“What?” asked Myron.
“As a class president you must learn to listen,” said Mrs. Jewls. “I’ll repeat myself only one more time. You must turn the lights on every morning – ”
“I heard you the first time,” said Myron. “It just doesn’t sound like much of a job.”
“It certainly is!” said Mrs. Jewls. “Without light I can’t teach, and the children can’t learn. Only you can give us that light. I think it is a very important job.”
“I guess so,” said Myron. He wasn’t convinced.
“Here, let me show you how to work a light switch,” said Mrs. Jewls.
“I already know how,” said Myron. “I’ve been turning lights on and off all my life.”
“Very good!” said Mrs. Jewls. “You’ll make a fine president.”
Myron wanted to be the best president ever. But it was such an easy job, he thought, that anybody could do it. When school let out that day, Myron stayed behind. He turned out the lights by flicking the switch down.
“Excellent!” said Mrs. Jewls.
On his way home, Myron heard a horrible noise. First there was a loud screeching, then a sharp squeal, a roaring engine, and then the very faint sound of a girl crying.
Myron ran to see what had happened.
Dana was bent over in the middle of the road.
“What’s the matter?” asked Myron.
“My dog, Pugsy, was hit by a car,” Dana cried.
“Who did it?” asked Myron.
“I don’t know!” Dana sobbed. “They sped away.”
“Well, that’s not important,” said Myron. “We’ve got to try to save Pugsy.”
Pugsy lay unconscious in the street. Myron carefully picked her up. He carried her two miles to the vet. Dana cried at his side.
“Don’t worry, Dana,” said Myron. “She’ll be all right.” But he wasn’t really so sure.
He gave Pugsy to the vet, walked Dana home, then walked home himself.
Dana was so upset that she forgot to thank him. Myron didn’t mind. He thought that was what being class president was all about.
The next morning, before he went to school, Myron went to Dana’s house. Pugsy was there. She seemed all right.
Dana petted her. Pugsy licked her face.
“See, Myron, she’s all right,” said Dana. “The vet said that you brought her in just in time.”
“Hi, Pugsy,” said Myron. He petted her.
Pugsy bit his hand.
“I guess she doesn’t know you,” said Dana. “She was unconscious yesterday when you saved her life.”
Dana’s mother put some medicine and a Band-Aid on Myron’s hand. Then she drove the children to school.
They were late. They ran up the stairs to Mrs. Jewls’s class. The room was completely dark.
“It’s about time you got here, Myron,” said Mrs. Jewls. “We have no lights.”
“Why didn’t somebody else just turn them on?” asked Myron.
“Because you’re class president,” said Mrs. Jewls. “Show Stephen how to work the lights. From now on he will be class president.”
Myron showed Stephen how to turn on the lights. He flicked the switch up.
At the end of the day, Myron showed Stephen how to turn the lights off. He flicked the switch down.
After a week, Stephen finally caught on. He made a good president. The lights were on every morning.
Myron, who was president for only a day, was the best president in the history of Wayside School. It was just that nobody knew it.
∨ Sideways Stories from Wayside School ∧
9
Maurecia
Maurecia liked ice cream. She was sweet and pretty and could beat up any boy in Mrs. Jewls’s class. Everybody liked Maurecia – except Kathy, but then she didn’t like anybody. Maurecia only liked ice cream.
Every day Maurecia brought an ice cream cone to school and kept it in her desk until lunch time. At first she brought chocolate ice cream every day. But she soon tired of chocolate ice cream. So she started bringing vanilla. But she got tired of vanilla, too. Then she got tired of strawberry, fudge ripple, butter pecan, pistachio, and burgundy cherry, in that order. And then a terrible thing happened. Maurecia got tired of ice cream. By that time her desk was a mess, and everything in it was sticky.
Everybody liked Maurecia. But Maurecia didn’t like anything.
Mrs. Jewls hated to see Maurecia unhappy.
“I don’t understand it, Mrs. Jewls,” cried Maurecia. “There just aren’t any good flavors anymore.”
