The woman’s eyes closed.
Dr. Pickle put down the pickle. “Can you hear me?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the woman, in a low voice from deep inside her.
“You will do what I say,” said Dr. Pickle.
“I – will – do – what – you – say,” the woman repeated.
“I am going to count to five,” said Dr. Pickle. “And then you will wake up. And, as usual, you will want to smoke a cigarette.”
“I – will – want – to – smoke – a – cigarette,” the woman repeated.
“But when you put the cigarette in your mouth,” said Dr. Pickle, “it will feel just like a worm. A wiggling, slimy worm.”
“A – yucky – icky – worm,” repeated the woman.
“Good,” said Dr. Pickle. “Now just one more thing.” He rubbed his beard and smiled. “Whenever your husband says the word ‘potato,’ you will slap him across the face.”
“When – Fred – says – ‘potato’ – I – will – slap – his – face.”
“Good,” said Dr. Pickle. He counted to five.
The woman woke up.
“So do you think you can help me?” she asked in her normal voice, as she reached for her cigarette.
Dr. Pickle shrugged.
She put her cigarette in her mouth, then screamed as she pulled it out.
She looked at the cigarette, puzzled. “Hm?” she said. She placed it back in her mouth, then spit it out onto the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she said, a little confused. She picked up the cigarette and put it in the ashtray.
“That’s all right,” said Dr. Pickle.
She took out a new cigarette from her pack, but as soon as she put that in her mouth, she spit it out too.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”
She walked out of his office shaking her head. She dropped her pack of cigarettes in the trash.
She never smoked again.
It was an interesting thing about the word “potato.” Whenever Fred said it, she slapped him. And he’d ask her why she slapped him, but she never remembered slapping him, so they’d get in a big fight, each calling the other crazy. Then they’d kiss and make up, which was nice because her breath didn’t stink.
They never figured out it had anything to do with saying “potato.” How could they?
But deep down they both must have realized it somehow, because while they used to eat lots of potatoes, they gradually ate fewer and fewer, until they finally stopped eating them altogether.
Dr. Pickle was a good doctor, but he kept playing those kinds of jokes on people. There was a woman who quacked like a duck whenever she saw a freight train with more than twenty cars. There was a man who took off his shoe anytime someone said “parking meter.”
Eventually Dr. Pickle was caught, and he was no longer allowed to practice psychiatry. So he had to find another job.
He became a counselor at an elementary school.
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Chapter 5
A Story with a Disappointing Ending
Paul’s father was a security guard at a museum. The museum had a very famous painting.
It was painted by Leonardo da Vinci. It was called the Mona Lisa.
Next to the painting was a sign.
All day Paul’s father made sure nobody touched the painting.
At night, after the museum closed, Paul’s father was alone. Just him and the Mona Lisa.
And the sign. Do not touch! Do not touch! Do not …
He was dying to touch it. The tips of his fingers tingled with desire.
But this story isn’t about Paul’s father. It’s about Paul.
Paul was a student in Mrs. Jewls’s class. He sat behind Leslie.
Leslie had two long brown pigtails that reached down to her waist. They just hung there, all day, right in front of Paul’s face.
The Mona Leslie.
Do not touch! Do not touch! Do not …
Paul reached out, grabbed, and yanked!
“Yaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!” screamed Leslie.
Mrs. Jewls sent Paul to the counselor’s office.
The counselor’s office was on the fourth floor. Paul had never been there before.
Like every student in Wayside School, he was afraid of the counselor. The counselor had a very scary face, with big, bushy eyebrows and a little beard on his pointed chin.
Paul knocked on the door.
“Come in,” said the counselor.
Paul entered and sat down on the couch.
“What’s the problem?” asked the counselor.
“I pulled Leslie’s pigtails again,” said Paul. “I know it’s wrong, but I just can’t help myself.”
“Watch the pickle,” said the counselor.
Paul’s eyes went back and forth as he stared at the swaying pickle.
“You are getting sleepy,” said the counselor. “Your eyelids are getting heavy.”
Paul suddenly felt very tired. He could hardly keep his eyes open.
“When I count to three,” said the counselor, “you will fall into a deep, deep sleep. One … two … three.”
Paul closed his eyes. He wasn’t exactly asleep. He felt like he was living in a dream. But it was a very pleasant dream. He felt happy and safe.
“Can you hear me?” asked the counselor.
“Yes,” said Paul. He was no longer afraid of the counselor. In fact, he liked him a lot.
“You will do what I say,” said the counselor.
“I – will – do – what – you – say,” Paul repeated.
“I am going to count to five,” said the counselor. “And then you will wake up. You will return to your classroom. You will take your seat behind Leslie. You will want to pull one of her pigtails. But when you reach for it, it will turn into a rattlesnake.”
“Leslie’s – pigtails – are – rattlesnakes,” said Paul.
“Very good,” said the counselor. “Now just one more thing.” He rubbed his beard and smiled.
