Now he looked hopelessly at Page 3, shook his head, and sighed.
Question 1. What is three-fourths of two-thirds?
It was the most impossible question he’d ever seen. His mind wandered.
“Hey, Bradley, what are you doing?” asked Ronnie.
“Homework.”
“What’s homework?” she asked.
“It’s work you do at home.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?” she asked.
“No, really. That’s what they do at school. They give you work to do at home and they call it homework.”
“You’ve never done it before,” said Ronnie.
“I’m doing it for Carla. Now leave me alone so I can concentrate.”
Question 1. What is three-fourths of two-thirds?
“Why are you doing it for Carla?” Ronnie asked.
He sighed. “Okay, I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell anyone.”
Ronnie promised not to tell.
“We’re in love.”
“Really?” exclaimed Ronnie. “How do you know?”
“She kissed me.”
“Oooh, that means she loves you!” said Ronnie. “Are you going to marry her?”
“Maybe, when I’m older. First, I have to do my homework.”
“I’m going to marry Bartholomew,” said Ronnie.
“I know,” said Bradley. “Now let me do my homework.”
Question 1. What is three-fourths of two-thirds?
“Hey, Bradley, what’s going on?” asked Bartholomew.
“Leave him alone,” said Ronnie. “He’s trying to do his homework. He can’t concentrate when you’re talking to him.”
“Maybe I can help,” said Bartholomew. “What’s the problem?”
“What is three-fourths of two-thirds?” Bradley asked.
“Three-fourths of two-thirds,” Bartholomew repeated. “That’s a tough problem all right. Three-fourths of two-thirds. Let’s see. You divide four into—no, you multiply two times, no …”
“Of means divide,” said the donkey. “Like if you take half of something it means you divide by two. You divide three by two and four by three.”
Bradley started to write that down.
“No, of means times,” said the lion. “You have to multiply everything.”
“First you have to reverse the nominators,” said the fox.
“You don’t reverse, you inverse,” corrected the mother cocker spaniel.
“I think you have to find a common denumerator,” said the elephant.
“Not for multiplication,” said the hippopotamus. “That’s only for addition.”
“Multiplication is the same as addition,” said the fox, “only faster.”
“You cancel out the threes,” said the kangaroo. “You always cancel out threes.”
“You multiply the threes,” said the lion.
Bradley kept erasing and rewriting and erasing and rewriting until there was nothing but a big black smudge covering his paper. On top of the smudge, he tried to write 3 × 3 = 9, but as he did so, his pencil tore a hole through the paper.
“The answer can’t be nine,” said Ronnie. “If you start out with fractions, you have to end up with fractions.”
Bradley slammed the book shut. “None of you know what you’re talking about!” he cried out in disgust. He took the book, paper, and pencil, and walked down the hall to the dining room.
His mother was sitting at the table working a crossword puzzle from the newspaper. He plopped down next to her and sighed.
She looked at him inquisitively.
“I can’t figure out how to do my homework,” he complained. “Will you help me?”
His mother smiled. “I’d be delighted. Let me see.”
He pushed his arithmetic book in front of her. “Page forty-three.”
She opened the book to that page and looked at Bradley’s torn, smudged paper. “Okay. First let me clear away this newspaper so we can have a nice, neat place to work. While I do that, I want you to get a clean sheet of paper.”
“I don’t have any more paper. This is all I brought home.”
“There’s some paper in your father’s desk. Get a sharp pencil, too.”
He looked at her in disbelief. He wasn’t allowed to touch anything on his father’s desk.
She nodded.
Bradley felt a little scared as he walked into the extra bedroom which his father used as an office. He opened the top drawer of the old oak desk and carefully took out a pencil and a piece of paper. He shut the drawer, looked around, then hurried back to his mother.
She smiled at him.
He sat down and wrote, much neater this time:
Bradley Chalkers
Homework
Arithmetic
Page 43
Red Hill School
Room 12
Mrs. Ebbel’s class
Last seat, last row
Black eye
“You have to put all that,” he explained, “in case it gets lost.”
She read the first question aloud. “ ‘What is three-fourths of two-thirds?’ “
He shrugged.
“Okay,” she said, “the first thing you want to do is write the equation.”
He still didn’t know what to do.
She wrote it for him.
“Whenever you see the word of, it means you multiply,” she explained.
“Of means times,” he said.
“Right,” said his mother.
That was what the lion had said.
“Now you can cancel out the threes,” said his mother.
That was what the kangaroo had said. You always cancel out threes.
Neither of them noticed that Claudia was standing behind them, watching. “That’s not how you’re supposed to learn it,” she said abruptly.
Bradley turned around and glared at her.
“You have to explain why you cancel them,” said Claudia. “And they don’t call it canceling. It’s called dividing by one.”
“I just know the way I learned it,” said Mrs. Chalkers.
“If you want, I can show you, Bradley,” said Claudia.
He looked at his mother, then back at Claudia, then at his mother.
“She knows the way they’re teaching it now,” said his mother.
“You’ll help me?” Bradley asked his sister.