So Mrs. Jewls worked all night. The next day she brought in a new flavor of ice cream for Maurecia. It was Maurecia-flavored ice cream. “Everybody will like it,” thought Mrs. Jewls, “because everybody likes Maurecia.”
“Here you are, Maurecia,” said Mrs. Jewls, “Maurecia-flavored ice cream.”
Everybody gathered around as Maurecia tasted it. They hoped she’d like it.
Maurecia took a lick.
“Well?” said Mrs. Jewls.
Maurecia took another lick.
“Well?” asked the class.
“This ice cream has no taste,” said Maurecia. “It doesn’t taste bad, but it doesn’t taste good. It doesn’t taste like anything at all!”
Mrs. Jewls was heartbroken.
“Here, let me try it,” said Todd. He tasted it. “You’re crazy, Maurecia!” he said. “This is the best-tasting ice cream I’ve ever eaten! Try some, Deedee.”
“Ummmmmmmmm, it’s delicious,” said Deedee. “It’s so sweet and creamy.” She passed it around the room.
“Oh, it is so good,” said Leslie.
“I think it tastes terrible,” said Kathy.
“I don’t understand it,” said Maurecia. “I don’t taste a thing.”
Mrs. Jewls slapped herself in the face. “Oh, I’ve made a big mistake, Maurecia. Of course you can’t taste anything. It’s Maurecia-flavored ice cream. It’s the same taste you always taste when you’re not tasting anything at all.”
So the next day Mrs. Jewls brought in Joe-flavored ice cream. Maurecia liked it. So did everybody else. Joe thought it had no taste.
Everybody liked Maurecia. Maurecia only liked Joe.
The following day Mrs. Jewls brought in Ron-flavored ice cream. Ron thought it had no taste, but everybody else loved it.
Everybody liked Maurecia. Maurecia only liked Joe and Ron.
By the end of the month, Mrs. Jewls had brought in twenty-seven new flavors of ice cream, one for each member of the class.
Everybody liked Maurecia, and Maurecia liked everybody. They all tasted so good. All except Kathy, that is. Kathy-flavored ice cream tasted a little bit like old bologna.
Everyone still agreed that Maurecia-flavored ice cream was the best, except Maurecia. She liked Todd ice cream the best.
This turned out to be a problem. Every once in a while Maurecia would try to take a bite out of Todd’s arm in order to get that very special flavor.
∨ Sideways Stories from Wayside School ∧
10
Paul
Paul had the best seat in Mrs. Jewls’s class. He sat in the back of the room. It was the seat that was the farthest away from Mrs. Jewls.
Mrs. Jewls was teaching the class about fractions. She drew a picture of a pie on the blackboard. She cut the pie into eight pieces. She explained that each piece was one-eighth of the pie.
Paul never paid attention. He didn’t see the picture of the pie. He didn’t see anything.
Well, he did see one thing.
Actually, he saw two things.
He saw Leslie’s two pigtails.
Leslie sat in front of Paul. She had two long, brown pigtails that reached all the way down to her waist.
Paul saw those pigtails, and a terrible urge came over him. He wanted to pull a pigtail. He wanted to wrap his fist around it, feel the hair between his fingers, and just yank.
He thought it would also be fun to tie the pigtails together, or better yet, tie them
to her chair. But most of all, he just wanted to pull one.
Slowly he reached for the one on the right. “No! What am I doing?” he thought. “I’ll only get into trouble.”
Paul had it made. He sat in the back of the room. He paid no attention to anyone, and nobody paid any attention to him. But if he pulled a pigtail, it would be all over. Leslie would tell on him, and he’d become the center of attention.
He sighed and slowly withdrew his arm.
But Paul couldn’t ignore those pigtails. There they were, dangling right in front of him, just begging to be pulled. He could close his eyes, but he couldn’t make the pigtails disappear. He could still smell them. And hear them. He could almost taste them.
“Maybe just a little tug,” he thought. “No, none.”
There they hung, easily within his reach.
“Well let them just hang there!” thought Paul.
