Ten Kids, No Pets

  Candy looked around. In front of her was the linen closet with its piles of sheets. But she was in another room, a room she’d never seen before.

  “A secret place in my own house!” whispered Candy. “It must be Narnia. I walked through a closet and into another world, just like Susan did in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”

  Of course, Candy wasn’t in another world, but she was in a hidden room. She stepped cautiously back into the closet. “Hey, you gu —” she started to shout. But she stopped. She couldn’t tell anyone what she’d found or the room wouldn’t be just hers anymore.

  She went back into the little room and pushed the door to the closet until it was almost, but not quite, closed. Then she examined her new surroundings. The room was in the shape of a lopsided rectangle, and it was very small. The only light that came in was from a small round window, which Candy had noticed from the outside of the farmhouse but hadn’t been able to find inside. The walls were wooden and rough, not plastered like those in the rest of the house, and everything was dusty, dusty, dusty.

  Two pieces of furniture, both ancient-looking, occupied the room — a tall, skinny table with a drawer under the top and a straight-as-an-arrow wooden chair. Candy tried to peer out the window, but it was too dirty. She’d have to come back and clean it. Then she cautiously opened the drawer in the table. A small red leather book lay inside. On the cover, in gold letters, she read “Diary.”

  Candy drew in her breath. This was better than anything she’d ever read about in a story. She removed the diary, sat down in the uncomfortable chair, and opened the cover of the little book. In careless handwriting in faded blue ink were the words “Celia McIntyre, age 12.”

  My age, thought Candy.

  Not feeling the slightest bit guilty, she read the first page. It was dated January 1, 1901. “I have a secret room,” it began, “and now I have a secret diary to write in.”

  Candy was intrigued. She settled back in the chair and became lost in Celia’s life.

  From what Candy could gather, the McIntyres had lived in the farmhouse at the turn of the century. Celia was the youngest of four children, and her two older brothers and older sister were already married. In fact, Celia had a nephew who was older than she was.

  Celia seemed to be a con artist. She could get almost anything from anyone, especially her parents. She had her own pony to ride and a fabulous dollhouse and was very proud of something she’d been given for Christmas called a fur muff. The one thing Celia’s parents would not let her have, no matter how much she begged, was a pet in the house. The McIntyres were a farm family and had plenty of outdoor animals, but Mrs. McIntyre put her foot down when Celia suggested a house pet.

  “I want only one teeny little pet,” Celia wrote, “but Mother says no.”

  Candy could picture her pouting and knew just how Celia felt: angry and maybe a little lonely. It was amazing how much Celia and Candy had in common. The truth was, despite her nine brothers and sisters, Candy sometimes felt lonely. She liked being alone, but at times she felt an emptiness that she was sure only a pet could fill. And she thought it was very unfair and selfish of her mother to say no to any pet at all.

  When Candy got tired of reading about everything Celia wanted, she skipped ahead. She turned randomly to April tenth — and gasped. Celia’s best friend had been given a parakeet, which she wasn’t allowed to have, so she secretly gave it to Celia, who secretly put it in the little room and kept it there, hidden from her parents.

  “Wow,” said Candy out loud. “Someone hid a pet here once!”

  Candy sat in the room for over an hour, reading Celia’s diary. At last, with a sigh, she returned it to the drawer in the table. Then she walked back into the cedar closet. She didn’t want anyone to get suspicious about where she’d been.

  Candy smiled and hugged the wonderful secret of the room to herself. At last she had a place where she could go to be just Candy, alone.

  “You hid it!”

  “I did not. You just lost it! You’re always losing things.”

  “I am not!”

  “Are too!”

  “Am not!”

  Ira awoke slowly. He awoke to the sound of his sisters quarreling. He buried his head under his pillow and tried to drown out the sound of their voices. But Jan and Hannah were very loud.

  Ira felt someone tweak his toes. “Get up, you lazybones. It’s the first day of school!” exclaimed Hannah.

  Ira sat up in a flash. The first day of school. How could he have forgotten? The summer was over. Today was the first day of second grade, and Ira would go to a new school, with new classmates, and have a new teacher. His teacher’s name was Miss Price, and she was in charge of Room 2C. Ira had met her the day before when his mother had taken all of the Rossos to their new schools to register.

