you,” said Dr. Pickle. “Do you mind if we continue with our little experiment?”
“Sounds like fun,” said Kathy.
“Happy,” said Dr. Pickle.
“Smile,” said Kathy.
“Smart,” said Dr. Pickle.
“Mrs. Jewls,” said Kathy.
“Friend,” said Dr. Pickle.
“D.J.,” said Kathy.
Dr. Pickle led her to the door.
“Thank you, Dr. Pickell,” she said, shaking his hand. “You are very wise. And I like your beard.”
“What’s wrong with my homework?” asked Kathy.
“It’s written backward!” said Mrs. Jewls. “Every sentence. Every word. Every letter. Even the numbers are backward.”
“Looks normal to me,” said Kathy. “Do you want me to do it over?”
Mrs. Jewls sighed. “No, that’s all right, Kathy. I’m just happy to see you doing so well. I’ll figure it out.”
7
The Closet That Wasn’t There
Mac was a curious kid.
When Miss Mush served chicken fingers, he asked her how many fingers a chicken had on each hand.
After lunch, he played basketball. Besides playing, he was also the self-appointed announcer, describing every shot, every pass, and every dribble.
Jenny finally told him to put a sock in it.
Only then, when he stopped talking, did Mac remember that he’d left his catcher’s mask in the cafeteria. Mac liked to wear his catcher’s mask for all sports, including basketball.
He was a curious kid.
The cafeteria was on the fifteenth floor. Mac found his mask right where he’d left it, but by then, it hardly seemed worth it to go all the way back down to the playground. So he continued on up to the thirtieth story.
And there, just outside his classroom door, was the most curious thing that Mac had ever seen. Next to the wall was some sort of giant closet. It hadn’t been there before lunch.
But that wasn’t what made it curious. The closet was wrapped up in heavy chains, and locked with a giant padlock.
Mac moved closer. Behind the chains, he could see double doors, with a steel bar clamped across them. Several signs were taped to the doors.
“KEEP BACK!”
“DO NOT OPEN DOORS!”
“DANGER!”
“CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT IF YOU SMELL SOMETHING UNUSUAL!”
Mac sniffed, but all he could smell were chicken fingers.
Behind the chains, and the steel bar, each door had its own lock. He could see two keyholes, one red and the other green.
He put on his catcher’s mask, just to be safe, and tried to open one door, then the other. They wouldn’t budge.
He tried to peer through the keyholes, but they were too tiny.
He knocked on one of the doors. It seemed to be made of thick wood. “Anyone in there?” he called.
There was no answer. He knocked again, and then pressed his ear against the side of the closet.
Still nothing.
“What’s that?” asked Deedee, coming up the stairs.
Mac shrugged.
Deedee read the signs aloud. “Keep back. Do not open doors. Danger.”
She tried one of the doors.
“I think it’s locked,” said Mac.
&nbs
p; More kids made it up the stairs. Each one stopped at the closet, read the signs, and then tried to open the doors.
Terrence kicked the doors.
Jason rattled the chains. “Look, it’s one long chain,” he determined, “wrapped around four times.”
“What do you think is inside?” asked Leslie.
“Snakes,” said Paul. He was afraid of snakes.
“Spiders,” said Rondi. She was afraid of spiders.
“Monsters,” said Allison.
She loved monsters.
“What if it’s Mrs. Gorf?” guessed Calvin.
Everyone shuddered.
Mrs. Gorf was the worst teacher they’d ever had.
“Give me a boost,” said Mac.
Jenny cupped her hands, and Mac stepped up, first onto Jenny’s hands, then onto the steel bar. He gripped the top edge of the closet and tried to shimmy up.
“Get away from there!” shouted Mrs. Jewls. “All of you!”
She had returned from the teachers’ lounge only to see the children hanging all over the closet, like monkeys.
“Mac, get down, now!”
Mac tried to hop down, but his foot got tangled in the chains, and he fell onto his back.
“Ooh, I think I broke my tailbone,” he complained.
“You’re lucky that’s all you broke!” said Mrs. Jewls.
“What’s inside?” asked Terrence.
“Never you mind!” said Mrs. Jewls. “Don’t you children know the meaning of DANGER? You are not to go anywhere near my closet! Don’t look at it. Don’t even think about it. It’s not there!”
“But I can see it,” said Mac, still lying on the floor.
“It’s Not There!” Mrs. Jewls insisted.
“But—”
“No Ifs, Ands, or Buts!” said Mrs. Jewls.
Everyone shuffled inside the classroom.
Mac was still on the floor. He stood up and adjusted his catcher’s mask, which had become cockeyed when he fell. He took one last look at the closet that wasn’t there, then walked into the classroom, more curious than ever.
8
Science
Twenty-nine hands were raised.
There were only twenty-eight kids in Mrs. Jewls’s class, but Joy stretched both her arms high in the air. She figured it doubled her chance of being chosen. She waved them back and forth, and around in circles.