It would be foolish to pull one, no matter how tempting they were. None of the other children in the class pulled pigtails; why should he? Of course, none of the other children sat behind Leslie, either.
It was just a simple matter of being able to think clearly. That was all. Paul thought it over and decided not to pull one. It was as simple as that.
Suddenly his arm shot forward. He grabbed Leslie’s right pigtail and yanked.
“Yaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!” screamed Leslie.
Everybody looked at her.
“Paul pulled my pigtail,” she said.
They all looked at Paul.
“I…I couldn’t help it,” said Paul.
“You’d better learn to help it,” said Mrs. Jewls. She wrote Paul’s name on the blackboard under the word DISCIPLINE. “Tell Leslie you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry, Leslie,” said Paul.
“Hmmmph,” said Leslie.
Paul felt horrible. Never again would he pull another pigtail! Except, there was one problem. He still wasn’t satisfied. He had pulled the right one, but that wasn’t enough. He wanted to pull the left one, too. It was as if he heard a little voice coming from the pigtail saying, “Pull me, Paul. Pull me.”
“I can’t,” Paul answered. “My name’s already on the blackboard under the word DISCIPLINE.”
“Big deal,” said the pigtail. “Pull me.”
“No way,” said Paul. “Never again.”
“Aw, come on, Paul, just a little tug,” urged the pigtail. “What harm could it do?”
“Lots of harm,” said Paul. “Leslie will scream, and I’ll get in trouble again.”
“Boy, that’s not fair,” whined the pigtail. “You pulled the right one. Now it’s my turn.”
“I know, but I can’t,” said Paul.
“Sure you can,” said the pigtail. “Just grab me and yank.”
“No,” said Paul. “It’s not right.”
“Sure it is, Paul,” said the pigtail. “Pigtails are meant to be pulled. That’s what we’re here for.”
“Tell that to Leslie,” said Paul.
“Leslie won’t mind,” said the pigtail. “I promise.”
“I bet,” said Paul. “Just like she didn’t mind the last time.”
“You just didn’t pull hard enough,” said the pigtail. “Leslie likes us pulled real hard.”
“Really?” asked Paul.
“Cross my heart,” said the pigtail, “the harder, the better.”
“Okay,” said Paul. “but if you’re lying…”
“I promise,” said the pigtail.
Paul grabbed the left pigtail. It felt good in his hand. He pulled as hard as he could.
“Yaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!” screamed Leslie.
Mrs. Jewls asked, “Paul, did you pull Leslie’s pigtail again?”
“No,” said Paul. “I pulled the other one.”
All the children laughed.
“Are you trying to be funny?” asked Mrs. Jewls.
“No,” said Paul. “I was trying to be fair. I couldn’t pull one and not the other.”
The children laughed again.
“Pigtails are meant to be pulled,” Paul concluded.
Mrs. Jewls put a check next to Paul’s name on the blackboard under the word DISCIPLINE.
But at last Paul was satisfied. True, his name was on the blackboard with a check next to it, but that really didn’t matter. All he had to do was stay out of trouble the rest of the day, and his name would be erased. It’s easy to stay out of trouble when you have the best seat in the class.
In fact, Paul could do this every day. He could pull Leslie’s pigtails twice, and then stay out of trouble the rest of the day. There was nothing Leslie could do about it.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, Leslie screamed, “Yaaaahhhhhhhh!”
Mrs. Jewls circled Paul’s name and sent him home early on the kindergarten bus. Nobody would believe that he hadn’t pulled Leslie’s pigtail again.
∨ Sideways Stories from Wayside School ∧
11
Dana
Dana had four beautiful eyes. She wore glasses. But her eyes were so beautiful that the glasses only made her prettier. With two eyes she was pretty. With four eyes she was beautiful. With six eyes she would have been even more beautiful. And if she had a hundred eyes, all over her face and her arms and her feet, why, she would have been the most beautiful creature in the world.
But poor Dana wasn’t covered from head to foot with beautiful eyes. She was covered with mosquito bites.