  Ira’s stomach felt funny, not good at all. He remembered that it had felt that way the morning they were going to move, and his father had told him that his stomach had butterflies in it.

  Ira rolled out of bed and stuck his feet into his slippers. He had left them by his bed the night before. Then he pulled up the covers and tucked them under the mattress. It never took Ira long to make his bed. His big sister Abbie had once said, “It’s amazing. Ira even sleeps neatly.”

  Ira couldn’t help it. Neat was the way he was. And he couldn’t help the way his family was either. He couldn’t help that he had nine brothers and sisters or that some of them had names like Dagwood or Gardenia. Those things were just part of his mother’s systems. But Ira was worried. All those things that he couldn’t help were bound to be discovered by his classmates, and then Ira would be teased. He was too neat, and the Rossos were too weird and too many.

  After breakfast that morning, Mrs. Rosso handed out ten lunches in alphabetical order: Abbie, Bainbridge, Candy, Dagwood, Eberhard, Faustine, Gardenia, Hannah, Ira, and Jan. Then she shooed the kids out the front door in alphabetical order. The Rossos ran to the end of their driveway, knapsacks and bookbags and lunch boxes bumping along. They didn’t want to be late for their buses.

  Ira watched the high school bus come by and pick up Abbie. He felt sorry for her. As he waved to her through the window, he suddenly thought that his big sister looked … little. Then he watched the middle school bus roll to a stop and swallow up Bainbridge, Candy, and Woody. Finally, the elementary school bus, the Bluebird, stopped for Hardy, the twins, Hannah, Ira, and Jan. A Rosso for every grade except kindergarten.

  “Come on, Jan, sit with me,” said Ira helpfully.

  Jan was the littlest Rosso, and Ira felt it was his duty to look out for her.

  The Rossos’ arrival didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Hey, just one family, and they make a whole bus stop!” a boy called.

  Ira turned around, bristling, but saw Hardy and Hannah in the seat behind him. “Don’t say anything,” Hardy murmured without moving his lips. Ira knew Hardy was mad about what the kid had said and also mad that he had to sit with his sister.

  Ira glanced at the twins, in front of him. They weren’t paying attention. They were talking together in their own secret twin language.

  Which was another thing. Wait till the kids heard Faustine and Dinnie’s funny words. Adults thought the twins’ private language was cute. Kids thought it was weird.

  Ira ignored the other bus riders until the Bluebird pulled up in front of John Bowen Elementary. Then he took Jan’s hand, led her to the front of the bus, and jumped down the steps with her to the sidewalk. The twins were already there. Hannah and Hardy followed Ira and Jan.

  “Do you guys know where you’re going?” asked Hardy gruffly. He wanted to separate himself from the rest of the Rossos.

  “Yes,” said the twins and added privately, “Getchup.” They giggled.

  “Yes,” said Hannah, standing alone.

  “Yes,” said Ira.

  “No,” said Jan.

  “Don’t worry, Jan. I’ll take you,” Ira told her gallantly. He looked around. He?
??d never imagined that a school could sit out in the middle of cornfields and trees. John Bowen Elementary looked lost and lonely. It needed other buildings around it — skyscrapers and apartment houses and maybe a delicatessen or a candy stand.

  The twins and Hardy and Hannah walked off.

  “Come on, Jan,” said Ira.

  Ira took his sister to Room 1B and left her with Mr. Heppler. Jan looked like she was going to cry, and Ira wanted to stay with her and help her put her things in her cubby, but Mr. Heppler showed him to the door.

  “I’m right across the hall!” Ira called to Jan as he spotted the pumpkin on the door of 2C.

  The butterflies in Ira’s stomach were flapping around wildly. Ira stepped through the doorway. There was Miss Price, writing something on the blackboard.

  “Good morning, Ira,” she said warmly. “Let me show you your desk.”

  Miss Price led Ira to a desk in the front row. “This is yours,” she said. “And over here is your cubby. You can hang your sweater on the hook, and keep anything here that you don’t put in your desk, okay?”

  Ira nodded. He took off his sweater and hung it up. Then he placed his lunch box on the floor of the cubby. He put his pencil case inside his desk. There. He was ready for second grade.

