Zooman Sam (12 page)

"Mrs. Bennett?" Sam went to stand beside his teacher as she was putting the jars of finger paint away in the supply closet. "Yes, Sam?"

"I don't want to do hats anymore."

"That's okay, Sam," Mrs. Bennett said. "You've worked very hard at being a zooman for a lot of days now. You don't have to keep it up forever."

"I did all the best ones. There are only boring ones left, like broncos and marlins."

Mrs. Bennett knelt beside Sam. "I think actually you'd be wise to stop now because you did all the scary ones this morning and it was very exciting. Sometimes it's a good idea to stop at a high point. Remember how you bowed and we all clapped? That was a good ending. You can take all those hats home and just store them away someplace."

"I'm tired of my hats," Sam whispered. "I don't even want to take them home." He glanced over at the fat trash bag sitting in a lumpy mound on the carpet beside the piano.

"How many did you say you had?"

"Thirty."

"I have an idea," Mrs. Bennett told Sam. "We have eighteen children in the school. And three teachers. That makes twenty-one. Shall we give everybody a hat?"

Sam nodded.

"And then shall we have a parade? I could play marching music on the piano, and we could all put on hats and march in a parade. We could use some exercise, I think."

Sam nodded eagerly.

Mrs. Bennett stood up, clapped her hands together to get the children's attention, and called, "Everybody! Let's get our paintings all rolled up! Sam has had a great idea!"

It had really been Mrs. Bennett's idea, Sam knew. But he liked that she said it was his. It made him feel important. He got the trash
bag. And the children, with Miss Ruth's help, arranged themselves into a line.

While Sam was distributing hats, an absolutely amazing thing happened. It happened so sneakily, so quietly, that he almost didn't notice. But when he
did
notice, he was overwhelmed. He wanted to tell the whole world. But Sam decided he would tell his family first. He decided that he would
show
them. He would do it at dinner.

"Chief of Wonderfulness?" Sam's father asked. "Of course I understand.
Everybody
wants to become Chief of Wonderfulness, but for most of us it never happens. How did it happen to you?"

It was dinnertime. Every evening, at dinner, Sam's family talked about things that had happened during the day. Sam's things had always been small: maybe he had painted a good picture at school, or maybe he had visited Mrs. Stein next door, and she had given him a big glass of chocolate milk. Once Mr. Watson, the mailman, had let Sam walk with him and help deliver mail. Once Mr. Fosburgh, across the street, had called for help from his porch because his wheelchair was stuck, and Sam and
Anastasia had rescued him. All of those things were good things, but they were
small
good things.

But now, for the first time, something huge had happened. It was the most exciting day of Sam's life. It had made him into Chief of Wonderfulness at last, and he was trying to explain it to his family.

First he told them about the scary animal hats, and how the class had clapped and he had bowed at the end. Then he told about Mrs. Bennett's idea for the parade, and how he had stood by the bag and given each child a hat.

"And it was for keeps, too," Sam explained. "Not just for borrowing."

"Well, that was certainly generous of you, Sam," his mom said. "No wonder you felt wonderful. More potatoes, anyone?"

Sam sighed. He hadn't even gotten to the amazing part yet. Mrs. Krupnik spooned a second helping of mashed potatoes onto Anastasia's plate.

"Notice that Sleuth didn't even
budge
when you said 'potatoes,' Mom?" Anastasia asked. The dog, in his corner, looked up at the sound of his name.

"Or pork chops! I've said pork chops at least four times." Sleuth yawned at Mrs. Krupnik's voice and thumped his tail on the floor.

Sam clinked his fork against the side of his milk glass. That was how you got people's attention. "I'm not finished!" he said loudly.

"Not finished with your dinner, Sam?" his mom asked.

"No! With telling about what happened!"

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry. Please go on."

So Sam continued his description of the morning's events. "Everybody got in line, and they came up and said what hat they wanted, and I gave them the hat.

"Adam wanted Sharks, and I gave him Sharks.

"And Leah wanted Hornets, and I gave her Hornets.

"And Big Ben got Grizzlies.

"And dumb old Becky said she only wanted Bunnies or Kittens. So I gave her Devil Rays and
told
her it was Bunnies."

"Goodness," said Sam's mom, but he could see that she was smiling a little.

He could see, also, that they hadn't yet figured out the amazing thing.

"And after everybody had a hat but me, there were still some hats left," Sam explained.

"Which one did you want?" Anastasia asked.

"I didn't really want any one because I was tired of hats. But there was one at the bottom of the bag that I hadn't ever used because I didn't know what it said. It was sort of a mystery hat. And I decided to wear that one for the parade." Sam, telling them this part, began to get excited.

"A mystery hat. Sounds good," his dad said.

"So I took it out, and it wasn't a mystery hat anymore! It said penguins!"

"Cool," Anastasia said. She passed her plate for more mashed potatoes. "I love penguins."

They didn't get it. Sam looked around at his family. They were each calmly eating.
They weren't getting it!

"Excuse me, I'll be right back," Sam said. He climbed down from his chair, went into the study, to the special part of the bookcase, and found the book he wanted. He brought it back to the table.

"Look!" he said, and laid the book on the table with its cover facing up. "
Mr. Popper's Penguins.
"

"One of your favorites," his father said. "Mine, too."