“Sure, why not? I got nothing better to do.”
Mrs. Chalkers stood up, and Claudia took her place. “Don’t do it for him,” said Bradley’s mother. “Make sure he knows how to do it himself.”
Claudia worked patiently with Bradley for the rest of the afternoon. When he said he understood something, she made him explain it to her. That was harder. He understood it when she did it, but then he had trouble when he tried to do it himself.
By dinnertime, they were only a little more than halfway through. Bradley wanted Claudia to help him after dinner, too, but she had her own homework to do.
“You know how to do it,” she told him. “You can do it yourself.”
“I need help,” he complained.
“I’ll help you,” said his father.
“You will?”
“Let’s go to my office. We can work at my desk.”
Bradley couldn’t believe it.
They worked together. Bradley was surprised by how much his father knew. He made all the hard parts seem easy. Bradley was a little disappointed by how quickly they finished. He had liked working with his father.
He brought his finished homework back to his room.
“Oh, I get it, Bradley,” said Bartholomew. “You multiply the numerators and denominators separately. But I still don’t understand reducing.”
“It’s easy,” said Bradley. “Here, let me show you again.”
29.
Bradley was too excited to sleep. Mrs. Ebbel will be so surprised, he thought. She’ll tell the whole class, “Only one person got a hundred percent—Bradley!”
 
; But there were so many things that could still go wrong. What if I lose it on the way to school? he worried. What if Jeff and his friends steal it? Twice during the night he got out of bed to make sure it was safely folded inside his arithmetic book.
What if I did the wrong page? He was no longer sure whether Mrs. Ebbel had said page 43 or Page 62! He tried to remember exactly what she said to him.
He sat up in horror. She never said it was arithmetic homework. Mrs. Ebbel had just said a page number. She never said what book! She could have meant history, or language, or any of his other books!
He lay back down and trembled. His tears wet his pillow.
He got out of bed early in the morning, checked to see if his homework was still there, then quickly got ready and left for school without eating breakfast.
On the way he stopped to make sure he still had his homework. As he opened his book, the paper fell onto the sidewalk, right next to a puddle of water.
He stared at it, horrified by what he had almost done, then quickly picked it up and placed it back in his book. He held the book tightly shut the rest of the way to school.
He was one of the first ones there. He had to wait for the doors to open. He kept on the lookout for Jeff and his gang. He stood with his back to the school wall so they couldn’t sneak up behind him.
He saw Andy. He thought Andy had seen him, too, but if he had, he didn’t do anything about it.
When the doors opened, he was the first one in Mrs. Ebbel’s class. He sat at his desk—last seat, last row—and waited.
As the other kids came in, he saw them put sheets of paper on Mrs. Ebbel’s desk. He wondered if that was their homework. He now had a new worry. He didn’t know how he was supposed to turn in his homework.
Jeff entered, placed a piece of paper on the pile on top of Mrs. Ebbel’s desk, then came toward the back of the room.
It must be his homework, thought Bradley. What else could it be?
“Shawne,” he said aloud.
The girl who sat in front of Jeff turned around.
“Are you supposed to put your homework on Mrs. Ebbel’s desk?”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Bradley!” Shawne snapped. “You worry about your homework, and I’ll worry about mine, okay?” She turned back around.
It was almost time for school to start. What if I have to put it on her desk before the bell rings or it doesn’t count? He fumbled through his book for his homework, stood up, then headed for Mrs. Ebbel’s desk.
He became more nervous with each step he took. His mouth was dry and he had trouble breathing. He could hardly see where he was going. He felt like he was going to faint. Mrs. Ebbel’s desk seemed so far away. It was like he was looking at it through the wrong end of a telescope. His heart pounded and his homework rattled in his hand.
Somehow he made it to her desk and tried to focus on the sheets of paper the other kids had put there. It looked like arithmetic homework! Page 43!
But instead of feeling better, he felt worse—like he was going to explode.
“Do you want something, Bradley?” asked Mrs. Ebbel.
He looked at his homework shaking in his hand. Then he tore it in half and dropped it in the wastepaper basket next to Mrs. Ebbel’s desk.
He instantly felt better. His head cleared and his breathing returned to normal. His heart stopped pounding.
He walked back to his desk, took a deep breath, exhaled, and sat down. He folded his arms on his desktop and lay his head down sideways across them. He felt sad, but relieved, as he gazed at the gold stars.
30.
Bradley remained in his seat after everyone else had gone out to recess. He walked to Mrs. Ebbel’s desk.
She was sorting papers.
“Mrs. Ebbel,” he said timidly. “May I use the hall pass? I have to see the counselor.”
She looked up.
“Please.”
Normally Mrs. Ebbel would never allow Bradley Chalkers loose in the halls, but something about the way he asked must have changed her mind. “All right, Bradley,” she said, then caught herself. “But if you’re bad, you’ll never be allowed in the halls of this school again!”
“Thank you.”
He took the hall pass off the hook behind her desk and headed out the door.
