Everyone stared at him.
Myron took one for himself. He sat in the teacher’s chair, with his feet up on the teacher’s desk, and sucked on it.
“Please stop, Myron!” begged Jenny. “What if he’s hiding in the closet?”
“Get real!” said Myron. “Why would he hide in the closet?”
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“What if Mr. Gorf was married to Mrs. Gorf?” asked Allison.
Myron laughed. “Who would ever want to marry Mrs. Gorf?” he asked.
“Somebody had to marry her,” said Rondi. “Or else she wouldn’t have been a Mrs.”
“What if he loved her very much?” asked Allison. “And then one day she didn’t come home from work. And he never saw her again. And he didn’t know what happened to her. But he knew she used to teach this class! So he might be hiding in the closet to try to find out if we’re the ones who got rid of her.”
“If I was married to Mrs. Gorf,” said Jason, “I’d be glad she never came home. He should thank us.”
“Nice going, Jason!” said Jenny. “If he is hiding in the closet, you just told him we’re the ones who got rid of his wife.”
“Well, if I didn’t, you just did,” said Jason.
“It doesn’t matter!” shouted Myron. “Because Mr. Gorf is not hiding in the closet!”
Myron went to the back of the room and opened the closet door.
A man stepped out. “Thank you,” he said. “I accidentally locked myself in here this morning, and I’ve been waiting for someone to open the door.”
Myron swallowed his Tootsie Roll Pop, stick and all.
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Chapter 11
Voices
“My name is Mr. Gorf,” said the man who stepped out of the closet.
And, surprising as it may seem, the children weren’t afraid.
It was his voice. His voice was full of comfort and wisdom, like an old leather chair in a dusty library. It didn’t matter what he said. It felt good just to listen to him.
He was a handsome man, with neatly combed brown hair and clean fingernails. He carried a brown briefcase.
Nobody even noticed that his nose had three nostrils.
“Since I am going to be your teacher for the next few months, let me tell you a bit about myself. I was born in the Himalayan Mountains in a town called Katmandu.”
“Cat Man Do,” said Terrence. “Cool.”
Everyone laughed. They weren’t laughing at Terrence. There was just something about the name of that city and the way Terrence said it.
Terrence’s voice was like a rusty drainpipe.
“Have you ever been married?” asked Allison. Allison’s voice was like a cat walking across a piano.
“No, I’m a bachelor,” said Mr. Gorf.
Allison smiled, greatly relieved.
“Well, that’s enough about me,” said Mr. Gorf. “How about some of you telling me about yourselves?”
“My name is Mac,” said Mac, without raising his hand. Mac’s voice was like a freight train. “I built the biggest snowman you ever saw. Man, it was huge. I had to stand on a ladder to put the hat on his head. It was a stovepipe hat, like Abraham Lincoln wore, but I don’t know why they call it that. We have a microwave oven. Have you ever put a bag of marshmallows in a microwave oven? Man, it’s like—”
Mr. Gorf’s nose flared.
His right nostril flared to the right. His left nostril flared to the left. And the hole in the middle seemed to get larger.
Mac coughed. He tried to speak, but no words came out.
“Thank you, Mac,” said Mr. Gorf. “Anyone else?”
Deedee raised her hand.
“Yes, young lady,” said Mr. Gorf.
Deedee giggled. She liked the way he said “young lady.” “My name is Deedee,” she said. Her voice was small, but full of energy, like a superball. “I like soccer and Ninja Turtles. My favorite—”
Mr. Gorf’s nose flared.
Deedee lost her voice too.
“Who’s next?” asked Mr. Gorf. “Yes, the girl in the polka-dot shirt.”
“My name’s Maurecia,” said Maurecia. “I have two brothers and one sister.”
Maurecia’s voice was like a pineapple milkshake.
Mr. Gorf sucked it up through his nose.
“Hey, what’s going—,” said Todd.
Todd was silent.
“Look at his nose!” shouted Eric Bacon. “It has—”
Eric Bacon had nothing else to say.
