There's a Boy in the Girls' Bathroom

  My Parents Didn’t Steal an Elephant

  by

  Uriah C. Lasso

  by

  Bradley Chalkers

  My Parents Didn’t Steal an Elephant was a very funny and crazy book by Uriah C. Lasso, a funny author to write such a book. It is a story told by a kid. The kid’s parents are in jail because they stole an elephant, except they are innocent. Hey! I just realized something. You know what? You never know the kid’s name! I just realized that. You know what else too? You don’t know if the kid is a boy or a girl! I just realized that right now as I was writing this book report because I didn’t know whether to write he or she. I told you it was crazy!

  The kid lives with his aunt and uncle. They’re crazy too. They put wallpaper up in the garage for no reason. I told you they were crazy.

  Ace is crazy too. He’s the lawyer for the kid’s parents. He makes the kid practice crying for an hour every day so the kid will be able to cry good in court. Only when the kid finally gets to court, the kid doesn’t cry. The kid laughs!

  Then everybody else laughs too. Then the kid’s parents get to go home because they’re innocent.

  Except, do you want to know something? I’m not so sure! I mean, if they really were really innocent, then who ate all the peanuts?

  I told you it was crazy. The end.

  The End

  “Absolutely wonderful!” said Carla.

  “Is it good?” asked Bradley.

  “You captured the very essence of the book.”

  He smiled even though he didn’t know what essence meant.

  They were sitting around the round table. It was Thursday before school. Bradley had to turn in his book report to Mrs. Ebbel, but he wanted Carla to see it first, just in case he ripped it up.

  Carla was wearing a fluffy pink sweater. “I always wondered what happened to the peanuts too,” she said.

  “Me too,” said Bradley. “And they could have hid the elephant in the garage. That’s why they put wallpaper there. To cover up the fingerprints!”

  “Do elephants have fingerprints?” asked Carla.

  “Maybe they have trunk prints.” He laughed. “Well, I have to go to Mrs. Ebbel’s class. Here’s your book back. Thank you. I didn’t write on it or spill food or anything.”

  “I’d like for you to keep it,” said Carla. “It’s my present to you.”

  “But I thought it was one of your favorite books?”

  “It is. That’s why I want to give it to you. If I didn’t like it, then it wouldn’t be much of a present, would it?”

  He smiled. “I wish I had a present to give you,” he said.

  “You already gave me one.”

  “I did? What was it?”

  “The book report.”

  The smile left his face.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Well, I’m supposed to give it to Mrs. Ebbel, but … that’s okay! You can have it. It wouldn’t be much of a present if I didn’t want it too.”

  Carla laughed and shook her head. “That’s very sweet, Bradley, but that’s not what I meant. I want you to give it to Mrs. Ebbel. It just makes me very happy that you did such a wonderful job. That’s the present you gave me.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” said Carla. “It was the best present I could have gotten.”

  He thought that was great. He was able to give it to Carla and still give it to Mrs. Ebbel. “What’s wrong?”

  Carla wiped her eyes. The corners of her mouth trembled.

  “Are you crying?” he asked.

  “Bradley, I have something I have to tell you,” she said. “I hope you can listen to what I have to say without feeling scared or upset.”

  He suddenly felt very scared and upset.

  “Tomorrow will be my last day here at Red Hill School.”

  “Huh?”

  “That’s why I’m so glad you’ve written such a wonderful book report. I know you can continue to do good work without me. I’m very proud of you.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  She nodded. “I’ve been transferred. I’ll be teaching kindergarten at Willow Bend School. But I want to thank you, Bradley. You’ve made my short time here very special. I’m so glad we got to know each other.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “We can still see each other,” she said. “Saturday, I’m—”

  He shook his head. “No, you can’t go. It’s not fair.”

  “I have to.”

  He couldn’t believe it. “What if I don’t do my homework? Then you’ll have to stay and make me want to do it again.”