“You’re welcome,” Mrs. Ebbel said to herself.
He knocked on the door to Carla’s office.
“How nice to see you today, Bradley,” she greeted him. “I appreciate your coming to see me.”
He shook her hand, then they sat around the round table. She was wearing the shirt with the squiggles on it. It was the one she wore the first time he saw her. He liked it, but not as much as the one with the mice.
“I did my homework last night,” he said.
Carla beamed. “I’m so proud of—”
“I ripped it up.”
“What?”
“I ripped it up. I brought it to school, and I was just about to put it on Mrs. Ebbel’s desk, but then I ripped it up.”
“Why did—?” Carla started to ask.
“Why did I rip it up?” he asked her first.
“I don’t know, why did you?”
He shrugged.
She shrugged.
They both giggled.
“I was afraid you’d be mad,” Bradley said when he stopped giggling.
Carla shook her head. “You did your homework, that’s the important thing. I’m so very proud of you, Bradley Chalkers.”
“I’m going to do all my homework, from now on,” he promised.
“That’s wonderful!”
“But what if I keep ripping it up?” he asked.
“Why would you want to do that?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think I wanted to rip it up, today.”
“The main thing is that you did it. And you learned some things by doing it, didn’t you?”
“What ‘of’ means,” said Bradley.
“What ‘of’ means?” Carla repeated.
“Times,” said Bradley.
She stared at him, baffled. “Oh, right!” she said, as it all suddenly connected for her. “Okay, so even though you ripped up your homework, you still remember what you learned. You didn’t rip up your memory. And when Mrs. Ebbel gives the next arithmetic test, you’ll know how to answer the questions.”
“If they don’t change the rules,” said Bradley.
“What rules?”
“Like, what if they decide to make of mean subtraction?”
“They won’t change the rules,” Carla assured him, “whoever they are.”
“But what if I rip up my test, too?” he asked.
Carla looked at him as if he was being silly. “Has Mrs. Ebbel given you any homework for tomorrow?” she asked.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“Okay, for Monday?”
“No, we never have homework over the weekend.” He spoke like an expert, like he’d been doing homework for years. “But we have a book report due next week. Only …”
“Only what?”
“I don’t have a book. And Mrs. Wilcott won’t let me check out any from the library.”
“Well, let’s see,” said Carla. “Do you think you might know somebody else who might let you borrow a book? Think hard now.”
Bradley looked around at all the books in her office. “May I borrow one of yours?” he asked. “Please. I won’t scribble in it.”
Carla walked around the table, then picked out a book from a stack on top of one of her bookcases. “It’s my favorite,” she said as she gave it to Bradley.
He read the title and laughed. My Parents Didn’t Steal an Elephant, by Uriah C. Lasso.
He opened to page one and read the first sentence.
I hate tomato juice.
He thought that was a funny sentence to start a book. He continued reading.
Every morning, Aunt Ruth gives me a glass of tomato juice, and every morning I tell her I hate it. “Fine, Dumpling,” she al
ways says, “don’t drink it.”
She calls me Dumpling. Uncle Boris calls me Corn Flake. They’re crazy. One of these days I’m afraid they’re going to try to eat me.
He glanced up at Carla, then returned to the book.
My parents are in jail. They got arrested for stealing an elephant from the circus. Only they didn’t do it. If they stole an elephant I’d know about it, wouldn’t I? I mean, if your parents stole an elephant, don’t you think you’d know about it?
I think the elephant just ran away. Her master was always mean to her. He whipped her and made her do stupid tricks. My parents used to complain about that a lot. That’s why everybody thinks they stole her.
So, anyway, that’s why I have to live with my crazy Aunt Ruth and Uncle Boris. If you ask me, they belong in the circus. They’re crazy!
Uncle Boris always smokes a cigar. It just hangs out of the corner of his mouth. Whenever he kisses my aunt, he swings the cigar out of the way with his tongue, and kisses her out of the side of his mouth.
I bet you think Aunt Ruth doesn’t like it when he kisses her that way. Wrong. She always laughs when he does it. Sometimes she smokes a cigar, too. I told you they were crazy.
Look! He even smokes his cigar while he’s drinking tomato juice.
The bell rang. Bradley was amazed by how quickly the time had passed. “Do you want to have lunch together again?” he asked.
“I’m sorry. I’m having lunch with the president of the school board,” said Carla. “I’d much rather eat lunch with you.”
He didn’t mind too much. At least he had her book to read.
They shook hands, then he walked back to class. He placed the hall pass back on the hook and took his seat.
He knew he’d write a good book report because he had such a good book to read. I just hope I don’t rip it up.
31.
“Whatcha doin’, Bradley?” asked Ronnie.
“He’s reading,” Bartholomew replied nastily. “He says he doesn’t want to be disturbed. He thinks he’s too good for us now that he does his homework.”
“Oh, be quiet and let him read if that’s what he wants to do,” said Ronnie.
“Thanks, Ronnie,” said Bradley. “I knew you’d understand.”
“I knew you’d understand,” mimicked Bartholomew.