"The Arthur is Richard Atwater," Sam said, pointing to the cover.

"The author, Sam," his mother corrected gently.

"I know it's author. I just like to say Arthur. Excuse me again," Sam said, and ran back to the study. In a minute he had returned with an armload of books.

"Look," he said, and put another book on the table next to
Mr. Popper's Penguins.

"Oh, cool," Anastasia said. "
The Great White Man-Eating Shark.
I love that one. It's really funny."

"Oh, I see, Sam! There are books about the same animals as your hats! Penguins, and now sharks. Isn't that interesting? Good for you, to figure that out!" Sam's mom smiled at him.

Sam opened
The Great White Man-Eating Shark.
"Listen," he said, and he began the story. "'There was once a boy named Norvin who was a good actor but rather plain. In fact, he looked very like a shark..."'

Mrs. Krupnik, leaning over to see the picture, laughed. "That
is
funny. What an odd-looking boy!"

Sam, exasperated, closed the book. He set another one on the table. "
Island Boy,
" he announced.

"She's a wonderful illustrator," Sam's mom said. She turned the pages of the book, looking
at the colorful pictures of the island and the old-fashioned people.

Sam's dad was grinning. "Katherine," he said to Sam's mom, "you're not noticing something important."

"Well," Mrs. Krupnik said, still leafing through
Island Boy,
"there are so many details in these pictures that you have to look at each one very carefully."

"Try this one, Sam." His dad handed him one from the stack that he had set down on the floor.

Sam took the book. It was fatter than the others, more grown-up-looking. "
Harriet the Spy,
" Sam said.

"That used to be mine," Anastasia pointed out.

Sam turned to the first page. There were no pictures. "'Harriet was trying to explain to Sport how to play Town,'" the book began.

Sam looked up. His father was still grinning. Anastasia looked very surprised. And his mother, suddenly, was staring at him and had begun to cry a teeny bit. She dabbed at her eyes, and Sam could see that there were tears in them.

"Listen," Sam said proudly. He went to the corner of the kitchen where newspapers were
stacked and ready to be taken out to the trash. He picked up a section of the
Boston Globe.

'"Buffalo and Miami already have nine wins, and if the Oilers win one game, they'd bypass the Patriots as well,'" Sam said.

"And
now
listen," Sam said, putting the paper down. He picked up the cookbook that his mother had left on the counter beside the stove. He looked at the page, which had grease spatters on it. '"Pour off the fat from the skillet and sprinkle the chops with the carrots, onion, and garlic,'" Sam said.

Anastasia made a face. She looked at her plate in dismay. "Was there
garlic
in this?" she asked. "You know I hate garlic!"

"Sam!" said his mom, and held out her arms. "You can read!"

"Yes!" Sam said. "I'm the Chief of Wonderfulness!"

"I still want you and Dad to read me stories," Sam told his mom as she took him up the stairs to bed.

"Oh, of course," Mrs. Krupnik said. "We'll read you stories forever, if you let us. It's our favorite part of the day, when we read bedtime stories."

"And I can read them to you now, too," Sam pointed out.

"We can take turns, all four of us." His mom unzipped his zooman suit and helped him step out of it. "Boy," she said, "am I glad to get rid of this thing! Look: pork chop gravy on the sleeve." She dropped the zooman suit onto the floor beside his bed.

Sam stood still while she snapped his stars-and-planets pajamas. He looked down at the little heap of fleecy gray fabric on the floor, with its frayed cuffs and grape juice stains.

When his pajamas were all snapped, Sam leaned down and picked up the coverall. He ran his fingers over the red embroidered words that had made him into Zooman Sam. He remembered how, at the beginning—not that very long ago—his mother had had to help him sound out the word, putting together the zzz and the ooo and mmmm until he understood what it spelled. Now, magically, he could just look at it, and the word told itself to him. Not just the zooman word, but
all
words, even the hardest ones. He had read the title
Island Boy
just by looking at it, and "island" was a very hard word, with an "s" that you couldn't even hear.

He pulled at the end of the little red thread, and it began to unravel. The z disappeared.

'"Ooman Sam'" Sam read, and laughed aloud.

"Keep pulling," his mother told him. "It will all disappear and we can throw the zooman suit into the trash."

But Sam was looking at it. He was seeing something in his mind.

"Mom," he said, "see between the O and the M? There's a little bit of space there."

"Mmmmm," his mom replied. She was putting some clean clothes on his chair, for morning. Osh-Kosh overalls and a striped T-shirt. He hadn't worn such ordinary clothes in a long time.

"There's room for a whole other letter there," Sam said, still examining the place between the second O and the M. "You could put a K there."

"I could, but why would I?" his mother asked, with a puzzled look.

"
Because,
" Sam said, feeling excited at his idea, feeling a whole new future starting, feeling the Chief of Wonderfulness feeling, "if you put a K there, and then you put a nice fat B at the beginning, you'd have a whole new word! You'd have a whole new
me!
"

He handed his mother the crumpled gray suit.

She stared at him, shaking her head. Then she smiled.

"Bookman Sam," she said.

"Bookman Sam," Sam repeated happily.

"Maybe I can get the gravy stains out," his mother said, and gave him a hug.