“When Leslie says the word ‘pencil,’ her ears will turn into candy. The most delicious candy in the world. The candy of your dreams.”
Paul licked his lips. He could almost taste the rich chocolate and chewy caramel.
“And you will try to eat the candy.”
“When – Leslie – says – ‘pencil’ – I – will – eat – her – ears,” said Paul.
The counselor counted to five.
Paul’s eyes blinked open.
“You may go back to class now,” said the counselor.
“I’m not in trouble?” asked Paul.
“No,” said the counselor.
Paul shrugged. He returned to class. As he passed Leslie, she stuck out her tongue at him.
He sat down behind her.
“What’d the counselor do to you?” asked Eric Fry.
“Nothing,” said Paul. “He’s a nice man.”
He looked at Leslie’s pigtails. He had pulled the one on the left. But he still wanted to pull the one on the right.
He lunged for it.
It hissed at him. Its tail rattled.
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He screamed and fell back over in his chair.
Everyone laughed.
“Paul, are you all right?” asked Mrs. Jewls.
“Uh, I guess so,” said Paul, getting back up.
He didn’t feel much like pulling Leslie’s pig-tails anymore.
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It was just a short while later that Leslie’s pencil point broke.
“Oh, great!” she complained.
“What’s the matter?” asked J
enny, who sat next to Leslie.
Leslie showed her the broken pencil point.
“You want to borrow mine?” asked Eric Fry, who sat behind Jenny.
“No, I’ll just go sharpen it,” said Leslie. She went to the back of the room and sharpened her pencil.
She returned to her seat. She set the pencil on her desk, but it rolled off when she sat down.
“Hey, where’d it go?” she asked, turning around.
“Where’d what go?” asked Paul.
“There it is,” said Jenny. “Under Paul’s desk.”
“What’s under my desk?” asked Paul.
“I’ll get it,” said Eric Fry. He reached under Paul’s desk, picked up the pencil, and handed it to Leslie.
She thanked him and everyone returned to work.
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Chapter 6
Pet Day
All the kids in Mrs. Jewls’s class brought a pet to school. The room was very noisy. Dogs barked. Cats meowed. A frog croaked. A pig squealed. A cow mooed. Birds tweeted.
Mrs. Jewls held up two fingers.
All the animals became quiet.
Stephen didn’t have a pet. So he brought an orange. He kept it in a cage on his desk so it couldn’t escape.
Todd brought Ralphie, his baby brother.
“Todd?” said Mrs. Jewls.
Todd barked.
“You cannot have a pet human,” said Mrs. Jewls.
“He doesn’t bite,” Todd assured her.
Joy told Todd to sit and be quiet.
Mrs. Jewls got a large piece of poster board from the supply closet. “Let’s make a chart,” she said.
Across the top of her chart she wrote, “Name of Kid,” “Kind of Pet,” “Name of Pet.”
She started with Deedee. She wrote “Deedee” under “Name of Kid.” “And you have a dog,” she said.
“Cat,” said Deedee.
“Cat?” asked Mrs. Jewls.
Deedee nodded as she petted her dog.
Mrs. Jewls moved on to Ron. “Ron, I see you have a cat.”
“Dog,” said Ron, as he stroked the cat on his lap.
Mrs. Jewls shrugged. “Okay,” she said.
“He’s my dog,” said D.J.
“Ron has your dog?” asked Mrs. Jewls.
“Ron has a cat,” said D.J.
“That’s what I thought,” said Mrs. Jewls. “But what—”
“What’s a dog,” said Jenny.
Mrs. Jewls covered her ears and shook her head. “Let’s start all over again,” said Mrs. Jewls. She got a new piece of poster board from the supply closet.
“Mac, what’s your dog’s name?”
“What’s my dog’s name,” said Jenny.
“I’m not talking to you, Jenny. I’m talking to Mac.”
“He can’t talk,” said Mac.
“Who can’t talk?” asked Mrs. Jewls.
“Mac,” said Mac.
Billy barked at Mac.
Mac barked at Billy.
Todd barked at both of them.
Joy made Todd lie down by her feet.
Mrs. Jewls moved on. “What’s your pet, Myron?” she asked.
“Your pet’s a turtle,” said Sharie.
“What?” asked Mrs. Jewls.
“What is Jenny’s pet,” said Sharie.
“Jenny’s pet is a dog!” said Mrs. Jewls. “What’s his name, Jenny?”
Jenny nodded. Her dog sat up straight and tall and seemed to smile at Mrs. Jewls.
“He’s handsome,” said Mrs. Jewls.
“My mouse is handsome,” said Benjamin. Benjamin had a little white mouse in a cage on his desk.
“If you like mice,” said Dana, making a face.
“Mrs. Jewls likes mice,” said Calvin. “She eats them.”
“Gross!” said Dana.
“He won’t come when you call him,” said Kathy. “He doesn’t know his name.”
Billy meowed.
“Will Mrs. Jewls eat yogurt?” asked John.
“No way!” said Calvin.