  She smiled warmly at him. Her blue eyes glistened. “You’re on your own now, Bradley. I know you’ll do wonderfully!”

  “No! It’s not fair!” He stood up. “You tricked me!”

  Carla stood too. She walked around the table toward him.

  “I hate you!” he shouted in her face.

  “I know you don’t mean that.”

  “Yes, I do. I hate your stupid book, too!” He picked up My Parents Didn’t Steal an Elephant by Uriah C. Lasso and threw it at her. Then he picked up his book report.

  “Bradley, please—”

  He ripped it in half. He stretched his mouth so wide it was hard to tell whether it was a smile or a frown.

  He tore his book report again and dropped the pieces on the floor. “I hate you!” he shouted, then ran out of her office.

  He ran into the boys’ bathroom. He leaned over the sink and cried. His face throbbed as he watched the water wash down the drain.

  There was a knock on the bathroom door. “Bradley?” said Carla. “Are you all right?”

  “Go away!” he yelled. “I hate you!”

  The door slowly opened and she stepped inside.

  “You’re not allowed in here,” he said.

  “I think it’s important that we talk,” said Carla. “That’s how friends handle their problems, by talking about them. That’s why we’ve become such good friends, because we’ve learned to talk to each other.”

  “I’m not your friend. Why would I want to be friends with you? I hate you!”

  “I like you, Bradley. I can like you, can’t I? You don’t have to like me.”

  “I’m not going to Colleen’s birthday party,” he said. “And I don’t like Jeff, either, and I’m never going to do my homework, ever, and I’m going to fail all my tests.”

  “Do you want to know what I think? I think you’re worried that now that I’m leaving, everything will turn bad again. You think that Jeff won’t like you anymore and Colleen won’t want you to come to her party, and Mrs. Ebbel will give you bad grades no matter how hard you try.”

  “This is the boys’ bathroom!”

  “But it wasn’t me who magically changed your life, Bradley,” she said. “It was you. You’re not Cinderella, and I’m not Prince Charming.”

  “You’re not allowed in here,” he said coldly.

  “Saturday, I’m going to need someone to help me move all my things out of the office,” she said. “I would appreciate it very much if you would come and help me. Then afterward, we could have lunch together. We can go to a restaurant, just the two of us.”

  He wanted to go to her, to hug her in her soft pink sweater, but he couldn’t. He felt like his insides were being ripped apart.

  “It will be lots of fun,” said Carla. “And it would be a great help to me.”

  “I have to use the toilet.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you on Saturday,” said Carla. “I would like that very much.” She turned and walked out the door.

  Bradley stayed in the bathroom until the bell rang, then he went home, sick.

  39.

  Ronnie hopped along, singing, “doo de-doo de-doo de-doo.”

  All the other animals were gathered together.

  “What are you doing?” asked Ronnie.

  “We’re talking,” said the lion.

  “And you can’t listen,” said the kang
aroo.

  “Oh, okay,” said Ronnie. She waited for the other animals to finish talking.

  The other animals finished talking.

  “We finished talking,” the lion told Ronnie. “We took a vote. We don’t like you anymore.”

  Ronnie hopped away. Suddenly, she fell into quicksand!

  “Help!” she cried. “Bartholomew, save me!”

  “No, I won’t,” said Bartholomew. “And I’m not going to marry you either.”

  Ronnie sank into the quicksand and died.

  40.

  Bradley’s mother took his temperature and told him he was normal.

  “I am not!” he argued.

  “He’s not normal,” Claudia agreed. “He’s bizarre.”

  Bradley felt as if his stomach were tied in a knot. Every time he thought about Carla, he felt the knot pull tighter.

  “I hate her! I hate her!” he repeated as he slowly walked to school. When he said he hated her, the knot in his stomach loosened just a little bit.

  He sat at his desk in the back of Mrs. Ebbel’s room—last seat, last row.

