School Days According to Humphrey

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G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS

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Copyright © 2011 by Betty G. Birney.

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Published simultaneously in Canada.

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Birney, Betty G. School days according to Humphrey / Betty G. Birney. p. cm. Summary: Humphrey the hamster is puzzled when unfamiliar students fill Mrs. Brisbane's classroom at summer's end, but he soon learns that his friends from last year are fine and that the new class needs his special help. [1. Schools—Fiction. 2. Hamsters—Fiction. 3. Frogs—

Fiction. 4. Friendship—Fiction.] I. Title. PZ7.B52285Fr 2011 [Fic]—dc22 2010014792

ISBN : 978-1-101-51624-9

To Humphrey's unsqueakably
faithful fans everywhere.

 

And special thanks to Rita de Leeuw for her
invaluable assistance with this book.

I
t was a quiet morning in Room 26, so quiet that all I could hear was the SCRATCH-SCRATCH-SCRATCH-ing of my pencil as I wrote in my little notebook.

“I'm writing a poem about the end of summer, Og,” I squeaked to my neighbor, the classroom frog. (I am Humphrey, the classroom hamster.) “I'll read you what I have so far.”

Og splashed gently in his tank as I continued.

I stopped because there was nothing more to read.

“BOING?” Og twanged. Green frogs like him don't say “ribbit.” They make a sound like a broken guitar string. “BOING-BOING!”

“I haven't finished it yet, Og,” I explained. “I have to find a word that rhymes with
hollow. Wallow?
Or
swallow
?”

I stared down at the page again.

Og dived down deeply in his tank, splashing noisily.

“I don't think much of that line, either,” I replied. “I'll try again.”

Just then, our teacher, Mrs. Brisbane, came bustling into the room, carrying a stack of papers. As usual, I quickly hid my notebook behind the mirror in my cage. As much as I love humans, some things are better kept private.

“After all my years of teaching, I should have known by now that on the first day of school, the line for the copy machine would be out the door,” Mrs. Brisbane said.

She stacked the papers on her desk and stared up at the chalkboard and the bulletin boards, which were bare, except for a list of rules in Mrs. Brisbane's neat printing.

I'd copied those rules in my notebook while Mrs. Brisbane was down at the office and I intended to memorize them as soon as possible.

Mrs. Brisbane glanced up at the clock. “School will start soon,” she said, turning toward the table by the window where Og and I spend most of our time. “In case you two are interested.”

“I am!” I said, and I meant it.

Even though I was sorry that summer was ending, I was GLAD-GLAD-GLAD to be back in good old Room 26 again. After the last camp session was over, my friend Ms. Mac brought me back to the house where Mrs. Brisbane and her husband, Bert, live. Og and I spent a few weeks with them.

I love to go to the Brisbanes' house, but it was so quiet there, I was looking forward to seeing my classmates again. Some of them had been at camp, like A.J., Garth, Miranda and Sayeh. But I hadn't seen some of the others for an unsqueakably long time!

The door swung open and in walked the Most Important Person at Longfellow School, Principal Morales. Mrs. Brisbane is in charge of a whole class of students, but Mr. Morales is in charge of the whole school.

As usual, he was wearing an interesting tie. This one had little books in many different colors.

“Morning, Sue,” he said to Mrs. Brisbane. “Ready to go?”

“As ready as I'll ever be,” she said.

He walked over to our table by the window. “Guys, I hope you're all set to go back to work.”

“YES-YES-YES,” I answered, wishing that he could hear more than just the usual “SQUEAK-SQUEAK-SQUEAK” humans hear.

“BOING!” Og agreed.

“Good,” the principal said, glancing up at the clock. “I'd better be outside to meet the buses. Have a great one, Sue.”

“You too,” Mrs. Brisbane said.

She hurried back to her desk and studied a piece of paper, then began muttering strange words like “feebeeharrykelsey.”

Goodness, were we going to be learning a new language this year?

“Thomasrosiepaul.”

Did she say
Paul
? I knew that word. It was the name of a boy who had come into our class for math last year.

I was about to point this out to Og when the bell rang as loud as ever. No matter how long I'm a student in Room 26, I'll never get used to that noisy bell.

Mrs. Brisbane opened the classroom door and soon, students started to come in.

I realized right away that something was wrong.
Terribly
wrong.

Mrs. Brisbane smiled as the students entered.

“Take a seat,” she said. “Any seat.”

I climbed up high in my cage to get a better look.

“Who are these kids, Og?” I asked my neighbor. “I've never seen any of them before!”

“BOING!” he answered, splashing noisily.

More unfamiliar students came into the room. One of them was a girl who whizzed by in her wheelchair. Another was a boy who was really tall. He was as tall as our teacher—maybe taller!

“Just take a seat, children.” How could Mrs. Brisbane sound so cheery, knowing these students didn't belong in Room 26?

As the classroom hamster, I felt I had to squeak up.

“You're in the wrong room!” I squeaked. “This is not your room, go back!”

“Welcome,” Mrs. Brisbane told the students. “Take a seat.”

“Wrong room!” I scrambled to the tippy top of my cage. “This is Room Twenty-six!”

Unfortunately, my voice is small and squeaky and I guess nobody heard me, because the students went ahead and sat down.

Mrs. Brisbane kept on smiling and nobody budged. Oh, how I wished I had a loud voice like my old friend Lower-Your-Voice-A.J.

When the bell rang again, my heart sank. Mrs. Brisbane is a GREAT-GREAT-GREAT teacher and pretty smart for a human. Why didn't she notice that her class was full of the wrong students?

“Og? What should we do?” I asked my froggy friend.

This time he didn't answer. I guess he was as confused as I was.

“Hey, Humphrey! It's me! Hi!” a familiar voice shouted.

Slow-Down-Simon raced up to my cage. He was the younger brother of Stop-Giggling-Gail Morgenstern, who
did
belong in Room 26. But she was nowhere in sight.

“Now
I'll
get to take you home some weekend,” Simon announced.