“I will too,” said Mrs. Jewls. “I like yogurt. I like strawberry best.”
Maurecia beamed. “Mrs. Jewls likes strawberry best,” she bragged.
“You shouldn’t pick favorites,” complained Dana.
“Do you like crackers, Mrs. Jewls?” asked Rondi.
“Don’t worry,” said Calvin. “Mrs. Jewls won’t eat crackers.”
“How do you know what I’ll eat, Calvin?” asked Mrs. Jewls, a little annoyed. “I like eating crackers with cheese on top.”
“Oh, gross!” said Myron.
“He won’t come when you call him,” Kathy said again.
“Mac! Keep Mac away from my socks!” shouted Allison.
“Wait,” said Jason. “Now you’ve got my socks, and I’ve got your socks.”
“I can tell the difference between my socks and your socks, Jason,” said Allison.
Mrs. Jewls covered her ears and shook her head. She moved on. “What’s your pet, Dameon?” she asked.
“I already told you he was a turtle,” said Sharie.
“I wasn’t talking to you, Sharie,” said Mrs. Jewls. “I was talking to Dameon.”
“Your nose a ferret,” said Dameon.
“My nose a ferret?” asked Mrs. Jewls.
“My nose a hamster,” said Joe.
Billy bleated.
Mrs. Jewls licked her leg.
“Hey, Paul,” said Leslie. “I like your pigtails.”
“Thanks,” said Paul. “May I touch your pajamas?”
“Go ahead,” said Bebe, who was already petting Leslie’s pajamas. “She won’t scratch you.”
“This is crazy!” shouted Terrence.
“He’s cute,” said Dana.
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Chapter 7
A Bad Word
Early in the morning, a white limousine drove up to Wayside School.
Just like always.
The chauffeur got out of the car, then opened the passenger door.
Just like always.
Mr. Kidswatter stepped out of the car. “Thank you, James,” he said.
“My name is David,” said the chauffeur.
Just like always.
Mr. Kidswatter entered the school building.
“Good morning, Mr. Kidswatter,” said Mrs. Day, the school secretary. She handed him a cup of hot coffee.
Just like always.
“Thank you, Miss Night,” said Mr. Kidswatter.
He walked into his office.
Except his office door was closed.
He smashed into it, spilling coffee all over his green suit.
“Who closed my door?” he demanded.
“Why didn’t you just open it?” asked Mrs. Day.
“It’s always open in the morning,” said Mr. Kidswatter. “How was I supposed to know it was closed this time?”
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Up on the thirtieth story, Mrs. Jewls took roll.
Todd was absent.
“Oh dear, I hope Todd is all right,” said Mrs. Jewls.
“Todd’s never all right!” said Joy.
She and Maurecia laughed.
Dameon looked at Mrs. Jewls. Ever since he returned to Wayside School, he’d thought there was something different about her, but he still couldn’t figure out what it was.
Mr. Kidswatter’s voice came over the P.A. system. “Good morning, boys and girls.”
There was the usual pause.
“Today I want to talk about doors,” said Mr. Kidswatter.
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“This should be interesting,” said Mrs. Jewls.
“Do you know how many doors there are in this school building?” asked Mr. Kidswatter.
Mrs. Jewls shook her head.
“Well, there are a lot! Over thirty! And some of you probably have doors at home too. Maybe more than one. All those doors. Think about it.”
“Well, Mr. Kidswatter has certainly given us something to think about this morning,” said Mrs. Jewls.
“So remember,” said Mr. Kidswatter. “And please be careful! Always check to see if a door is open before going through it. And if it’s not open, open it. If you can’t open it yourself, ask someone to open it for you. This may not make a lot of sense to you now, but someday you’ll thank me.”
Mrs. Jewls looked around the class. “That’s good advice,” she said. “I think most of you already knew it, but at least it’s nice to know we have a principal who cares.”
“I hate doors!” shouted Mr. Kidswatter. “It’s a dumb word. Door. Door. Door. Who made up that word, anyway?”
Mrs. Jewls waited a little longer, but Mr. Kidswatter seemed to be finished. “Some people just don’t like doors,” she said.
“I have made a new rule!” declared Mr. Kidswatter. “You may no longer say that word. You know what word I mean — but don’t say it! Instead, I have made up a new word for you: ‘Goozack.’ Open the goozack. Shut the goozack. Lock the goozack. Don’t you think that’s a better word? I do. From now on, that other word is a bad word. I have made my decision.”
Everyone turned around and looked at the goozack.
Suddenly it opened.
Todd entered. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said.
“That’s okay,” said Mrs. Jewls. “I’m just glad you’re not sick or hurt.”
“My dad locked his keys in the car,” Todd explained. “We had to use a coat hanger to unlock the door.”
Everyone gasped.
Mrs. Jewls made Todd write his name on the blackboard under the word DISCIPLINE.
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Chapter 8
Santa Claus
’Twas the last day of school
Before winter vacation,
And the children were having