“Nobody say anyth—,” Jenny tried to warn. Her voice disappeared up Mr. Gorf’s nose.
Soon the class was quiet.
Mr. Gorf’s middle nostril had snorted all of their voices.
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Except for Allison. She remained silent. She knew she’d only get one chance to speak, and she had to wait for just the right moment.
“What good little boys and girls you are,” said Mr. Gorf. “So nice and quiet.” He laughed.
“Of course, this isn’t my real voice,” he said. “I stole this voice from a gentleman I met in Scotland.”
He touched the tip of his nose.
“This is my voice!” he squawked.
If a donkey could talk, and if the donkey had a sore throat, and if it spoke with a French accent — that was what Mr. Gorf’s voice sounded like.
But what he said next was even more horrible than his voice.
“Mrs. Gorf was my mommy.”
The children sat frozen in their chairs, too scared to move.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door.
Mr. Gorf touched his nose. “Who is it?” he asked in the pleasant voice he stole from the Scottish gentleman.
“Miss Mush,” said Miss Mush from the other side of the door. “I just came up to say hello and welcome you to Wayside School.”
“That’s very nice of you, Miss Mush,” said Mr. Gorf. “But we’re very busy right now. Maybe we can get together for tea and crumpets sometime.”
Miss Mush giggled. “That sounds lovely,” she said. “By the way, Mr. Gorf, are you married?”
“No, I’m single,” said Mr. Gorf.
“So am I,” said Miss Mush.
“Miss Mush!” shouted Allison. “Help! Mr. Gorf is taking—”
Mr. Gorf’s nose flared.
“Did you say something, Allison?” asked Miss Mush.
Mr. Gorf touched his nose. Then he spoke, this time using Allison’s voice. “Mr. Gorf is taking us on a field trip next week. But he might need help. Do you want to come with us?”
“Maybe,” said Miss Mush. “Thank you, Allison.”
“Oh, don’t thank me,” said Allison’s voice. “Thank Mr. Gorf. He’s the best teacher in the whole world!”
“I’m glad,” said Miss Mush. “He sounds very charming.”
“And so do you,” said Mr. Gorf, speaking like the gentleman from Scotland. He touched his nose.
“See you later, Miss Mush,” said the voice of Eric Ovens.
“Take care,” said Calvin’s voice.
“Have a nice day,” said Kathy’s voice.
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Chapter 12
Nose
Mr. Gorf locked the door. “I don’t want any more interruptions,” he said.
Very quietly, Leslie slipped a piece of paper out of her desk. Then she felt around for a pencil.
Mr. Gorf returned to the teacher’s desk. He opened the top drawer and took out the class list. It had the names of all the children in the class, their parents’ names, and their parents’ home and work phone numbers.
“Let’s play a game!” he said, speaking in his own, normal,
French-donkey-with-a-sore-throat voice. “The name of the game is Who Am I Now?”
Leslie found a pencil. She held the piece of paper on her lap, where Mr. Gorf couldn’t see it, and wrote HELP in big letters. She had to get it to Louis, the yard teacher.
Mr. Gorf touched the tip of his nose. “Who am I now?” he asked.
It was a girl’s voice, soft and warm, with just a little bit of a giggle in it.
Everyone looked at Rondi.
“Rondi,” said Mr. Gorf. He opened his briefcase and removed a portable phone. He dialed Rondi’s home number.
“Hello, Mommy,” Mr. Gorf said into the phone, using Rondi’s voice. “No, nothing’s wrong. I just called to say I hate you! You’re the worst mommy in the whole world. You’re ugly and you smell bad! It’s not fair! Out of all the mommies in the world, I got stuck with you!”
He hung up the phone.
Rondi sat crying in her chair.
Mr. Gorf touched his nose. “Isn’t this a good game?” he asked, sounding very much like a sick French donkey. “Rondi is crying. And at home, her mother is crying too.” He laughed. “Too bad you won’t ever be able to tell her you’re sorry, Rondi.”