  “Hi, Bradley,” said Jeff, sitting down next to him. “Where were you yesterday? Were you sick?”

  He didn’t answer. Jeff wasn’t his friend. He didn’t have any friends.

  “Bradley!” called Mrs. Ebbel. “Will you come here, please?”

  He dragged his feet to her desk. “I was sick yesterday,” he told her. “Call my mother if you don’t believe me.”

  Mrs. Ebbel waved that away. “I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your book report,” she said. “It made me want to read the book.”

  “Huh?”

  “Miss Davis gave it to me yesterday,” Mrs. Ebbel told him. “She explained how she accidentally ripped it.”

  He stared at her, amazed, then noticed his book report, taped together, lying on Mrs. Ebbel’s desk. At the very top, in red ink, was the word Excellent!

  “I gave you a gold star,” said Mrs. Ebbel.

  He picked up his book report and ran back to his desk.

  There it was—next to the name “Bradley Chalkers”—a gold star! He slowly sat down as he stared at it. It seemed to shine brighter than all the other stars.

  The knot in his stomach jerked tight and he had to look away. The star reminded him of Carla.

  She’s such a liar, he thought. She said she accidentally tore it up when I was the one who did it. I hate her. He shoved his book report in the back of his desk.

  The knot loosened.

  He walked all recess. The other boys called to him from the basketball court, but he pretended not to hear them. He just kept walking.

  Okay, he decided. I’ll go see her at lunch. I’ll just say good-bye to her, that’s all.

  “Everyone was looking for you to play basketball,” Jeff said when he returned to class. “I told ’em you were still sick from yesterday.”

  “I’m not sick,” said Bradley. “I’m normal.”

  When the bell rang for lunch, he walked to Mrs. Ebbel’s desk to ask for the hall pass.

  “Yes, Bradley?” she said.

  He couldn’t talk. The knot in his stomach was so tight it choked off his vocal cords.

  He stuck his hands in his pockets and walked outside. He sat in a far corner of the playground. Twice he thought he saw Carla. The first time it was a third-grade girl. The second time it was a tree. His stomach was too knotted up to eat anything.

  “I saw Carla,” Jeff told him after lunch. “I went to her office to say good-bye. She said she’d like to see you. She said she’d wait in her office after school for you in case you wanted to talk to her. She asked me to tell you that.”

  Bradley closed his eyes until the knot loosened.

  “Don’t you even want to say good-bye to her?” Jeff asked.

  He shook his head.

  He could picture her waiting in her office for him. He’d walk in and she’d say, “Hello, Bradley. It’s a pleasure to see you today. I appreciate your coming to see me.” She might even kiss him again.

  When the final bell rang, he walked directly home. The knot inside him tightened with every step he took. I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!

  41.

  “Let’s go, Bradley!” his mother said on Saturday morning as she entered his room. “We’re off to a real barber shop!” She said it as if a barber shop was the most wonderful place in the world.

  In the past, she had always cut Bradley’s hair herself. But this time he had asked to go to a “real” barber shop. That was earlier in the week, when they were out buying the birthday present for Colleen. “You make my head look like a chili bowl,” he had complained.

  Now he sadly looked up at his mother and said, “I don’t want to get my hair cut.”

  “You want to look nice for Colleen’s birthday party tomorrow, don’t you?” she asked. “You don’t want to go looking like a punk rocker!”

  “I’m not going to her birthday party!” he snapped. “I hate her!”

  Bradley’s mother left him alone.

  He heard Carla’s voice in his mind. Saturday, I’m going to need someone to help me move all my things out of the office. I would appreciate it very much if you would come and help me.

  The knot in his stomach tightened.

  “No. I hate you!” he said out loud.

  His father knocked, then came into his room. “Bradley, I think we need to talk,” he said, “man to man.”

  Bradley stood up.

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?” asked his father. “Maybe I can help.”

  Bradley didn’t want any help.

