But before I could do that, Ms. Diz rang her gonger. It is a big round golden thing shaped like a plate. It hangs from a hook on the ceiling.
When you hit it with a hammer, it goes
g-o-o-n-n-g-g!!!
That means FREEZE!
Ms. Diz used to ring a teensy little silver bell.
But then she figured out we could make more noise than any old bell.
So she outsmarted us. With her giant gonger.
Ms. Diz is a brand-new teacher.
But she is learning fast.
“Time for morning meeting, folks,” said Ms. Diz.
We sat in our spots.
We talked about the weather. (Cold.)
We talked about the day. (Tuesday.)
We talked about talking. (We had been interrupting Ms. Diz a lot.)
She said that when someone is talking, you listen with your ears.
And save your questions for the end.
Then you use your mouth.
Even if you see something that is a miracle.
Like a squirrel with a blue Matchbox car in his mouth.
Which I saw yesterday.
You are not allowed to jump up and scream, “MS. DIZ I SEE A SQUIRREL WITH A MATCHBOX CAR IN HIS MOUTH OR MAYBE IT’S AN SUV!!! I AM NOT KIDDING MS. DIZ!!”
That’s just a for-instance.
After we talked about the weather and the day, we read our morning message. Ms. Diz writes it on a giant piece of paper.
It said:
We have art this afternoon with Ms. Large.
Tomorrow is Hassan’s birthday. Today Wyatt is our line leader.
I looked over at Wyatt.
He pulled up his nose to make another pig face.
That did it. I jumped up.
I put my hands on my hips. Like a superhero.
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY PIG?” I screamed.
Everybody froze. They were perfectly quiet.
So that when I also screamed, “YOU, SIR, ARE A PIG-NAPPER!” my very loud voice seemed extra especially loud.
“I AM NOT A PIG-NAPPER!” Wyatt screamed back.
He looked at Ms. Diz. “What’s a pignapper, Ms. Diz?”
“Roscoe and Wyatt!” said Ms. Diz. “First of all, sit down, please. Secondly, if you have something to say, you raise your hand.”
I raised my hand. I waved it back and forth. Fast as Goofy’s tail when he sees my mom with a can opener.
“Yes, Roscoe?” said Ms. Diz.
I looked at Wyatt. “You, sir, are a pignapper,” I said in a nice, gentleman voice.
Wyatt raised his hand. He waved it like a flag on a super windy day.
“Yes, Wyatt?” said Ms. Diz. She looked a little tired. And it was still morning.
“I am not a pig-napper,” Wyatt said in a nice, gentleman voice. “And what exactly is a pig-napper?”
“A pig-napper is a person who takes another kid’s most favorite pig out of his backpack when he isn’t looking!” I said.
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Why would I want your stupid stuffed animal? Stuffed animals are for loser babies. I did not take your stinky pig!”
“Prove it!” I screamed
“You prove it!” Wyatt said. “You ’cused me!”
I ran to Wyatt’s cubby. I grabbed his backpack and came back extra fast.
“Roscoe,” said Ms. Diz. “This isn’t appropriate behavior.”
Wyatt jumped up. He grabbed the other side of his backpack.
It said WYATT on it with a picture of a dinosaur.
Wyatt looked pretty mad. Kind of like the Tyrannosaurus rex on his backpack.
But I just knew Hamilton was in that backpack.
So I kept pulling.
Ms. Diz came over. She pulled on the backpack straps.
All the kids watched. It was like tug-of-war.
Three ways.
“Boys, let go,” said Ms. Diz.
Ms. Diz was using her Listen-or-Else Voice.
Wyatt let go.
So did I.
Ms. Diz fell backward.
She landed—plop!—in her teacher chair.
The backpack flew into the air.
Something popped out.
Something stuffed.
But it wasn’t Hamilton.
8
Bobo
There on the ground sat a dirty yellow teddy bear. With only one ear.
“BOBO!” Wyatt cried.
He grabbed that bear and hugged it.
“You said only babies have stuffed animals,” I said.
“Loser babies,” Gus pointed out.
Wyatt’s face got very pink.
He dropped that old bear on the ground.
“That’s my little brother’s bear,” Wyatt said, very fast. “I don’t know how he got in my backpack!”
But I could tell Wyatt was fibbing.
He had hugged that bear like he really meant it.
After that we had to go to Mr. Goosegarden’s office.
He is the principal. That means he talks to you about your Bad Choices.
I think he is also the boss of the teachers.
Maybe they have to talk to Mr. Goosegarden about their Bad Choices too.
Mr. Goosegarden has a very cool office.
He has a zillion windup toys on his desk.
There is a monkey who does a back-flip.
A caterpillar who tap-dances.
A gorilla who pounds his chest.
And teeth that chatter.
The secretary, Mrs. LaBella, led us into Mr. Goosegarden’s office. While we waited for him to come in, I wound up the chattering teeth.
Wyatt wound up the gorilla.
We didn’t talk to each other.
But we let the toys fight it out on the floor.
Mr. Goosegarden entered. He did not seem surprised to see the teeth and the gorilla fighting.