Mrs. Jewls picked up her yardstick and said, “Now it’s time for arithmetic.”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Jewls,” said Dana. “I can’t do arithmetic. I itch all over. I can’t concentrate.”
“But we have all kinds of arithmetic,” said Mrs. Jewls, “addition without carrying, addition with carrying, and carrying without addition.”
“I don’t care,” cried Dana.
“We have that, too,” said Mrs. Jewls, “addition without caring. Now, stop carrying on.”
Dana whined, “I can’t, Mrs. Jewls. I itch too much.”
“And I’m too thirsty,” said D.J.
“I’m too tired,” said Ron.
“I’m too hungry,” said Terrence.
“I’m too stupid,” said Todd.
Mrs. Jewls hit her desk with her yardstick. Everyone stopped talking.
Mrs. Jewls said, “We are going to have arithmetic now, and I don’t want to hear another thing about it.”
“But, Mrs. Jewls, I really do itch. I can’t do arithmetic,” Dana whined.
“No,” said Mrs. Jewls. “Arithmetic is the best known cure for an itch. How many mosquito bites do you have?”
“I don’t know,” said Dana, “over a hundred. First I try scratching one, but then another one starts to itch. So I scratch that one, and that one stops, and another one starts. So I scratch that one, and the itch moves down to another one. Then it goes back to the first one. The itch just never stays in the same place. I just can’t scratch them all.”
“What you need is a good, strong dose of arithmetic,” said Mrs. Jewls.
“I’d rather have calamine lotion,” said Dana.
“Remember, Dana,” said Mrs. Jewls, “mosquito bites itch, not numbers.”
“So what?” said Dana.
Mrs. Jewls continued. “We’ll just have to turn your mosquito bites into numbers.”
“I’m a mess,” Dana moaned.
Mrs. Jewls began to turn the mosquito bites into numbers. “How much is three mosquito bites plus three mosquito bites?” she asked.
Rondi raised her hand. “Six mosquito bites,” she answered.
“How much is six mosquito bites minus two mosquito bites?” asked Mrs. Jewls.
“Four mosquito bites,” said D.J.
“How much is five mosquito bites times two?” asked Mrs. Jewls.
“Ten mosquito bites,” said Bebe.
“Very good,” said Mrs. Jewls.
“I still itch,” Dana complained.
“I’ve got one more question,” said Mrs. Jewls. “H
ow much is forty-nine mosquito bites plus seventy-five mosquito bites?”
Nobody raised a hand.
“Think, class,” said Mrs. Jewls. “This is for Dana.”
Nobody knew the answer. Dana’s itch began to get worse and worse.
At last, Dana began counting her own mosquito bites. She counted seventy-five on one side and forty-nine on the other. Then she added them together for a total of one hundred and twenty-four mosquito bites.
“One hundred and twenty-four mosquito bites,” Dana called.
“Very good,” said Mrs. Jewls.
Dana had one hundred and twenty-four mosquito bites. And none of them itched anymore.
“I’m still thirsty,” said D.J. “Can arithmetic do anything for that?”
“I’m still tired,” said Ron.
“I’m still hungry,” said Terrence.
“I’m still stupid,” said Todd.
“I’m glad we turned my mosquito bites into numbers instead of letters,” said Dana. “I could never spell mosquito.”
∨ Sideways Stories from Wayside School ∧
12
Jason
Jason had a small face and a big mouth. He had the second biggest mouth in Mrs. Jewls’s class. And there were an awful lot of big mouths in that class.
“Mrs. Jewls,” Jason called without raising his hand. “Joy is chewing gum in class!”
Joy had the biggest mouth in Mrs. Jewls’s class. And it was filled with gum. There was hardly even room for her tongue.
“Joy, I’m ashamed of you,” said Mrs. Jewls. “I’m afraid I’ll have to put your name up on the board.”
“That’s okay, Mrs. Jewls,” Jason called. “I’ll do it.” Jason hopped out of his seat and wrote Joy’s name on the blackboard under the word DISCIPLINE.
While he was up, Joy took the glob of gum out of her mouth and placed it on Jason’s chair.
Rondi and Allison giggled.