  Ira sat at his desk. He folded his hands. He watched the other children arrive. Some of them looked at Ira, but none of them said anything. So far, so good. Maybe if Ira didn’t say anything either, his classmates would never find out that he had nine brothers and sisters.

  “Good morning, boys and girls!” said Miss Price. She was standing in front of the blackboard. Ira’s classmates stopped talking and running around. They slid into the chairs behind the desks.

  “My name is Miss Price,” the teacher continued. She wrote “Miss Price” on the board. “Now you know my name,” she said, “but I don’t know all of yours. You can help me by raising your hand and saying ‘here’ when I call your name.”

  Miss Price began to call the roll: Andy Asher, Erica Cashman, Cindy Dunham. Ira could tell she was reading the names in alphabetical order. Ira knew a lot about alphabetical order.

  “Roger Pratt.”

  “Here!”

  “Jean Reston.”

  “Here!”

  “Ira Rosso.”

  Ira raised his hand. “Here!”

  Miss Price paused. “Class, Ira is our new student,” she said. “He’s just moved here. And there’s something very interesting about his family. Ira has nine brothers and sisters.” Miss Price sounded impressed.

  Even though Ira continued to look straight at Miss Price, he could feel every one of his classmates staring at him. His face grew warm. But he didn’t move a muscle.

  How could Miss Price do such a terrible thing to him? Ira had barely opened his mouth, and the secret was out anyway. Darn that old Miss Price. Ira wanted to hate her, but hating your teacher was not a very good way to start second grade. Ira decided to give her one more chance. But only one more.

  Miss Price finished calling the roll. Then she handed out some books — spellers and readers and arithmetic workbooks. All morning Ira paid careful attention to Miss Price. He listened to her and followed her instructions. At snacktime nobody said a word to him. Ira sat by himself and ate his peach. Maybe John Bowen Elementary wouldn’t be so bad after all. And so far Miss Price hadn’t blown her second chance.

  When it was time for lunch, Ira lined up and walked single file with his class to the cafeteria. He sat at the end of Miss Price’s table. His classmates talked and giggled and swapped the food in their lunch boxes. When the recess bell rang, Ira followed the others outside. The second-graders had recess with the third-graders. Ira stood on tiptoe and looked for Hannah.

  “Hey, kid! Ira?”

  Ira turned around. It was Roger Pratt from his class. “Hi,” said Ira.

  “Do you really have nine brothers and sisters?”

  Ira nodded.

  A few kids joined Roger. Ira didn’t recognize all of them.

  “How come?” asked Jean Reston.

  Ira shrugged.

  “Do you all go to John Bowen?” Roger wanted to know.

  “Nope,” replied Ira. “Only six of us do.”

  A tall boy in the back of the crowd started to laugh. “My friend says there’s a new kid in his class named Eberhard Rosso. He must be your brother.”

  “Eberhard!” hooted a couple of girls.

  “In my sister’s class,” said Jean, “there are two girls — twins — named Faustine and Gardenia. Faustine and Gardenia Rosso.”

  “So?” said Ira fiercely.

  “So those are the weirdest names we’ve ever heard,” said Roger.

  “And,” continued Jean, “I heard this new girl say she’s even got two brothers named Bainbridge and Dagwood.”

  The kids laughed harder. Roger fell onto the blacktop and rolled back and forth, clutching his stomach.

  Leave it to Hannah, thought Ira. Hannah and her big mouth. She must have told about Bainbridge and Dagwood.

  “You know who Dagwood is?” said Roger, still laughing. “He’s a goofy cartoon character. I saw him in an old comic. Dagwood Bumstead. And he ate big sandwiches called Dagwoods!”

  “Dagwoods!”

  “Dagwood Bumstead!”

  All of the kids were laughing. But they weren’t paying attention to Ira. They were watching Roger. Ira crept away and sat on the bottom rung of the monkey bars. He decided to stay there until the bell rang and recess was over. He didn’t even get up when Roger called to him, “Hey, kid! Want to play kickball?”

  “No,” Ira replied. “The field’s too muddy…. And my name’s not ‘kid.’ It’s Ira.”

  Ira watched Roger put his arm across Andy Asher’s shoulders. The two of them walked away laughing, their heads bent together.