Leslie carefully folded the piece of paper into a paper airplane. There was one open window, next to Sharie’s desk.
Mr. Gorf touched his nose. “Who am I now?” he asked.
Everyone tried not to look at Joe.
Mr. Gorf called Joe’s mother at work. “Hello, Mommy,” he said. “I hate you! I wish you’d go away forever! Then maybe Daddy will marry somebody good this time.”
Leslie knew she’d only have one chance. It would take a perfect throw. She tossed the paper airplane toward the window.
Mr. Gorf saw it. “Hey!” he shouted.
The airplane sailed closer … closer … but then at the last second it made a sudden turn, hit the wall, and landed on the floor.
Mr. Gorf laughed. He picked up the airplane and unfolded it. “Help,” he sneered. “No one can help you now! You took my mommy away from me. And I’m going to take your mommies away from you!”
He touched his nose.
“Who am I now?” he asked.
It was Leslie’s voice.
He started to dial her home phone number but was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Oh, Mr. Gorf!” sang Miss Mush.
“Yes,” said Mr. Gorf, still in Leslie’s voice. He touched his nose and cleared his throat. “I mean, yes?” This time he sounded like a donkey with tonsillitis. He touched his nose again. “Yes?” he asked in the pleasant voice he took from the Scottish gentleman.
“It’s me again,” said Miss Mush. Miss Mush’s voice was like two boots sloshing through mud. “I baked you a pie, Mr. Gorf. To welcome you to Wayside School.”
Mr. Gorf sighed. “You are very kind, Miss Mush,” he said. “But we are all quite busy at the moment. Perhaps another—”
“It’s best to eat it while it’s still warm,” said Miss Mush. “You probably don’t get fresh pies very often. Being a bachelor and all.”
“I really hate to disturb the class,” said Mr. Gorf. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll just come outside a moment, and you can hand it to me.”
He glared at the class, daring them to move. Then he opened the door.
“I hope you like pepper pie,” said Miss Mush. She smashed it in his face.
Mr. Gorf turned around. His face was covered with a thick pepper cream. He sneezed.
Calvin laughed.
“Hey, my voice is back!” said Calvin. “Wait a second. This isn’t my voice. I sound like Bebe!”
Mr. Gorf sneezed again.
“I can talk!” shouted Jenny. “But who am I?”
Mr. Gorf sneezed.
“You’re Maurecia!” said Jason. Jason sounded like the gentleman from Scotland.
Mr. Gorf kept sneezing.
“Who might I be, sonny?” Paul cackled. He sounded like somebody’s grandmother.
Todd barked.
“AAAACHOOOO!!!!!!”
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Mr. Gorf sneezed so hard his nose flew off his face. He screamed like a donkey, then ran noseless out of the room.
“Oh, gross!” said Jason. “Now I sound like Allison.”
Bebe said something in Italian.
“Nobody panic,” said Miss Mush. “Your voices are bouncing around, trying to find where they belong. It might take a while, but soon you will be back to normal.”
“How do you know?” asked Leslie, although she sounded like Paul. “And how’d you know to smash a pepper pie in Mr. Gorf’s face?”
“I wasn’t exactly sure,” explained Miss Mush. “But when I came up the first time, I heard Kathy say ‘Have a nice day.’ So, either Kathy had decided to be nice to me, or Mr. Gorf was a mean teacher who sucked children’s voices up his nose.” She shrugged. “I just didn’t think Kathy would be nice.”
“Maybe if you learned to brush your teeth,” muttered Kathy.
Mr. Gorf’s nose lay on the floor. Miss Mush picked it up and put it in her apron pocket. “It will go good in spaghetti sauce,” she said.
Soon all the children had their real voices back. Rondi and Joe called their mothers on Mr. Gorf’s portable phone and told them they loved them.
While far away, in a small village in Scotland, a man who hadn’t spoken for twenty years turned to his wife and said, “Top of the morning to you, Tilly.”