  “I was very sorry to hear that your counselor had been transferred to another school,” said his father. “I know how much you liked her. At first I didn’t like the idea of you seeing a counselor, but—”

  “I have to get my hair cut,” said Bradley. “Mom said so.” He walked out of his room, leaving his father behind him.

  His mother drove him to the barber shop.

  Carla’s voice spoke in his mind. We could have lunch together. We can go to a restaurant.

  The knot pulled tighter.

  Just the two of us.

  And tighter.

  It will be lots of fun, Carla said. And it would be a great help to me.

  And tighter.

  Maybe I’ll see you on Saturday, said Carla. I would like that very much.

  And tighter.

  You’re not Cinderella, and I’m not Prince Charming.

  And tighter.

  I like you, Bradley. I can like you, can’t I? You don’t have to like me.

  The knot pulled so tight, it broke. “Stop the car!” he shouted. “I have to go back!”

  The car swerved. “Don’t ever do that again!” exclaimed his mother. “We could have had an accident.”

  “I don’t believe in accidents.”

  “I’m getting sick and tired of your nonsense, Bradley. What is your problem?”

  “I can’t get my hair cut now. I have to go to school.”

  “On Saturday?”

  “I’m supposed to see my counselor. She is waiting to see me. Call the school if you don’t believe me.”

  The car stopped in the parking lot in front of the barber shop. “We’re here!” his mother said sternly. “You’re getting your hair cut, now.”

  He stepped out of the car and reluctantly followed his mother into the barber shop.

  It smelled oily, like hair and hair oil and stale bubble gum all mixed together. All around him, mirrors reflected mirrors. The place was ugly and the mirrors reflected the ugliness, multiplying it a hundred times back and forth. They seemed to reflect the awful smell too.

  He couldn’t believe he had asked his mother to take him to such a place. It was like some kind of horrible dungeon where kids went to be tortured. But worst of all, he had to wait his turn to be tortured. All the barber chairs were occupied.

  He sat on a torn red couch.

  “Do
you want to read a comic book?” asked his mother.

  “No thank you,” he answered quietly.

  Finally, it was his turn. He climbed into a slippery, oily, vinyl barber chair. The barber tied a shiny apron tightly around his neck, nearly choking him to death.

  The barber began by combing his hair. Bradley wondered why he had to comb it if he was going to cut it anyway.

  At last, the barber picked up the scissors and began to cut. But he never cut off a big piece of hair all at once. Instead he kept snipping little bits of hair off of the same piece of hair, over and over again. The whole time, Bradley had to stare at himself through the filmy mirror. He gritted his teeth and waited for it to be over.

  The barber put down the scissors, but then he picked up the comb and started combing again.

  I knew he shouldn’t have combed it before, Bradley thought. Now he just has to do it again.

  The barber sprayed some kind of smelly junk on Bradley’s head, combed his hair one last time, then unhooked the apron around Bradley’s neck.

  Bradley quickly hopped off the chair before the barber could change his mind.

  But the barber wasn’t through. He made Bradley stand still while he ran a small vacuum cleaner across his neck. When he finished, he offered Bradley a piece of bubble gum.

  “I hate gum,” said Bradley. He never used to hate gum. But after smelling it in the barber shop, he never wanted another piece again.

  “You’ll be the most handsome boy at Colleen’s party,” his mother said as they walked outside.

  “Can you drive me to school, please?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  Ten minutes later he jumped out of the car, ran up the steps in front of the school, and pulled on the double glass doors. They were locked. He pressed his face against the glass and looked inside. Mrs. Kemp, the janitor, was waxing the floors. He pounded on the door until she looked up.

  Mrs. Kemp scowled at him as she opened the door. “What do you want, Chalkers?”

  “I have to see Car—Miss Davis,” he said.

  “Miss Davis is gone.”

  He ducked under her arm which held open the door, and ran into the building.

  “Chalkers!” she shouted after him. “I’ll call the police!”