  Back in Miss Price’s room, Ira tried to forget about Roger and Andy and Jean and the tall boy. He fixed his eyes straight ahead and listened to his teacher.

  “Class,” she said, “it’s time for sharing hour. Every afternoon after recess, you’ll have a chance to share something special or important with the class. Does anyone have anything to share today?”

  Ira listened to Erica Cashman talk about her kitten. The class seemed very impressed. Then he listened to Cindy Dunham telling about the new cow on her dairy farm and Andy telling about the Laser Tag game he had gotten for his birthday. The other kids oohed and aahed.

  Ira got an idea.

  “Does anyone else have something to share?” asked Miss Price.

  Ira waved his hand.

  Miss Price looked a little surprised. “Yes, Ira?” she said. “Come on up to the front of the room.”

  Ira stood up. He could hear a few kids snickering. He heard somebody say something about ten kids.

  “Well,” said Ira, “I want to tell you about all the animals on our farm. We don’t have just pigs and cows and stuff. We have two ferrets and a boa constrictor —”

  “Ew,” said Jean.

  “— and a monkey. That’s why we moved to the farm. There wasn’t room for any animals in our apartment in New York. So Daddy said, ‘I guess we’ll just have to get a farm. Then you can have all the animals you want.’ And we found a hurt bobcat, so we’re keeping it till it gets well, and we have a parrot, and we’re going to get a lion cub —”

  “Ira,” Miss Price broke in, “are you sure about that?”

  Ira nodded. “Yes. My father works for an advertising company and sometimes they make commercials for TV, and they used this lion cub in a commercial. But it doesn’t have a home, so we’re going to take it. We’ve got lots and lots of room on our farm.”

  “Wow!” exclaimed Roger. “Do you really have a boa constrictor?”

  “Yup,” said Ira. “And a tarantula.”

  “How big is the bobcat?” asked Jean.

  “It’s not full grown,” Ira replied. “It’s about this big.” He held his hands apart.

  “What does the snake eat?
” asked Andy.

  “Mice,” said Ira. “We have a whole cage full of them.”

  The classroom was buzzing. The kids could barely pay attention to Miss Price that afternoon. As soon as the bell rang at the end of the day, Ira’s classmates crowded around him.

  “Has the tarantula ever bitten you?” asked a boy whose name Ira couldn’t remember.

  “What would you do if the snake got loose?” asked Jean.

  Ira and the kids walked into the hall together. Ira smiled. Friends at last.

  * * *

  The next day during sharing hour Jean Reston raised her hand. “I don’t have anything to share,” she said. “I just want to ask if Ira can bring some of his pets to school.”

  “I’ll have to ask my mom,” replied Ira.

  On Monday, Jean repeated her request.

  “My mom said no,” Ira told the class.

  On Tuesday, Andy raised his hand. “I want Ira to bring in a picture of his tarantula. And also of his boa constrictor eating a mouse.”

  “Our camera’s broken,” said Ira. He saw Andy and Roger look at each other and roll their eyes.

  On Wednesday, Roger announced, “Guess what. My mom said any time it’s okay with Ira’s mom, I can go over to his house to see the animals. So, Ira, just ask your mother and tell me what she says.”

  Ira felt a knot in his stomach. “Okay,” he said in a small voice.

  Ira didn’t sleep very well that night. What was he supposed to tell Roger? That his mother had said he could never invite a friend over? That didn’t sound very nice — or very likely.

  Ira lay in his bed with the covers kicked back. He listened to the gentle sleeping sounds of Jan and Hannah. Another thought occurred to him. He did, after all, have nine brothers and sisters. One of them was bound to have a friend over who was bound to say that there wasn’t a single animal on the Rosso farm. Not even a chicken or a cow, let alone a tarantula or a bobcat. There was only one thing to do, Ira decided, and he would do it right away.

  Ira tiptoed out of his room and listened for sounds that would tell him where his parents were. After a moment he heard the TV and knew they were downstairs in the living room watching the news. When Ira had been little — four or five years old, he used to wonder what his parents did after he and his brothers and sisters went to sleep each night. Now that he was seven, he knew. They only did two things. They watched the news on TV, then they went to bed. Pretty boring.