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Chapter 13
The New Teacher
The new teacher entered the classroom carrying a big blue notebook stuffed with papers. She had white hair and wore glasses. She was a lot older than anyone else in the class.
She took a big breath. “My, it’s tiring walking up all those stairs, isn’t it?” she said.
Nobody said anything. They just stared at her.
She set her notebook on the teacher’s desk. “My name is Mrs. Drazil,” she said. “And I’m not from Brazil.” She smiled at her little joke.
Nobody else smiled. After Mrs. and Mr. Gorf, they didn’t trust teachers.
Drazil, thought Deedee. Where have I heard that name before?
“Where are you from?” asked Leslie.
“Actually, I was born not too far from here,” said Mrs. Drazil.
“Then why’d you say you came from Brazil?” asked Benjamin.
“No, I said I wasn’t from Brazil,” said Mrs. Drazil.
“Have you ever been to Brazil?” asked Eric Fry.
“No,” explained Mrs. Drazil. “It was just a little joke. Brazil rhymes with Drazil. I thought it might help you remember my name.”
Terrence laughed. “Drazil — Brazil!” he shouted. “That’s funny!”
Several other kids laughed too.
But not Deedee. She had heard of Mrs. Drazil somewhere. She was sure of it. And whatever she had heard, she was sure it wasn’t good.
“What’s a Brazil?” asked Eric Ovens.
“Brazil is the largest country in South America,” said Mrs. Drazil.
“Oh,” said Eric Ovens. “I thought it was one of those things that, you know, women wear, you know, on their bosom.”
Several kids laughed.
“No, that’s a brassiere,” said Mrs. Drazil.
There was more laughter.
Stephen was shocked. “She said ‘brassiere’!” he whispered. “Right in class!”
“I know, I heard her!” said Jason.
But Deedee still didn’t trust her, even if she did say “brassiere” right out loud.
There was a television show that Deedee liked to watch. It was about real criminals. At the end of the show, they always asked the viewers to call the police if they knew where
any of the criminals were.
Deedee wondered if she had seen Mrs. Drazil on that show.
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“Does anybody have any questions they’d like to ask me?” asked Mrs. Drazil.
Ron raised his hand.
Mrs. Drazil pointed to him.
“How old are you?” asked Ron.
Dana gasped. “You’re not supposed to ask someone that!” she said.
“Especially someone as old as Mrs. Drazil!” said Mac.
Mrs. Drazil smiled. “I don’t mind,” she said.
“I’m sixty-six years old. You can ask me anything you want.”
“Anything?” asked Joy.
“I’m a teacher,” said Mrs. Drazil. “That’s what I’m here for.”
Paul raised his hand. “How much do you weigh?” he asked.
“One hundred and twenty-four pounds,” said Mrs. Drazil.
“How much money do you make?” asked Eric Bacon.
“I’m a substitute teacher,” explained Mrs. Drazil. “So I only make money on days that I teach. Then I make fifty-one dollars and eighteen cents a day.”
“What a rip-off!” said Jenny. “You should make at least two hundred!”
“That would be nice,” said Mrs. Drazil. “But I’m a teacher because I love to teach. I love to see young children learn.”
Joy raised her hand. “How many men have you kissed in your whole life?”
Mrs. Drazil thought a moment as she appeared to be counting on her fingers. “Thirty-one,” she said.
Everyone gasped.
Deedee raised her hand.
Mrs. Drazil smiled at her. “Yes, the girl in the pretty flowered T-shirt.”
“Have you ever been in jail?” asked Deedee.
“No,” said Mrs. Drazil.
“Are the police after you?”
“No,” said Mrs. Drazil.
Deedee still didn’t trust her.
“Okay,” said Mrs. Drazil. “Before we get started I want to say one more thing. I enjoy teaching so much that sometimes I get a little carried away. I talk too much. So if I start to get boring, will somebody please raise your hand and tell me.”