He sat down and rubbed his eyes and talked to us about our noisiness.
And about blaming someone without any proof.
And about Bobo and Hamilton.
“Boys,” he said, “I’ll tell you a little secret. I still have my old teddy bear.” He smiled. “And sometimes I even sleep with him.”
We were very quiet.
Since this was shocking news.
“No way,” I said.
“No way,” Wyatt said.
“Way,” Mr. Goosegarden said.
Then he made us shake hands.
And pull the chattering teeth off the gorilla.
We walked back to class, Wyatt and me.
We didn’t talk. Because I was still sure Wyatt had my pig.
Well, pretty sure.
Also because now everybody knew about Hamilton.
Of course, everybody knew about Bobo, too.
All the way back to our classroom, I thought about poor lonely Hamilton.
Who would tell him funny stories?
Who would rub his tummy?
Who would hug him when he was sad? Who else could have pig-napped him? Except Wyatt?
It was exactly the kind of thing a bullyish guy like Wyatt would do.
We got to the classroom door. Wyatt’s backpack was in his hallway cubby.
Bobo’s dirty ear was sticking out.
It wasn’t fair for Wyatt to have his stuffed animal, when I didn’t have mine.
We headed into the classroom. I sat down at one of the worktables.
Emma and Gus sent me sorry-about-the-principal-visit looks.
Ms. Diz rang her gonger.
“We’ve had some talk today about how stuffed animals are just for little children,” she said.
“Loser babies,” Gus corrected.
“Thank you, Gus,” said Ms. Diz. “Next time, please raise your hand first.”
Ms. Diz went to the blackboard. She wrote:
STUFFED ANIMAL PARTY!
“I would like each of you to bring a favorite stuffed animal to school the day after tomorrow. I think you’ll see that all of us have an ani
mal who’s very special.”
“Even you, Ms. Diz?” Moira asked.
“Even me.” Ms. Diz smiled. “And Mr. Goosegarden.”
All the kids laughed. Except me.
“Roscoe, I know that you’ll be missing Hamilton if he hasn’t turned up by then,” Ms. Diz said. “But do you have some other special animal you could bring?”
I sighed. “If I can’t have Hamilton, Ms. Diz,” I said, “then I don’t want anyone.”
I looked over at Wyatt.
He and Bobo were going to have fun together at the party.
While I would be sad and lonely. And so would Hamilton.
It wasn’t fair.
Then I had an idea.
I wasn’t going to be the only person without his favorite stuffed animal.
9
Welcome to the Dirty Clothes Basket
All day long my tummy felt throw-uppy.
Like it does when we go on a family trip. And there are twisty roads.
I hardly ever actually throw up.
But I make the other people in the car pretty nervous.
When Max and me got off the bus, Mom was in the yard with Hazel.
“How was school, Max?” Mom asked.
“Okay,” he said.
“How was school, Roscoe?” Mom asked.
“Okay,” I said.
“What did you do today?” Mom asked.
“Nothing,” Max said.
“I did nothing too, Mommy,” said Hazel, who just goes to preschool half a day.
“What did you do, Roscoe?” asked Mom.
“Nothing,” I said.
Because that’s what you always say.
Except secretly I was thinking, Nothing, unless you count bear-napping. Which is what I did during lunch when no one was looking. I had grabbed that old bear out of Wyatt’s backpack and stuck him into mine.
I took off my backpack. I’d left the zipper open halfway.
One little black eye was staring at me.
One little black, mad, sad eye.
Just then, I remembered about the party.
“Ms. Diz is making us have a stuffed animal party the day after tomorrow. So we can see that animals aren’t just for loser babies,” I said.
“Maybe you could bring Geraldo,” Mom said.
“I thought about that,” I said. “But if Hamilton can’t come, then I’m not bringing anybody else. If he found out, it would hurt his feelings.”
I took my backpack to my room.
Bobo looked all squished. Plus he had some peanut butter on his right paw.
“I’m really sorry about this, Bobo,” I said. “It’s only for a little while.”
I sat on my bed. Bobo leaned on my pillow.
He was not smiling at all.
He looked sort of down in the dumps.
“See, your owner took my pig,” I said to Bobo. “At least, I’m pretty sure he did. And so if I take you, then Wyatt will see how I feel and then he’ll give Hamilton back and then I’ll give you back.”
I tucked Bobo under the covers.
All of a sudden I thought of Mom tucking me in.
She would see Bobo. And she would ask me where he came from.
“Roscoe,” she would say, “I don’t believe I’ve met this guy.”
I would have to admit I was a bear-napper.
And I was almost positive for sure that Mom would not approve.
I pulled Bobo out of bed.
I searched around my room for a good hiding place.
I put Bobo in my dirty clothes basket. All kinds of things like to hide in there.
Right under my very muddy jeans.
Hazel and I were playing dinosaur digger-upper that day.
Bobo peeked one sad eye out from under my jeans.
Plus his one ear.
He was lonely. I could tell.
It was hard to figure how he could miss that mean old Wyatt.
I got my armadillo, Geraldo. He was napping under my bed.
