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She grabbed Whitaker's bowl of cornflakes before he had finished them. He hadn't had the chance to fling even
one
cornflake. “Oh,” Mrs. Murphy added, “I talked to Mrs. Hunter earlier. She said that Jeff would be waiting for you on his porch at eight-fifteen. And from there you can both walk past Gordy's house. Mrs. Lucas will have him ready by twenty-after. Then the three of you can walk together. Just like last year.”

Whitaker ran upstairs with the honest intention of brushing his teeth. But first he went to his room and picked up his dictionary. Page 242. That was the exact middle. And that's where he kept the new letter from Frogman and the remains of the old one. While he was deciding if he should take the letter to school with him, his eyes darted across the page, from word to word. His favorite words on page 242 were Martian, marzipan, and mash.

“Whitaker James,” Mrs. Murphy screamed from the stairway, “hurry up!”

In reflex, Whitaker grabbed the letter and Pimple—forgetting about his teeth—and bounded down the stairs.

Mrs. Murphy immediately spotted Pimple and the letter.

“You cannot bring that snail to school.” Cringing, she took Pimple from Whitaker and temporarily set him on the TV. “And that letter—I thought your father had a talk with you about that.”

“Oh, he did,” Whitaker said, taking off for the front door.

Worried and uncertain how to handle the situation, Mrs. Murphy simply held the door open for Whitaker. She tried to kiss him good-bye, but he slipped out from under her.

“Be good,” she called. She watched him until he turned the corner onto Blake Avenue. Molly watched too.

Whitaker stopped at Jeff's house as arranged. Then Jeff and Whitaker stopped at Gordy's house. The three of them walked to Lincoln Elementary together. Just like last year.

On the way, they tossed stones at the stop signs. They wrote the words “Help! Let Me Out!” on the dusty trunks of four cars parked on Summit Avenue. They placed a row of apples (from the orchard on Summit) across the middle of the road, and sat on the curb to wait for a car to drive by and crush them. And they talked about Miss Smathers.

“My mom says that Miss Smathers's first name is Gladys,” Gordy said. “My mom also said that they went to school together and that she's been fat all her life.”

“Gladys,” Whitaker said, grinning, thinking that the name fit her perfectly.

“My sister Joyce says that Miss Smathers can get real mean,” Jeff said. “I'll bet if she sat on you, she'd kill you.”

“I wish she'd sit on Mr. Wolfe,” Whitaker said hopefully, remembering his numerous run-ins with the principal.

“Look, you guys!” Jeff shouted.

A school bus was barreling down Summit, heading straight for the apples. In seconds some of the apples were smashed, bits sent off in all directions. Others rolled haphazardly into the gutter.

“That was the best roadblock ever!” Gordy yelled.

“Roadblock!” Whitaker shrieked. “That's what we should call Miss Smathers.”

“Great!” Jeff said. “She sure looks like a roadblock.”

“Wait till we tell the rest of the class,” Gordy said, smirking.

They laughed the rest of the way.

R
OOM
103
SMELLED THE WAY
Whitaker remembered Room 102 smelling last year—of chalk and paper and tempera paint and books and newly sharpened pencils. Twenty-seven small desks were arranged in five rows—three rows of five and two rows of six. One large desk was at the front of the room, facing the twenty-seven small desks. As is typical of a first day of school, the room was very clean and neat and precisely organized. Even the floor shone.

Everyone was there. Whitaker, Jeff, and Gordy. Susan and Bud and Stephanie and Henry and Joey and Franny and Bill and Cynthia and Kathleen and Bruce and Roger and Gertrude and Aaron and Libby and P.J. and Pam and Sam and Frederick and Ava and Webster and Dudley and Ada and Ryan.

There was also a new girl Whitaker didn't know, but soon would.

And of course, Miss Smathers.

“Good morning, children, and welcome to Room 103,” Miss Smathers said in greeting. She wrote her name on the blackboard (it was actually dull green) in squat, rounded letters. “I'm Miss Smathers and I'm looking forward to a year of learning and fun with you.” When she talked, she enunciated each word so extensively that her mouth appeared to be moving in exaggerated slow motion. Her lips rolling. Teeth protruding.

“Your names are labeled on the upper left-hand corner of each desk. Let's quietly search for our names and sit in our designated seats.”

Not so quietly, the children shuffled and climbed around and over the desks until everyone had located his or her own place.

Whitaker ended up in the middle row, second from the front. Kathleen sat on one side of him, P.J. on the other. Gordy sat in front of him and the new girl behind. Jeff was half-way across the room.

“Settle down, settle down,” Miss Smathers commanded, slow and loud. Sitting down at her desk and fluffing her hair, she continued in a softer voice, “That's much better. Now, why don't we go up and down each row? Say your name and tell us something about yourself. I'll follow along with my seating chart. That way I can connect your names with your faces, and we'll all be better acquainted.”

Henry was first.

“I'm Henry,” he said quietly. It's hard to be first, so that's all he said.

Franny was next and less bashful.

“My name is Franny C. Burns. Franny is short for Francine. The C is for Constance. I have a brother, Franklin, who spits his food all over the place. He's one-and-a-half years old.” Franny imitated her brother to a delighted response from the other students. Miss Smathers exercised her mouth, and everyone knew that meant to be quiet.

Then came Roger.

“Roger is my first name. Mahoney is my last name. And I'm not saying my middle name because it's stupid.”