“Bobo,” I said, “allow me to introduce Geraldo.”
I tucked Geraldo in next to Bobo.
I closed my closet door.
At least Bobo would have some company tonight.
Unlike me and Wyatt.
10
Plum
When I woke up the next morning, there was a wet Wheaties flake on my nose.
Max was standing by my bed. Holding a bowl of cereal.
He tossed another Wheaties flake at me.
I sat up and ate it.
“Dad told me to wake you up,” Max said.
I yawned. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”
“How come?” Max asked.
I pointed to my closet. “I think maybe there’s a ghost in there,” I said.
“Cool,” Max said. He slurped down more cereal.
“Max,” I said, “did you ever do anything bad so that something good would happen?”
“Sure,” Max said. “But the bad part always catches up with you. And then Dad and Mom make you sweep out the garage as punishment.”
I pulled the covers over my head. Sometimes big brothers really are right about stuff.
Max yanked all the covers off me.
Sometimes big brothers are right. But mostly they’re just really annoying.
At recess I didn’t feel like playing.
Even though Gus found a dead toad with its guts gooing out.
Which usually I wouldn’t want to miss, of course.
I sat on a swing. But I didn’t actually swing.
Down on the other end of the swing set, Wyatt was also not swinging.
Ms. Diz came over. She was wearing a pink-and-green scarf.
“Look at you two,” she said. “You both seem awfully glum.”
“Plum?” I repeated.
“Glum,” Ms. Diz said. “Sad.”
“I miss Bobo,” Wyatt said. “When I got home yesterday, he was missing from my backpack. Just like Hamilton!”
“I miss Hamilton,” I said back.
I gave him a look that said pig-napper.
“My goodness,” said Ms. Diz. “We’re having quite an epidemic of disappearing animals!”
She looked at me. Then she looked at Wyatt.
Then she looked at both of us and shook her head.
Wyatt just sat there.
He didn’t even have the heart to say a mean bully thing.
He looked like I felt.
Which was awfully plum.
The next morning was party day.
But I was not feeling at all party-ful.
I still did not have Hamilton back.
And I still did have Bobo.
“Roscoe?” Mom said as I headed out the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to bring Geraldo to school today?”
“Nope,” I said. “Armadillos are not really party animals, Mom.”
As we walked toward the bus stop, I heard Max calling my name.
“Hey, Roscoe,” he yelled. “Heads up!”
I turned around. Something blue and floppy was flying through the air.
I caught it.
It was a blue, dirty, droopy dog.
“Who’s this?” I asked. “He looks kind of familiar.”
Max ran up to join me. “That’s my dog. Blueberry.”
He unzipped my backpack. “Quick, put him in here before the bus comes.”
I squinted my eyes. “Wait a minute. You said you don’t have a stuffed animal.”
Max shrugged and said, “Roscoe, Roscoe, Roscoe. When are you going to learn? You should only believe your big brother half the time.”
“Thanks, Max.”
I tried to give him a hug. He yanked away.
“Bus, Roscoe,” Max said. “Where’s your pride, kid?”
I opened my zipper. “So he can breathe,” I explained.
Max grinned. “You’re all right,” he said. “For a weenie.”
Blueberry fit in with all the other animals.
Emma brought
her gorilla.
Gus brought a stuffed snake. It was maybe six feet long.
Wyatt brought a white bunny. He said he borrowed it from his brother.
That bully boy still looked pretty sad.
Ms. Diz even brought a stuffed animal. It was a kangaroo. And was that guy ever old!
He had patches. He was missing one eye. And his tail was all tattered. From a bad washing machine experience.
Mr. Goosegarden showed up with his old stuffed bear.
We sat in a circle and told about our animals.
Everybody looked a little embarrassed at first.
But before long we were all having fun.
It made me sad to think that Hamilton was missing out.
He loves a good party.
I had a feeling Wyatt was missing Bobo, too.
It turned out we all had favorite animals.
We slept with them.
And drooled on them.
And told them our troubles.
Because whether they were snakes or dogs or teddy bears or porcupines, they were all very good listeners.
11
A Very Unusual Football
“Cheer up, Roscoe,” said Emma on the bus that afternoon.
“I’ll bet Hamilton is just playing hide-and-seek,” said Gus. “A really, really long game of hide-and-seek.”
Some kids in the middle of the bus were throwing a football back and forth.
“No throwing things!” shouted the bus driver.
“Or maybe he went on a trip,” said Emma.
“Yeah,” said Gus. “Maybe he’s flying around the world. He could be anywhere by now!”
I sighed.
The ball flew past us.
It was big and pink. And fluffy.
It was for sure not a football.
“Touchdown!” yelled one of the kids.
“No football on the bus!” yelled the driver.
“That’s not a football,” Emma pointed out. “It’s fuzzy. And it’s wearing a dress.”
I looked.
I swallowed.
I jumped right out of my seat.
Even though that’s a really bad idea on a bus.
“THAT’S NOT A FOOTBALL! THAT’S MY PIG!!!” I screamed.
The throwing stopped.