As to be expected, the students started guessing. “Filbert?” “Delmar?” “Ignatius?”

Once again, Miss Smathers exercised her mouth. Once again, quiet.

Pam told about her trip to Madison. Bruce demonstrated how to tie a square knot using the drawstring from his sweatshirt. Libby, who lived on a farm, told about the birth of her foal Morocco. Ryan, who had six brothers and four sisters, said all their names in order from youngest to oldest. He only had to start over three times.

When it was Jeff's turn, he explained the finer points of creating successful apple roadblocks. He almost told Miss Smathers about how he and Whitaker and Gordy thought “Roadblock” would be a good name for her. But he didn't.

Gordy looked straight at Miss Smathers and said, “My name is Gordon Lucas, but everyone calls me Gordy. My mother's name is Donna Lucas. Before she married my father, William, her name was Donna Hoover. She says she went to school with you and—”

“Next!” Miss Smathers exploded, remembering her school days and not looking forward to Gordy's mother's version of them.

Whitaker, checking to make sure that his prized letter was still in his shirt pocket, was trying to decide if he should tell the class about Frogman's correspondence. He hadn't even told Gordy and Jeff yet. It was one of those things—so special—that you tend to keep to yourself. And anyway, what if no one believed?

Not ready to share his choice information, Whitaker said that he was named after his grandfather, Whitaker James Murphy. He also said that he wished that summer vacation lasted much longer than it did.

“Now!” Miss Smathers exclaimed. “As you probably have realized, behind Whitaker is a new face. New to Lincoln Elementary. New to Franklinville. New to Wisconsin.”

Miss Smathers motioned for the girl to rise. The girl did, beaming.

Whitaker turned around to get a better look at her. She was thin, with wispy strawlike blond hair.

“My name is Felicity Cooper,” she said, maintaining an enormous smile even as she spoke. “I'm from California and I'm going to be an actress. We moved to Wisconsin because I've never experienced the four seasons the way my father says they were meant to be experienced. I've never seen snow or a cow, except in pictures, and my father thought that this was as good a place as any to see them in person.”

“What a very nice story,” Miss Smathers said. “And what a very beautiful name you have.” Miss Smathers repeated Felicity's name, in song, four times—fluttering her hands in rhythm, eyes closed. “How lucky you are to own that name,” she added with envy.

Meaning no harm, Felicity asked, “What is
your
first name, Miss Smathers?”

“Next!” Miss Smathers bellowed, ignoring the question.

Without hesitation, Whitaker screamed, “GLADYS! Her name is GLADYS!”

Instantly, the class was roused and giggling and saying, “Gladys?” “Gladys!” “GLADYS!!”

And guess who had to stay after school, on the very first day?

B
ECAUSE IT WAS THE FIRST DAY
of school, Mrs. Murphy had a tableful of chocolate-chip cookies waiting when Whitaker got home. They were delicious.

And because it was the first day of school and Mrs. Murphy had baked the cookies and was too tired to cook dinner, the Murphys went to the Big Bear Hamburger Heaven to eat. It was delicious, too. At least for a while.

“Should we drive through and eat in the car, or should we eat inside the restaurant?” Mr. Murphy asked.

“In the car,” Whitaker said. “That way we get to talk into the bear when we order.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” Molly said in agreement.

Although Mrs. Murphy preferred sitting in the restaurant, she was so delighted that Whitaker and Molly were agreeing that she didn't say a word.

The bear said, “May I take your order?” and “Thank you,” and “That will be $9.58,” and “Drive around to the side, please.”

“How come the bear looks like a boy, but talks like a girl?” Molly asked.

“The bear is a man, but the voice you heard is the lady he ate for dinner,” Whitaker said in a serious voice. “And you can be his dessert.”

Molly looked horrified. Mrs. Murphy rolled her eyes. Mr. Murphy snickered and tried to explain to Molly how a lady inside the building was talking into a microphone. And that it only sounded as if she was inside the bear.

Molly was as confused as ever, but by the time she ate her first french fry, the only thing she was thinking about was food.

“Molly told me all about her school, when I came home for lunch,” Mr. Murphy said. “But how was your first day, Whit?”

Setting down his Bear Burger with everything, plus extra onions, Whitaker answered, “It was all right. We got a new kid who smiles a lot, who never saw a cow or snow. And we got a lot of old kids, too. And the teacher is fat.”

“Your mom says you were a little late coming home after school. Is that right?”

His mouth was full, but Whitaker replied just the same. “I thought I'd help the teacher fix up the room after school. Nice of me, huh?”

“You're sure you weren't in any trouble?”

Whitaker nodded, not wanting to worry his parents.

Molly was playing with her pickle when she asked, “Why do they call them Bear Burgers?”

“Because they're made of dead bears, why do you think?” Whitaker replied, slurping his chocolate shake.

Molly made a horrible face.

“Whit, cut it out,” Mr. Murphy said. He tried to reassure Molly. “The owner of the restaurant is named Clayton Bear. And he makes the burgers. So that's why they're called Bear Burgers.”

All Molly kept thinking of was her Teddy—between buns with ketchup and mustard—so she gave her burger to Whitaker and concentrated on her fries.

“For some reason, I can't finish my burger, either,” Mrs. Murphy said, holding her stomach.

“No problem. I can handle it,” Mr. Murphy said.